Welcome to Leslie Dishes!!!!! Read my weekly rants regarding my dysfunctional upbringing, struggles with motherhood, intolerance for stupidity and life's general observations. You'll find that I tend to get myself into trouble....often. Read how I successfully manuever my way out of these debacles. Sometimes I'm just an idiot. Enjoy. ~Leslie Bosscher
It's no big secret that I have an overactive imagination. I make up fights with people in my head. I imagine worst case scenarios and then act out how I'd respond in that situation. I've even gone as far as begged Jason to make a home manual for me in case he drops dead, I'll know what accounts belong to what bill, etc. I like to think that I'm a person who values preparation. Jason likes to think I'm neurotic. Tomato. Toe Mah Toe.
Last week, I dropped this doozy on Jason. I asked, "Remember when we flew to Vegas, you and the boys sat in the back while I sat up front like a boss? Well, if the plane were going down, would you prefer that I get up from my seat to be with you and the boys. Or would you prefer that I stay in my seat to ensure optimum safety? I mean, if I got up, I'd probably die no matter what, but if I stayed in my seat I could at least have a shot at surviving." Jason: (long pause) What is wrong with you?
Then, last night. Jason FLIPPED OUT over a soup that I'd made (lasagna soup, thanks PINTEREST!) Later on....
Me: So, you really like this soup, eh?
Jas: Oh, yeah. It's crazy good.
Me: So, let me run something past you.
Me: So, like if you die or divorce me and I were dating a new guy and I really, really wanted to take things to the next level, would you recommend that I make this soup? You know, as the clincher?
Jas: Define "next level."
Me: (waggle my eyebrows up and down)
Jas: Yes. But only if you use a LOT of pepper.
Me: But, what if my new man doesn't like pepper like you do?
Jas: Go away.
Maybe you wonder why I am the way I am. Maybe you wonder how someone could be so loosey goosey with substances and ethics. Or why I seem to have a sharp, edginess to me. Perhaps you question the way in which I parent my boys. For your viewing pleasure, I've uploaded a few photos from my childhood. You might find explanation within these photos. From my vault, please enjoy the dysfunction at a glance.
Yeah. That happened. I was 11 and apparently it was perfectly acceptable to photograph your eleven year old while she's holding a ciggy and "pretending" to drink wine. If you ask me, I was brilliant. They thought I was just being fun and playful. But really, I was just tricky at finding new ways to get bombed. Look at me PRETENDING to drink (glug glug glug) and smoke. It was a fine arrangement. And let us not ignore the tragedy that is....my hair. The bangs. The back. The sides. You've heard the saying, "A face only a mother could love" It was exactly like that, except for the love part. I mean, look at me for God's sake! This is likely where the downward spiral and self medication began.
They say the most important relationship you'll ever have is the one with your same sex parent. If ever a photo were to capture or personify my relationship with my mom, this would be the one. Look how natural and close our embrace is. Is this the most awkward hug you've ever seen in your life? I can't tell who is turning away from whom! To be fair and in my mom's defense, she's probably pulling away from me because I smelled like Busch Light and Virginia Slims. If there were a bubble over her head, it would read, "uuuuhh-kay" as in, "Uuuuhh-kay, we hugged. Take the Goddamn picture and be done with it, for fuck's sake."
While this particular photo doesn't really spill any secrets or uncover any profound truths, I still howl every time I catch a glimpse of this rare gem. Her perfectly manicured nails say "I've got it going on." And her stone washed, pleated jeans say, "I try not take myself too seriously." But there's no mistaking that smile. It's the smile that says, "Oh, hell yeah my daughter just gave me a new Precious Moments to add to my collection of four!" Guess which daughter gave her the infamous figurine? Hint: not me. I probably gave her a coupon book filled with hug coupons that year. (See above photo)
And finally. Although this photo was taken nearly 2 decades ago, it could just as well be me today. Well, except for the nude nylons and the formica countertop. And the phone cord. And the coiffed hair. Actually, my mom pulled herself together quite nicely by 7 A.M. I don't usually look that presentable until at least 3 P.M. But, nevertheless, here she is. Sitting, reading the circulars, like she do. Talking on the phone to her favorite daughter. Again, hint: not me. If you added yoga pants, a ponytail, stainless appliances and a laptop, this would be the exact position you would find me in on any given morning. Talking on the phone to my sister, or a girlfriend about last night's Real Housewives. After all, we're all our mothers' daughters, aren't we? No matter how hard we try to break that mold. When this photo was taken I was a college, sorority girl, hippy-wanna-be, joker, smoker, midnight toker, heavy drinking, under achiever. Two decades and twenty years later...I've brought to the table a husband, a mortgage, two great kids, a decent following, a mediocre career as a comedic writer...I wonder if she'd like me today. I wish I could ask her.
Speaking of photos. I was browsing my followers on the Leslie Dishes facebook page (yes, I do my homework) and I noticed that a lot of you have some sort of alcoholic reference as your profile picture. I love it. These are my people. I am one with my people. While I don't get down nearly as much as I used to, I absolutely love that my readers are mostly alcoholics. Also? You all have trashy, trucker mouths too. Which causes me to frantically wave my hands in front of my eyes because they brim with tears and pride when you appropriately swear at me. Mama loves you and she loves your filthy messages! And for crying out loud, will more of you like my Facebook page? 95 likes?? Really? That's pathetic. This blog averages over 600-800 readers a post, but only 95 of you like my facebook page? Makes no sense! No dolla's, no cents!
I'm without a cell phone until this evening. It's 9:45 in the morning and I've been cut off from all communication since 7:30 last night. When I say, "all communication" obviously I mean cellular communication, as I still have my house phone, iPad & laptop. But, those don't count because, hell-o, they just don't.
It is now 9:58 and the minutes seem like hours. I feel cut off from modern society. I wonder if Obama is still in office. I wonder which trends are new and I wonder if I'll adapt to them. It would be helpful to find support for myself as I integrate into today's fast world.
10:17. My texting fingers have atrophied. My eyes are dialated and I don't recognize much of the outside world.
10:19. As I patiently wait for a rescue, the minutes tick like days on a calendar.
11:00. Poured myself a bowl of Kashi. Spilled it all over the floor because my hand/eye coordination is so weakened.
11:39. I don't know how much longer I can hold on. My house phone rang earlier and I just stared at it, dumbfounded that I no longer know how to work a simple household appliance. I looked like a monkey trying to work a microwave. Except probably worse, because a monkey likely knows how to use a house phone.
1:47 The seasons seem to be changing from where I sit. I've spent my day reflecting on the past. For example, I thought about the good old days. Like yesterday, when I texted my friend and told her something funny. It seems strange, but that joke is so irrelevant now.
3:55 Woke up from a nap. I wish I could go back to sleep because at least then I'm temporarily taken out of my misery.
6:24 It's Friday night and it's dinner time. But I have absolutely no idea how I am going to get the food from the place where food is, to my mouth. I suppose I could just make something, but again, it's Friday night and I'd hate to mess with my already compromised routine. Plus, how would I know how to make anything? All my recipes are on Pinterest and I access that from---you guessed it--my phone. (sigh)
9:47 I just decide to say 'fuck it' and go to sleep. No point in staying awake and prolonging this agony. I know exactly how heroine addicts feel. It's basically the same thing, but worse. I'm hoping to win a Purple Heart medal or at the very least, a handicapped parking sticker, for the grim circumstances that I've endured. I imagine my town will stand up and clap slowly once I've put this ordeal behind me.
10:12 It's entirely possible that I'm over dramatic.
I don't know if it's because I have had the privilege of knowing a bunch of liars, or if I'm just a very sharp cookie, but I have a highly collaborated and ultra sensitive bullshit-o-meter. This is both a blessing and curse. A blessing because I can easily weed out the assholes that seem to flock to me. But, it's a curse because I seem to know too much about people without necessarily wanting to. Allow me to explain. There are specific lines that set my bullshit-o-meter off. Here are some examples of those lines.
I realize that I often write in "Leslie-ese." If you aren't familiar with that language, allow me to translate for you. Basically, I was raised by my Jewish mother and although I'm not a practicing Jew, I have certainly adopted a lot of the mannerisms and culture. It can't be avoided. It's in my blood. And if you know anything about Jewish mothers, you know that they exaggerate pretty much everything. Jason calls these exaggerations, 'lies'. But what does he know? He was raised by a gaggle of Mexican women. Below is a dictionary for your convenience.
"Plotting my escape"
This means that I'm hatching a scheme to get out of the house for a few hours. Sometimes I'll start laying the ground work days in advance. So, if you ever hear me reference that I'm plotting my escape, no--I'm not shackled to a pipe in the basement. Even though that's how it seems in my mind.
"A hostage situation"
I'll loosely use this term when Ben or Gabe have hijacked my attention and have gone off on a long, convoluted story with twists and turns. Just when you think the story is going to end and you begin to walk away, the story takes another turn and you know that you're going to be held hostage for at least another 10 minutes. My kids LOVE the sounds of their own voice (I wonder where they get it?), so when they tell a story, they will tell you in great detail, the color and texture of the carpeting of the place where the story took place. It's maddening. The whole time they're talking, I'm thinking that I'll be later found dead in that same spot and the coroner will take one look at me and say, "Wow. She looked really bored when she died."
"Uh. We've got a situation."
This usually means Jason has to come home from work and clean up whatever bullshit I've gotten myself into."
"Well. Are you ready for this?"
This means, 'I'm about to blow your mind with what I'm about to tell you." (it's all about the build-up with me..)
This usually means 'yes' but I just say no because I haven't thought up a back up answer to 'yes' yet. I'll provide an example. Jason: Is that new? Me: No. I've had it for months. I'm not lying per se, I just haven't figured out how to work an impromptu shopping spree into our evening dialogue yet. I will tell him eventually, but for some reason, my mouth automatically lies.
This means no. I just don't have the strength to argue about it yet.
Whenever I say 'aaaaanyway' then pause for an awkward silence, that pretty much always means that I'm trying to wrap it up. It's my exit strategy. Please take note.
"I almost died"
Ok, I probably didn't almost die, but something scary definitely could have happened in my general presence on or around the time that I was near there.
"I got something"
This means that I've become privy to some hot information and I'm about to share it with you.
"Well, who's a pretty boy?"
It's rhetorical. I'm not taking suggestions. I'm never not referring to Winston in this scenario. Winston is always the prettiest boy.
"Oh, you're fine."
Honestly, it doesn't matter if you're fine or not. When I say this, what I really mean is, "I don't have the energy to care."
This means, 'not a chance in hell.'
I'm really not inviting you to murder me, it simply means that I'd like to be temporarily put out of my misery. Like, if I'm stuck at a karaoke bar without a ride home. Or when my kids play the drums.
It means, 'Keep going. I like what you're saying."
This means, 'You don't know what you're talking about and I don't have the strength or the patience to explain it to you. But I always have the strength to say, bitch, please." Plus, it sounds hipster and urban.
Oh, I'm not asking you to repeat yourself. I heard you. I'm just giving you a chance to rephrase it because whatever you said didn't sit well with me.
"I beg your pardon?"
This means, gurrrrrl, you better run.
"Pull yourself together!"
This means you're about to make a train wreck out of your life and I don't feel like getting on board.
"Well, it was great seeing you....."
This pretty much ALWAYS means, "I have nothing else to say and I'd like to get get away from you now."
"It's a vagina. Not a clown car."
This just means quit having kids. Your uterus is going to fall out.
When I deliver my dry and unanimated 'wow' you can pretty much count on me calling everyone I know to tell them what you just said.
Jason keeps referring to my "resume". No really, like--he keeps doing air quotes around the word resume. What's up with that? Just to show him who's boss, I've decided to share my imaginary resume that he's so quick to dismiss. Seems legit to me....
Leslie A. Bosscher
Mission Statement: I will lie in bed and think up shit that needs to be done. And then I’ll do it.
Important Business Woman; I did important business-like things, such as stapling and filing at a place that had papers and desks and phones that rang.
Family correspondent; I return phone calls. I make appointments. I look for items in the home environment, when I’m unsuccessful in locating said items, I go out and purchase said items.
Nurse; When people are sick or injured, I attend to it.
Chauffer; I drive family members from point A. to point B.
Publicist; I oversee holiday cards, birthday cards, condolence calls, calls of “concern” and facilitate social disputes (drunken apologies and/or damage control with regard to PTO offenses).
Philanthropist; I collected money for coaches’ gifts and spent allotted money on specified gift cards. I helped raise over $14 for Crestwood Elementary School’s Crohn’s disease fund raiser. I buy copius amounts of Girl Scout cookies and I volunteer at wrestling sign-ups. Sometimes I even help out in my kids' classrooms. I'm charitable that way.
Detective; I dig deep to blow the lid off every story, scandal, exploitation, injustice and infraction. Oh yeah, I own that shit.
Style/etiquette/domestic authority; Um, all ya’ll nasty bitches? I'm coming for you. If I see you looking too good, too fat, too fancy, too dirty, too loud, too opinionated, too helpful, too greedy, too selfish, too enthusiastic, too happy, too sad, too busy or too bored, I'll call your ass out. Or at the very least I'll call my friends and we'll discuss it for three days straight. Because we have it going on.
God; I pretty much keep three people and two animals alive all day, every day. Sooo, there’s that…..
I can organize pretty much anything. I just don’t really want to.
I can move furniture from one side of the room (wait for it) to the other.
With the help of Pinterest, I can turn pretty much anything from ‘eh.’ to ‘fuck yeh!’
I'm just worried that this resume makes me seem overqualified..... It'll probably keep me from getting that dream job...