Why She Prefers Her Fantasy Life Part I

She being me.

I come home from book club a bit tipsy, which is the point of book club as far as I’m concerned. Who has time to read books?

I’m looking forward to plopping down on the sofa, putting my feet up, and with the kids in bed, being in control of the remote.

What fantasy world am I living in?

One look in the family room is the reason I encourage the kids to play Halo.

It’s a tent city in there with blankets draped on chairs, cushions off the sofa. Shoes, super balls, Legos, plastic food, a stuffed Picaku and one athletic sock are strewn about the floor. Teetering on the arm of the sofa is a glass of water with Play Doh stuffed in it.

And in the midst of it all my eBayer, in a Big Boy t-shirt (yes Big Boy, the midget with the fat head) is sitting in the recliner reading an economic journal.

So what does a Harried with Children Woman do?

What else? She picks up.

I scoop up the Legos; I sort the play food by starches and protein.

In my most even tone I say to eBayer, “Did a f-ing tornado hit this room?”

"Can’t you just relax," he says calmly. "Sit down."

I glance at the sofa cushions on the floor. A purple Tootsie Pop is stuck to one. A red Tootsie Pop is stuck to another.

There is no place to sit down.

I give eBayer the Evil Eye. But he never looks up his journal. My mind scans the possibilities of things to do with the journal, but the one I favor seems physically impossible.

And just as I’m ready for my most excellent even-toned comeback I notice it’s not an economics journal at all. It’s a movie script.

And eBayer isn’t wearing Big Boy after all. It’s a Clash t-shirt.

And eBayer isn’t eBayer. He’s John Cusack.

And then John beckons for my help with the script. Me—the most excellent script writer ever.

I join John in the recliner, which is really a double recliner, which is really a double recliner with beer in the drink holders on a deck overlooking the beach in Malibu.

We read and revise until our eyes are sore. Then we close them and do other things.

Oh yeah, here’s what I’m wearing:



Yes, only these. That’s all. Cause John is not only a fan of The Clash and the Cubs, he's a fan of Salvador Dali, too.





I want to thank Jen at the Daily Mish Mash for tagging me for this meme. I usually keep my fantasies to myself.

Vote for this post at Humor-Blogs and check out other fantastical stuff.

Questions My Exchange Student Might Ask (if he could speak English)

Q Do all American kids eat dinner in front of the TV?

A Only kids whose moms blog.

Q Why is the silverware always in the caddy on the sink board and not in the drawer?

A I’m German, and it’s efficient.

Q I’ve been wearing my sneakers without socks lately. Does it really take three days to do the laundry?

A Dude, they’re in the dryer?

Q Why do you use your bare hand to sweep the ants from the kitchen counter onto the floor instead of a serviette?

A It’s called a napkin.

Q …instead of a napkin. Wait…isn’t that what women use for…

A No. That’s sanitary napkin.

Q You mean there are napkins that are unsanitary?

A Yes. I mean, No. What was your question?

Q The ants, with your bare hand?

A E-ffic-ient.

Q But why do you yell “DIE, ANT, DIE” when you do it?

A Dude, you weren’t listening carefully. I yell, “DIE, ANT, DIE, I DON'T CARE IF YOU ARE THE CHUCK NORRIS OF THE ANNOYING CREATURE WORLD AND CAN CARRY 86 TIMES YOUR BODY WEIGHT.”

Q OK. Concerning napkins. Do all Americans use them in their coffee makers?

A Only the ones who forget to buy coffee liners and paper towels.



Q Do you really mean only the ones who blog?

A Now you’re catching on.

Q On a different topic, is it permitted to sneak bottled beer into blues festivals like you did the other day?

A Sacha, such an imagination.

Q It is typical for Americans to begin drinking at 4 pm?

A Like I told you many times, It’s 5 pm somewhere (and he’s supposedly a student with international experience).

Q Why do you keep turning that ceramic vase on your kitchen counter every night?



A Sassy Sally obviously can’t sleep with her clothes on.



Q What does OMFG stand for and why are your kids always saying it?

A I’ll go check on those socks for you now.



p.s. Does anyone know of ant houses that really work?

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and check out the other somewhat funny folks there.

Why "Prefers Her Fantasy Life"

Three high-maintenance handfuls, a hyperactive black lab, a husband addicted to eBay, a propensity for alliteration, the reason is obvious. This post is about how I came up with the title for my bloggy world.

As a writer, I have won a few awards. I hate to brag, but I scored a silver award from the Council on Foundations, an investigative journalism award from Parenting Publications of America, and the Guinness Toast award from Mickey Finn’s Pub (prize was a tall, velvet Guinness hat, good for snowmen).



But my most cherished award is from my KnowledgeWorks editor, Linda. It’s a smallish plastic trophy with a sticker on one side that reads ‘best telling detail’ and on the other side, ‘most disregard for spelling of names.’



It’s not that I have a disregard for spelling. It’s that I can't f-ing do it have some sort of impairment.

Case in point—I had reservations with some of the names I came up with for this blog, so I bribed my editor with jewelry asked my editor to vote for one of the following:

The Clogging Blogger (in a word, queer)
Crazed and Confused (taken)
Writer, Wife, Mom, Drunk (I was trying to get away from the wife thing)
Harried With Children (didn’t want to limit my blog to straight people)
Midlife-ing It (didn’t want to limit my blog to old people)
Suburban Subversive (seemed too difficult to say under the influence)

Linda said she liked Suburban Subversive. So I checked to see if the name was taken and yeah!!! it wasn’t.

I was now the Suburban Subversive!!!!

And this Suburban Subversive neglected her family for a day and a half painstakingly created a profile on the site. It read like this:

I’m not really a subversive. I just like to stick it to the man every once in a while. You see:

…I’m the one in elementary school who raised her hand and asked the ‘If there is a God, then why’ question

…the one in junior high school who got sent to the principal’s office for wearing a bare midriff

…the one in high school who refused to say the Pledge of Alliance during my Honor Society induction

… the one after high school who hitchhiked out west with her best friend and then a year later, moved to Venice Beach with her boyfriend

…Now I drive a mini-van. With a peace sticker on the bumper



And so on and so forth.

For days, I googled my subversive site and admired my new blog description box. I couldn’t, however, post anything because there was no manual called ‘Layout for Dummies’ handy. I wasted five f-ing hours and drank four beers messing around with page layout and photos. No f-ing luck.

Before bed, I googled my blog again and this time another Suburban Subversive came up.

What the F--K!! (isn’t it silly to do that when everyone knows the word is fuck?)

What the F—K!!

I THOUGHT I WAS THE SUBURBAN SUBVERSIVE.

Where’s my blog?

And who is this other subversive?

Is she as cool as I am?

This must be a mistake.

I then navigated back to my dashboard and linked onto my blog that way. And guess what? I discovered I was the Surburban Subversive.

Surburban with an extra R!!

So it’s really no joke, I can’t f-ing spell, and I have an award and a now defunct blog to prove it.

So what did I do? I calmly swigged another beer and downed a double dose of Paxil changed the name to ‘Prefers Her Fantasy Life.’ You know, like a fantasy life where I can spell (but I don't have to because John and I have people to do that for us).

And truth be told, it may be for the best. Suburban Subversive could scare the likes of NPR or Oprah from knocking on my door.

And really, ‘Prefers Her Fantasy Life’ would look nice on a t-shirt, don’t you think? With maybe a Lloyd Dobler finger puppet on the back.

And now my fantasy life is about ready to get kicked off the front page at Humor-Blogs, so if you prefer it or if you prefer Bee's fantasy life or even your own, VOTE for this post at Humor-Blogs.

When It Comes to French, I Rock!

In my fantasy life, my French is perfect. In real life, as I’ve mentioned, my French consists of speaking English with a Pepe Le Pew accent. In truth, I don’t need to speak French at all. That’s because I’m a MEESL teacher (Most Excellent English as a Second Language teacher). Having taught both here and abroad, I’m well versed in the ways of communicating with foreigners.

The other day, our family and Sacha were invited over to a friend’s house. We walked up the drive way and saw that our host, Slovenian Irish Dance American History Teacher Guy, was grilling something in his big green ceramic egg (whose sheer size I think is intended to compensate for something else, but never mind).



Host Showing Off His French And His Grill: Oeuf!

Sacha: eyebrows furrowed

Host Trying a Different Pronunciation: Ooolf!

My Ebayer in Solidarity: Ooolf!

Sacha: Ooolf?

Professional MEESL Teacher Showing Them How It's Done: Egg! I begin flapping my elbows and clucking.

Sacha: Chicken?

Professional MEESL Teacher and Thespian Extraordinaire: E-gggg! I flap my elbows again, cluck and then cradle my arms.

Sacha: Baby Chicken?

Host Who Doesn't Know When To Quit: Uulf!

My Ebayer in Solidarity: Uulf!

Sacha: Uulf?

Professional MEESL Teacher Who Feels Victory Around the Corner: E-e-gggaa! I flap my elbows, cluck, cradle my arms, put my left leg in, take my left leg out....then I curl my hands in an oval shape and pantomime cracking it open and stirring. E-G-G. Omelette. Egg!

Sacha: Ah, yes. “If”.

Professional and Gloating MEESL Teacher: Yes! Egg!

Host: olf!

Sacha: No “If”.

EBayer: uulf?

Sacha: No, "If".

Host: "F"?

Thirsty MEESL Teacher Putting Imaginary Bottle To Mouth And Chugging: Excuse me, I''l be back.

Speaking of failed outings, Nanny Goats suggested we take Sacha to Dave and Busters, which I thought was brilliant. Only we don’t have one here. So I took Sacha to a blues festival instead. Do you think he minded sitting outside in the rain?



If you like the blues, vote for this post at Humor-Blogs.