The Trip

As my anniversary is fast approaching, I recall another anniversary in which we took a large trip. Since we had been married for ten years and we had 3 children under the age of eight, I thought it would be a good idea to get away for a long relaxing vacation and rekindle our romance.

As many of my trips begin at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport, this one was no different. I have not always had the best luck with airport security. Those of you who remember my Breast Milk Episode of ’03 incident can understand. This time the security woman informed me that my lip plumper/gloss could not be taken aboard the plane in my purse. When I flew a month earlier, the lip plumper/gloss was allowed to be carried on in my small clear make up case. No longer, Missy. I needed a Ziploc, which they did not have available. Never mind that the Ziploc was the same size as my clear make up case. I understand the need for airport security and want to be safe while in the air. All people need to be protected from terrorist while traveling. That being said, I know that bitch took my lip plumper/gloss home.

After my husband convinced me to forget the lip plumper/gloss and move on, we were off to the British Virgin Islands for our catamaran cruise. The islands were beautiful, lush, and quiet. I was ecstatic as we climbed on board and met our other guests, our cook, maid, captain, and first mate. I emailed the crew a month or so before our arrival to let them know I would be eating a low fat menu for the week. I did not want to return from my vacation and have to worry about losing weight. They said that would be no problem. We had a wonderful dinner on the ocean and then retired to our cabin. The boat was not air conditioned, but our captain told us all we would need was our hatch open to catch the ocean breezes.

He needed to be a little bit more detailed as we did not know the hatch needed to be open at a certain angle in order to catch the breeze. I have never been so damn hot in all my life. It felt like Guam in that cabin. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to have a good time on this trip. I was in need of a week of huggin’, touchin’, and squeezin’, but this was not how I wanted to end up naked on top of the covers decorated in sweat. Regardless I tried to make a move in the middle of the night since we were both wide awake. Barely did I get the words “wanna mess around?” out of my mouth before I was told, “No. Get off of me you are burning up.” I scoped out our bathroom thinking maybe it would be cooler. Thankfully it was cooler, but it was the size of a phone booth. There wasn’t enough room to flirt in there, much less anything else. Fine. I will just move on to snorkeling.

I am not the best with water. Water and I had issues for many years. We snorkeled over a shipwreck. Snorkeling over a shipwreck is like having a picnic in a graveyard. Our captain told me some people use a mantra to help calm them down while in the water. Repeating the word “serenity” would be a good mantra according to him. Mine was “vodka tonic”. There were also barracudas in the water. Yes, I said barracudas. Our captain told us they are usually very docile, unless they see food. I am usually very docile myself unless I have been on a low fat menu for a week. I would have punched a barracuda in the mouth for a piece of fried chicken.

We did truly have a wonderful time while on the trip. We found the perfect angle for the hatch, and learned how to enter the bathroom without knocking the other person into the closet. We hated to leave the islands, but before we knew it we were at our layover in San Juan. While I have a problem with airport security in DFW, my husband has a problem everywhere else. He always gets his bags inspected. He usually gets pulled out of line to have the wand ran over him. This however did not prepare me for the welcome we received in San Juan. As soon as we received our luggage we were not allowed to follow the other travelers to customs. Oh no, we were asked to step to the side and follow the quasi-military uniformed man. I discreetly asked my husband if he had a secret mission to overthrow Castro or something. This just didn’t seem right. We were sent to the agriculture line, the x-ray line, the line where they physically looked through our bags and then scanned us. I asked my husband, “Do you have a pig in your carry on?” After they thoroughly examined our passports for about an hour and discovered we were not carrying a kilo of smack, we were finally allowed to enter normal security at the gate. I made it through the security point just fine, but looked back only to discover my husband had been whisked away for a formal search.

I am forever grateful I did not say what I wanted to at that moment…”See how the ‘get off of me you are burning up’ line works on him”. I love that man. I really do.

My Life as an Athlete

I am not an athlete. I am so far from an athlete I can’t see the moon of athlete. My foray into the world of awkwardness and lethargic speed first began at age five. My mother, who is now referred to as Nana, signed me up for gymnastics at our local community center. As the youngest of four children I was chomping at the bit to be dropped off somewhere like the rest of my sisters. Hanging out in the very back of that station wagon with the dog, while everyone else was going to softball, dance, clarinet, cheerleading, etc., was getting old. I needed an outlet. In all honesty, Nana probably just wanted a minute by her own damn self.

I loved the first day of gymnastics. There were other little girls, bouncy mats, and I got to wear my sister Cindy’s old outfit that I always liked. After a few classes the instructors pulled Nana aside and told her I might be better suited for a class that didn’t involve movement…or balance. Nana passed this suggestion on to me.

I put my foot down and told her I liked gymnastics and I was going back. No discussion. Then I took my peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich on white bread and went outside to play in the mud. As you can see I have always had a problem with self confidence.

On the final day of gymnastics we had a small recital. I also remember what I wore that day. It was a little pair of yellow shorts with a white shirt that had bumblebees on it. The shoulders had little bows on the top. Even at that young age I knew my butt looked good in those shorts. I wore the fool outta those shorts. Again, low self confidence.

The parents came and we had kool aide and cookies while we showed off all which we had learned. I was so excited I think I tee-teed a little in my shorts. I did a front roll. That was it. A front roll. Albeit a bad-assed front roll, but still just a front roll. No back roll, no cartwheel, no round off, not even a backbend. I didn’t care that every other girl continued to show off for another thirty minutes. I sat on the side with Nana and ate cookies.

When we got home Nana let me sit in her bed and eat popcorn and drink a real Coke. Not one of those pansy-assed fake Cokes she told me was real, but a Coke in a bottle!

When I finished my first half marathon all I could think about was that memory. Only five people finished after me and over 100 finished before me. I was so excited I think I tee-teed a little in my shorts. I didn’t care that my other girlfriends were checking the results to see who had finished the fastest. I went home and sat in my bed, ate popcorn, and drank a real coke. Not one of those pansy-assed Coke Zeros I try to tell myself is real, but a Coke in a red can.

I hope you have enjoyed this post, and you feel a little better about yourself.

The Triathlon

I competed in my first ever triathlon this weekend. Triathlons consist of a swim, bike ride, and a run. I tried to compete in one a few weeks ago in Galveston, but the wind and storms kept us from swimming. Believe me there was no love lost there. Let me give you a brief history of my life in the water.

Ever been to a water park as a teenager with all your buddies in bikinis and you have on a huge life vest? I have. Trust me; it is hard to look cool in a large orange floatation device. Ever have to take a six week course at the local community college to learn how to put your face in the water without having a panic attack? I have. Taken swimming lessons at the country club pool on your lunch break while the tennis ladies and their toddlers look on with sympathy? That would be me.

I have always wanted to do a triathlon, but I knew not being able to swim would hold me back. Well, that and hardly being able to ride a bike. I spent my bonus from work on a racing bike when I decided I would train to do triathlons. If you are not familiar with road bikes, let me give you an example. The tires are about half an inch wide and the seat is not much bigger. On my first ride I rolled rather quickly over a speed bump. Evidently shocks would weigh down the bike and defeat the purpose of racing. I honestly thought my uterus was going to fall out of my body onto that speed bump. Over the past couple of years I have grown accustomed to riding the bike and it no longer stings when I pee.

On a serious note, I loved the way the race was put on by Mike Riley. I think all races should start with a large group prayer. I especially liked that Mike told everyone to put their hand on their heart and look at the flag during the National Anthem. No questions. No complaints. Just do it. Everyone did.

The men start the swim portion of the race three minutes prior to the women. The men wear blue swim caps and the women wear red. Go Hogs. I knew to wait until all colors were in the water before I began the 650 yard battle with the murky water. Imagine my excitement when I made the last turn and realized I was about to pass two blue swim caps! I passed the first man only to realize he was obviously twice my age. The next blue cap seemed to be my age, so I sprinted as hard as I could the last 150 yards. Even though I tried as hard as I could, he still beat me to the finish. When we emerged from the water I saw he had only one arm.

Well Shit.

I felt guilty and inspired. I have no excuses. No one has excuses. We can all do what seems impossible, and none of us need to whine about our obstacles. Pretty deep thoughts coming from a woman who got her ass handed to her by a one armed man.

I then entered the transition area. This is where you get ready for the next leg of the race. I guess I thought it was the area in which you lay down and rest your eyes for a little bit, because most transition times were about a minute. Mine was over four. So what. I finished the bike and run portions with decent times. The operative word there is finished. There was a keg at the end of the race. Some people are strong in the swim while others are strong in the bike or run.

I am strong in the beer.




Thank you for reading my post and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.

The Dance

Tonight is my oldest daughter’s first middle school dance. She is going with a group of girls, all of which are terrified a boy will ask them to dance. Being the caring mother I am I gave her a few lessons on how to dance. Let me give a few examples of my dancing skills.

My sister Jamie taught me dance moves before my first middle school dance, hence the root of the problem. Not really, but close. In college I loved to dance, I just wasn’t good at it. When my girlfriends and I would talk about what we were going to do on a given weekend, I would always throw out the option of going dancing. They always came up with some excuse. When I would go out of town for the weekend, those bitches would dance every night.

When the “Elaine Dance” Seinfeld first aired, my phone rang off the hook.

I once won a Macarena dance contest in college. Not because of my dancing skills but because my short knit A- lined dress had static cling. That meant every time I did my little jump and turn a portion of my big white granny panties peeked through.

I define hot.

Like I said, I love to dance; I am just not good at it. My daughter and I were in T.J. Maxx a few months ago when a good song from my college days came on the loudspeaker. I started to do a little dance. Not a big one, more like a wiggle. My daughter squealed, “Mamma stop! You are embarrassing me!” Oh really. I understand her age and that she is entering the phase in which children become embarrassed by their parents. “Oh, I’m embarrassing you!” It was then that I pushed my cart away and proceeded to do the Running Man in the middle of the discount store isle. I dropped it down. The younger two children thought it was great and began doing some of the other dance moves I have passed on to them. After the blood returned to her face my daughter went to go look at bathmats or something.

I think I nipped that in the bud.

Thank you for reading and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.

"Is there anything you cannot do?"

I am a very busy woman. I raise my kids, I work full time, I go to school, run, and lead cub scouts, etc. A woman once asked me, “Is there anything you cannot do?” My reply was, “Oh, sister, there is a list.”

Here it goes –

Find my way out of a paper bag.
Many times I have been in tears because I do not know where I am. I love directions that start out with, “Head North”. I have not a clue which way is north. My husband tells me to look at the sun in order to find my bearings. I don’t know where the sun is! I don’t know which direction it sets! I know God takes it away at night and then throws it back up in the sky sometime during my morning run.

I’ve been to New Orleans many times in my life. I always attempt to arrive in the French Quarter at my hotel. I always take a side trip past the Superdome and end up in the Ninth Ward.

I have been lost on a road trip by myself using a map, the GPS on my phone, and turn by turn directions from MapQuest. The kids know not to talk when Mommy is lost.

Big Ben. Parliament.


Get a Credit Card
I have shitty credit. Not slow credit. Not bad credit. Shitty. I do not know what my actual credit score is, but I am fairly certain it is a single digit. There are two issues here. One is that I married very young and do not have credit cards. Well, I do have a Victoria’s Secret card, but that’s it. It is a good thing to pay cash for everything right??? The other problem is I never pay Vicky on time.

That is my personal life. At work I know what amount is in every bank account at any given time. I know how to work the interest and line items in order to get the greatest returns. Can I remember to pay for my own panties? No.

Walk and Chew Gum
I could fall down standing still and flat footed. As a matter of fact, I have. I never fall down in the manner of “Ooops I slipped and landed on my derriere.” Nope, I fall down in the style of “Dang, did you see that girl do a face plant and chip her tooth?” I have fallen down, tripped, or both in public places like - my office, the school bus, all over the University of Arkansas, and even in my own bedroom.

One such incident occurred on my first night home from my honeymoon. Chad and I were renting what was loosely defined as a townhouse. It was really a two story hellhole 100 yards from the railroad tracks. Our master bedroom was barely big enough to fit our newly purchased king size bed and the old dresser we found on the side of the road.

My plan was to emerge from the bathroom across the hall, take a few running steps, jump onto the bed, and land seductively on my side. As it turned out, my foot caught the side of that once abandoned dresser and only half of my body briefly landed on the bed. My head bounced on the edge of the bed then met the rest of my body in a heap on the floor.

Please keep in mind that I was buck naked. I like to set the tone.

I hope you have enjoyed my first ever post, and maybe feel a little better about yourself.