Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Bill Bend Over

by Patti

Do you know that last night I saved $140? I did it by actually looking at my cell phone bill. Normally, I just get nauseous and pay my bill online, never questioning the outrageous amount that is being demanded of me month after month. I just figured it was the price I had to pay for unlimited texting and my frivolous daily visits to celebitchy.com.  Turns out? When you actually look at your bill, you find all kinds of crazy that don't come cheap.

Seeing $40 in charges I didn't understand, I called my provider and pressed the millions of buttons to get connected to somebody in India. "Good evening, Patricia - what a lovely name - how may I help you tonight?" Cut the niceties, lady. First of all, ain't nothing "lovely" about Patricia (no offense if you are a Patricia. After all, I am a Patricia. I mean, it's not a horrible name, but lovely?). More importantly: why is there a $40 charge on my bill I don't understand?

After one hour - ONE HOUR - on the phone - which included a good 30 minutes of holding while jamming to the strains of the pan flute version of "My Girl",  and then being cut off only to surprisingly have the Polite Lady in India actually calling me back - I was finally credited $140 to my account for charges that had been happening for months. Not only that, but my new monthly bills will be much cheaper, which rocks ten ways to Sunday because, as the Polite Lady in India pointed out ever-so-politely, "every penny counts, Patreesha!"

Now? I am addicted to the idea of looking through my bills. I could probably finally get the granite counter tops I long for, or even refinish my basement with all the money I will save by combing through my bills. I mean, think about it: what if I hadn't looked at my cell phone bill? Would I simply continue to pay an extra $40 a month? An extra $40 that could go towards the straightening of my kid's crooked teeth or the filling up of my fridge? Yes, yes I would have.

Do yourselves a favor people of the universe: Really look at your bills. Don't just get nauseous and dumbly pay them like I have been doing for, like, EVER. Unlike me, be smart - do your research, make those calls, and guess what? You can actually avoid looking like this every time you pay a bill:

"Patreesha" in all her glory




Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Word to Your Grandmother

by Cathy

After picking up the girls from his parents' house one evening last week, my husband briskly walked into the living room with his coat still on, and asked: "Did you request for me to pick up some milk?"

"Ummmm...nooo," I said, my eyes still glued to Grey's Anatomy. "That was random. I didn't text you or anything."

"My dad said you texted him and asked him to ask me to bring home milk."

"What? Why on earth would I text your dad? He doesn't ever carry his cell phone. That thing still works?"

He shot me a look and headed into the kitchen to promptly call his dad and get to the bottom of this mystery text. I could hear him clear across the house.

"Dad, Cathy said she didn't text you. Can you check your phone again?" [pause]
"Check to make sure it was from Cathy. Just click on the text itself. Click. [pause] What time did she send it?"
[pause]
"Are you sure?" he chuckles. "Dad. Dad? Check the date. When was it sent?"
[pause]
"Just click it and it should tell you," he said.
[loooooong pause]

Suddenly, Joe's hearty laugh boomed through the house; a continuous cacophony of high-pitched howls and throaty, breathless gasps. I walk in to see him wiping tears of laughter from his eyes before he hung up. He took one deep, focused breath, looked me straight in the eyes and blurted out, "Turns out that text was from two years ago," he emphasized. 

"Bwahahahaha!!" We both busted out in hysterical laughter. And right there in our kitchen that night, we sealed our karmic fate in that this, will in fact, happen to us one day.

Could this be my future grandkid?
It's true our parents' and grandparents' generations didn't grow up in the technologically booming era we did. Therefore, they had to make the effort to acquaint themselves with computers, smartphones, even regular, plain 'ol flip cell phones. Their fingers aren't as adept as ours, their motor skills not as fluid and their reflexes not as quick. It takes them a little longer to get the hang of "this stuff". And those are the brave ones; the rest are too intimidated or feel too far behind to even attempt a try.

I give props to them there elders that try to keep up. I wonder if I will have the patience and wherewithal to keep up with the leaping advances of technology when I am their age. And if not, I know the younger generations will be waiting to pounce on our lack of technological knowledge, ready to "Bwahahahaha!!"away at our expense.

Oh...wait. My kids already do that.






Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Enjoy the Ride

by Cathy

If you read this blog enough (which I hope you do!) you know that my family, we of Greek and Latin descent, are always running late. Part of it is innate due to stereotypical tardy traits within our cultures and the rest is, well, we tend to be a little slow.

Since this tardiness would be expected in our respective countries, it's not very well accepted here by my kids' school, and with very good reason. Despite what is accepted elsewhere, we need to be respectful of peoples' schedules and time in general. It's a horrible habit to fall into and extremely difficult to break once in the cycle - a cycle which I must say I was drawn into by my husband after we got married. No matter how ready and on time you are, if the person you are with is late, you are BOTH late and your efforts are for crap.

That said, I have declared a sense of urgency in our house in the mornings. I gave my kids a specific time to be in the kitchen for breakfast; I explained that they had to work backwards from there to determine how much time they need to lollygag, get dressed, fight over hair accessories, put on earrings, find matching socks, pack their bags, make their beds, and set their alarm accordingly, which, by the way, includes two nine-minutes snooze sessions built in to make it feel as though they "got more sleep".

We did well for a few days until yesterday morning. We ALL had to be out of the house at the same time, (which normally doesn't happen) so my husband and I had to get ready while the girls went on with their schedules without being reminded a bajillion times to watch the clock or go eat breakfast and "What time is it, girls??!!" Naturally, we ended up leaving the house later than our newly appointed non-late time deadline so it was a race to get to school before they closed those doors.

Needless to say, I was upset. And grumpy. And annoyed. And just plain frustrated. Therefore, I was short-tempered with everyone in the car while I imagined the tsk-tsk, shaking-my-head looks my kids would be receiving by their teachers. Adding to my mood was the fact that traffic was extraordinarily backed-up and we encountered a garbage truck inching its way in front of us down the side street we took, only to put on its flashers, pop into reverse and BEEP BEEP BEEP its backside into an alley with more three-point turns than an ice skating routine.

Right when I thought I was going to jump out of the car and run my kids to school on piggyback, I heard the laughter of the girls in the back seat as they volleyed a pink balloon that was found in the car. Ari started reciting lines from Despicable Me (one of the girls' favorite movies) in Gru's Russian accent and Bella joined in. They were actually pretty funny and as they went on, the act got funnier as the accents got stronger and more animated.

Suddenly, I found myself laughing. Laughing at how goofy my daughters can be; laughing because of course we have the world's slowest garbage truck driven by a first-timer in front of us on the way to school; laughing that we have blown-up balloons sitting in our car willy-nilly; laughing that said balloon lurched forward into the windshield, floating around in our faces as we screeched up to the school door yet again and the girls scurried out, yelling their goodbyes through the open door; laughing at the funny irony of it all.

I let go of the anger and the frustration and what I could not control in that moment and just went with the flow. It reminded me of that scene in Parenthood (one of MY favorite movies and a must-see for all parents) when Steve Martin allows himself to get whisked away in the thrill of going with life's flow - like being on a roller coaster, after grandma tells him:


"You know, when I was nineteen, Grandpa took me on a roller coaster. Up, down, up, down. Oh, what a ride! I always wanted to go again. You know, it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together! Some didn't like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it."






Closing your eyes and fighting it isn't as much fun as throwing your hands up in the air and enjoying the ride.






Friday, March 8, 2013

Ain't Got Time for Memories

by Cathy & Patti

Our loyal readers may have noticed a trend recently in regard to our posting on this blog: it just ain't happening with as much frequency.

Aside from nurturing this blog as a way to vent and share our experiences as mothers, daughters, (working) women, wives and the million other hats we wear, we do it for posterity. How amazing is it that as our daughters get older, they can at first scoff, bristle at and be embarrassed by our posts, then later not only be able to forever cherish and relate to, but through our stories, also get to know their mothers as human - as women, pure and simple. This is something invaluable that we aim to pass down to them.

Lately, it seems, the harried pace of life doesn't allow us to revel in its memories long enough for them to be documented. Ideas for posts still come as life experiences hand them to us. Notes are taken, either physically or mentally, the latter of which can be smothered by more important to-do lists and lost forever within the confines of our overworked, overstressed minds.

Cathy
Evidence of how I'm lagging in this department became painfully evident to me recently. As we were all indulging in a rare evening of relaxation in front of the television recently - homework, baths, dishes and cleaning all done - my youngest daughter, Ari, who really can't sit still long enough to watch anything unless it's a Disney movie she hasn't seen before, enters the living room with her photo album in hand. I felt a surge of panic rise up inside of me.
"Honey, what are you doing with your album?" I asked carefully.
"Where are my baby pictures?" she answers my question with a question.
Uh oh. Did she just ignore me? Is she mad?

Well, she should be. She is the second child, which means, not everything was done with her the way it was meticulously done with my firstborn. This is universal. We all freak with our first child - make sure to wash the pacifier every single time it falls on the kitchen floor before we give it back to them; make sure to pack everything but the kitchen sink when go out for a stroll, just in case!; make sure to handle them extra gently because they may break; make sure to bathe them every night, etc.

Part of this for me was keeping photo albums journaling Bella's (my older daughter) growth, milestones, etc. In fact, I think I have three neatly arranged, chronologically ordered, beautiful photo albums for Bella. But for Ari? The one she was holding in her hands was it. I got as far as stamping her cute 'lil hand and foot on the cover and filling up the first few pages. That's it.

Overshadowed

"Um...why do you ask?" I tested her.
"Because I want to put them in my album. Bella has all of hers in her books and I want mine in my book."

 Knife...meet heart. I don't think I possibly could have felt more awful as a mother. (Well, there are other scenarios but this one loomed large at the moment.)

"Here," I offered, getting my ass up off the couch and heading towards our hallway closet, the keeper of the memories. "I'll get them for you and help you."
"No, that's okay. I can do it myself."
I felt that knife twisting.
"But you have to put them in order, like from when you are a baby and up. I can help you do that."
My stubborn Leo zodiac of a child insisted. "No, I'll just do it, okay?"
So I threw my guilty mom hands up and let her have at it.

In my defense, the technological revolution between when my two children were born (they have a five-year age difference) was extreme. I used a regular Cyber-shot camera while Bella was growing up, but with Ari, I've been using my smartphone for the most part. And who develops those? I sure haven't. But it's now something I have put at the top of my priority list, because who wants their child getting gypped of their memories simply because we don't find the time to document them? We need to find time to document those memories.

by Patti
My butt has been burning for months. This burning sends electrical shooting pains down my legs and into my feet. Various Dr. Google searches have allowed me to diagnose myself with a really, really bad case of Piriformis syndrome or maybe even a slipped disc. Either way, I know I need to have a non-Dr. Google officially diagnose me, but the thing is: I haven't had time to make an appointment. And even if I did - I don't have the time to actually honor an appointment. Between a full-time job, traveling for work, and ballet lessons coming out of my burning ass, I am time-starved.

Time starvation means certain things have to give. This blog has been one of them. It's not as if though there are millions of people waiting in line with bated breath for my next post - this I know - it's just that the day-after-day of blank space where a by Patti should be serves to remind me that, despite the time starvation, I need to find a way to carve out a few minutes a day to observe, absorb, and reflect.

Not too long ago, S had to do a school project that required family pictures. Although I am pretty good at taking pictures with my phone, and keeping my Instagram account fat with photos, what I am not good at is taking family pictures. The three of us are rarely in one place at one time in a photo-ready mode, and, well, pictures of my dog's flat-faced, shadowy profile or of my backyard heaped with snow then treated with Instagram's "Amaro" effect don't exactly make for school-ready photos. I scoured my photo drawer for pictures from the "olden" days - the days when, like Cathy, I used a real camera and actually had photos developed - but none of them seemed apropos. And even the few pictures I had saved on my computer that could be deemed as worthy of this school project were held hostage on my hard drive by the fact my printer had run out of ink and I hadn't time to buy ink. My butt is on fire and you expect me to have time for INK? So, yeah....no. No pictures. "I ain't got time for no memories!" I lamented to Cathy over the phone.  And it's true. And sadly so.

This weekend we head out on our annual Michigan trip with four moms, seven daughters, and two dogs. The snow will probably have melted, making sledding impossible; the tubing park will have closed; the ice skating rink a degree too warm. With seven screaming tweens and two pouncing dogs, it will be chaotic, no doubt. But I will be unplugged from "harried", and plugged into the present, and damn it: I'm gonna make some memories.




Friday, March 1, 2013

TWWW's Second Annual Cathy Takes Oscar

by Cathy

"Hey, look! It's Bobby Brady! What's he doing there?"

That was the comment uttered by my husband as the first trumpeted strains of the 85th annual Oscars came across our television screen, opening up to the most beautiful stage set I have ever seen. On that stage, stood Seth McFarland, all dapper and hopeful. And it was Peter Brady (Christopher Knight), not Bobby, my husband and almost everyone else I spoke to, are reminded of when we see Seth.

Before watching Ted, I had no idea who he was. I had to Google him. Then I said, "Is that Peter Brady?"
He looked the part and definitely sounded the part, all those years of voiceover work angling in his favor - and who knew he (and Kristin Chenoweth) could sing like that? However, the opening was ridiculous. Captain Kirk, coming back from the future, giving advice on how to host the Oscars?? What? I found myself searching for the remote several times so that I can fast-forward it but sadly remembered, I was watching it live. The only highlight was watching Charlize and Channing dance. Seth's jokes throughout were a little inappropriate, occasionally funny and downright boring at times. Although his self-deprecating comments certainly helped echo the sentiments of the audience and viewers.

Now on to the real reason we watch the Oscars. The two looks dominating this year were metallics and pastel pales. My choices in each category for best-dressed are:

Naomi Watts. Photo courtesy of Glamour.com

Jennifer Lawrence. Photo courtesy of Glamour.com
Naomi looked as if she was dipped in shimmery, liquid silver and the dress design was uniquely gorgeous with the avant garde cut-out. And JenLa. The quirky, unfiltered personality of this twenty-something kept the pretentiousness of the Oscars in check. She doesn't even attempt to hide her true self - from her practically graceful fall up the stairs to the remark about the standing ovation she received upon getting to the microphone. I absolutely love everything about her. The haute couture Dior fit-to-flare gown was youthful, fun and glam on her. Although I was a little perplexed on the back chain she wore around her neck. Didn't seem like it fit the style of the dress, in my opinion.

Worst dressed:

Anne Hathaway. Photo courtesy of Glamour.com
Oh, Anne. I have a bridesmaid dress just like this one in the back of my closet my closet from about ten years ago. It wasn't made by Prade like yours, but it sure as heck could have been since it looks identical except without the pronounced darts causing you to look like you had nipple hard-ons the entire evening. And the back was not a party, as you say. It was a mish-mosh: criss-crossing, wide, tied ribbons, and back jewelry. There was nothing about this look I liked and it was way too similar to her Golden Globes dress. I would have loved to see her in something more striking and youthful. Wah wahhhh.

  • Babs, you know we all love you and it's been a while since we've seen you perform on stage. I get your loyalty to Donna Karan and she is a sensibly chic designer, however you were channeling Stevie Nicks out there with your lengthy, flowy sleeves and layers of gold chains. The Hindi slave bracelet was amusing, but not your thing, my dear. Stevie would've rocked it fittingly but classic befits you best.
"I'll be your gypsy..."



  • FLOTUS: What was Harvey Weinstein thinking when he asked you to infringe upon Hollywood's king, Jack Nicholson, and announce the Best Picture winner standing in a room at the White House with uniformed army officers? It looked as if you were inappropriately disturbed whilst mingling with them to awkwardly present an Oscar and drag a political agenda into a glitzy, fluffy awards show. Sorry, but it didn't fit.Oh, and bit too heavy on the bangs this time, too.
  • Kristen Stewart. There are no words except that you are dangerously speeding towards Lindsay Lohanville and you best put those brakes on soon. If you busted your toe and were on crutches, why not forgo the stage hobbling and ask the Academy to give you the courtesy of placing yourself at the mic beforehand? You were a skipping mess in lace applique and bruises, channeling a meth addict who just rolled out of her homewrecking bed. Sorry, I'm just not that into you.
  • Adele - You are a bombshell. I don't care what they say about your choice of supposed matronly dress or lack of stylist. You know what works for your curvy figure and you work with it. We know it's not easy to expose parts of your body you may be self-conscious about and good for you for sticking to what makes you comfortable. Your performance rocked and you were smoldering, sexy and shimmeringly gorgeous throughout it. Thank you for putting some much-needed umph into these dreadfully boring Oscars.
Other highlights for me were the acceptance speeches of Daniel Day Lewis, Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lawrence (fall and all); Charlize's pixie 'do looks gorgeous on her; Bradley Cooper's mom showed up in a feather boa and sneakers? Really? And I loved that Ted made an appearance as well. As for Seth, we'll see if he makes one again next year.

Runners up for best dressed were Stacy Keibler:

Art deco metalli-glam
And the metallic monochromatic maven Jessica Chastain:



Runner up for worst dressed:

This looks like three different dresses were moshed up to create this belted number. But wait. This is nothing new for Zoe. She wore the cabbage dress to the Oscars last year. Right.


I hope you enjoyed my review. What did you think?




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