It's Not About The Gifts

One of the worst things a parent can do to their child is to set them up for disappointment, and one of the ways that's done is by buying them the world and making them think everything is acquired so easily. Especially at Christmas.

On tonight's Monday Musings, we're gifting you another Child Rearing 101 segment straight from the course list of The Jaded School of Parenting: Don't Spoil Those Babies!



Resident co-host and parent Brother Omi (and hopefully Mrs. Omi!!) will be on hand to outline for you the best way to balance holiday gift-giving with raising appreciative children. Trust us- it's a fine art, especially in today's bigger better faster more era when little kids have cellphones and teenagers are carrying designer bags.

But fret not- we're here for you!

So tune in...you know you want to!

*smooches...doing my part as a member of the village*
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you remember the village, right? The one 80s yuppies tried to burn to the ground?

What It's Like To Live With Vertigo

One day back in 2001, I had the strangest feeling, as if the room were spinning out of control. It made me incredibly nauseous and equally frightened because of course my hypochondriac-ass was thinking BRAIN TUMOR.

After a few bouts of “spinny-room” I went to see my doctor. YES, back then I had a physician whom I saw regularly. A wonderful German woman, who pulled no punches, wrote no prescriptions unless I needed it desperately and had me in and out of that office in a reasonable amount of time. I miss her. And during that very weird exam where she made me lay down and then moved my head up and down and around super quickly to see if it made me sick, she determined it was vertigo and sent me to see an otolaryngologist (ENT) for a second opinion.

The ENT examined my ears and throat (I was also complaining of some weird white spots in the back of my throat that I thought to be throat cancer; it was just calcium deposits built up in the pockets of my tonsils) and also concluded it was vertigo (benign positional vertigo to be exact), and gave me some medicine for motion sickness (that, by the way, doesn't work because it makes you drowsy and useless).

That first year I was diagnosed it was seriously a problem for me. At first I cracked jokes and all (there's a film about my disease!) but picture it: Riverdale, 2001…

It’s a weekday and you begin to come out of your sleep coma and you feel like someone is moving your bed around. It almost feels like your whole world has been placed on top of a Sit ‘n Spin that you can't control. Once the room stops moving, you take a deep breath and attempt to get up, but even the slightest movement of any part of your body, especially turning yourself slightly to the side, activates the Sit 'n Spin happening in your head.

You get queasy. You don't want to throw up but you know it's near, and all you can think is, "I'm going to puke on myself because I will never be able to make it to the toilet with the room spinning like this!" It goes on nonstop anywhere from 5-30 minutes to hours, and all you can do is lie there and take it like a bitch.

Because that's exactly what I've become- my inner ear's bitch.

I was told there was no cure for this because, well, what is there a cure for these days? Like Chris Rock said- there's no money in a cure; the money's in the comeback! But HA! I fooled them! I REFUSE to take the drug and taught my body to just relax, sit still and sleep it away. And when that stops working, I will try one of these new-agey exercises I found online.

Take THAT pharmaceutical companies!!

*smooches...admitting to a tiny flaw*
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and not to be crass, but this damn vertigo also keeps me from roller coaster rides and certain jungalistic activities that I used to enjoy... ol' cock-blockin' vertigo... *sigh*

Sarcasm 101 Graduate

My response to K, who wondered how Grayson (Josh Hopkins from "Cougar Town") is able to achieve a half-smile in a particular scene...

ME: You just have to learn how to isolate the muscles in your face.

K: And where would I learn that- Isolate the Muscles in Your Face class?

*smooches...ever so proud of her sassy comeback*
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she's a keeper, definitely; won't have to leave her in front of the firehouse at all LOL

Miss New Booty

Ever since about the late 90s, I’ve been lamenting about how not-cute my butt looked- naked or in jeans. I don’t have that supposed, typical hour-glass figure for which my people are known. Even at my thinnest, the only curves I possessed were up top.

Recently, however, I’ve noticed a strange phenomenon happening in my booty region- a roundness never before seen on this body; enough to make me try on tight jeans JUST to look at my reflection in the mirror.



I should be ecstatic, right? I got my wish, right? WRONG again, Col. Sanders. See, this new gluteus maximus brought with it an equally sizable abdominal ginormous.

My idea of having a “fit” body is simple: my thighs shouldn’t meet in the middle and my breasts should be more pronounced than my stomach. At a whopping 192.6 pounds, my thighs have become kissing cousins and, well, let’s just say it’s a photo finish as to whom is winning the race between Señor Belly and Las Tetas. Pure sadness.

How I let myself get this way is besides the point because it’s not like it is New Math or anything: I don’t exercise + I eat a lot of junk = Fatty McFat-Ass Penzo. The End.

But you know it's bad when my ponk-ass landlord calls me fat. YES. HE. DID. Child, if it's noticeable, something needs to be done post haste. And well, in the meantime I will just stare at my booty in the mirror before it leaves me once again

Don't be surprised if, when you see me out, I'm only eating carrots, celery and lettuce *stank face*

*smooches...contemplating a Minaj-like surgical procedure
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shooo, my aunt got one in DR; why can't I?!?!

Cougar Status Not Wanted. Gracias.

I was having a conversation with a friend last month about the frequency with which she’s hit on by younger men. I, too, have been on the receiving end of that sort of attention. While it’s fun and cute and flattering, I already know going into any situation with a younger man that it’s only temporary and therefore I don’t take it seriously. And maybe that’s the wrong attitude to have but that’s where my head is right now.

See, these young bucks only see Raquel or Jaded as a stand-alone entity when in fact she’s a multi-faceted package that includes kids and a close-knit network of family and friends that nine times out of ten will come before any man. And the mood swings, LAWD JESUS you have no idea about what it takes to stay in my good graces. It's work. LOTS OF WORK. Your age might just work against you when Jaded McMooderton is around.

When younger men approach me with their little invites to go out, all I’m thinking is “I’d never want you around my kids or my mother.” Chances are that’s what they’re hoping, too, but to me it’s just not worth it. If we’re not building towards something permanent what’s the point of all the countless movies and dinners and sex sessions? The idea of dating and fucking for dating and fucking’s sake just stopped looking cute to me. It occurred to me that perhaps it was never cute and how stupid and foolish and slutty I must have appeared to have jumped from dude to dude as if they were disposable underwear.

Sure, one could argue that there is a twenty-something man out there that is wise beyond his years, doesn’t live at home, can be a head-of-household and the in-house father figure to my impressionable daughters (not to be confused with an ACTUAL father, which they already have, thank you very much; so don’t come up in here thinking you’re the boss of them n shit...I digress). And if that is your argument, please, let me show you this nice selection of bridges I have for sale…if you act now I’ll throw in a rainbow unicorn and a trip to the Lost City of Atlantis.

It's become plain to me that I prefer older men. The ones I’ve been dating since I was old enough NOT to date (did I mention that when I was twelve I was “involved” with a much older man? The thought of it makes me cringe now, but back then you couldn’t tell me nothing!). I don’t know where the fuck they are right now, though; probably out dating twenty-something year-old women... but if you find one that isn’t messed up in the head about women and maybe wants one more baby, give him my URL.

I refuse to become this caricature of myself, this 'cougar' so many joke about. I'd like a real man, please. Of the grown-up variety.

*smooches...changing my 'list' everyday*
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I swear the only constant in my 'list' is that I don't know what I want lol