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.

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.

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.

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.

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!"

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.

How I Roll

This is how I rolled into work this morning. Let me clarify – how I rolled into my first meeting of the day. Deodorant on your black shirt is okay to many people if it is a one time thing, but not when you add it to all my other wardrobe malfunctions. I have a history….

Underwear – Last week I felt a breeze when I hopped out of the car at the gas station because my dress was tucked in my panties. At least they were pretty panties. Once I was in Wal Mart in my grey sweater dress with black tights when I got so hot I thought I was going to pass out. I went into the bathroom to remove the tights and felt soooo much better. Better until I realized that the people staring at me could see my bright green large cotton underwear through the sweater dress. I just thought my fine short little ass still had it!

Once in high school I was visiting a church with a friend one Sunday morning. The elastic in my panties apparently gave up the fight and my underwear fell down right before we walked into the sanctuary. Being the quick thinker that I am, I kicked them off and stuck them behind the potted plants in the corner and just casually walked off. I’m a big fan of band aid solutions. I forgot to go back and get my panties after church. I went to a boarding school where everyone had to have their names in every piece of clothing….

Shoes – I love high heels. They do not love me. I have twisted my ankles, broken heels, and had my stilettos stuck in cracks all over the country. Once after completing my first half marathon I was in my office at the Girl Scout office when one of the older girls said she could teach me how to do the electric slide. I was all for it and jumped up in my high heeled boots and started my lesson. I took a misstep into a large shipping box behind me and ended up having to go to the doctor. That was after I apologized profusely to the girl for knocking her into the wall during my fall.

I either go big or go home. It is high heels or nothing. I have started taking flying lessons. I know, it is the last damn thing I need to be doing, but I want to learn. My flight instructor shall remain nameless, but due to the fact that I still call important instruments “thingy” and give him a ton of shit to put up with, let’s just refer to him as Job. Before I started one of my last lessons the conversation went a little like this:

Me: “Can I fly in high heels?”

Job:”No mam.”

Me: “Well I am coming straight from work. Are you sure?”

Job: “Yes I am sure.”

Me: “Can I just fly barefoot?”

Job: “NO YOU CANNOT FLY BAREFOOT!”

Me: “Geez you sure are cranky. I drive barefoot all the time. It’s no big deal.”

Job: he just puts his head down and closes his eyes.

Clothing in general – I have walked around town with holes in my pants, shirts unbuttoned, and sweaters on backwards. Hell I’ve even worn a dress backwards all damn day long. I have run in not so supportive bras, not so flattering pants, and shorts that rode up in bad places. I have a closet full of shit that doesn’t look good on me. I really don’t care.

The next time you see me walking with my dress in my panties, a half a roll of toilet paper dragging behind my shoe, and my sweater inside out, just say a little prayer. I didn’t name this blog a Diary of a Busy Mess just for shits and giggles.

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