Week in Review: Sweet Sixteen, TV, Lululemon and Robin Ick

Thanks to my uber-fan, Kirsten, for posting a sweet request on my personal facebook wall: 

"wishing for a new post on HH (smiley face)"

Firstly, did you know that's what all the cool kids call my blog? Short and sweet..HH. Now you know. Secondly, I have been absent for over a week! I'm sorry. I've been swamped with things: jealousy, mostly, but I've also been working many many hours. Yes, there is preschool in the summer and luckily they still need subs. Want to know what summer preschool entails? Sunscreen. Lots of sunscreen. And innocent little preschool farts. 

They fart a lot. But you have to love 5 year olds and their farting etiquette. THEY HAVE NONE. It's fart as you please, folks, and although I will admit to laughing about it at first, it works for them. I can't help but wonder what the world would be like if we all carried on like preschoolers. Sitting at dinner with friends, and in the midst of conversation one of you breaks wind. Loudly. And nobody bats an eye! Of course, gas produced by a person who eats nothing but Goldfish crackers and string cheese is a lot less offensive than that which is produced by a person who indulges in coffee, eggs, Brussels sprouts and craft beer. But still. There'd be no need for Beano or GasX. No more women looking 6 months pregnant because they are holding in the mother of all farts. No more passing up on the roasted cauliflower because you have a date later that night (what, is that last one just me?). What a relaxed, albeit stinky, world this would be.

Jealous, you ask? What have I been jealous about? Pretty much everything. Normally, I am not prone to jealousy. Normally, I'm a live and let live kind of gal. But lately, I have found myself in the grip of the green eyed monster. And I'm envious of EVERYTHING. Maybe it's a new symptom of peri-menopause (along with periods that last 4 days, go away completely and then COME BACK out of nowhere a couple of days later. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT??). I think it stems from my sadness about not going to the BlogHer conference, and trying to be all Zen and accepting of it. But I think me trying to squelch that disappointment was like trying to get rid of a muffin top with a Spanx camisole- you can squish it down but sister, it's going to come out somewhere (with the Spanx I have found that the muffin top ends up saying "Hello world!" on the backside of my armpits, also affectionately known as Back Boobs). 

So I've been writhing with internal envy over everything from people who drive nicer cars than me (85% of the population, including most of my kid's friends), bloggers who have massive followings, anyone who hasn't gained 12 pounds this summer, people with hair that doesn't resemble gray and orange cotton candy, anyone younger than me, women who can still make babies...you name it, I've envied it over the past couple of weeks. I've been treating this the way I'd treat envy in my kids: reminding myself to count blessings, putting things into perspective (oh you don't like your hair? Let's talk to someone undergoing chemo. I bet they'd feel real sorry for you, Bozo), and trying desperately to figure out ways to flip my half empty glass over so it's half full again. 

Luckily my blessings are blissfully easy to count since there are so damn many of them. One of them, of course, is my son Henry. He turned 16 this week and we celebrated by going out for dinner at Benihana. No, I shouldn't have spent that kind of money, and yes, we'll be eating light for the next two weeks but my boy wanted Benihana on his 16th birthday so he got it. Sometimes I get sick of saying no, ya hear?  Here's a picture of us (Molly had to work so maybe someone can photoshop her in for me?). Please disregard the sheen of hibachi grease on our faces and PLEASE tell me you like it...I paid $140 to get this picture and guess what? WORTH EVERY CENT. 

Gahhh! I love my kids so much. And yes, Henry's t-shirt says "This Guy Rocks". Truth. 

And no, he's not getting his driver's license yet. None of my kids drive. I know it's weird. It's sad for me, I can't imagine how it feels for my children. To my face, they say it's no big deal. Molly has said, "It's not as important to us as you think it is, mom." Bottom line is, I can't afford it. The lessons alone cost around $400, which I could probably manage but the real deal breaker is the insurance. Mine alone is almost $100 a month (one thing they don't tell you in Bankruptcy 101: your auto insurance will probably go up...just because). Each kid added would most likely be at least an added $150 a month. TIMES THREE. I just can't do it. Plus, let's not even begin discussing what it would be like sharing a single car with three teenagers. 

The kids who can work, are working. And are saving. Most of their savings money is being held for college expenses, which I of course am on board with. If they decide to spend some of their earnings on licenses and cars and insurance, I'll support them. I'm proud as hell of my kids and their ability to rise above adversity and just freaking go on with life. I've said it before, but what we've gone through as a family has been character building. We now have more character than a DisneyWorld parade. NO MORE CHARACTER, PLEASE and THANK YOU.

The only thing that chaps my hide is the fact that their father is seemingly oblivious to the fact that he has three kids who, in the big scheme of things, should be driving. He makes jokes about it, which is puzzling and kind of sadistic. For Charlie's graduation, he gave him a card with a picture of a car on the front and the words, "Congratulations! For your graduation I'm giving you a car!" or something like that. And on the inside was something clever like, "But I'm not!" (okay it was probably worded differently but I've aged almost a year since that happened. Give me a break.). 

With Henry, the lovely stepmom joined in on the mirth. "What do you want for your birthday, Henry?" she asked him. "Your driver's license?" The punchline for this one was her and Big Daddy breaking into fits of laughter. Henry said, and I remember this one verbatim: "I'm glad they got a laugh out of it." Is it that Big Daddy is so mired in pregnancies and toddlerhood and just being an all-around swell guy that he's forgotten about his older kids and the rites of passage they should be experiencing? Or is it that he just doesn't care? Either way, it sucks for my kids. 

Anyhoo. On to other things. Fall television shows are being advertised now, and did my eyes deceive me or did I see that my petulant preppy 80's boyfriend James Spader has a new show on NBC? He does! Playing a criminal mastermind (ala Hannibal Lecter, kind of) with some Angelina Jolie looking chick as his Clarice. Can't wait. James is all stocky and chubby now but he's still got it. We have that in common.

In the meantime, I've been catching up on shows. Last weekend I spent most of a day watching Season 5 of Nurse Jackie. The whole season. In one day. Let me just say this: her husband, Kevin, was SUCH A DICK this season. But here's the weird thing..he's HOT when he's being a dick. The bigger dick he is, the more attractive he becomes. I guess I have a thing for dicks. Actually, if someone put a gun to my head and said, "Jenny, you have to sleep with every character on this show" I'd do it. Coop, Jackie, Thor, Zoey, Eddie, Kevin (duh) and yep even Akalitus. I'd happily do 'em all. 

Who's first?

My BFF Danielle and I had watched the other seasons together, so I'm feeling that cheater's guilt. Please forgive me Danielle. I've been receiving Showtime and HBO free of charge for several months now (thanks to a sweet Comcast guy who thought I was funny) but the free ride ends next month so I'm drinking it all in before it's over. Next up is Ray Donovan. Sexy Liev Schreiber. Did you know he's 6'4"? Swoon. 

Is that a baseball bat or is Liev holding one of my tampons?

Okay what's next. Lululemon! Apparently they have come clean and said that no, they will never carry bigger sizes. Right now they stop at 12 (I think?).  Boo hoo. Ladies, if you wear size 12 and up, my advice is to get your sweet ample cheeks to JC Penney's. They have a really great selection of workout stuff and IT DOESN'T COST $100 FOR A FREAKING PAIR OF YOGA PANTS. If you want my opinion, I think Lululemon has every right to make whatever sizes they want. And they can charge whatever they want. Sadly, there are women who will pay for the status of having that little logo on their bodies. Yes, you can tell me that the quality is all amazing and the styles are to die for, but the reality is, you are paying for the name. Hey...I'm not judging you. Not one bit. If you have the money to spend, go for it. I've seen plenty of women who are above and beyond a size 12 crammed into Lululemon apparel so I guess there's some wiggle room there. I will also add that I've seen 12 year old girls at my school wearing it. Like, the reed-thin 12 year olds. I'll admit to exuding a tiny bit of judgment there. I mean, if it's mommy's hand-me-down jacket, that she bought and then decided it made her arms look fat so she gave it to her 6th grader, fine. But if you're buying a $120 yoga jacket for a girl who doesn't need a bra yet? That seems...a wee bit superfluous to me. But again...it's your money, your choice. And P.S. I also think it's kind of a double standard that Lululemon carries Men's size XXL. So I guess it's okay for men to be supersized, but for the ladies it's just gross. 

I have a pair of Lululemon pants I found at the thrift store for $3.00, in a size Large (I think). They fit me when I'm a size 14/16. And while I do like them, I can't say that they are any better than the C9 (Champion) yoga pants I get at Target. In fact, I like my Target pants better because they aren't lowriders, which I appreciate because most of my day is spent bent over and believe me, ain't nobody excited about seeing my faded black undergarments or my shocking white porpoise-like lower back. 

I'm going to go ahead and design my own workout apparel for us big girls and call it MuuMuuMelon. You read it here first. 

And to wrap things up, Robin Thicke. Ewww. The song is, of course, "Blurred Lines" and dammit if I don't find myself jiving along to it when I hear it every 5 minutes on the radio. But something about him makes my skin crawl. I call him Robin Ick much to the annoyance of my children. His dad Alan was on Growing Pains and he made my adolescent skin crawl back then, too. Let's hope his 10 minutes is almost up. And since I am link happy today, I'll close with Robin Ick and Jimmy Fallon and The Roots doing a version of Blurred Lines that I like infinitely better than the original. Mostly because you can't hear much of Robin Ick's voice. And Jimmy is cute. And the guy playing the xylophone cracks me up. But really, "Good Girl"? What, are we puppies? Ick, please.

And this is where I leave you. A pan of roasted cauliflower is calling my name. 

MuuMuuMelon. Remember that one.