Tattoos, Summer Camp and Kat Von D

Tattoos, Summer Camps and Kat Von D

My oldest child, Chris, is going away to a sleep away summer camp for an entire month. I want to have Kat Von D tattoo the words, “Handle With Care” on his forehead, but Chris won’t even consider it even though I offered to pay for the tattoo! I feel sad as Chris packs his sleeping bag, his flannel shirts, his favorite baseball cap, our flat screen TV, our family computer, the contents of the pantry and all of the bath towels. I think he left one for me and one for Mark…my thoughtful young man. I am crying a little as Chris loads everything into the back of the car. As I hug him goodbye, he mumbles something about needing money. I hand him my wallet. It is a special moment between a mother and her eldest son. As Chris drives away with his friends to the airport, I try to put into words what I am thinking. Instead, I snort out through my tears, “Don’t forget to use your deodorant. Floss only the teeth you want to keep. Comb your hair at least once a week. I love you!” I blow him kisses as the van pulls away. Chris is pretending not to know me. I am stressing out as there is so much Chris doesn’t know about yet. I still have so much to share with him. Chris needs to know that for every mountain he climbs, there is a reward of a GREAT view at the top. He needs to learn how to find his laundry hamper with his socks. I need to teach Chris to avoid fake people and never to believe people when they ask him to be honest with them. Most of all, I want to teach Chris to text his mother once in a while.

Jessica de la Davies-Author: It's A Lie!

Jessica de la Davies-Author: It's A Lie!

It's A Lie!

IT’S A LIE! The American Dream is all a lie. It comes down to one simple thing: HOW MUCH HAPPINESS CAN YOU FINANCE? The innocence of embarking to your local mall with a brand new “interest free” credit card gives you this feeling. You know that feeling of elation that you feel when you find a public toilet without urine dotting the seat? Or when your cell phone call goes through on the first try? OMG, it’s probably a lot like the way Adam and Eve felt day tripping through the Garden of Eden. Anyway this “interest free” card is magical and you must never, ever leave home without it. Over the past year, many Americans have found that the “meaning of life” actually includes-though not limited to- food and being able to afford some. This winter, one 92 year old man froze to death because he didn’t pay his electric bill and the electric company turned it off his heat. If the American dream is a lie, then exactly how much happiness can you continue to finance? Maybe we can all live on love instead? There was this great songwriter- he’s no longer with us-but his words still stand strong. John Lennon wrote that “love is all you need.”

Secret Crazed Stalker Chicks and One Hot Mess!

So, I’m trying to post a MySpace comment for my favorite band, Cheap Trick. After I get done thinking about what I’m going to write to Robin Zander…hmm. I have to think about what I am going to write to him because I don’t want to be perceived as an UBER fan since I’m just complimenting music. Or worse, I tell the band how great I think they are and the band thinks I'm some crazed stalker chick. Speaking of crazed stalker chicks, I was watching this show on TV (FYI-I’m home with the flu-not some lazy coach potato;) called "The Secret Lives of Women." I read the word “Secret”, grabbed my Tylenol and I was tuned in. The subject de jour, you ask? YES: Crazed Stalkers Chicks!!!! Okay the TV show may have used the word “women” instead of chicks and I’m not sure about the use of the word “crazed” either but screw it-who cares. The point is, I am watching this show. On this show, these “allegedly” crazed stalker chicks all did NOT think they were real stalkers. The first crazed stalker chick-let’s call her “Hot Mess”-not her real name-was a TEACHER. Wait. It gets better. She teaches "Ethics 101" at her local college. The only way this could get any better is if Hot Mess was a police woman. Anyway, although she is a convicted stalker, Hot Mess, did not think that what she did-following one of her poor male students everywhere he went-was really stalking him. “I was just keeping track of him,” Hot Mess says. Pretty funny right? Unless, of course, one of these nut jobs is chasing you around the block with a butcher knife in one hand and a camera in the other. Oh, I'm way off track... So anyway back to my question which is: Why when I get a “letter puzzle” to solve so that I can prove to MySpace I am not a computer (DUH) and I screw up the puzzle…then why does MySpace give me an even harder one to solve? If I was too slow to get the first one right due to a bit of “Night Time, Coughing, Aching, Sniffling, Hurry Up And Get Back To Work” Night Time Medicine, what makes MySpace think I’ll get the harder one right?!? Anyway, I see that another episode of The Secret Lives of Women is about to start. This one is titled: Women With Extreme Beliefs. A show about women who have goofed up beliefs? Allegedly…I meant to ask do these women allegedly have goofed

up beliefs. If so, I’m thinking that Hot Mess could be in this episode too. Where did I put the remote?

Help Me-I Have An Addiction!

Learning how to Feng shui in a jiffy was something that came naturally to me. It’s just learning how to stop, you see, where I have a problem. That’s the first step, right? Just admitting to you, good people, that I have a tiny, itty bitty problem? It all started innocently enough. We had just moved and wanted to make our house a home. I was kind of bored and thought it might be fun to learn to Feng shui so I went to straight to Books A Billion. There, I picked up this “how to” book on the “Art of Feng Shui.” The first week, I added 88 new ferns (along with one or two more interesting plants;). I became so obsessed with “water features” you would have thought I was an eight time Olympic Gold Medalis Swimmer. By the second week, I had pushed my California King Bed down the hall and onto the upstairs landing to get it away from my bedroom’s skylight which was stealing my “good karma.” I had turned every piece of furniture on an angle and had mirrors reflecting everything from my stove top to my roof top. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy from lack of sleep. My hands were beginning to shake. By the end of the month, I had a 3 story “Mermaids Peeing” fountain mounted in my front yard. The neighbors were beginning to talk and things were getting ugly-especially when one nosey neighbor, Mrs. Hendricks, caught me adding a rock garden in her bathroom in the middle of the night. The next day, my neighbors called an intervention. “Can’t you see what you are doing to our community? We don’t want a swimming pool at the end of our Cul de Sac!”

It was with great reluctance that I began attending “Feng shui Anonymous Meetings” on Monday nights. My mentor suggested that I give up the Feng shui in favor of another hobby. So I took up drinking.

To Answer Or Not To Answer...That Is The Question

TO ANSWER OR NOT TO ANSWER...THAT IS THE QUESTION


The phone is ringing as I am heading out the door to work. I see the name on the caller I.D. and sigh.

It is my EX sister-in-law. My ex husband's bossy, dominating, "no one is good enough for my little brother” ex sister in law, Muffy.

I could have sworn that my ex husband got custody of Muffy's annoying phone calls in the divorce! What kind of a name is Muffy anyway-it sounds like one of those little dogs that shakes and pisses everywhere...anyway I'm getting off track...where was I?

Oh right! Muffy is now shouting into my answering machine. “Jessica, I know you’re home. Can you pick up the phone please?”

How in the world does Muffy know I am home?

Maybe I am out grocery shopping or running errands.

Maybe I'm caught in a fender bender while on my way home from Sven's yoga class this morning.

Maybe I am at this very moment having an illicit affair with our UPS man and I am terribly busy being deflowered in the back of a large brown truck.

"Jessica? Can you please pick up the phone?"

I pick up the phone...she did say please.

The Wizard of Oz, Martha Stewart & Family by Jessica de la Davies

When it comes time to selling our house, I click my heels together 3 times and turn into Martha Stewart.  I race around in my preppy shirt and apron organizing and labeling my closets, decluttering the house and Swiffering the floors within an inch of their lives.  I plant Wisteria along the front walk way, fold the toilet paper into nifty points, create a fire hazard in the foyer with Glade scented candles and cover the dust on the coffee table with great coffee table books (like Slippery When Wet!-shameless plug ;).  I would sum myself up at this point as: INSANE.

When my sanity returns, I find every bath towel in our home is rolled up into logs, unused soaps adorn our sinks, tubs and shower and a lovely bottle of White Star Champagne sits beside 2 fluted glasses next to my soaking tub.  In short, my home makes me look like a lush who doesn't use soap!

I have fake fruit in a bowl on the kitchen counter, fake plants on top of every available surface and my bed has disappeared under a pile of oversize pillows. 

When buyers come through to view our home,  the glass tables sparkle, the linens are ironed and the Pillsbury Dough Boy is snoring peacefully on top of freshly backed rolls next to the oven.

When my boys come home from the mall, Mark exclaims, "Mom, can we live here?"

The house sells quickly and I begin packing.  I call this "Operation Shock and Awe!"  I wrap everything we own in newspaper and stack it into boxes.  Soon, I have created a fantastic maze through our home.  My boys set about selling tickets to the maze to the neighbors' children to pay for the pizzas we are now eating for breakfast, lunch and dinner. 

A week later, our truck is loaded and we are rolling to our new home.  Another week of pizza later and we are beginning to feel at home.  The towels are no longer rolled into logs and are where they belong-on the bathroom floor in a heap.  The soaps are falling apart and I'm loopy on White Star Champagne.  It's 10:00pm on a Friday night and I'm tracing into the dust on our coffee table: There's no place like home.

A Sneak Peek from "Slippery When Wet!"-by Jessica de la Davies

Live Like No One Else So Later You Can Afford To Live Like No One Else!

by Jessica de la Davies

At least that’s what Fox’s financial guru, Dave Ramsay, is always advising us to do.  I like Dave Ramsay.  He knows how to make a recession fun.  He’s got Americans lined up to cut up their credit cards in new and dramatic fashions like chopping them in the kitchen with their new “Chop Chopper”-only $19.95 plus $5.95 for shipping and handling.  Thanks to Dave, we’re now hanging up on our debt collectors in record numbers.  “Why do you need credit?” questions Dave.  “Live like no one else so later you can afford to live like no one else,” is Dave’s motto.  I like it! 

Most of my friends are talking about the recession in terms of gas prices and what kind of vacation they can’t afford to take this year.  Some of them are turning to “at home” vacations.  These are vacations where you don’t leave home with or without “IT”!

I personally like the concept.  No more packing all my clothing into my wallet to avoid the airlines’ charging me extra if I want to take a suitcase with some clothes to wear with me to Belize.  No more waiting in line in my bare feet only to have my underwire push up bra set off the alarm at the security gate.  No more cavity searches for pipe bombs done behind a sheet that some random passenger is holding up at my request while an enormous sweaty woman with bad breath molests me. 

“Just when was the last time an American thirty-something woman set off a bomb on an airplane?” I ask, as sweaty woman tells me to bend over.

“Oh we don’t do profiling, Ma’am,” she replies, snapping off her rubber gloves and waving me toward the gate, where a hostile looking flight attendant is waiting to cram me into my seat. 

This whole at home vacation thing is sounding pretty good.  I Google “at home vacation ideas” and come up with some interesting options.  I choose the “Make Your At Home Vacation Like A Cruise” option.  First, I rename my home the “Freebies By The Sea” ship.  My kitchen is stocked with prepared meals from the grocery store and is now “The Grand Dining Room.”  I rent some movies from Blockbuster and turn my living room into “The Show Lounge” and decide to make it non-smoking.  I buy a deck of cards and scatter them around my bedroom to create the “Shipboard Casino Royale.”  I drag my mattress into my walk-in closet and tape “Cabin 9067” onto the outside of the closet door to simulate a real cabin cruise ship experience.

I decide to splurge and buy a baby pool for the backyard and a few bottles of wine.

The first day of my “cruise”, I put on my bikini and head over to the pool to work on my tan.  While I’m lying in the backyard, I notice a few weeds in the grass. I decide that I’ll go ahead and pull them.  Four hours later, I’m fertilizing the yard and clipping the hedges.  Later that evening, I head into “The Grand Dining Room” aka my kitchen and reorganized the pantry while drinking a glass of wine.  I opened a can of Chunky Chicken Noodle Soup and pop it into the microwave.  When I make my way into “The Show Lounge” to watch one of my rental movies, I noticed that there are cobwebs on my TV so I get out my Swiffer.  I Swiffer the TV, mop all the floors and moisturize my leather sofa, loveseat and recliner.  Then, I head into “Cabin 9067” aka my closet and fall right to sleep next to my shoe rack.

The second day, I decide that “Freebies By The Sea” is in port and I am going on a shore excursion to do some sightseeing.  I walk around the block and check out my neighbors’ houses.  Mrs. Hendricks is standing in her front yard, watering her lawn and she asks me if I would mind helping her move a dresser from her garage into her guest bedroom.  I help her and have to cut my shore excursion short as I have pulled my back out.  I head back to “Freebies By The Sea” and soak my aching back in the baby pool.  I wake up 6 hours later only to realize that I have not applied sunscreen-I’m burned. 

On the third day of my at home vacation, my cousin calls and asks if I can watch her 4 year old son, Clive, for a few hours as she is going to get her hair done.  My cousin arrives 10 minutes later and unloads Clive, a laundry basket of toys and a McDonald’s Happy Meal.  During the next 7 hours, I become an expert on Clive.  For example, Clive can run his dump truck into the base of my coffee table 83 times in just one hour.  He also enjoys throwing handfuls of dirt into the toilet bowl and flushing the dirt to “make it disappear.”  Clive can also blow into his McDonald’s Happy Meal cola drink through his straw to make bubbles to “decorate the kitchen table.”   He has a pretty good vocabulary but he does not seem to understand four basic words: Do not do that.  The plumbing bill from the dirt in the toilet set me back $225. 

When the plumber leaves, I crawl back into my closet-I mean cabin and put my head down on top of my Jimmy Choos.  Somehow this at home vacation just isn’t as relaxing as I thought it would be. 

So on my fourth day aboard the “Freebies By The Sea” I call Delta and book a flight to Cancun for a week.  I pack up my wallet with everything it can carry, pull 3 dresses on over two swimsuits so I will have something to wear on my trip and head for the airport.  I am not wearing a bra.  The booking agent stares at me silently as I tape my credit card back together with duct tape at the counter.  He hands me my ticket and points toward the security check point.  I take off my shoes and get in line. 

I feel hopeful.  Maybe with a little luck, I’ll have just enough room on my credit card for a Pina Colada…or two!