My workouts with Lacy have been fun from the beginning. Maybe not so much fun for her, but fun for me. She has called me names, given me dirty looks, and even threatened to make a voo doo doll in my likeness. Here is a sample of our conversations the first week-
Lacy – “I hate you. You and your skinny ass. It feels wonderful to be able to tell you that, since I would have to be nice to a trainer I paid. You, I can tell you I hate you for free. Doesn’t that make you feel better?”
Me – “No, not really. No.”
In the coming weeks she adjusted to the workouts (but supposedly whimpered in her sleep), and her body was ready for the next level. Our conversations were more like this-
Lacy – “I’m not wanting to look like Jean Claude Van Damme in two weeks here! Let’s ease into it!”
Me – “It’s just some push ups”
Lacy – “I think you are trying to kill me.”
Every weekend we go for a two hour walk. We pick different neighborhoods, and discuss all of the different houses. We are usually very nice. We do periodically make the comment that the owners of certain houses need to make a run to the shit store to pick up more shit since they obviously don’t have enough shit in their yards. We are masters are sarcasm when we get together.
Our topic of conversation this weekend was a new show on HGTV called Houseboat Hunters. For a good 30 minutes we discussed that fact that one of the houseboats had an incinerator toilet in that bathroom which the real estate agent said “might” create an odor. Really? We decided that there was a damn good possibility that BURNING SHIT would cause an odor. We are not rocket scientists, but we do know a thing or two.
If you ever see two women walking/running while flailing their arms and stopping occasionally to almost curl up in a ball, its ok. We are not in pain, but we are laughing hysterically.
Speaking of scents and smells, one morning I sprayed on a little perfume before heading out the door at 5:00am. I have worn the same rose scented perfume since age 12 and will continue to do so until the day I die. I’m not one for sudden change. This is the conversation that followed---
Lacy – “You smell like my Grandmother.”
Me – “Was your grandmother a dirty whore? I sincerely hope not.”
Thank you for reading, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
amanda was a friend of mine
Amanda was a friend of mine. She was the type of friend that would drive you to Shreveport for your post op visit with your plastic surgeon. She would go to a wedding and say it was nicer than any of hers. She was a genius with hair color.
She was also in a horrible place within her own mind. To her it was not a choice, but the only light at the end of the tunnel. Many people we know have problems. Some of us are functioning alcoholics, but Amanda had the balls to actually try to do something about it. She never swept it under the rug. In fact, there was never anything under her rugs because her house was always spotless. Her homes were showplaces, and she strived so hard to make herself that way too.
She could have a baby with no drugs and almost give birth while her husband was driving through the ATM. She could give amazing baby showers. She gave me two. We all knew about Amanda’s problems by word of mouth. During a divorce I called her and told her she WAS going to our Junior League meeting. She WAS going to sit with me on the front damn row and everyone else could suck it. I had also just had a baby a few weeks prior. The meeting ran a little long and my milk started to leak and seep through my shirt. I had huge round wet spots on the front of my shirt. Amanda said, “Oh great, we are the slut and the slurpie machine.” We greatly offended the woman giving a speech while we were laughing out loud.
We all have holes inside us, but people fill them in different ways. I run to keep my demons down. Amanda’s was just larger than most. No amount of husbands, shoes, handbags, or help could fill it. She was a good mother who tried her best. Please remember that fact the next time you hear gossip about someone. Talking to everyone you know about someone else’s demons only shows your own.
Amanda drove me to a post op visit. After helping me walk into the waiting room and picking up a few brochures for herself, she went shopping. Once she helped me back in the car she gave me a little present she had just bought. It was a hideous black thong with a pink bow on the back. She flung it on me and said Chad would like it. It is extremely uncomfortable. How do I know? I dug it out of my drawer this morning and threw that bad boy on under my jeans. I could think of no better way to celebrate my beautiful friend’s life today. I hope you can find a way to celebrate her life also.
She was also in a horrible place within her own mind. To her it was not a choice, but the only light at the end of the tunnel. Many people we know have problems. Some of us are functioning alcoholics, but Amanda had the balls to actually try to do something about it. She never swept it under the rug. In fact, there was never anything under her rugs because her house was always spotless. Her homes were showplaces, and she strived so hard to make herself that way too.
She could have a baby with no drugs and almost give birth while her husband was driving through the ATM. She could give amazing baby showers. She gave me two. We all knew about Amanda’s problems by word of mouth. During a divorce I called her and told her she WAS going to our Junior League meeting. She WAS going to sit with me on the front damn row and everyone else could suck it. I had also just had a baby a few weeks prior. The meeting ran a little long and my milk started to leak and seep through my shirt. I had huge round wet spots on the front of my shirt. Amanda said, “Oh great, we are the slut and the slurpie machine.” We greatly offended the woman giving a speech while we were laughing out loud.
We all have holes inside us, but people fill them in different ways. I run to keep my demons down. Amanda’s was just larger than most. No amount of husbands, shoes, handbags, or help could fill it. She was a good mother who tried her best. Please remember that fact the next time you hear gossip about someone. Talking to everyone you know about someone else’s demons only shows your own.
Amanda drove me to a post op visit. After helping me walk into the waiting room and picking up a few brochures for herself, she went shopping. Once she helped me back in the car she gave me a little present she had just bought. It was a hideous black thong with a pink bow on the back. She flung it on me and said Chad would like it. It is extremely uncomfortable. How do I know? I dug it out of my drawer this morning and threw that bad boy on under my jeans. I could think of no better way to celebrate my beautiful friend’s life today. I hope you can find a way to celebrate her life also.
Monday, March 5, 2012
The Cat and I
We have a kick ass cat.
I say that because she is one tough old cat. She kills birds, squirrels, rats, and even a single snake. Sure, you say, all cats do stuff like that. It’s just their nature. Nope, our cat is special because she has no claws. That’s right, we send an unequipped cat into the wild world and she comes home with her own supper.
Our youngest daughter always feels we need to do more for our cat. She thinks this cat needs a stocking hung just for her at Christmas. What in the hell are we going to get for that cat that she really needs? Make her some opposable thumbs out of toothpicks? Night vision goggles? A sniper rifle? Seriously, she is holding her own.
Earlier this winter the cat and I had a couple of bonding moments. No we didn’t snuggle in the bed or watch Beaches together, we just came to a mutual understanding. One cold afternoon I was driving down our street when out cat bolted out in front of me. This by itself wouldn’t be so odd other than the fact she had a dead bird in her mouth. She stopped from her sprint in the middle of the street, looked dead at me with that bird in her mouth, and gave me a look that said, “you might be next”. Then she sprinted into a neighbor’s yard only to, I assume, mutilate the carcass. Better their house than mine…..
The next time was about two weeks later when we were completely out of cat food, and not much food for the humans. I was at home alone with the kids, and realized the poor cat was starving. Knowing that she obviously worked her ass off to get her own food and had come up short, I decided to give her a cat and human treat – Prosciutto.
She refused to eat it. The shit came from Dallas and she would rather lick her own ass than eat it. Was she worried about her sodium intake? Did she want it wrapped around cantaloupe? Then I realized that she was just like me. She can do her own thing, take care of herself, and just wants love. Nothing fancy.
I also understand about missing something. I can’t have anymore children because I simply don’t have all the parts I need anymore. Did I really want more kids before I had that surgery? Maybe not. Is it really making a difference now? No. I am still awesome no matter what I am missing. I kick ass.
No matter what, you just can’t keep a good kitty down.
I say that because she is one tough old cat. She kills birds, squirrels, rats, and even a single snake. Sure, you say, all cats do stuff like that. It’s just their nature. Nope, our cat is special because she has no claws. That’s right, we send an unequipped cat into the wild world and she comes home with her own supper.
Our youngest daughter always feels we need to do more for our cat. She thinks this cat needs a stocking hung just for her at Christmas. What in the hell are we going to get for that cat that she really needs? Make her some opposable thumbs out of toothpicks? Night vision goggles? A sniper rifle? Seriously, she is holding her own.
Earlier this winter the cat and I had a couple of bonding moments. No we didn’t snuggle in the bed or watch Beaches together, we just came to a mutual understanding. One cold afternoon I was driving down our street when out cat bolted out in front of me. This by itself wouldn’t be so odd other than the fact she had a dead bird in her mouth. She stopped from her sprint in the middle of the street, looked dead at me with that bird in her mouth, and gave me a look that said, “you might be next”. Then she sprinted into a neighbor’s yard only to, I assume, mutilate the carcass. Better their house than mine…..
The next time was about two weeks later when we were completely out of cat food, and not much food for the humans. I was at home alone with the kids, and realized the poor cat was starving. Knowing that she obviously worked her ass off to get her own food and had come up short, I decided to give her a cat and human treat – Prosciutto.
She refused to eat it. The shit came from Dallas and she would rather lick her own ass than eat it. Was she worried about her sodium intake? Did she want it wrapped around cantaloupe? Then I realized that she was just like me. She can do her own thing, take care of herself, and just wants love. Nothing fancy.
I also understand about missing something. I can’t have anymore children because I simply don’t have all the parts I need anymore. Did I really want more kids before I had that surgery? Maybe not. Is it really making a difference now? No. I am still awesome no matter what I am missing. I kick ass.
No matter what, you just can’t keep a good kitty down.
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