Told you my six year old was goth. She has an entire wardrobe of goth clothing, makeup and accessories. We’re amused but wonder how this kid is going to rebel when she’s a teenager. And yes, we get quite the looks when we grocery shop.

Today was Mammogram Version 2.0 to check the area of thickening on one of my breasteseseseses.

During the experience I kept cracking jokes in my head about the machine that was squishing my right boo-bah. It’s called the, “Mammo-Mat.”

The tech was explaining why I was called back for another mammogram and even showed me the area of concern on her screen and all I kept picturing was a laundry mat where ladies can wash their bras.

I had my second squishie and the tech showed me the image and yup, sho’ nuf. It did not look good.The tech left the room to show the doc and all I kept thinking about were ladies with their hair in  huge rollers covered up with cherry patterned scarves as they washed their lacy bras at the Mammo-Mat.  Ladies in high heels with shorts, cigs dangling out of their mouths, tied at the waist sleeveless shirts covering pointy bras, leaning against the washers and dryers and gabbing about this or that at the Mammo-Mat.

The tech came back into the room, and spread her arms wide in a ta-da motion. “You’re fine! Everything is just fine! The change was probably due to your recent weight loss.”

Inside my head the ladies at the Mammo-Mat twirled their bras in the air in a joyful salute. A huge smile remained on my mouth the entire drive home.

I’m not a normal mom. Weirdo moms have wierdo kids. Here’s a look into our Saturday night and how MMA has taken over the household.

My five year old daughter asked if she could practice her ground and pound on me. Already we’re in unusual territory for most five year old girls. And I said sure, beat me up, daughter! And again, unusual territory for most middle aged moms. Ground and pound is when one fighter has another pinned on the ground and is pounding them with their fists. Mmm swelling and blood. What a fun way for a mom and daughter to bond on a SAturday night.

Miss Boo goes for the take down. I “fall” to the floor. Boo gets on me and starts pounding me with her fists as hard as she can. That kid is small but damn is she strong! I tell her so and that she’s too much for me and I’m going to tap out. That’s when a fighter taps the other fighter to signal they can’t take any more and the other fighter wins. Boo punches harder while yelling, “I AM THE ULTIMATE FIGHTER!!!”

That’s when I tap her on the leg. Boo yells, “I don’t care about your tap out!” And the kid keeps punching me!  Miss Boo is a maniac!  I tell her there’s nowhere to go in this fight. I tapped out. She won. Isn’t she happy she won?  No, she wants to keep punching. I tell her you can’t beat a dead horse but she insists she can and she will.

Finally Boo jumps up and I tell her it’s time to declare her the winner. I raise her hand in the air and shout that Miss Boo, “THE DARKNESS” (her chosen fight name) is the winner! I then pretend I’m a fight reporter for TV.  I ask her how it was to fight The Ultimate Mutha? Boo replies, “Good.”  I ask if she was worried about her mother’s strong wrestling?  Boo replies, “Good.” I ask if she got hit in the head during the fight?  Boo replies, “Never!” I then congratulate her on her win and wish her well.

That’s when Boo pulls her right arm back and lands a (pretend) punch on my jaw. She does a celebration dance for knocking out the TV fight reporter. Then she looks around the octagon, wondering who she can take on next.

Our house is a very very very odd house. But is sure is fun!

I swear, I am going to update this thing with a real post eventually. You know I’m in training to become the next Missouri housewife Ultimate Fighter, right? Look out Strikeforce! I’m your next champion!  It’s no longer MMA. It’s M.M.Jaden!

No, for real. I have a mixed martial arts trainer now.

Stop laughing.

Obviously I have a lot to tell you but little time to type. I’ll return as soon as I can.

Photo by Miss Boo. Taken a month in the future? The date setting is wrong on her camera. In this pic I am leaning over a trash bag, packing away all the clothes that no longer fit thanks to losing 33lbs since July. 50 more to go and I’m joining a fight club! No seriously. Stop laughing. Or come closer so Mutha can practice some of that MMA training on ya!

No, that’s not her Halloween costume. That’s her. I told you Boo was in a goth phase.

Ok, I kid. But yesterday (not Halloween) she wore a red lace gown with a black veil and black lipstick.

So dressing up like this wasn’t much of a stretch for my gothy five year old!

Five year old Miss Boo has always had a unique way of looking at the world.

Matt and I were discussing flu shots over dinner.  Boo gasped, gave me an accusatory look, and said, “Mom! You said the N Word!”

I looked back with surprise. “I did?”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes wide. “Needle!”

The other day she decided on her new look. “Mom. My look is part goth, part glam. I want to be scary but I still want to be pretty.When I am goth I am to be called Na. That’s my goth name. Now, where’s the black lipstick?”

It will be difficult for Boo to rebel when her parents are the ones who happily apply the black lipstick and ask if she wants blue streaks in her hair.

NOt to be outdone, Boo’s little sister Av is also clever with words.  There’s an exercise called burpees where you drop to the ground and thrust your legs behind you, stand up and then leap into the air.  Av was attempting to do burpees and I laughed and said, “Av, you’re a burpee girl!”  She nodded and replied, “I’m also a tootie girl.” Then she made fart noises.

I’ve made the decision to remain silent about what’s happening with me and Hollywood. I just feel it’s an aspect of my life I want to keep to myself this time around.  Oh that’s no fun!  I know. But it’s necessary. For the sake of any pending deals and for my sanity!

I am a gym rat. I know it’s obvious from looking at me. I’m so thin, toned, and buff. Eh, just more of me to be fabulous.

I guess I’m more of a class whore. I love the step class, the Zumba, the kickboxing.  So the other day when I saw a new class called Ladies Night had been added to the schedule I was curious. I asked Young and Hunky at the gym’s front desk what the class was about.  He looked a bit nervous when he replied, “Dancing. It’s.. uh.. dancing.”

Uh Dancing? I like to dance. I even like to Uh Dance. Uh uh uh shake your booty uh uh uh. That’s why I showed up for Ladies Night ready to get my groove on.

Then I found out just what kind of dancing we’d be doing.

Dirty dancing.

It was a cardio strip tease class.

Oh I was lovin that surprise for sure!  The looks on the other gal’s faces in the room! You have to realize that yes, there are thin, toned, and buff people who go to gyms in Missouri.  But there’s also a great deal of people who look like me who go to gyms in Missouri.  There’s just a great deal of people who look like me who live in Missouri, period.  It’s the frozen custard stands. We likes our frozen custard here in the ‘Lou.  I think the other Jaden lookalikes in the room were thinking what what I was thinking.  Oh HELL no! There’s no way my body will do THAT.

Now I’ve seen the infomercials for cardio strip tease DVDs.  Perhaps even featuring Carmen Elektra and her equally endowed concave bellied friends.  Here in Missouri most of the class instructors don’t look like that. That’s why I can be a gym rat class whore. There’s a non intimidation factor at my gym.  You know how in the DVDs the cardio strip tease instructors wear tiny tank tops and tight short shorts? Our instructor was wearing track pants, and an old Tshirt. Great! Cuz if class required a skanky getup I was going to get up and get out of there.

She began class by asking us to bring out our inner sexy. “I know she’s in there somewhere!” she yelled.  Actually, I think she came out with the afterbirth when I had my 1st baby. I haven’t seen my inner sexy since Kurt Cobain was still alive.

The class was taught like a dance class. Four three two one! Do a series of moves. Repeat. Add more moves. Four three two one! Perform the moves for the instructor.  Four three two one, look like an ass while I shake my ass!  I tried, I really tried. But there’s a reason Carmen Elektra can shake it better than I. I have her trapped in the back of my workout pants. It’s not easy shaking a big booty.  I stop. It keeps going. I fought the flab but the flab won.

Halfway into the class I borrowed some sexy from the big gal next to me who was shakin what Mcdonalds gave her without fear. Four three two one, bend over.  Shake your booty. Then rub your booty. Then bend over and pop that booty. Four three two one. Get down on the floor.  Hump the floor. Hump the floor?  Ok.. I’m humping the floor.  Now I’m crawling across the floor.  Oh hey! Look at me!  I’m Beyonce!  I’m Britney! I’m sexy! I’m fierce!

I can’t get off the floor.

I don’t think the moaning and groaning is supposed to be from an almost 40 year old woman whose blood sugar has fallen and can’t get up.

My biggest problem with cardio strip tease wasn’t looking or feeling like a fool.  It was getting up and down off the floor so many damn times. I have a hard enough time doing that with the kids here at home. Mommy, come sit on the floor and play with us. Nah, I’ll just sit here on the couch.  Easier to stand up that way.   In class we’re supposed to do this move that makes getting off the floor look sexy.  Oh honey.  I wish I had video to show you, because mine involves looking like I’m about to pitch forward with all the crackalackin of old bones and when I do stand upright, I tumble backwards because the blood is rushing to my brain.

Not sexy.

But funny.

I came home and broke the news to Matt, who got all frisky and asked if I could show him some moves. My back was out, my knees were covered in bruises, my ass felt like it had  been kicked with steel toed boots and I was sweaty and stinky.  Yeah, I’m a big turn on.

Cardio strip tease is not foreplay.  Cardio strip tease is torture.

I can’t wait to do it again!

I was really amused when we had our adoption home study because the social worker asked Matt and I questions about our sex life. I was amused on so many levels, but in particular because we used a religious adoption agency. I didn’t expect the sex questions at all, let alone while at the actual agency. With pics of the cross and faith sayings on the walls. I felt like I should whisper  back my answers.  Yes, we have sex.  Yes we like having sex.  Yes our sex life is good. Um, Jesus is ok with that, right?

The reason she asked is because a couple that plays together stays together. If there are sex issues there are probably marital issues.  They want to place children in happy homes.  Couples who have sex are happy couples. I understand that. I just didn’t expect to be asked about it. I do love being caught off guard in a good way.

It’s true that sex changes once you have kids. You’re tired. You’re stressed. You worry they will hear you.  Or worse yet, wander into the bedroom or wherever you’re gettin bizzay and SEE YOU.  Ok that image just turned me off until the day they all leave for college.

I remember the early days.  Oh yeah. We’ve all had those early days in a relationship when things were hot and heavy. Our biggest responsibility was remembering to feed the cat.  Those were the days of having a bit too much to drink  and falling  into bed together, only to wake up the next morning and mumble, “I’m sleeping on an empty tub of Cool Whip. There are handcuffs under my butt. But why is there a package of ground beef by my feet?”

I joke, but Matt and I would love to attempt to amuse grocery store cashiers with the weirdest condom combinations we could come up with.  A pack of condoms, a pack of gum, a bottle of wine, and Draino.  Or condoms, whip cream, candles, and a Martha Stewart magazine. We’d try, but cashiers have seen it all and would barely blink.

The other morning reminded me of those crazy nights when I woke up with a hot blonde underneath me.

Miss Boo left her Ken Doll in the bed and I was so exhausted I didn’t even notice until I woke up with him wedged under my boob.  Ken has changed quite a bit since the 70s.  My Ken had plastic molded anchor man hair, an earring, and wore a blue velvet leisure suit.  This Ken has real hair, a bracelet, and looks like the guys I partied with at the gay clubs. Doesn’t he look like any minute he’d say, “Gurrrrl. Take that outfit back to Walmart where it belongs!”

After greeting A Secret Until The Media Outs You Ken, I then pulled back the covers to discover I had also slept with Hello Kitty, (or as Avie still says, “Hello Titty”) a Disney Princess tea set, plastic french fries, a pink soccer ball, and sidewalk chalk.  We had a freakin Toys R Us in our bed!

The family that plays together, stays together.

True, very true.  But I need to clear off the bed and have some alone time with my husband. Time to install a little slider lock high up on the bedroom door!

Somewhere up there, Jesus just gave me the thumbs up.

When I don’t give a crap about money, money doesn’t give a crap about me.  It behaves itself nicely in savings.  It comes to me in large amounts from voice over jobs.  It mocks me. “Come on, bitch!  Spend me.  Spend meeee.  NO?  You won’t spend me?  Ok then. Here’s more.  Yeah yeah. MORE! Now you want to spend me, don’t you?  SPEND ME!!!” It’s like when you stop calling the hard to get boyfriend. Suddenly he’s calling you.  Suddenly he can’t get enough of you and is always around.

When I DO give a crap about money, money craps all over me.  Money becomes the boyfriend who leaves me for the girl in the boobie shirt who gets a couple shots in her and is up for anything. I think I was her back in my early 20s. *ahem*

Matt and I are on an austerity program so we can get the hell out of this dump. No crazy spending! Which I should never have said out loud. Cuz the money heard me and now those bastards can’t leave us fast enough.

Example- when you’re trying to save money, you’ll end up with a tree falling on your house, you’ll hit a hide a bed with your car on the highway, or you’ll end up in the emergency room for some stupid reason. Example 1 and 2 happened the last time we tried to save money. Example 3? Please note my husband gave full permission to publish this story. Oh and what a great story it is. The story to end all stories. Something Matt will laugh about.  Some day.

Matt called me on the way home from work.  He sounded strained as he asked, “Do we have nail polish remover?”  I told him it’s a house with four women. Of course we do.  He said through gritted teeth, “Get it out  and put it in the bathroom for me. I’ve got a tick.”

Matt doesn’t work deep in the forest.  He works deep in the city in a cubicle in an office complex. I replied, “Honey… how did you get a TICK?”

He explained a coworker who lives in the country stopped by his cube to talk and felt something drop off his body.  He looked around on the floor and then gave up.  Matt said, “Don’t worry, whatever it was will bite me.”

And it did.

Oh but the story gets even more interesting.

I asked Matt why the nail polish remover?  He said he called the hospital and that’s what they suggested to use to get the tick to back out of his skin.  I began laughing.  Oh city boy.  You got a tick and called the hospital.  That’s rich.

“Honey,” Matt said slowly, “It’s on my penis.”

“WHAT???? It’s… on.. your… ”

“The head.  It’s on the head of my penis.”

I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing.  Of all the damn things to happen to my husband.  I mean, come on. A country living co-worker happened to stop by to chat just as a tick from his clothing dropped off, fell to the floor, found Matt’s leg and crawled up his pant leg, into his undies and onto his…

Dick Tick.  My husband had a Dick Tick.

Matt sighed, “I’m glad you’re so amused. This HURTS. I’ll be there soon.” And then he hung up.

When Matt got home he raced for the bathroom where I had the nail polish remover, Qtips, tweezers, a bowl, and some matches waiting.  If he managed to get the tick to back out of his.. yeah.. then he could put it in the bowl and set it on fire.  Ticks pop when you set em on fire. I’m from the country.  I know these things.

Thirty minutes later…

Matt emerged from the bathroom looking pale and frustrated. He announced he was heading to the emergency room.  Head-ing. Heh.  OH poor Matt.The tick wasn’t budging, Matt had to pee and couldn’t, and was in a lot of pain. A nurse on the ER line said not to try it on his own any longer, just come on in.

Matt returned from the hospital a few hours later looking much happier.  He said the doctor had to use forceps to remove the tick, as it had it’s head buried so deeply in Matt’s.. yeah.. that it was a pain in the … yeah… to get out.  Because the tick was only in a few hours there is little risk of disease, but if Matt develops a fever or nausea within two weeks he is to call the DR and go on antibiotics immediately. Ticks are nasty germ carrying MF-ers.

The ER doctor did say Matt won the funniest ER story of the day award.  He might even be a finalist for funniest story of the year.

Because Matt married such a sympathetic and supportive woman, I’ve spent the past few days telling him, “Here’s a tip. Use your head.  Don’t get a tick on your dick.”

I think that should be the next episode of my show.

I dream that one day I’ll get to pitch my ideas to network executives. Or new media executives. Jaden’s Bringin The Funny would be an excellent mobile video show.

Cue the Jedi Mind Tricks for the executives! *waves hand*  You like Jaden. You like the idea of Jaden on your team.  Jaden will bring in big ratings and generous advertisers. You would like to offer Jaden a contract.”

We’d probably get crossed wires.  Instead of receiving my Jedi signals,, the executives would pick up on thoughts from my crazy Almost Twins. I can just picture one executive turning to the other and asking, “Why do I suddenly have the urge to take off my clothes, jump on the table, and sing shake your booty, shake your booty, yeah yeah?”  Both girls are fond of singing that at the top of their lungs while being dressed in the rec center’s changing room after swim class.

Instead, I think I’ll send those hottie executives (who never look fat in those pants) positive vibes and just hope for the best.  This famous Irish Blessing comes to mind.

An Old Irish Blessing

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Eh, that’s nice and all, but this is better:

Jaden’s Blessing For A Network Executive

May your ratings rise up to meet you.
May the network head never be on your back.
May Emmy’s shine warm upon your face
And the hundreds fall fast into your bank account
And when we meet again,
May you hold a contract for me in the palm of your hand.