I spent my first weekend alone in 15 years this past weekend. I know that sounds like a long time, because it has been. Granted I have been away on business trips alone, but I have always had trainings and dinners to attend. I have been on girl’s trips occasionally, but never all alone somewhere overnight. What gives this special meaning to me is the week leading up to the big trip, and how it showed me I needed to do this more often.
Monday – I lost a child and my purse for a harmless amount of time. Luckily it was an older kid and she was simply misplaced. Also lucked out on the purse as it was at the gym. The sad part was it took me about an hour to realize I had lost both.
Tuesday – I get called to the elementary school for a special parent teacher conference. I am thrilled we have been sending our son to a tutor for handwriting, since he was signing my name to some bad papers.
Wednesday – When I grow up and become rude and cranky I want to work at Hancocks. Evidently that’s where you go when you get old and pissy.
Thursday - I cannot run due to an injury, and it is making me crazy. If I were a meth addict I think I could better handle detox than not run. I have a lot on my mind and need to get out there, but instead I have to try other things. Other things like hot yoga (which I love), overeating, and being pissy like I work at Hancocks seem to help me pass the time.
Friday – I suddenly feel like I’m in a panic because I am afraid of going REDRUM up there all by myself for the weekend. I start thinking about how much time I devote to family and others and wonder if I am actually hurting everyone else by not taking care of myself. I start thinking about what on earth I will do when everyone leaves for college and I am all alone. Then I look at the clock and realize I have forgotten yet another kid. Not lost, just forgotten. And that is SOOOOOO much better.
I leave after yoga and haul ass to Mountain Harbor on Lake Ouachita. As soon as I check in I take a long hot shower and jump on the bed like I’m Pretty Woman and I’ve just landed a bunch of money and piano sex from Richard Gere for a week. I don’t turn on the TV. I don’t call anyone or get on facebook. I just close my eyes. I wake up four hours later shivering because I’m on top of the covers and still have wet hair. I get under the covers and pass out.
The next morning I do not wake up to an alarm, husband, or kid. No, I wake up at the ass crack of dawn all on my own. The one time I can sleep late I am wide awake. So I venture off to the little restaurant at the resort for what I am certain will be a quiet breakfast since it is the off season.
I walk into what looks like a screening for Magic Mike. Women are everywhere. I finally start to put two and two together and realize this is opening weekend of deer season. You can’t stir the slightly hungover middle aged women in here with a stick. I am reminded of my friend who is a mother to twin boys. She says that sometimes it is just so nice to have a weekend where no one wants to show you their wee wee. There is not a wee wee to be found in this place. I find a table in the corner and lose myself in my Kindle…..and open it up to a book about wee wees. (it was about men in general, but I have a strong suspicion they all have wee wees)
That afternoon I venture to the spa. I am so damn excited about being there I arrive 30 minutes early. After my face, hands, and feet are all polished and pretty, I sit by the little waterfall and wait for John. John is the man who will give me my fireside heated stone massage. Turns out John is smaller than me. I don’t think John is missing out on deer hunting or any other outdoor activity for that matter. I follow him to the room and wonder how he can work out any muscle in my body. When he starts to tell me the whole blablabla about how he will leave the room while I remove my robe and slip under the sheet, I throw the robe off and jump under the sheet sporting my lime green hanes her way briefs. Just tend to your rocks in that crock pot John. This ain’t my first rodeo. I AM READY.
I am so relaxed for the rest of the weekend I am in heaven. I slept that night all rolled up like a burrito. I was hot, but I loved every minute of it. You might think I learned a few think about myself or had some type of epiphany. I didn’t self evaluate for shit. I ate some great food, had a massage, and slept.
And I need to do that more often.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
What I Have Learned Lately
1. I really do not need a purse. I can just carry my credit card, phone, and keys in my bra like the superskank in front of me in line at Wal Mart. When did this become appropriate? I have seen normal looking women do that too. Should I go up a cup size so I can put a pack of Kools in there too? A little sandwich for later? Ohhh, a Slim Jim in my cleavage so I can eat it without hands while driving! Safety first.
2. Spell check thinks superskank is not a word. I beg to differ.
3. I need to love my body. I have chunky thighs. This is no surprise to anyone including myself. When I run in my special running tights they make a very small swooshing sound. When running the other weekend and feeling kinda fat, I heard the LOUD sound of my thighs rubbing together. Over my headphones! I just wanted to give up. So I stopped…and the sound continued. It was someone raking leaves in their yard.
4. Do not take your car keys into a preschool when dressed as a tooth fairy. Three year olds can be ruthless with lines of questioning. Can you fly? Do you fly? Did you fly here? Why you only fly at night? Why do you have car keys if you can fly?????
And on a side note I take extra precautions to make sure they do not peak out the windows and see me pulling up in a car. I try to put on my costume somewhere else so they don’t see me changing into it in the parking lot. I used to do it in a gas station bathroom near by until the people in there started looking at me like I was some crazed fool thinking I was superman changing in a phone booth. I realize that in a tutu, wings, silver sparkly stilettos, and crown in Horatio, Arkansas I look more like a deranged whore than superman.
5. I may actually be a deranged whore, but I know what I am doing sometimes. I have learned that complete strangers who are twice my size will give me unsolicited advice on how to exercise and diet. As if I didn’t know that a quarter pounder and fries had more calories than spinach leaves. My dog knows that. I should do at least 30 minutes of cardio? Shit. I thought lying around and eating quarter pounders all day was how I got these racehorse legs.
6. Some women are mean. They are mean and disrespectful to their husbands. These women will stay married and become bitter while your sweet single girl friends are lonely and only want a husband to love. Kinda pisses me off.
7. Chewing out your husband over hamburger meat is not a good idea. I was pissed off about something else but decided to make a point over some ground beef, because that tactic ALWAYS works for you in the long run. Yep, you will get exactly what you want if you go mental over hamburger meat.
8. If your boss calls and is bringing over 10 boxes of your stuff so he can save you a trip, make sure you unlock the back door for him like he asked. Don’t forget. When you hear a constant knocking at the back door of the office 20 minutes later, don’t assume it is some lost drunk in the back of the building wanting to come in and kill you. Don’t continually ignore it….for like 10 minutes.
Good thing he didn’t have boxes of hamburger meat.
Thank you for reading my post, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Healthy Living I
I’m turning over a new leaf. Not really. I always try to be healthy, and think I do a good job of it at least a few hours a day. Like the hours I’m asleep.
A friend went to a nutritional seminar for a weekend and told me a little about the things she learned. I think moderation of all things is a good idea. I think getting rid of my gut is a wonderful idea. Anything to help the cause.
Healthy item number 1 – Coconut Water
After spending $80 at the health food store, I stocked my shelves with upgraded fish oil, melatonin, and a bunch of water. I thought it would taste like something that would remind me of the beach. Perhaps a Pina Colada even. It reminded me of what it would taste like to lick a waxed cardboard box, and that was just the tiny first sip.
While at a red light I decided to just be a real woman and take a big gulp – while holding my breath.
It was chunky.
I lost it. I am sure the person next to me at the red light thought the chic in the Mercedes was having a seizure. Maybe my body has a fear of drinking spoiled milk. I don’t know, but whatever I was expecting was NOT what I got. It is water for Pete’s sake. Who the hell has chunky water?
And I promise I don’t have a history of using the big bad white horse, but whatever makes me want to throw up in my mouth will come out my nose as well. I’m no ENT doctor but I don’t think that’s normal. Mind you, all of this occurred at a red light—in my dress clothes—on my way to a meeting. I was sweating, with chunky water on my shirt, and who knows what all around and in my nose. Everyone else in the meeting looked very professional. I looked like I was detoxing off heroine.
Turns out I purchased a fruit infused coconut water. Once I returned to my office I drank a plain bottle. Still not great, but sans chunky. I flat out refuse to chew my water. Did you know that coconut water is a diuretic? I didn’t really realize that until my second trip to the bathroom in less than 20 minutes. Yeah there were workmen in the office. The 5th time I went to the bathroom I noticed the workmen kind of looking at me and giggling. ARE YOU 10 YEARS OLD? IT’S WATER WEIGHT!!!!! I might offer them a nice drink of water the next time the do some more work.
I went home and ate 10 chessmen cookies. Up yours healthy.
thanks for reading, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
A friend went to a nutritional seminar for a weekend and told me a little about the things she learned. I think moderation of all things is a good idea. I think getting rid of my gut is a wonderful idea. Anything to help the cause.
Healthy item number 1 – Coconut Water
After spending $80 at the health food store, I stocked my shelves with upgraded fish oil, melatonin, and a bunch of water. I thought it would taste like something that would remind me of the beach. Perhaps a Pina Colada even. It reminded me of what it would taste like to lick a waxed cardboard box, and that was just the tiny first sip.
While at a red light I decided to just be a real woman and take a big gulp – while holding my breath.
It was chunky.
I lost it. I am sure the person next to me at the red light thought the chic in the Mercedes was having a seizure. Maybe my body has a fear of drinking spoiled milk. I don’t know, but whatever I was expecting was NOT what I got. It is water for Pete’s sake. Who the hell has chunky water?
And I promise I don’t have a history of using the big bad white horse, but whatever makes me want to throw up in my mouth will come out my nose as well. I’m no ENT doctor but I don’t think that’s normal. Mind you, all of this occurred at a red light—in my dress clothes—on my way to a meeting. I was sweating, with chunky water on my shirt, and who knows what all around and in my nose. Everyone else in the meeting looked very professional. I looked like I was detoxing off heroine.
Turns out I purchased a fruit infused coconut water. Once I returned to my office I drank a plain bottle. Still not great, but sans chunky. I flat out refuse to chew my water. Did you know that coconut water is a diuretic? I didn’t really realize that until my second trip to the bathroom in less than 20 minutes. Yeah there were workmen in the office. The 5th time I went to the bathroom I noticed the workmen kind of looking at me and giggling. ARE YOU 10 YEARS OLD? IT’S WATER WEIGHT!!!!! I might offer them a nice drink of water the next time the do some more work.
I went home and ate 10 chessmen cookies. Up yours healthy.
thanks for reading, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Into the Mystic
Things are not always as they appear. You know that feeling you get when your mind and eyes play tricks on you. Like when you are alone in the house and you walk into the kitchen in the middle of the night. For a split second you think, “Oh Shit there is a grizzly bear in the laundry room!”, then you realize it is a coat.
And really-what was going to be your plan of action if it had been a grizzly bear? They so often stand still like that in laundry rooms, so I bet you have time to get a gun or something. Kill him with the coffee creamer? Smack him unconscious with the cat food bag? The possibilities are endless.
Or when people hear one thing and completely miss the meaning. Our daughter had been experiencing an upset stomach for the past few mornings. We later learned that this was due to being worried about her gymnastics class. Seems there was a skill she was having problems mastering and had turned herself into a great big ball of stress over it. She was so worried about not being perfect that she made herself physically ill with worry. I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE SHE GETS THIS FROM. Anyway, she wanted to find another reason for her illness. Stomach virus? Sinus drainage? She even asked us if she had morning sickness. She’d heard about it, and thought maybe that was her problem. She is eight. We didn’t tell her all the details, but assured her she did not have the correct self-diagnosis.
As many of you know, Lacy and I take a yearly girls trip. This year we have decided to sneak away to my mother’s house. She lives on the beach in a beautiful condo. The condo is also an hour away from Orlando. All of this means Lacy and I are going to Universal Studios without our children. Mothers of the Year.
I called Nana last week to ask if we could add another friend to the trip. I was going to surprise her and let her know that one of my cousins was going to come on the trip. Here is the conversation –
Me – Can we bring another friend?
Nana – What kind of friend?
Me – A nice friend that doesn’t take up a lot of room???
Nana – I don’t think you and Lacy need to bring a male friend. I just wouldn’t approve.
Me – (complete shocked silence)
Nana – Just girls! Ya’ll don’t need to bring a man down here.
Well there goes our plan of clubbing some poor unsuspecting bastard in line at the Harry Potter ride and dragging him back to Nana’s condo. Damnit. I wonder if I kept that receipt for the chloroform? I’m taking that shit back.
I am sure nana was covering all her bases. We laughed about it later in the conversation. She never even let me call boys growing up at home. She thinks I’m going to bring some boy toy to her house? She sure has it wrong. I would never, under any circumstances, share a man with Lacy.
Thank you for reading, and I hope you feel better about yourself. At least you haven’t been “blocked” by your own mother……
And really-what was going to be your plan of action if it had been a grizzly bear? They so often stand still like that in laundry rooms, so I bet you have time to get a gun or something. Kill him with the coffee creamer? Smack him unconscious with the cat food bag? The possibilities are endless.
Or when people hear one thing and completely miss the meaning. Our daughter had been experiencing an upset stomach for the past few mornings. We later learned that this was due to being worried about her gymnastics class. Seems there was a skill she was having problems mastering and had turned herself into a great big ball of stress over it. She was so worried about not being perfect that she made herself physically ill with worry. I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE SHE GETS THIS FROM. Anyway, she wanted to find another reason for her illness. Stomach virus? Sinus drainage? She even asked us if she had morning sickness. She’d heard about it, and thought maybe that was her problem. She is eight. We didn’t tell her all the details, but assured her she did not have the correct self-diagnosis.
As many of you know, Lacy and I take a yearly girls trip. This year we have decided to sneak away to my mother’s house. She lives on the beach in a beautiful condo. The condo is also an hour away from Orlando. All of this means Lacy and I are going to Universal Studios without our children. Mothers of the Year.
I called Nana last week to ask if we could add another friend to the trip. I was going to surprise her and let her know that one of my cousins was going to come on the trip. Here is the conversation –
Me – Can we bring another friend?
Nana – What kind of friend?
Me – A nice friend that doesn’t take up a lot of room???
Nana – I don’t think you and Lacy need to bring a male friend. I just wouldn’t approve.
Me – (complete shocked silence)
Nana – Just girls! Ya’ll don’t need to bring a man down here.
Well there goes our plan of clubbing some poor unsuspecting bastard in line at the Harry Potter ride and dragging him back to Nana’s condo. Damnit. I wonder if I kept that receipt for the chloroform? I’m taking that shit back.
I am sure nana was covering all her bases. We laughed about it later in the conversation. She never even let me call boys growing up at home. She thinks I’m going to bring some boy toy to her house? She sure has it wrong. I would never, under any circumstances, share a man with Lacy.
Thank you for reading, and I hope you feel better about yourself. At least you haven’t been “blocked” by your own mother……
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Nakedness Again
My oldest daughter is now demanding that no one see her while she is changing clothes. I know she is growing up, but it seems a little odd to me. She went through a phase when she was two where she wanted to be naked all the time, including when I would answer the door of our house. The other kids are the same way. My son once showed his wee wee to the little girl next door – for no apparent reason. My youngest would kick her panties off and then scream, “I NAKED!”
They come by it honestly. I am a big fan of naked. My husband used to ask me what I wanted to do on a given night or weekend. My reply was always, “Get naked”. He eventually quit asking, but I do kick off my panties and scream, “I NAKED” on occasion.
On our honeymoon we stayed at a resort which had an optional nude beach. The resort also had weddings. Common sense would tell you the two should not go together. Evidently someone did not get that memo as there was a naked wedding while we were on our vacation. The entire wedding party (including the parents) wore nothing but a smile. To top it all off, these dumb sons a bitches took pictures. FAMILY pictures.
Too much of a good thing? I vote yes.
We all have certain experiences with nakedness which we would rather forget. Partial nakedness can be traumatic as well. I run down State Line Avenue quite often as it is a large road with good sidewalks. Many mornings I am the only person on those sidewalks, but there are a few homeless people walking up and down the street. On one such morning I was doing my usual run when I saw a homeless man coming toward me on the sidewalk. I had seen him many times before and we always wave as we pass. He was wearing his usual t-shirt and extremely large shorts held up by a belt. He is oblivious to the fact that his shorts are unzipped. Evidently he had also forgotten to add underwear to his ensemble. For those of you who have a hard time following along – this dude’s dick is in plain view and it is coming my way. My thoughts were as follows:
1. Well there is one mystery solved. It does all turn grey.
2. EEEEWWWWW.
3. Do not look it in the eye.
We passed each other on the sidewalk with no issues. I felt so embarrassed for him. I understand how it feels to humiliate yourself in public. But then I realized that guy doesn’t give a rats flying fat ass if he was partially naked. He eats out of dumpsters and craps in a ditch by the graveyard. He has bigger fish to fry. We all do. It is just nakedness.
Thank you for reading my post. I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
They come by it honestly. I am a big fan of naked. My husband used to ask me what I wanted to do on a given night or weekend. My reply was always, “Get naked”. He eventually quit asking, but I do kick off my panties and scream, “I NAKED” on occasion.
On our honeymoon we stayed at a resort which had an optional nude beach. The resort also had weddings. Common sense would tell you the two should not go together. Evidently someone did not get that memo as there was a naked wedding while we were on our vacation. The entire wedding party (including the parents) wore nothing but a smile. To top it all off, these dumb sons a bitches took pictures. FAMILY pictures.
Too much of a good thing? I vote yes.
We all have certain experiences with nakedness which we would rather forget. Partial nakedness can be traumatic as well. I run down State Line Avenue quite often as it is a large road with good sidewalks. Many mornings I am the only person on those sidewalks, but there are a few homeless people walking up and down the street. On one such morning I was doing my usual run when I saw a homeless man coming toward me on the sidewalk. I had seen him many times before and we always wave as we pass. He was wearing his usual t-shirt and extremely large shorts held up by a belt. He is oblivious to the fact that his shorts are unzipped. Evidently he had also forgotten to add underwear to his ensemble. For those of you who have a hard time following along – this dude’s dick is in plain view and it is coming my way. My thoughts were as follows:
1. Well there is one mystery solved. It does all turn grey.
2. EEEEWWWWW.
3. Do not look it in the eye.
We passed each other on the sidewalk with no issues. I felt so embarrassed for him. I understand how it feels to humiliate yourself in public. But then I realized that guy doesn’t give a rats flying fat ass if he was partially naked. He eats out of dumpsters and craps in a ditch by the graveyard. He has bigger fish to fry. We all do. It is just nakedness.
Thank you for reading my post. I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Say Hello to my Little Friend
What are friends for?
My daughter has recently asked me how many friends a person should have in their life. I told her 2-3 close ones, 5-6 people you talk to on occasion, and then other people you enjoy being around. In preparation for the next question, I have made up some rules on what constitutes a good friend. These are all true stories. I am on both sides of these, but I will let you decide which side….
A good friend will…….
Work out with you. She will ride a bike with you because you are learning how to do triathlons even though she says you both look like a couple of freaking Mormons riding all over town in a pair.
Put your bridesmaids dress on her credit card.
Pick through your Clinique free gift for what she wants because she says half of it” isn’t your color” even though you both have the same color eyes and hair.
Not see you for 18 years and then say,” You mean you aren’t a lesbian? Huh, I thought I had you pegged. Just kidding.” Then you both proceed to die laughing and pick up right where you left off.
Help you wipe fingerprints from a car.
Remind you that, “Yeah you did get really big with that last pregnancy”.
Let you drink really cheap wine in her backyard after having your first child and listen to you talk about how miserable you are and then watch you throw up that cheap wine in her grass while still talking about your child’s constant clear runny nose.
Meet your family and tell you they are all just as bat shit crazy as you are.
Friend- “Come pick me up”
Me – “Where are you?”
Friend – “No clue. It’s an apartment complex. I’m hiding behind a sign.”
Me – “I’ll start driving around”
Friend – “Can you bring me some McDonalds? No. Wendy’s”
Me – “Do you need a change of clothes too? Geez”
Friend – “That would be helpful,yes”
Help you get in and out of Spanx.
Text you that she has found an enormous metal chicken for sale on the side of the road and wants to know if you will split it with her because it will make everyone jealous. You simply reply SOLD and you both hatch a plan to ratchet strap a 10 foot chicken to the roof of her suburban. You laugh about your AWESOME plan to put it in your mutual friend Katherine’s yard in the middle of the night. You don’t care that her house is on the market and a big metal chicken might upset her neighbors in the fancy neighborhood. You both know she will pee in her robe when she sees it. You both plan to put it all over town in friend’s yards under cover of darkness.
Then you find out the 10 foot metal chicken is $650 and you both say, “Screw that. No one is worth $650.”
Be waiting for you every time you come out of surgery. And then have the following conversation with you while you are loopy from anesthesia….
Me – “Hey there! How are you feeling?”
Friend – “Do I have in a catheter?”
Me – “Ummmmm, well uhhh, do you need some water?”
Friend – Check and see if I have a catheter!”
Me – “I see a bag with yellow pee. You really should drink more water.”
Friend – “I think it came out. Feels warm. Check!”
Me – “I DO NOT WANT TO LOOK AT YOUR MONKEY. I’m calling a nurse”
Friend – “I don’t want her to see that!”
Me – “You just had a hysterectomy!!!! You are worried about this now???”
And finally, a real friend will text you to let you know a blog needs to be published, because nothing makes her feel better than reading about you making a fool of yourself
My daughter has recently asked me how many friends a person should have in their life. I told her 2-3 close ones, 5-6 people you talk to on occasion, and then other people you enjoy being around. In preparation for the next question, I have made up some rules on what constitutes a good friend. These are all true stories. I am on both sides of these, but I will let you decide which side….
A good friend will…….
Work out with you. She will ride a bike with you because you are learning how to do triathlons even though she says you both look like a couple of freaking Mormons riding all over town in a pair.
Put your bridesmaids dress on her credit card.
Pick through your Clinique free gift for what she wants because she says half of it” isn’t your color” even though you both have the same color eyes and hair.
Not see you for 18 years and then say,” You mean you aren’t a lesbian? Huh, I thought I had you pegged. Just kidding.” Then you both proceed to die laughing and pick up right where you left off.
Help you wipe fingerprints from a car.
Remind you that, “Yeah you did get really big with that last pregnancy”.
Let you drink really cheap wine in her backyard after having your first child and listen to you talk about how miserable you are and then watch you throw up that cheap wine in her grass while still talking about your child’s constant clear runny nose.
Meet your family and tell you they are all just as bat shit crazy as you are.
Friend- “Come pick me up”
Me – “Where are you?”
Friend – “No clue. It’s an apartment complex. I’m hiding behind a sign.”
Me – “I’ll start driving around”
Friend – “Can you bring me some McDonalds? No. Wendy’s”
Me – “Do you need a change of clothes too? Geez”
Friend – “That would be helpful,yes”
Help you get in and out of Spanx.
Text you that she has found an enormous metal chicken for sale on the side of the road and wants to know if you will split it with her because it will make everyone jealous. You simply reply SOLD and you both hatch a plan to ratchet strap a 10 foot chicken to the roof of her suburban. You laugh about your AWESOME plan to put it in your mutual friend Katherine’s yard in the middle of the night. You don’t care that her house is on the market and a big metal chicken might upset her neighbors in the fancy neighborhood. You both know she will pee in her robe when she sees it. You both plan to put it all over town in friend’s yards under cover of darkness.
Then you find out the 10 foot metal chicken is $650 and you both say, “Screw that. No one is worth $650.”
Be waiting for you every time you come out of surgery. And then have the following conversation with you while you are loopy from anesthesia….
Me – “Hey there! How are you feeling?”
Friend – “Do I have in a catheter?”
Me – “Ummmmm, well uhhh, do you need some water?”
Friend – Check and see if I have a catheter!”
Me – “I see a bag with yellow pee. You really should drink more water.”
Friend – “I think it came out. Feels warm. Check!”
Me – “I DO NOT WANT TO LOOK AT YOUR MONKEY. I’m calling a nurse”
Friend – “I don’t want her to see that!”
Me – “You just had a hysterectomy!!!! You are worried about this now???”
And finally, a real friend will text you to let you know a blog needs to be published, because nothing makes her feel better than reading about you making a fool of yourself
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Fifty Shades of Grey Review
Ok. So everyone is reading it. It is a book about sex. Different sex, but still just sex. Let’s just pick this apart bit by bit and I will tell you what I think.
The best part of this book is everyone’s reaction to it. I can honestly say there is nothing funnier than watching 20 women talk about this book at the Country Club after cocktails. NOTHING. Younger women make the comments like, “It turned me on, but the sex in it was just weird.” Older women say, “Weird sex? Who said weird sex? Hubs and I are reading this tonight!”
Others are just extremely quiet. They make facial expressions that mimic a dog in front of the TV. They are full of curiosity but cannot seem to find any words.
Or ladies who call them feng shui balls. Listen sister, there is definitely some ying and yang there but I do not think that is the name of them.
The next best part is listening to your friends attempting to figure out some of the positions. When you explain it to them they scream, “How do you know all this stuff? HUH? What have you been doing Missy? Does your mother know you understand these things????”
And yes my mother would be proud….of my reading comprehension. That’s it.
Some people say it is porn. It is written by a married woman. Please.
If Christian Grey was really named Frank Turner and worked as a butcher do you think anyone would read the book? Probably not. But I am willing to bet that Mrs. Frank Turner thinks he hung the moon, and would like the attention that is showered on Ana in the book. Every woman wants to be placed on a pedestal like Ana, and that is what really turns women on sexually. Some of us just would rather not be handcuffed to the pedestal.
I, personally, would endure a lot for a free personal trainer.
I did have one problem though. In that hotel room in Georgia…….. NOOOOOOOOO.
THAT IS NOT RIGHT. After reading that part I stood in my kitchen for a good 5 minutes before I picked up my jaw off the floor. And then I took a shower. A Silkwood shower.
Do not worry. This blog will not contain any details of the book. I am now on book two, and I am certain of one thing.
If I went to a party all “accessorized” like that, I would be hopping to the bar with my knees together.
The best part of this book is everyone’s reaction to it. I can honestly say there is nothing funnier than watching 20 women talk about this book at the Country Club after cocktails. NOTHING. Younger women make the comments like, “It turned me on, but the sex in it was just weird.” Older women say, “Weird sex? Who said weird sex? Hubs and I are reading this tonight!”
Others are just extremely quiet. They make facial expressions that mimic a dog in front of the TV. They are full of curiosity but cannot seem to find any words.
Or ladies who call them feng shui balls. Listen sister, there is definitely some ying and yang there but I do not think that is the name of them.
The next best part is listening to your friends attempting to figure out some of the positions. When you explain it to them they scream, “How do you know all this stuff? HUH? What have you been doing Missy? Does your mother know you understand these things????”
And yes my mother would be proud….of my reading comprehension. That’s it.
Some people say it is porn. It is written by a married woman. Please.
If Christian Grey was really named Frank Turner and worked as a butcher do you think anyone would read the book? Probably not. But I am willing to bet that Mrs. Frank Turner thinks he hung the moon, and would like the attention that is showered on Ana in the book. Every woman wants to be placed on a pedestal like Ana, and that is what really turns women on sexually. Some of us just would rather not be handcuffed to the pedestal.
I, personally, would endure a lot for a free personal trainer.
I did have one problem though. In that hotel room in Georgia…….. NOOOOOOOOO.
THAT IS NOT RIGHT. After reading that part I stood in my kitchen for a good 5 minutes before I picked up my jaw off the floor. And then I took a shower. A Silkwood shower.
Do not worry. This blog will not contain any details of the book. I am now on book two, and I am certain of one thing.
If I went to a party all “accessorized” like that, I would be hopping to the bar with my knees together.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Tuff Enough
I tear shit up all the time. Really, I do. My Mother and husband have both told me the same thing in nicer words.
At home I tend to stick with vacuum cleaners, small appliances, and the psyche of young children. This blog will focus on what I tear up at work.
This is what I tore up at my last job. OK, this is ONE of the things I tore up at my last job.
This was taken at the Christmas Party. I had to get food out of my trunk, so I put my box of WWI items on the ground. And I left them there. Please notice that my front wheel is on the box in the picture. That is because I backed over the box with the back AND front wheels. That stuff survived a war, but not me.
So I get a new job.....
And I proceed to scratch the SHIT out of the brand new conference table.
I was getting many large boxes together for an event I was doing and happened to place one of those plastic tubs on the conference table in order to count the items inside it. When I removed the tub....
You know when you have those horrible feelings in the pit of your stomach? Like when you realize someone you thought was your good friend was actually bothered by you and was just using you for what they wanted? And then you think to yourself, "How could I have been so stupid?"
I felt like a complete and total idiot. I've been using Q-tips and lemon oil to try to hide it. I hope you can see it in the picture. I see it every time I am within 20 feet of the damn thing.
I am staying with some great friends this weekend. Hope I don't burn the place down to the ground.
Thank you for reading my blog, and I hope you feel better about yourself......
Friday, May 11, 2012
Fear
I love running in my neighborhood. That being said, I have some jacked up neighbors.
This morning I am running along my street in the predawn silence when I see a lighted attic window in one of the houses. Upon closer inspection I see an elderly couple dressed in clothes from the 1920’s. They are staring out the window while other white haired people are standing next to them. I try not to believe in ghost because it is not “biblical”. Neither is having a heart attack in the middle of the damn street.
That immediate stomach dropping/ gasping for air / piss yourself inducing/ legs turning to jello fear is a very real feeling in my life. I distinctly remember feeling it as a teenager once when I was sneaking back into my house only to see my father standing there waiting for me.
On a side note, my father had four daughters. In front of all of our windows were huge thorny bushes. I became quite the acrobat while training my body to arch around the thorns in order to go hang out with my friends. Seriously, I was doing some Cirque du Soleil shit. Take that Jim.
I have plenty of fear in my life. I fear my children might have a life altering accident and I will wish the rest of my life it had happened to me. I fear running out of money. I fear that people hate me. Hell, I fear I might catch one of those freaky diseases that cause you to have those huge skin tags all over your face and body. Like that guy on the Discovery Channel that looks like a circus act with the huge swelling and flaps. I guess I am afraid I might wake up one morning, look in the mirror and say, “Well Shit”.
I am also good at conquering my fears. Swimming, flying, talking to people I do not know, eating oysters, zip lining, and letting people touch my feet just to name a few. I also have anxiety due to my fears. I have learned to use trust and belief as a way to conquer these daily fears and to relieve my stress. I also take medication.
I know it is my deep spiritual beliefs that kept me from chewing out those neighbors for putting mannequins in their attic. This morning I screamed, “Jesus!” Not because I was taking the Lord’s name in vain, but because I was in serious need of him to show up. As in there was only one pair of footprints in the sand because I WAS CARRYING YOU!!!!!!
If I do ever go down there and give them a piece of my mind it will not be pretty. It will be one pair of daisy dukes and a tube top short of House Wives of Miller County. I will be about 6 beers in and I might even bring Lacy. And Caroline….
Looks like I have plans for tonight!
This morning I am running along my street in the predawn silence when I see a lighted attic window in one of the houses. Upon closer inspection I see an elderly couple dressed in clothes from the 1920’s. They are staring out the window while other white haired people are standing next to them. I try not to believe in ghost because it is not “biblical”. Neither is having a heart attack in the middle of the damn street.
That immediate stomach dropping/ gasping for air / piss yourself inducing/ legs turning to jello fear is a very real feeling in my life. I distinctly remember feeling it as a teenager once when I was sneaking back into my house only to see my father standing there waiting for me.
On a side note, my father had four daughters. In front of all of our windows were huge thorny bushes. I became quite the acrobat while training my body to arch around the thorns in order to go hang out with my friends. Seriously, I was doing some Cirque du Soleil shit. Take that Jim.
I have plenty of fear in my life. I fear my children might have a life altering accident and I will wish the rest of my life it had happened to me. I fear running out of money. I fear that people hate me. Hell, I fear I might catch one of those freaky diseases that cause you to have those huge skin tags all over your face and body. Like that guy on the Discovery Channel that looks like a circus act with the huge swelling and flaps. I guess I am afraid I might wake up one morning, look in the mirror and say, “Well Shit”.
I am also good at conquering my fears. Swimming, flying, talking to people I do not know, eating oysters, zip lining, and letting people touch my feet just to name a few. I also have anxiety due to my fears. I have learned to use trust and belief as a way to conquer these daily fears and to relieve my stress. I also take medication.
I know it is my deep spiritual beliefs that kept me from chewing out those neighbors for putting mannequins in their attic. This morning I screamed, “Jesus!” Not because I was taking the Lord’s name in vain, but because I was in serious need of him to show up. As in there was only one pair of footprints in the sand because I WAS CARRYING YOU!!!!!!
If I do ever go down there and give them a piece of my mind it will not be pretty. It will be one pair of daisy dukes and a tube top short of House Wives of Miller County. I will be about 6 beers in and I might even bring Lacy. And Caroline….
Looks like I have plans for tonight!
Monday, April 23, 2012
Why?
I have a few blogs written that are neatly arranged and awaiting their moment to shine. Today I want to publish a list of incoherent mumblings. Because. I. Can.
Here are few of my questions –
Why is there such a stigma attached to mental health hospitals? Three meals a day – made by someone else – and served to me in bed. You cannot beat that with a stick. Then you get to go talk to someone about everything that is bothering you. Later in the day you can talk to a group about all of your problems. All of this is done in your pajamas and/or bathrobe. Some even have a religious side to them. Peace, quiet, and bible study.
Why do I get so mad when my bible study is interrupted? Perhaps I am not gleaming all that I should from these lessons because I get pissed when someone walks in the room. Can I not have a minute by my damn self? Maybe I shouldn’t do them at work.
Why do I always assume all people are wonderful? I fill in what I don’t know about them with positive ideologies, and then I get upset when I find the truth. Always a disappointment, but then again I always set myself up for it.
Why do State Troopers look at me like I am crazy when I get gas in my tooth fairy outfit? I’m the tooth fairy – not a hooker. If I was a hooker I would not be a very good one considering that I am looking for business in the middle of the day. Add that to the long list of why I would not be a good hooker.
Speaking of hookers, why do the makers of clothing for teenage girls seem to be pimps? I found myself telling my oldest daughter this weekend that there was no way I was spending her daddy’s hard earned money on clothes that made her look like a hooker. She said, “Did you have to say that? Out loud?”
Why didn’t Petrino get a Go Phone?
I’ve talked about this one before…. Why is there not a mind reading class for men? I think the prerequisite for the class should be Hint Taking. I have discussed this in a blog before, and still no class. I really wish someone should make it happen. Someone get James Henry on the horn.
Why is Airplane still my favorite movie of all time? I first saw the movie when I was six. My family and I were traveling to Mexico for a vacation. We spent the night in New Orleans the night before we flew to Mexico early the next morning. I spent the night in the hotel room with my three older sisters. I honestly could not understand why my parents did not want me in the room with them to keep them company. My sisters let me watch a movie about a plane crashing. I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue.
Why am I so gifted in sticking my foot in my mouth? This deserves an entire blog.
Why am I in such a bad mood lately? Maybe I just need to go hang out at Lacy’s house for a night. We drink beer, talk about everything that is bothering us, lie around the next morning in pajamas, and…….
Wait. I see a correlation here…..
Thanks for reading, and I hope you feel better about yourself.
Here are few of my questions –
Why is there such a stigma attached to mental health hospitals? Three meals a day – made by someone else – and served to me in bed. You cannot beat that with a stick. Then you get to go talk to someone about everything that is bothering you. Later in the day you can talk to a group about all of your problems. All of this is done in your pajamas and/or bathrobe. Some even have a religious side to them. Peace, quiet, and bible study.
Why do I get so mad when my bible study is interrupted? Perhaps I am not gleaming all that I should from these lessons because I get pissed when someone walks in the room. Can I not have a minute by my damn self? Maybe I shouldn’t do them at work.
Why do I always assume all people are wonderful? I fill in what I don’t know about them with positive ideologies, and then I get upset when I find the truth. Always a disappointment, but then again I always set myself up for it.
Why do State Troopers look at me like I am crazy when I get gas in my tooth fairy outfit? I’m the tooth fairy – not a hooker. If I was a hooker I would not be a very good one considering that I am looking for business in the middle of the day. Add that to the long list of why I would not be a good hooker.
Speaking of hookers, why do the makers of clothing for teenage girls seem to be pimps? I found myself telling my oldest daughter this weekend that there was no way I was spending her daddy’s hard earned money on clothes that made her look like a hooker. She said, “Did you have to say that? Out loud?”
Why didn’t Petrino get a Go Phone?
I’ve talked about this one before…. Why is there not a mind reading class for men? I think the prerequisite for the class should be Hint Taking. I have discussed this in a blog before, and still no class. I really wish someone should make it happen. Someone get James Henry on the horn.
Why is Airplane still my favorite movie of all time? I first saw the movie when I was six. My family and I were traveling to Mexico for a vacation. We spent the night in New Orleans the night before we flew to Mexico early the next morning. I spent the night in the hotel room with my three older sisters. I honestly could not understand why my parents did not want me in the room with them to keep them company. My sisters let me watch a movie about a plane crashing. I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue.
Why am I so gifted in sticking my foot in my mouth? This deserves an entire blog.
Why am I in such a bad mood lately? Maybe I just need to go hang out at Lacy’s house for a night. We drink beer, talk about everything that is bothering us, lie around the next morning in pajamas, and…….
Wait. I see a correlation here…..
Thanks for reading, and I hope you feel better about yourself.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Buffet
This weekend we went to the Easter Buffet at the Country Club where I proceeded to fling fish across the serving line and flung melon on the floor. You would think I would know my way around a large grouping of self serve food. Buffets are important to our family, so much so that we went to early church to ensure we could get to the buffet before all the good shit was gone.
My first experience with buffets was Duff’s as a child. I thought it was an amazing place, especially since you could stand in one spot while the items turned on a wheel in front of you. There were little dividers so it was like the prize portion of Wheel of Fortune when you could still pick your prizes out of certain rooms. It was my five year old dream come true to be able to reach up and snatch a plate of fried chicken off the wheel. I was finally tall enough to do so when I turned six. I even got to carry my own tray. I kept standing there because I just knew something better was going to come along next. It probably took me 20 minutes to decide what I wanted. I got fried chicken and jello. After ranting and raving about being able to carry my own tray, I was a ball of nerves walking to the table. When I finally reached my destination, I exhaled a sigh of relief.
I traveled quite a bit to various luxurious destinations with my parents while I was a child. I expanded my palette over time in wonderful restaurants. I can also tell you I heard the words, “Look! It’s a buffet!” numerous times in my childhood. Now when my entire family gets together for special occasions, we have to go to a buffet. Imagine 25 Klumps descending on a buffet. That’s us.
A few years ago Lacy and I went on a cruise together. She was pregnant for the cruise so therefore I promised her I would have her back if anything went down on the boat. Be careful when you say you’ve got a pregnant woman’s back. I walked into the buffet one morning when I saw Lacy loudly telling some woman, “The Line For The Buffet Starts Back There!” while pointing her finger to the back of the line. The term “some woman” was being used loosely because my pregnant friend was talking smack to a 400 pound freight train that evidently trained for the woman’s German weightlifting team. After the situation was diffused and the woman was too afraid to cut, I asked Lacy why she had to pick the biggest bitch on the boat. She replied, “that bitch picked the wrong buffet”.
I understand about being pregnant on a cruise. I was pregnant with my third child on a cruise and would set my alarm for the midnight buffet. The pizza buffet was open 24 hrs so I would wake up early, get pizza, then go back to sleep before breakfast. When I returned home and stepped up to the scales at the doctor’s office the nurse asked what the hell happened. I hug my head as far as my double chin would allow and confessed I wanted to get my money’s worth out of the cruise.
I’m sure now you are expecting my analogy of life as it pertains to a buffet. Maybe a reference to standing and waiting for something better to come along. Perhaps something about how life offers you too much.
No. Sorry. Just remember to get to the buffet before all the good shit is gone.
Thanks for reading and i hope you feel a little better about yourself.
My first experience with buffets was Duff’s as a child. I thought it was an amazing place, especially since you could stand in one spot while the items turned on a wheel in front of you. There were little dividers so it was like the prize portion of Wheel of Fortune when you could still pick your prizes out of certain rooms. It was my five year old dream come true to be able to reach up and snatch a plate of fried chicken off the wheel. I was finally tall enough to do so when I turned six. I even got to carry my own tray. I kept standing there because I just knew something better was going to come along next. It probably took me 20 minutes to decide what I wanted. I got fried chicken and jello. After ranting and raving about being able to carry my own tray, I was a ball of nerves walking to the table. When I finally reached my destination, I exhaled a sigh of relief.
I traveled quite a bit to various luxurious destinations with my parents while I was a child. I expanded my palette over time in wonderful restaurants. I can also tell you I heard the words, “Look! It’s a buffet!” numerous times in my childhood. Now when my entire family gets together for special occasions, we have to go to a buffet. Imagine 25 Klumps descending on a buffet. That’s us.
A few years ago Lacy and I went on a cruise together. She was pregnant for the cruise so therefore I promised her I would have her back if anything went down on the boat. Be careful when you say you’ve got a pregnant woman’s back. I walked into the buffet one morning when I saw Lacy loudly telling some woman, “The Line For The Buffet Starts Back There!” while pointing her finger to the back of the line. The term “some woman” was being used loosely because my pregnant friend was talking smack to a 400 pound freight train that evidently trained for the woman’s German weightlifting team. After the situation was diffused and the woman was too afraid to cut, I asked Lacy why she had to pick the biggest bitch on the boat. She replied, “that bitch picked the wrong buffet”.
I understand about being pregnant on a cruise. I was pregnant with my third child on a cruise and would set my alarm for the midnight buffet. The pizza buffet was open 24 hrs so I would wake up early, get pizza, then go back to sleep before breakfast. When I returned home and stepped up to the scales at the doctor’s office the nurse asked what the hell happened. I hug my head as far as my double chin would allow and confessed I wanted to get my money’s worth out of the cruise.
I’m sure now you are expecting my analogy of life as it pertains to a buffet. Maybe a reference to standing and waiting for something better to come along. Perhaps something about how life offers you too much.
No. Sorry. Just remember to get to the buffet before all the good shit is gone.
Thanks for reading and i hope you feel a little better about yourself.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Lacy
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
superwoman
Who is this hooker and why do we all try desperately to be just like her? I would like a job description because I have some questions I would like answered. I think I might possess a few of the qualifications but I need some clarification. Here they go -
Does superwoman accidentally ever take the cat to work? She snuck in my car so I had to turn around when I heard meowing in the office parking lot. I took her back home and then gently but firmly explained to the cat that she could not go to work with me since she had important stuff to do at the house. She showed me she understood by killing a squirrel that afternoon and leaving the carcass on the welcome mat. We all show love in different ways. The cat is better at showing love than me.....
Does superwoman react well in stressful situations? If her husband breaks his nose with an exercise band while on vacation does she immediately tend to his wounds with Florence Nightingale efficiency and patience? Or does she scream, "Get off the rug!" because her mother paid for the condo and if she loses her deposit because of blood all over the rug everyone will hear about it?
If superwoman's husband has two black eyes due to the exercise band incident, would she say it was because she beat his ass when he talked back? Perhaps. We all show love in different ways.
Does the bank call superwoman at home and ask for the canister from the drive thru to be returned? Again?
Has superwoman ever clogged an entire parking garage? Was she at a cheer competition in Shreveport and, with 75 cars behind her, insert her card in order to have the bar lifted only to find the machine has suddenly jammed? Does superwoman get out of her car(which is covered in Arkansas Razorback flags and stickers), wave politely to all the pissed off people behind her, and proceed to shake the machine until it raises the bar so she can escape? Does this entire process take superwoman 15 LONG minutes?
Do superwoman's children supply havoc in grocery stores? Has her toddler son ever taken down an entire marshmallow display in Albertsons the day before Thanksgiving? Did her son jump back in the big blue butterfly cart with a lone marshmallow in his mouth and act like nothing happened? Did superwoman beautifully handle the situation by crying because she was 8 months pregnant and pushing 200 pounds? Maybe.
I am willing to bet superwoman's children are banned from talking about farting at the dinner table. They are also banned from farting at the dinner table since at one point it had become a problem. Every once in a while does superwoman have to leave the table because one of the potty humor jokes was so funny she had to quietly laugh in the kitchen? I doubt it.
I guess none of this really matters. I hear that when you reach 40 you quit wanting to be superwoman and focus on being happywoman instead.
That hooker needs to hurry up.
Thank you for reading my post, and I'm sure this made you feel better about yourself.
Does superwoman accidentally ever take the cat to work? She snuck in my car so I had to turn around when I heard meowing in the office parking lot. I took her back home and then gently but firmly explained to the cat that she could not go to work with me since she had important stuff to do at the house. She showed me she understood by killing a squirrel that afternoon and leaving the carcass on the welcome mat. We all show love in different ways. The cat is better at showing love than me.....
Does superwoman react well in stressful situations? If her husband breaks his nose with an exercise band while on vacation does she immediately tend to his wounds with Florence Nightingale efficiency and patience? Or does she scream, "Get off the rug!" because her mother paid for the condo and if she loses her deposit because of blood all over the rug everyone will hear about it?
If superwoman's husband has two black eyes due to the exercise band incident, would she say it was because she beat his ass when he talked back? Perhaps. We all show love in different ways.
Does the bank call superwoman at home and ask for the canister from the drive thru to be returned? Again?
Has superwoman ever clogged an entire parking garage? Was she at a cheer competition in Shreveport and, with 75 cars behind her, insert her card in order to have the bar lifted only to find the machine has suddenly jammed? Does superwoman get out of her car(which is covered in Arkansas Razorback flags and stickers), wave politely to all the pissed off people behind her, and proceed to shake the machine until it raises the bar so she can escape? Does this entire process take superwoman 15 LONG minutes?
Do superwoman's children supply havoc in grocery stores? Has her toddler son ever taken down an entire marshmallow display in Albertsons the day before Thanksgiving? Did her son jump back in the big blue butterfly cart with a lone marshmallow in his mouth and act like nothing happened? Did superwoman beautifully handle the situation by crying because she was 8 months pregnant and pushing 200 pounds? Maybe.
I am willing to bet superwoman's children are banned from talking about farting at the dinner table. They are also banned from farting at the dinner table since at one point it had become a problem. Every once in a while does superwoman have to leave the table because one of the potty humor jokes was so funny she had to quietly laugh in the kitchen? I doubt it.
I guess none of this really matters. I hear that when you reach 40 you quit wanting to be superwoman and focus on being happywoman instead.
That hooker needs to hurry up.
Thank you for reading my post, and I'm sure this made you feel better about yourself.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Life’s Little Instructions
1. Never say the words – “My child will never do that”. Your child will do that. As well as talking other friends into doing it as well.
2. You cannot repair a vacuum with a butter knife. Or a toaster.
3. No one gives a rats flying fat ass about which formal china pattern you pick out when you get married.
4. Hydroxy Cut gives you diarrhea, not muscles.
5. At one time or another, everyone will be broke.
6. The next time you are sick of everyone’s bullshit, take a look behind you at the wagon o’ bullshit you are pulling around behind you. Mine is in a U-Haul.
7. Baking Soda toothpaste and Peroxide mouthwash do not go together.
8. Oreos are not a gateway drug. Let your kids have a few.
9. Just because someone lives in a beautiful house, gives wonderful party favors, and seems like Martha Stewart does not mean they have their life together.
10. The shit does not fall far from the bat. If her momma is crazy, chances are she is too.
11. Women don’t like being called crazy.
12. “Well if I had known you were going to make such a big damn deal about it I would have just done this from the start” is not a good way to start an apology to your husband.
13. Screw it. Order dessert.
14. Your children will only be with you for a fraction of your life. They will be gone before you know it and off in their own lives. Boss them around while you can.
15. If you call your husband home from work one day because you desperately need him to rescue you and he hurries home to find you standing on top of the bed clutching a three year old and an infant babbling about how you sucked up a lizard in the vacuum cleaner – he will bring that up the next time you say you are a “tough” woman.
And last but not least – Life is not a dress rehearsal. You can sleep when you are dead. When you are old you will regret what you didn’t do, not what you did do. You can always turn a Sunday into a Saturday. The graveyard is full of indispensible people. Getting laid makes everything better.
Thank you for reading, and I hope you feel a little bit better about yourself.
2. You cannot repair a vacuum with a butter knife. Or a toaster.
3. No one gives a rats flying fat ass about which formal china pattern you pick out when you get married.
4. Hydroxy Cut gives you diarrhea, not muscles.
5. At one time or another, everyone will be broke.
6. The next time you are sick of everyone’s bullshit, take a look behind you at the wagon o’ bullshit you are pulling around behind you. Mine is in a U-Haul.
7. Baking Soda toothpaste and Peroxide mouthwash do not go together.
8. Oreos are not a gateway drug. Let your kids have a few.
9. Just because someone lives in a beautiful house, gives wonderful party favors, and seems like Martha Stewart does not mean they have their life together.
10. The shit does not fall far from the bat. If her momma is crazy, chances are she is too.
11. Women don’t like being called crazy.
12. “Well if I had known you were going to make such a big damn deal about it I would have just done this from the start” is not a good way to start an apology to your husband.
13. Screw it. Order dessert.
14. Your children will only be with you for a fraction of your life. They will be gone before you know it and off in their own lives. Boss them around while you can.
15. If you call your husband home from work one day because you desperately need him to rescue you and he hurries home to find you standing on top of the bed clutching a three year old and an infant babbling about how you sucked up a lizard in the vacuum cleaner – he will bring that up the next time you say you are a “tough” woman.
And last but not least – Life is not a dress rehearsal. You can sleep when you are dead. When you are old you will regret what you didn’t do, not what you did do. You can always turn a Sunday into a Saturday. The graveyard is full of indispensible people. Getting laid makes everything better.
Thank you for reading, and I hope you feel a little bit better about yourself.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
70.3
One June 1 of last year I asked my husband to pay for my enrollment fee into the Austin Half Ironman. Our conversation went like this:
Hubs – “So let me get this straight. You want to swim 1.2 miles, bike 56 miles, and then run 13.1. Basically you will get beat to shit for about 8 hours and you want to pay for this experience. “
Me- “No. I want you to pay for it.”
Many of you remember my journey of training over the spring and summer. It consisted of dragging my ass all over miles and miles of the drought infested Ark-La-Tex, crying on the side of the road, vomiting on my bike, and telling my friends while at the end of 5-8 hour workouts how much I loved them like a drunken co-ed. I pushed myself to the edge of my limits, and then pushed even more. I had plenty of time alone to sort through my purpose in life, and what God wanted out of me. I became much more thankful for my children. I made peace with many demons in my soul. I did not lose one damn pound.
Finally the time came and we made the journey to Austin for a long weekend. We went to EddieV’s for a wonderful meal Friday night. I am allergic to shrimp but have started to add small amounts of other shellfish to my diet and have had no bad reactions. I ordered the lobster tail with my dinner. After about 10 minutes my tongue became a little swollen and I broke out into a full sweat. Because my tongue was so fat I had a hard time getting my words out correctly. In concern for my well being my husband lovingly asked, “Are you drunk?” and suggested I go to the bathroom to splash water on my face. Within a couple of hours I returned to normal and still had another full day until my race.
Sunday morning came and I prepared all my separate bags. You had to have a separate bag for each leg of the race and all had to be dropped off prior to the start. I had a swim bag, a bike bag, and a run bag. It looked like I was packing triplets for Mothers Day Out. We made our way to the swim start with my stomach turning. The swim has strict time limits, and since I was in the last wave start(which entered the water a full hour after the first wave), I had to really move in order to make the time limit. I am not a fast swimmer, and I have huge mental blocks surrounding the swim portion of a triathlon. I felt sick even when I looked at the bottled water station. I was fighting down bile in my throat due to what I thought was nerves. I finally entered the water with my group and took it nice and slow for the first 100 yards then I sped up and was making great time. I was 1/3 of the way through and about 1400 feet from the bank when I could see the first of three turns ahead of me.
If you have never thrown up in the water, I can tell you it is an experience. I could not stop. I kept trying to swim, but I was heaving so much I couldn’t get anywhere. Trying to float on my back was definitely not a good idea. There were other swim waves behind me, and I was just a wonderful welcome wagon for each of them ralphing in the water. I was determined to finish, but eventually I knew something was wrong. This wasn’t just nerves, and there was a reason I felt extremely nauseous before the race. I resigned myself to the fact that doing 70 miles with a stomach virus was not a good idea. I signaled that I needed to get out of the water.
The jet ski with what is supposed to be a rescue swimmer sitting on the back approached me. The nice woman said, “What is Wrong With You?” I weakly replied that I had a stomach virus or something and could not stop dry heaving. There is a platform that looks like an oversized swim board being pulled by the back of the jet ski. As I am a little worn out from my wonderful experience in the water, I ask how I am supposed to get on the platform. Was I meant to get on it? Did they drag me? I was so worn out and sick I could not have fought them if they tried to tie a rope with a cinder block to my foot.
I am not trying to be bitchy, and I am definitely not the skinny model type myself, but this chic was about 20 and weighed 250 easily on a tiny frame. She didn’t look like she could bob an apple out of the water, much less a swimmer. In response to my question she replied, “You pull yourself up. Can’t you do that?” as she is sitting backwards on the jet ski. I wasn’t thinking I would be airlifted to the bank or anything put a hand would be nice. She barks into her walkie talkie that she has a “nervous” swimmer with her and they are coming in to the medical tent. I started to heave again while on the platform and she tells me to make sure I throw up in the water so I don’t get HER platform dirty.
Oh, so you’re a clean bitch too.
Normally I would have some major mental and emotional issues with not finishing a race, especially one I had trained for nine months to finish. Having to pull out of a race usually makes you feel like you have once again failed at something in your life, and you are ashamed. I was just praying I didn’t shit in my wetsuit on the way to the ambulance.
After an IV, a bag of fluid, some really good meds in my IV, and a refusal to go to the hospital later, I was on my way home. One week later I did the race and finished. I was on cloud nine and felt like I could conquer the world. I never want to do it again.
But I am in the market for a new wetsuit.
Hubs – “So let me get this straight. You want to swim 1.2 miles, bike 56 miles, and then run 13.1. Basically you will get beat to shit for about 8 hours and you want to pay for this experience. “
Me- “No. I want you to pay for it.”
Many of you remember my journey of training over the spring and summer. It consisted of dragging my ass all over miles and miles of the drought infested Ark-La-Tex, crying on the side of the road, vomiting on my bike, and telling my friends while at the end of 5-8 hour workouts how much I loved them like a drunken co-ed. I pushed myself to the edge of my limits, and then pushed even more. I had plenty of time alone to sort through my purpose in life, and what God wanted out of me. I became much more thankful for my children. I made peace with many demons in my soul. I did not lose one damn pound.
Finally the time came and we made the journey to Austin for a long weekend. We went to EddieV’s for a wonderful meal Friday night. I am allergic to shrimp but have started to add small amounts of other shellfish to my diet and have had no bad reactions. I ordered the lobster tail with my dinner. After about 10 minutes my tongue became a little swollen and I broke out into a full sweat. Because my tongue was so fat I had a hard time getting my words out correctly. In concern for my well being my husband lovingly asked, “Are you drunk?” and suggested I go to the bathroom to splash water on my face. Within a couple of hours I returned to normal and still had another full day until my race.
Sunday morning came and I prepared all my separate bags. You had to have a separate bag for each leg of the race and all had to be dropped off prior to the start. I had a swim bag, a bike bag, and a run bag. It looked like I was packing triplets for Mothers Day Out. We made our way to the swim start with my stomach turning. The swim has strict time limits, and since I was in the last wave start(which entered the water a full hour after the first wave), I had to really move in order to make the time limit. I am not a fast swimmer, and I have huge mental blocks surrounding the swim portion of a triathlon. I felt sick even when I looked at the bottled water station. I was fighting down bile in my throat due to what I thought was nerves. I finally entered the water with my group and took it nice and slow for the first 100 yards then I sped up and was making great time. I was 1/3 of the way through and about 1400 feet from the bank when I could see the first of three turns ahead of me.
If you have never thrown up in the water, I can tell you it is an experience. I could not stop. I kept trying to swim, but I was heaving so much I couldn’t get anywhere. Trying to float on my back was definitely not a good idea. There were other swim waves behind me, and I was just a wonderful welcome wagon for each of them ralphing in the water. I was determined to finish, but eventually I knew something was wrong. This wasn’t just nerves, and there was a reason I felt extremely nauseous before the race. I resigned myself to the fact that doing 70 miles with a stomach virus was not a good idea. I signaled that I needed to get out of the water.
The jet ski with what is supposed to be a rescue swimmer sitting on the back approached me. The nice woman said, “What is Wrong With You?” I weakly replied that I had a stomach virus or something and could not stop dry heaving. There is a platform that looks like an oversized swim board being pulled by the back of the jet ski. As I am a little worn out from my wonderful experience in the water, I ask how I am supposed to get on the platform. Was I meant to get on it? Did they drag me? I was so worn out and sick I could not have fought them if they tried to tie a rope with a cinder block to my foot.
I am not trying to be bitchy, and I am definitely not the skinny model type myself, but this chic was about 20 and weighed 250 easily on a tiny frame. She didn’t look like she could bob an apple out of the water, much less a swimmer. In response to my question she replied, “You pull yourself up. Can’t you do that?” as she is sitting backwards on the jet ski. I wasn’t thinking I would be airlifted to the bank or anything put a hand would be nice. She barks into her walkie talkie that she has a “nervous” swimmer with her and they are coming in to the medical tent. I started to heave again while on the platform and she tells me to make sure I throw up in the water so I don’t get HER platform dirty.
Oh, so you’re a clean bitch too.
Normally I would have some major mental and emotional issues with not finishing a race, especially one I had trained for nine months to finish. Having to pull out of a race usually makes you feel like you have once again failed at something in your life, and you are ashamed. I was just praying I didn’t shit in my wetsuit on the way to the ambulance.
After an IV, a bag of fluid, some really good meds in my IV, and a refusal to go to the hospital later, I was on my way home. One week later I did the race and finished. I was on cloud nine and felt like I could conquer the world. I never want to do it again.
But I am in the market for a new wetsuit.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
When Daddy Let Me Drive
I’m a bad driver. I admit it. I am safe when I have kids in the car and I happily drive on field trips, but I definitely do not need to take on a second career as a cross country truck driver. Perhaps “bad” is the wrong term. “Unlucky” is better, and I come by it honestly. My parents had to replace the garage door after my father backed his truck into it three different times. He said it was my mother’s fault for leaving the garage door down. Damn crazy woman! What was she thinking leaving the garage door down? Who does that?
My mother has two speeds – 80 and 10. There is no in between. She lives in a beautiful condo on the beach in Daytona Beach, Florida. I can just see her revving the engine of that Cadillac at a red stoplight and looking at the sports car next to her. She drives herself and all her buddies to bridge once a week. Oh to be a fly on the wall of that 20 foot sedan….
I have plenty memories of driving my mother’s Cadillacs. She gets a new one every few years or so, but I was 14 when she got her first one. I had a learner’s permit and my parents and I were driving back from Atlanta when they decided to let me test out my interstate driving skills. Somewhere about the Georgia/Alabama state line they both fell asleep. I was doing great on the interstate, but Birmingham snuck up on me while they were still dozing. I am all of fourteen driving in lunch hour traffic in my mother’s new caddy. I looked like that damn little person on Fantasy Island driving that 12 person golf cart.
I was doing a great job traveling through the traffic and knew what exit I needed to take. My mother realized this a few minutes after she woke up and screamed, “Oh Shit Melanie Ann!” . I took my exit with ease but realized I had never merged into traffic in any of my lessons. I was gun shy until my father bellowed “Merge, Damnit, Merge” from the backseat. I put on my blinker and hoped for the best.
A few years and Cadillacs later, I was home from college for Christmas break. We were driving to Nashville for a convention. All my parents could talk about was listening to the Mississippi State football game on the radio during the drive. These two were fanatical about Mississippi State athletics. I decided to be the good daughter and take the caddy through the car wash before we were scheduled to leave for Nashville since my parents had been experiencing some health and family issues. I took it to the drive through car wash in town and was blaring the radio while pulling into the stall with all the fuzzy wheels and scrubbing brushes. I heard a god awful noise and turned off the radio. Shit Shit Shit was all I could think about so I put the land yacht in gear and ramped it out of the car wash.
I did a quick inspection of the car and found nothing wrong. I could hear my father bitching in my mind about how expensive the replacement parts on mom’s “glorified Buick” were, so I was relieved momentarily. Until I saw the radio antenna on the concrete floor of the car wash about to go down the drain. If they didn’t get to listen to that football game they would kill me! So I did what I had to do.
That car wash beat me to shit. I walked out of there sopping wet, but holding a gnarled, nonworking, power antenna. It was a long silent drive to Nashville with no football that day, except for when my parents would burst into laughter about me getting knocked around by a $5 car wash. I told them to hold it down so I could listen to the game….
thanks for reading, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
My mother has two speeds – 80 and 10. There is no in between. She lives in a beautiful condo on the beach in Daytona Beach, Florida. I can just see her revving the engine of that Cadillac at a red stoplight and looking at the sports car next to her. She drives herself and all her buddies to bridge once a week. Oh to be a fly on the wall of that 20 foot sedan….
I have plenty memories of driving my mother’s Cadillacs. She gets a new one every few years or so, but I was 14 when she got her first one. I had a learner’s permit and my parents and I were driving back from Atlanta when they decided to let me test out my interstate driving skills. Somewhere about the Georgia/Alabama state line they both fell asleep. I was doing great on the interstate, but Birmingham snuck up on me while they were still dozing. I am all of fourteen driving in lunch hour traffic in my mother’s new caddy. I looked like that damn little person on Fantasy Island driving that 12 person golf cart.
I was doing a great job traveling through the traffic and knew what exit I needed to take. My mother realized this a few minutes after she woke up and screamed, “Oh Shit Melanie Ann!” . I took my exit with ease but realized I had never merged into traffic in any of my lessons. I was gun shy until my father bellowed “Merge, Damnit, Merge” from the backseat. I put on my blinker and hoped for the best.
A few years and Cadillacs later, I was home from college for Christmas break. We were driving to Nashville for a convention. All my parents could talk about was listening to the Mississippi State football game on the radio during the drive. These two were fanatical about Mississippi State athletics. I decided to be the good daughter and take the caddy through the car wash before we were scheduled to leave for Nashville since my parents had been experiencing some health and family issues. I took it to the drive through car wash in town and was blaring the radio while pulling into the stall with all the fuzzy wheels and scrubbing brushes. I heard a god awful noise and turned off the radio. Shit Shit Shit was all I could think about so I put the land yacht in gear and ramped it out of the car wash.
I did a quick inspection of the car and found nothing wrong. I could hear my father bitching in my mind about how expensive the replacement parts on mom’s “glorified Buick” were, so I was relieved momentarily. Until I saw the radio antenna on the concrete floor of the car wash about to go down the drain. If they didn’t get to listen to that football game they would kill me! So I did what I had to do.
That car wash beat me to shit. I walked out of there sopping wet, but holding a gnarled, nonworking, power antenna. It was a long silent drive to Nashville with no football that day, except for when my parents would burst into laughter about me getting knocked around by a $5 car wash. I told them to hold it down so I could listen to the game….
thanks for reading, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Picture Perfect II
I am doing data entry at work today until my eyes are blurring. This is what I do on my lunch break so I can kick it through the rest of the afternoon. These are pictures I take that make me laugh. I hope they do the same for you.
This is what happens every morning at my house. The dog pulls my towel off the rack with his teeth and then lays his little dog body all over it. Who needs a towel warmer???
Priorities
I constantly have a lens missing from my sunglasses. Why? I have no clue.
So we are doing a historic restoration of a home in town and we repaired all the holes in the original 1904 facade. Evidently the pigeons who were hanging out in there are pissed. They have chosen to protest by SHITTING NONSTOP on the outside of the building.
And running into windows. I am guessing this is the pigeon mafia equivalent of a horse head on your pillow.
Winning
When I run these races, I have a friend who always tells me to give her my race shirt. Really? The last race I bought her a visor since there was no way in hell I was giving her my shirt. I still haven't given it to her. That's what friends are for.
I am a grown, educated, professional woman who laughed for a good five minutes straight at this box in the store. Yes it is a chocolate laxative called "smooth move".
Winning.
AERODYNAMIC
Remember that time I pulled the jet ski behind my minivan? I suddenly feel so much better after seeing the Lincoln Town Car pulling a trailer full of trash.
Champagne Wishes and Caviar Dreams.
"And then I had to go all Marie Antoinette up on her ass in the parking lot!"
This is what happens every morning at my house. The dog pulls my towel off the rack with his teeth and then lays his little dog body all over it. Who needs a towel warmer???
Priorities
I constantly have a lens missing from my sunglasses. Why? I have no clue.
So we are doing a historic restoration of a home in town and we repaired all the holes in the original 1904 facade. Evidently the pigeons who were hanging out in there are pissed. They have chosen to protest by SHITTING NONSTOP on the outside of the building.
And running into windows. I am guessing this is the pigeon mafia equivalent of a horse head on your pillow.
Winning
When I run these races, I have a friend who always tells me to give her my race shirt. Really? The last race I bought her a visor since there was no way in hell I was giving her my shirt. I still haven't given it to her. That's what friends are for.
I am a grown, educated, professional woman who laughed for a good five minutes straight at this box in the store. Yes it is a chocolate laxative called "smooth move".
Winning.
AERODYNAMIC
Remember that time I pulled the jet ski behind my minivan? I suddenly feel so much better after seeing the Lincoln Town Car pulling a trailer full of trash.
Champagne Wishes and Caviar Dreams.
"And then I had to go all Marie Antoinette up on her ass in the parking lot!"
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Young and the Restless
Last week I took Monday off from work to rest and recuperate from working all weekend. Actually I was very tired and cranky so my office staff suggested I go home. I spent the day rolling in and out of sleep and had a major revelation – Daytime Television is CRAP.
It was nothing but people yelling and screaming at each other and trying to see who can act the trashiest. When I was a child at home we watched real television with some artistic flair – Young and the Restless.
If you are not familiar with the show, let me explain its importance to our family as a child. When school was not in session my mother would wake us up with the warning that we had to get up and “hit it”. “Hit it” meant we had to clean the house before 11:00 when the Young and the Restless came on the tube. You better be wrapping it up by the time the wheel was spun for the final Showcase Showdown.
I have vivid memories of my mother getting on the couch with me watch the Abbotts create make up at Jabot Cosmetics. Poor Ashley Abbott was always working in that damn lab brewing up some kind of perfume, but never really seeming to make any headway. It was all blue and I bet it smelled horrible.
I will never forget seeing Katherine Chancellor walking around in a BURKAH for about a year for no apparent reason. And then her son married some chunky little half skank named Nina who snarled at everyone. No one could ever forget Victor and Nikki. They evidently had super hero kids or something because when I finished third grade they were small preschool children. When I started fourth grade, those fools were adults! Amazing!
When I would watch Young and the Restless with my grandmother and aunts in Florida at the garage beauty shop, they would stay completely silent all through the show and then debate like scholars during the commercial break. After the “alleged incident” and the beauty parlor got shut down, we watched Young and the Restless on my grandparents sun porch…with all the same people. My grandfather would say he didn’t like it that all those women coming into his porch around his recliner and watching what he referred to as, “that ole mess”. If there was a heated discussion about Jill Abbott or if Victoria was really Victor’s baby he would argue vehemently that Victor was getting the wool pulled over his eyes and that Jill was just using that poor old boy for his money. Pretty good argument for someone who doesn’t watch that ole mess.
When I had my first child I stayed at home and soon began settling into a routine. I turned on the tube to Young and the Restless after being away from it for many years. Low and behold it was the same shit! The only thing that was different was that Nikki was acting like this fancy matriarch of the family. I think she has forgotten that Victor dragged her straight off the pole.
I have never watched the Young and the Restless again. Sad but true. I spend my time working, raising my children, talking to my husband, and watching a historically based miniseries on PBS that has everyone in these strange love triangles with all of them fighting over money and stabbing each other in the back. Daughton Abbey. I love it. Hell I even have the app on my phone.
Thank you for reading my post, and I hope you feel a little bit better about yourself.
It was nothing but people yelling and screaming at each other and trying to see who can act the trashiest. When I was a child at home we watched real television with some artistic flair – Young and the Restless.
If you are not familiar with the show, let me explain its importance to our family as a child. When school was not in session my mother would wake us up with the warning that we had to get up and “hit it”. “Hit it” meant we had to clean the house before 11:00 when the Young and the Restless came on the tube. You better be wrapping it up by the time the wheel was spun for the final Showcase Showdown.
I have vivid memories of my mother getting on the couch with me watch the Abbotts create make up at Jabot Cosmetics. Poor Ashley Abbott was always working in that damn lab brewing up some kind of perfume, but never really seeming to make any headway. It was all blue and I bet it smelled horrible.
I will never forget seeing Katherine Chancellor walking around in a BURKAH for about a year for no apparent reason. And then her son married some chunky little half skank named Nina who snarled at everyone. No one could ever forget Victor and Nikki. They evidently had super hero kids or something because when I finished third grade they were small preschool children. When I started fourth grade, those fools were adults! Amazing!
When I would watch Young and the Restless with my grandmother and aunts in Florida at the garage beauty shop, they would stay completely silent all through the show and then debate like scholars during the commercial break. After the “alleged incident” and the beauty parlor got shut down, we watched Young and the Restless on my grandparents sun porch…with all the same people. My grandfather would say he didn’t like it that all those women coming into his porch around his recliner and watching what he referred to as, “that ole mess”. If there was a heated discussion about Jill Abbott or if Victoria was really Victor’s baby he would argue vehemently that Victor was getting the wool pulled over his eyes and that Jill was just using that poor old boy for his money. Pretty good argument for someone who doesn’t watch that ole mess.
When I had my first child I stayed at home and soon began settling into a routine. I turned on the tube to Young and the Restless after being away from it for many years. Low and behold it was the same shit! The only thing that was different was that Nikki was acting like this fancy matriarch of the family. I think she has forgotten that Victor dragged her straight off the pole.
I have never watched the Young and the Restless again. Sad but true. I spend my time working, raising my children, talking to my husband, and watching a historically based miniseries on PBS that has everyone in these strange love triangles with all of them fighting over money and stabbing each other in the back. Daughton Abbey. I love it. Hell I even have the app on my phone.
Thank you for reading my post, and I hope you feel a little bit better about yourself.
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