Life Laughs: The Naked Truth about Motherhood, Marriage, and Moving On Read online

  Remember that television series where the wives swapped with other wives and the husbands always wound up crying because they had to do all the chores their wives usually did? It’s kind of the same theory. You can’t just bitch to them about all the things you do; you have to take it away for a bit so they can appreciate your efforts.

  So if you’ve got an old-fashioned husband who still expects you to do everything and work all day, I feel sorry for you. At least make sure there is one night of the week or at least part of a weekend that is YOUR time. If you lose your sense of self and become a slave to household chores you might become a pretty sad wifey, and you can’t be a good wifey or a good mother if you are not taking care of you!

  Bribing for Blow Jobs

  All right, let’s talk about the one thing men love to talk about: their penis, their rod, their purple sword, their giant shaft, and their absolute favorite word for it…their “cock.” That name bothers me, for some reason. My ex-boyfriend would constantly talk about his cock. Personally, I thought it deserved more of a name like “pinky toe” than cock. Oh, come on, you’ve all been with at least one guy where you felt nothing while he was ramming you, like he was digging for oil with his pencil dick. Then he would try to do that circle technique where his hips would circle around and around just to get all sides to touch. GROSS!!!

  I’ve always wondered if I am the only person who thinks penises are somewhat unattractive. Don’t get me wrong, the right one can feel awesome, but the overall look of them is, well…just funny.

  The first time I saw one was when I was thirteen. A boy pushed my hand down there, and I remember thinking EW! It was throbbing and hard and seemed like a monster on a mission. I didn’t know what to do, so I started twirling his pubic hair around with my fingertips.

  He said, “What the f*ck are you doing?”

  I replied, “Giving you a hand job?”

  He pushed my hand away and then broke up with me.

  Years later, after somewhat getting the hand job down to a very amateur technique, I was forced to move on to the blow job. And of course the first time I heard about it, I thought, Do you really blow on it? My one slutty girlfriend in school laughed and said, “No, you just put your mouth on it.”

  Boy, I wish it were that easy!

  Maybe you too have heard about those women who say that they LOVE giving blow jobs. Well, I can tell you this…those girls either are single or they’re porn stars. Once you’re married, LOVING to give blow jobs becomes HAVING to give blow jobs. Can it still be fun? Yeah, of course, but a lot of the time it can feel like a chore. Just like vacuuming!

  When John and I were in the “honeymoon years” of our relationship we used to always make sure we warmed each other up for the big game, if you know what I mean. I’ll take care of your “bat” if you take care of my “dugout.” The sad thing is that most dugouts become neglected as a pregame necessity later on in marriage. Yet us women are STILL giving out blow jobs before the big game without getting any warm-up in return. Why??? Do men think sex is pleasure enough on its own? I personally think NOT. So I finally got smart and decided to stop giving blow jobs until I got something in return. And I don’t mean sexual stimulation—I’m talking about getting shit done around the house and rewarding with a blow job or simply…“Bribing for Blow Jobs.” If you’re sneaky about it, your house could be painted by him and the laundry completely done without him even knowing what’s up. You have to start off with simple tasks, like asking him to hang a picture. Then tell him how much it turns you on to watch him hammer that nail into the wall, and then slowly unzip his pants and start vacuuming!!

  Now I know some of you are probably saying, “I would rather hang the picture myself than have to give a blow job every time he does something.” This is the thing…you stop doing them after each task and only give the reward blow jobs before sex. You carry that task reward into the bedroom and remind him of it. You still have to give them anyway, but now he thinks that if he just helps out around the house a little more his wife will probably give him a little somethin’-somethin’ in return. And the great thing about giving a blow job before sex is that you don’t have to get him to climax. All you’re doing is warming him up for batting practice and then letting him loose. You don’t have to work so “hard” for his reward.

  Mind you, I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but let’s “get real.” Blow jobs can become a chore, so why not make your husband share in the “chores”? If I’m working my ass off to keep the house in order, he’d either better pitch in or find a pinch hitter, because this dugout is closed!

  Happy Anniversary!

  The day I walked down the aisle was truly one of the best moments of my life. If you and I are like most little girls, we begin planning the details at age eight. We’ve decided on a color palette and even which friends have made the bridesmaid cut before we’ve even grown boobs.

  My wedding was spectacular, but looking back at my own pictures I could still breathe fire remembering all the shit that went wrong that day. Because ALL weddings have something that just doesn’t go right. If you’re lucky, it’s Uncle Bob who can’t hold his liquor. If you’re not lucky, it’s hearing the kitchen staff drop all the trays of food as they are about to bring them out.

  I actually got food poisoning the night before my wedding. I ordered a cheeseburger in my hotel room before I went to bed. I had been dieting for so long and I figured the cheeseburger wasn’t going to show up on my thighs overnight, so I thought I would treat myself. I became so sick that my fiancé and my mom had to come to the room and spend the night with me. It was kind of funny, though, because there was only one bed, and my mother, my future husband, and I squeezed into it together that night. I wish I had a picture of that experience, but the visual of it in my head should last a lifetime.

  For most couples, overspending on your wedding is to be expected. I went f*cking crazy overboard on mine. I maxed out cards, took out a loan, and even made a deal with a European magazine to have exclusive pictures. That totally bit me in the ass because the contract said that if any pics got out they wouldn’t have to pay me. So I hired security guards for my wedding to look out for anyone with a camera. I wouldn’t allow one guest to bring a camera along because this magazine was paying for almost half the wedding.

  The next day we found out that a waiter took secret pictures of the wedding. I was devastated. Let me be honest here for a second. I know I’m not a grade-A celeb, so the fact that this happened to little ole me would be flattering on any other day EXCEPT this one. I got the phone call on my honeymoon stating that the magazine would not pay the tab of my wedding and that it was ALL MINE. I hung up the phone, threw up, and sold my house to pay off the wedding. If you saw me do any really cheesy movies during the year of 1999, just know I was paying off my flower bill.

  I was really surprised to see how many bad gifts people give as wedding presents. First of all, I’m from Chicago, and our tradition there is to give cards with money—just like the mobsters in the movies at their wedding. The maid of honor holds a money bag at the end of the greeting line and collects all the cards. I LOVE this tradition. If anyone walked in with a gift you would still, to this day, get a dirty look and then be talked about in the family for a very long time.

  When I married John, who was a native Californian, I had no idea that the tradition on the West Coast was to bring gifts. I was expecting some good cash and all we got from his side of the family were ceramic cats and angels that said God Bless Your Home. I would love for the rest of the country to go back to the money days. Young couples don’t need crystal, they need CASH!! Let’s bring it back, people.

  I also think anniversary gifts are stupid. Don’t get me wrong, any gift can be great, but the anniversary themes like paper and wood are just plain stupid. If you’re gonna send anything, send CASH. Write on the card, Don’t worry about your electric bill this month. Happy anniversary.

  Still, my best recommendation is to cuddle up
on the couch with Taco Bell and look at your wedding photos. I’m telling ya, if you haven’t tried it, sitting around talking about Aunt Fro’s wig can be more fun than anything.

  Until Death Do Us Part

  I was only thirteen when I met Tony, my high school sweetheart. We saw each other for the first time on the city bus coming home from school, and he took my breath away. I remember telling my mom that I loved him, and like all moms do when their daughter is only thirteen, she said, “You’re not in love, you just have a crush. And by the way, you’re not allowed to date him until you’re sixteen.”

  I was devastated. He was my soul mate, and our love couldn’t wait three more years. So I did what any thirteen-year-old would do in this situation: I lied to my mother for the next three years. Every weekend, “Sarah” and I went to the movies, but in all honesty I was in the backseat of a Toyota, making out and dry humping with my first true love. It was the best time in my life. We dated for almost six years and eventually knew we needed to break up to see what life had to offer besides each other. We met at a White Castle, kissed each other good-bye, and never saw each other again. To this day I’m grateful I got to experience true love when it was in its purest form…in my youth. When damage hadn’t been done yet and you’re not fighting over the gas bill.

  Yet how can a simple word like love be so powerful in its meaning and cause such happiness and pain? It requires so much work to keep yourself from getting hurt that you either harden up to make the tough times easier or sadly give all of your mojo away, leaving nothing for yourself. Or you might be one of the lucky ones who manage to keep love the first priority in a relationship.

  I asked a couple who has been married for fifty years how they have managed to stay together so long. They smiled and looked at each other and then started beating each other with their canes. I’m just kidding. I thought that was a funny visual. Anyway, it was pretty profound. The woman said that marriage has so many levels to it. And on each level their marriage would always come to a crossroad. That crossroad was either a major fight or simply being bored of each other. And amazingly, when they were forced to face their own shit (my word, not hers), they knew they either had to work on it or run like hell. This couple didn’t run. They faced each other, battled it out, and won. They got to go to the next level. They said that being able to overcome something together was very empowering.

  So even though there are times you want to run like hell or when you feel stale and bored, remember that opening your heart and refilling it with love just might keep you married long enough to beat each other with canes.

  Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Lawn

  Why do we always want what we can’t have? I think it’s human nature to think that the grass is greener on the other side—especially when it comes to our own bodies or even our jobs. We want what other people have because it simply looks more appealing from our side of the street.

  Living in a community where all the houses look alike can make you more envious than if every house is different because the only thing you can change is your landscaping. My mom lives in one of these communities, and it’s hilarious to witness every time I go home to visit. Each home has baskets of flowers with bird feeders and fake geese or deer on the lawn. It looks like it rained plastic animals all over the neighborhood. The funny thing is that as soon as someone gets something new and unique for their landscaping, everyone quickly follows, no longer making it special. My mom will pull back her curtain and gasp, “Oh, for Pete’s sake, the Kolochowskis bought the gosh-darn life-size flamingo mosquito eater I just put out last week!”

  My mom even has a goose on her front step that has a wardrobe for every season. I’m still trying to find a dominatrix outfit for its Halloween costume. A leather crotchless bustier might look pretty good on a plastic goose in a very Catholic Chicago suburb.

  Besides drooling over your neighbor’s lawn you might find yourself drooling over other wives’ “gifts.” I can’t tell you how many times we’ve gone out and the wife sitting next to me flaunts her new diamonds at me. Personally, I think BIG diamonds are “sorry I cheated on you” rocks, but the fact that she got a gift and all I got was “Look, babe, I put the toilet seat down for you” makes me feel jealous. It’s not that I want diamonds—I just want a little somethin’-somethin’ for my blood and sweat too. Shit, I would be happy with a bagless vacuum as a gift.

  Being somewhat jealous and envious did make me work harder to keep up with the Joneses. There’s always at least one Joneses family on every block. They’re the ones with the perfect basketball net and the best pool, the dad has the best in-home entertainment system, and the wife has no cellulite. All of this could make any neighbor drool with envy and run back to their spouse, saying, “Can we get that too?!”

  I think, in general, girls might covet more then guys, especially when we are looking in gossip mags. I love living vicariously through J-Lo’s new couture outfits or watching the Oscars and picking which dress I would wear and then running to the mall and trying to find the closest knockoff.

  We all covet. I personally think it’s healthy, especially if it’s done to push you forward and make you get shit done, even if it is cementing the seven-foot Jesus statue on your lawn. So when your neighbors start planting their own Jesus statues cuz yours looked so good, simply smile and tell yourself that imitation is the highest form of flattery. Yeah, right…don’t tell that to my mom.

  No, Couches Don’t Belong in the Kitchen!

  Because I don’t know you personally, I have no idea what your taste in house decor is like. But what we can all relate to is how our men think that they are interior designers when it comes to decorating our houses. This is another time in the relationship when if a man just listened and did everything his wife said, they would get along a lot better.

  “No, honey, the stuffed dead owl does NOT look good on top of the toaster oven!!”

  “No, people do NOT want to walk in and see an iguana tank next to the front door.”

  “NO, I don’t care if your grandma’s ashes are inside the ceramic toucan bird painted all colors of the rainbow. It’s NOT going next to our bed!”

  I give men real credit for trying, but if you hold some sort of power, this is where you can and should usually win. If you’re married, think back to when you registered for your wedding gifts. You both walked around with that laser gun, and he clicked on items that looked like garage-sale giveaways or things that you had absolutely no need for. “John, we do NOT need dishes in the shapes of different countries.” He replies with “But you said you wanted some china,” and he holds up a plate in the shape of China.

  Hopefully, by this time, you’ve both come to an agreement with at least a theme. Whether it’s Mediterranean or country or my personal favorite: whatever-the-hell-was-the-cheapest-thing-we-could-find theme or my other favorite: it’s all my college stuff. It’s up to us girls to make our home LOOK like a home. If the guys want to hang up their fluorescent beer-light fixtures, do it in the basement. Give them at least one room to f*ck up. If you don’t have a basement, give him the garage. Garages are a great place for your husband. It’s not a place your girlfriends are ever interested in checking out, so have him hang his dead animal up in there.

  Furniture placement was another sticky area in our household. John really wanted to be part of the placement. His ideas were just bizarre. Sometimes you can look at a room and simply see where everything should go. Long wall usually means sofa wall and short wall means TV wall. Oh, no, not in this house. The short wall didn’t have enough room to hold our couch, yet John insisted that it made it look cooler even though it took up twice the room. And the rug shouldn’t go in the middle of the room—it should go against the wall. Then we fought about lighting. He wanted to put colored lightbulbs in. Can you believe it? Someone could have come over and said, “Jenny, why are you feeling so blue today?”

  “I’m not blue, silly, it’s our F*CKING BLUE LIGHTBULBS!”

 
It finally got to the point where I started flashing him so I could have the couch in a certain spot. You should have seen what I had to do to put the TV where I wanted.

  So if you’re in a pickle when it comes to your man and house decor decisions, you can either battle it out or show a little nipple. Personally, it’s a lot easier to get naked.

  You Don’t Bring Me Flowers…Anymore

  Do you ever go to the bookstore and see the romance novels—you know, the ones that used to have Fabio on the cover? I used to think, Who the hell buys these? I asked my publisher and she said A LOT of women. Why do you think there are so many of them? So for a second there I thought maybe I should write one of those next. If women are in such need of romance, maybe I can contribute something in that part of the writing world. Here is a sneak peek at what I would write….

  Michael bursts through the door looking sexy as f*ck.

  “Samantha!”

  He walked toward me and threw me to the ground.

  “Ow, my head.”

  “Sorry,” he replied.

  I didn’t care that my head was bleeding. My heart ached to be touched by this soul.