Perpetually Peeved


Well, You Don’t See THAT Every Day…

Our first Halloween together, Mr. Peeved and I dressed up as Elvis and a showgirl. 

Yes, I made both costumes and I vowed never to iron a tiny metal dot onto polyester again.

The costumes were a hit and Elvis lives on to this day in the form of an employee who has “borrowed” it and keeps finding occasions in which he needs to wear it in to work.  I digress.  Later that same year, it came time for Mr. Peeved’s place of employment’s annual employee appreciation party.  Each year, these parties have a theme and everyone goes all out.  Apparently, that particular year, our Halloween costumes inspired a Casino Night theme.  Everyone kept telling us we had to wear our costumes again.  And, we did.

*****

(driving in the car in comfortable silence… until…)

Peeved:  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA….

Mr. Peeved:  No way.

Peeved:  You don’t even know what I’m laughing about.

Mr. Peeved:  Of course I do.  No way.

Peeved:  Okay.  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  Please?

Mr. Peeved:  No.  Forget it.

Peeved:  Okay, but it would have been damn funny.

*****

(later that week, shopping in the maternity section of Target for an XL black tank top)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Mother of a Toddler: Honey, stay over here by mommy, sweetie.

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

*****

(putting mascara and lipstick on Mr. Peeved at the hotel room)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(putting a long blonde wig on Mr. Peeved at the hotel room)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(putting bobby pins with disco beads and feathers glued on them onto Mr. Peeved mandals at the hotel room)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(putting feather butt boa skirt on Mr. Peeved at the hotel room)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(walking out into the hotel corridor dressed as Elvis and holding Mr. Peeved’s hand)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

Male half of little old Jewish couple walking towards us: (turning to wife) Well, you don’t see that every day!

Little old Jewish wife: Hmmpf.

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(walking through the lobby of the hotel with Mr. Peeved sashaying around his feather frocked butt)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

One of the two big meatheads at the check-in counter:  (while simultaneously smacking his counterpart on the shoulder to get his attention)  Ah, Shiiiii…..

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

Mr. Peeved:  Hi, Sugar!

Seriously, this guy will wear the costume anywhere.

The point of this story, you ask?  Well, today I encountered more than a few things that were borderline bizarre.  However, like the old Jewish couple and the meatheads, I didn’t have a camera handy to snap a shot.  So, in no particular order, here are the weirdo things I saw on my way home today:

  • A bischon frise wearing sunglasses.  Not shades that a vet would give you if you had eye issues, but full-on, designer-looking sunglasses.  His owner had a matching pair.
  • A Christmas tree lot.
  • A man brushing his teeth while driving his car.
  • A sign at the adult “toy” store advertising a “BLOW-OUT” sale on videos.
  • A man playing air drums… while riding a bike… without headphones in.
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The Upside to Teenage Vampire Offspring

Biggie and I volunteered at the PTA pumpkin sale on Sunday.  To attract customers to the sale, she dressed up as a vampire and danced around the roadside with a sign.

Biggie:  So, wouldn’t it be cool to have a vampire as your kid?

Peeved:  No.

Biggie:  Why not?

Peeved:  Because then you could torture me for eternity.

Biggie:  No.  I could only torture you for the rest of your life.  You’d still be mortal.

*****

The other upsides to having teenage vampire offspring?

  • You wouldn’t have to worry about them getting hurt.
  • You wouldn’t have to pester them to make their bed (they don’t even need beds).
  • You wouldn’t have to feed them (and if you did, they could order the kid’s meal for eternity).
  • You wouldn’t have to worry about them getting sunburned.
  • You wouldn’t have to drive them everywhere (they could just run everywhere real fast).
  • They don’t stand in front of the mirror for hours looking at themselves and dancing (ha – they have no reflections).
  • You wouldn’t have to pay for orthodontia – so what if that canine sticks up a little bit?
  • They can’t have pets.
  • You wouldn’t have to worry about them getting pregnant. (My husband’s personal favorite.)
  • The threat level of a wooden spoon would suddenly skyrocket.

Come to think of it, Biggie would rather be a zombie...



Adventures in Netherworld…

Just outside the city where I live, there is a complex of massive warehouses that get converted into haunted wonderlands each Halloween.  Zombies, goblins and strange ladies covered with doll heads roam the grounds.  Spooky music blasts from the speakers above and the screaming from inside drowns out the noise of the adjacent interstate.  People pay money to stand in line for over an hour and slowly walk through blackened tunnels that house myriad creatures waiting to jump out and force their hearts into overdrive.  Tonight, I will be one of those people.

This is one of the actual guys there... (photo courtesy of fearworld.com)

The first and last time Mr. Peeved and I went to this haunted house, I thought I was going to die.  It went something like this:

Mr. Peeved: Are you going to be okay?

Peeved: Yes.  No.  Ack!  Does that lady have doll heads on her?

Mr. Peeved: It’s all fake, you know that, right?

Peeved: Why is she coming over here?  Make her not come over here!

Mr. Peeved: You can’t even handle waiting in line and you want to go in there?

Peeved: Aaah… aaah… she’s coming closer.

Mr. Peeved: They can see who’s scared and they’ll pick on you.  Pretend it doesn’t bother you.

Peeved: Okay.  No.  That’s not working.  Hold me.

Mr. Peeved: [eyeroll] You are ridiculous.  Get over here.

*****

Peeved: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! (I scream better than Janet Leigh on her best day)

Mr. Peeved: I. Can’t. Breathe.

Peeved: Sorry, but it was a clow…..AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Mr. Peeved: If you’re just going to close your eyes and bury your head in my back, why did we pay to get in here?

Peeved: Because it’s fun, it’s totally sca…  AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!  Oh my God, OH MY GOD, I’m going to die!

Mr. Peeved: You are not going to die.  It’s fake, remember.

Peeved: No, I’m going to have a heart attack and die.

Mr. Peeved: Well, that would make for a great date.

Peeved: Okay, maybe I’m exaggera… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

*****

Mr. Peeved: Can you stop stepping on the back of my heels?

Peeved: Sur……..  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Mr. Peeved: Okay, it’s almost over.  I have to tell you something.  Are you listening?

Peeved: Ye…..AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Mr. Peeved: Okay, when we walk out the back door, you’re going to think it’s over.  It’s not.  There’s going to be a guy that runs after you with a chainsaw.  There is no blade in the chainsaw.  Don’t freak out.  It’s fake.  Okay?

Peeved: Oka….AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Mr. Peeved: Okay?

Peeved: Okay.

Mr. Peeved: It’s fake.  Now, come on, let’s go.

Peeved: Okay.  Man that was fun!  Let’s do it again next yea… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Holy crap!  He has a chainsa…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

*****

Don’t worry. If I die from fright, Mr. Peeved has already picked out my tombstone:

Here lies a guy named STAN… got too close to the ceiling fan.

Here lies an atheist named MOE… all dressed up with nowhere to go.

Here lies a guy named DRAKE… choked to death on a soggy cornflake.

Here lies a girl named SUE… she was killed by the guy that is standing behind you.

Here lies a girl named EMILY… she never shut up.



Come as you’re not

Halloween is one of my favorite times of year.  I love getting dressed up.  This year, for whatever reason, I wasn’t feeling very inspired.  Maybe it’s that I’m busy sewing nine costumes (I can’t say no), or that I recently dyed my hair dark brown (I usually go as a famous red-head).  Yesterday, my luck turned.  I was invited to a “Come as You’re Not” party.  Now, from what I’ve heard this is a popular theme for sorority parties, but it was the first I’d ever heard of it.  Maybe because the thought of wearing pearls and various accessories adorned with greek letters makes me cringe.  I digress. 

Now my problem is, I’m over-inspired.  Here are the myriad ideas I’ve come up with – help me pick one?  Or, suggest your own?

I am not a mindreader. (scrapetv.com)

I am not an optimist. (nittanybeaglerescue.org)

I am not one to hold my tongue. (scrapetv.com)

I am not a doormat. (But, if I was, I'd be this one.) (roadsidescholar.com)

I am not your maid. (halloweencostume.com)

I am not 'cho cheese. (costumesbycameron.com)

I am NSFW. (designboom.com)

I would not be caught dead wearing a pink velour tracksuit. (chicthreadz.com and myspace.com)

I am not on par. (spectrum2105.com)

I am not sweet. (halloweencos.com)

I am not afraid. (flickr: elrina753)

I am not balanced (a/k/a unbalanced). (costumezone.com)

I am not special. (I can't even believe you thought I was going to make fun of the mentally handicapped - what is wrong with you?) (nydailynews.com)

I am not NOT funny. (Or, maybe after that last one you think I am?) (imeanwhat.com)

So, what’s your vote or suggestion?



Peeve podge…

The last few days have wrought plenty by way of inspiration, but not much in the area of motivation.

I finished Smalls’ Halloween costume.  Sewing is tied for third on the list of things that make me happy (food and bad reality TV being numbers 1 and 2, and the tie for third being shoe shopping).  It’s mathematical, but creative at the same time, and at the end of the day you have something to look at and say, “I made that.”

That is one scary cheetah.  Besides the fact that the pattern was made for Umpa Loompa and I had to take it in about 2 inches all around, it came out relatively good. It didn’t hurt that I just got a new sewing machine.  An awesome new sewing machine.  A sewing machine that makes me wonder what the heck I was doing wasting my time on that dinky little one I had before.  Ignorance is bliss, indeed.  Now, I just have a poodle skirt to finish up, a Lady GaGa (we finally found one appropriate enough for Biggie to wear), a Sonic the Hedgehog sidekick, a kitty cat, a zombie cheerleader and either a tiger or a hot dog (she just has to make up her mind – I’m voting for hot dog!).  Wish me luck, I will need it.

*****

Friday night,  I spent the entire evening cleaning my house.  Saturday morning, I spent the entire morning re-cleaning my house.  Sigh.

*****
Saturday I decided to host a dinner party at my house.  It was a potluck, but I was making the appetizers and the main dish.  And by “I” I mean me.  Mr. Peeved was working.  Don’t ask me what I was thinking, I won’t have an answer for you and I’ll just change the subject real fast.  I figured if the Irish in me can let me get away with drinking whiskey and not getting a hangover, then the Italian in me should let me make an edible dinner.  The kids and I went shopping at the farmers market.  I remembered their jackets and everything.  I remembered all the things on my list.  I whipped together an Italian Nachos sauce, a caprese salad and a tray of baked ziti all with an hour to spare.

Full cream, asiago cheese sauce with onions, peppers, Italian sausage and olives that you dredge over nachos and top with banana peppers. Mangia!

Are you impressed?  Yeah, I was too.  I was so proud of myself.  Whistling away, cleaning up.  What?  What does that empty cheese container say?  Shredded asiago?  Who the heck sells shredded asiago and, puts it right next to the shredded mozzarella?  Dagnabit!  Back to the store for baked ziti redux.

*****

Sunday, Biggie had her first gig as a babysitter/mother’s helper for my friend (let’s call her Brave Soul, shall we?). Biggie would like me to make a public announcement on her behalf, it goes something like this:  I AM SO COOL.  Anywho, she took the assignment very seriously, packing a “do bag” and getting pointers from her more seasoned friend.

Biggie:  Don’t worry Brave Soul, I am so prepared.  I have coloring books and a tea set and a lot of fun activities that I can do with Little Brave Soul.  And, my friend, she, like, babysits all the time, and she told me all the tricks of the trade.

Brave Soul:  That’s great.  Little Brave Soul will love that.  What did your friend teach you?

Biggie:  Well, she said you just have to play whatever they want to play and make believe it is the most fun in the whole wide world even when it’s the most stupid and boring thing ever.

Brave Soul:  Yep, that’s pretty much all there is to it.

There is a rule in my car that is violated at least twice a day.  The rule is nobody is allowed to touch the radio until we are out of the driveway and even then, they are to ask first.  Biggie can’t grasp the concept.  Yesterday afternoon, we get into the car and she whips this CD out of her bag.

Biggie:  Mom, can I play this? [waving it in front of me]

Peeved:  What is it?

Biggie:  It’s my babysitting mix.  It’s all my favorite songs.  You know, for when I’m babysitting.

Peeved:  Biggie – it’s spelled wrong.

Biggie:  No it’s not, ma.  Gosh, that’s like, slang.  No one puts the G on the end of ing words anymore.  Can I put it in?

Peeved:  Sure, I want to hear this.

[Biggie inserts CD, turns up volume and it starts playing]

Biggie: Oh.  [hits disc skip to track 4]

Peeved:  What are you doing?  Just let it play.

Biggie:  Oh, I can’t.  Tracks 1, 2 and 3 aren’t appropriate for Smalls to hear.

Peeved:  What?  I thought this was a babysitting mix.

Biggie:  It is.  It’s just music I like.

Peeved:  But, the first three tracks are inappropriate for your little sister?  Why?  What are they?

Biggie:  It’s mostly Lady Ga Ga.  The first one is the one with the Christmas tree and the second one is the one with the disco stick.

Peeved:  I don’t think either of those are appropriate for you.  What are you doing downloading these?  And, what’s wrong about a Christmas tree.

Biggie:  You know, when she says “light me up, put me on top, let’s fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la”.

Peeved:  Give me that thing.  Right. Now.

Biggie:  Guess I’m not allowed to listen to it anymore…

You think?  It’s bad enough Katie Perry is melting Elmo’s popsicle.  Now I have to worry about the sanctity of yuletide carols.

photo from msn.nz

*****

This morning, I couldn’t find my soapbox.  Which, is a shame, because apparently people have completely forgotten the art of manners.  Simple things, like hold the door open for the person behind you.  And, say thank  you when someone holds the door open for you.  And, if you see me running (or hear my heels clicking) towards the elevator, don’t pretend you can’t find the door open button.  Jackknives.

*****

I will be appearing on Animal Planet's "After the Attack" next month.

Smalls:  Mommy, thank you for my cheetah costume.

Peeved:  You’re welcome, honey.  I’m glad you like it.

Smalls:  When are you going to make your costume, mommy?

Peeved:  Well, Smalls, I don’t know what I want to be for Halloween yet.

Smalls:  But, you need to make a gazelle costume.

Peeved:  I do?

Smalls:  Yeah.  What am I going to eat if I don’t have a gazelle?



You’ll get back everything you ever did to me… Why crazy is hereditary

If you really want to tick me off, there are two things you can say to me: 1) you’re crazy and 2) you’re just like your mother.  Which, come to think of it, go hand in hand.  If you say either of these things to me, my eyes cross, steam comes out my ears,  and one of the voices I hear in my head sometimes starts chanting, “You want crazy, I’ll show you crazy.”

My sister and I often ponder whether or not our mother has always been crazy or if the circumstances of life (okay, us) made her that way.  The older I get — and *cringe* the more I find myself turning into my mother — the more I think maybe it was us.  See evidence:

Exhibit A:  Talking to yourself

My mother once talked for 23 minutes straight without one word of encouragement or acknowledgment.  This is my worst fear.  But, I find myself doing it sometimes.  I’m convinced, convinced that it is because my children NEVER listen to me.  Most of what I say is in one ear and out the other.  Moms talk to themselves because they are the only ones who listen.

Exhibit B: Freaking out over small things

My mother used to completely lose her shit if you used the last of the toilet paper and didn’t replace the roll.  I mean, mommy dearest level freak-out.  My sister and I used to think this was so funny.  “God, mom, like, it’s only toilet paper.”  These days, my sister has the cabinet in each of her bathrooms stacked with enough toilet paper for a week long visit from the Duggar family.

Exhibit C: Making up stories and believing them

My mother used to tell us things that were – well, just wrong.  She didn’t want us to run through the sheets that were hanging up outside, so she told us that there were earwigs in them.  EARWIGS!  And, that if we ran through the sheets, the earwigs would crawl into our ears and eat our brains.  She told us this people!  She also told me that if I kept cleaning my room by stuffing things under my bed that a monster egg would grow there and hatch.  WTF? Worse than this, she would make up stories and start to actually believe they were true.

This is an earwig... Ech! I've got the heebs just looking at it.

Guess what?  The parental arsenal has three key weapons: threats, lies and bribery.  Sometimes, you have to combine these weapons to make a superweapon: threats & lies = stories designed to scare those brats straight.  It’s a powerhouse of a tool, but requires perseverance.  The kids don’t listen, so you have to repeat the story-lie often and consistently.  So often and so consistently, that you start to believe it.  Dammit.

Closing Argument: Talking to random strangers in the supermarket check out line

When the going got tough, my mother’s last resort was to turn to ruthless revenge fantasies.  She would just look at us and say, “Some day, you’ll get back every thing you did to me.”  And, dammit, if mom isn’t always right.  Much like some other children I know, my sister and I used to dance, sing and annoy the shit out of my mother in the supermarket.  Much to our chagrin, when we went to check out she would find the nearest person in line to be her new BFF and talk his/her ear off.  Looking back now, I see it was just a way to distract herself so she didn’t beat us in public.

Counter Argument: A picture is worth a thousand words

On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t us…

Halloween 1979

Halloween 1979, I was 2 1/2 and my sister was almost 4.  My mother dressed us up as…  ?? …  an inflatable, yellow, cross-eyed, witch cat…  and an inflatable, orange and green, buck-toothed pumpkin.  I think there is some facepaint involved here too and that the jack-o-lantern was placed in my lap to keep me from floating away.

When asked, “Mom, why the hell did you dress us up in these trashbags designed by an LCD addict?” my mother will reply, “Oh, you begged me for these costumes.”  I was 2 1/2 – I don’t even think I could say “cross-eyed.”  One way ticket on the crazy train, please.

Either way, you don’t want to hit this beehive with a bat.  Just refrain from referring to me as the “c” word or “just like your mother” and no one gets hurt.




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