Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Word of the day- Wonky

Wonky- turned or twisted to one side
not right

Today, at work, during a very, very long, boring conference call ( I had two of them today) I was surfing the web.

Yes, on company time, shoot me. I had my phone muted as I read the news, listening with one ear in case my expertise was needed.

Headline "Man gets three years for sex with horse."

Me- Oh my God Joyce, listen to this, "Man gets three years for sex with horse."

Joyce- What are you looking at over there?

Me- The news, can you believe that?

Joyce- Wait, was it a girl horse or a boy horse?

Me- And it matters, why?

Joyce- Well, I'm trying to picture it.

Me- Stop picturing it, that's just gross. Oh my God, they got it on video tape, he
was convicted of first degree buggery.

Joyce- Buggery? I don't want to know what these people do. Where was that?

Me- North Carolina, where we are going to live on the beach after I publish my book.

Joyce- I'm not going there, see what those people do?

Me- (still reading the news) This was the second time he was caught with the same
horse. He had to register as a sex offender. A sex offender? Really? He's on
the same list with the rapists and pedophiles? Do they list his offense? Sex
a horse. Will he be allowed to live near farms? Why the same horse twice? Was
it the only horse around or was she asking for it, twitching her tail at him
with that come hither look in her eyes?
Joyce- That's it, I'm staying in my house, people are crazy.

Wonky- not just for people anymore.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

I don't wanna grow up

I don't wanna grow up and you can't make me! Bet my mother has never heard that before. Remember when you were younger and every sentence started with.... When I'm 18 I'm gonna...stay up late, eat candy for breakfast and dinner, stay out after dark, ride my bike in the street, not go to school, kiss the boys, run with scissors, what ever it is I wanted to do.

I couldn't wait to grow up. Now, I wish I had at least slowed down a little, but since I didn't, I'm living like a child now!

I love the holidays, more than my daughter I think. And Halloween, well, what could be more fun than that? I dress up every year, and every year, it gets more and more ridiculous.

This year I have a naughty nun and a sexy Strawberry Shortcake costume. I think Strawberry Shortcake is winning. At work I'll be Cruella Deville. That's who I was last year when I went to a Halloween party with Marty. He was Darth Maul, took us forever to do his makeup.

All my friends get into Halloween too. I read an article today that said Halloween is such a big money maker because of all the adults that dress up. I don't remember my parents dressing up.

Mo wants to be Alice in Wonderland, for now that is, I'm sure it will change, she is usually something dead.

I don't remember having this much fun at Halloween when I was a kid, maybe it was because my parents didn't let me drink. Whatever the reason, it's fun now.

And this year, my dates are going to be a priest, a nun and Rainbow Brite, and we are going to walk into a bar. Sounds like the beginning of a joke doesn't' it? Well, it just might be, only we won't let anyone in on the punch line.

Sleep is my friend

We all have our talents, mine is sleeping. I am the world's best sleeper, it's one of my favorite things to do and I do it well.

I'm usually falling asleep walking up the stairs. Mo tucks me in now because I can't stay up past ten, hey five comes early!

Lately though I've notice something strange. I don't move, at all, all night. Is that normal?

I get in bed, roll on my side and I'm out like a light. I dont' even have to make my bed, just pull the blanket back in place.

Joyce said I sleep like a corpse, I say, corpse's don't sleep! Silly rabbit,I'm just a good sleeper.

When I was first divorced Mo slept with me every night. That lasted about a year. When she finally slept in her own bed I was on cloud nine. I took up the whole bed, I rolled, I tossed, I turned, in the morning, even the bottom sheet was off the bed.

Now, I don't even use the other side of the bed. I better make sure I rotate my mattress otherwise that other side will still be brand new.

Random thoughts for a snow day.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Irrational fears

Everyone has them. Even if we don't talk about them. Other people's irrational fears are funny, our own, not so much.

My sister, Angie is afraid of praying mantis'. Can you believe that? She is so afraid that once when we lived in an apartment, she went to go outside and there was a praying mantis on the screen door so she called maintenance to come remove it. Our friend Marianne managed the complex at the time and thought that was the funniest thing she had ever heard so the next day when Angie came home from work there were plastic praying mantis' everywhere, on the chairs on the porch, the doorknob, it was hysterical. Angie didn't think so.

She is also afraid of tumbleweeds. She almost killed us all when a "herd" of tumbleweeds ran across the road. That's what she called them, a herd.

I'm afraid of clowns. I never used to be, but now that it's dark in the garage when I go out in the morning I know that clown from It is out there waiting for me. My friend Joyce thinks it's vampires that are waiting for her. I told her vampires aren't real, how can you be afraid of something that isn't real? She's afraid of midgets too.

Mo's afraid of the dark. When I get up in the morning every light in the house is on because she can't walk down the hall to her bedroom with the lights off.

What makes one person afraid and another not? I know my sister was never attached by a praying mantis or a herd of tumbleweeds. I've never encountered a clown hell bent on killing me and nothing lives in the dark in my house. Yet we are afraid.

I love Stephen King, I've read everything he has ever written, at least twice, except It. What the hell was he thinking? Give me cars that want to kill me, a cemetary that brings animals and people back to life, telekinisis, rabid dogs, anything but clowns.

Maybe that will be the story line of my next novel, saving the world, one clown at a time. We could use praying mantis', vampires, tumbleweeds and midgets to get rid of them. I think I'm on to something............

When I grow up............

There comes a time in every one's life when you have to start thinking about what you want to be when you grow up. I want to be a writer.

I want to sell many, many novels, buy a beach house in North Carolina, eat bon bons, travel to exotic places and have affairs with the gardener, the pool boy, the pizza delivery get the picture.

Anyway, now that I'm 27 ( don't you dare correct me, this is my delusion after all ) I've decided it's time to buckle down and start getting serious about this writing thing.

I have three half finished novels that I've been working on, half-heartedly, for ten years. So, today is the day, I'm going to start writing.

First, I have to get ready. I made signs that say " If you want to be a writer, sit down and write" I have taped them everywhere. I've saved what I've written in several places, in case my computer crashes. Now I'm ready.

But first, I have to do some laundry, Mo needs a specific shirt clean for her job interview tomorrow. Plus, I really should do some yoga, I've been putting that off, and I need to do it for my health. Ok, now I can write.

Oh wait, I need to fold the laundry, then I should take a shower so I don't have to shower in the morning. While I'm in the bathroom I see that the trash needs to be emptied and there is shampoo spilled on the shelf. Ok, I'll just clean the bathroom.

Bathroom clean, I'm really ready now. Just a quick check of Facebook, then myspace, then my email, oh wait, there's a dating site I've been talking to this guy on.....

The list goes on and on. Before I know it, it's time to go to bed, 5am comes early you know. I'll write tomorrow.

Am I the only one who does this? Is it a fear of not being good enough? Or is it laziness. I really, really want to write, I love it, it's like nothing I've ever done before. Why don't I do it?

I should just finish this post and write, I think I will. But first... I think I'll make a sandwich.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Today, we cry

The world lost a wonderful man today. Wayne Edwards. My ex husbands oldest brother died as a result of ALS otherwise known as Lou Gehrig's disease. He contracted this from exposure to agent orange in Vietnam.
ALS is not a kind disease. It took the body of a vibrant, active man while leaving his amazingly intelligent mind intact.
Wayne knew what was going on and was powerless to stop it, by the end he was powerless to do pretty much anything.
My heart is breaking for his wife, Arlene, their time together was much too short, for his children, for his grandchildren.
But right now, mostly, my heart breaks for Steve. My ex husband has had his share of issues with all of his siblings, just like the rest of us, but he loves them and they love him. He is the baby, Stevarino.
Steve has lost two brothers in just a few short years, both gone too soon. Wayne is the oldest and only 63. I can't imagine his pain and hope that he and the rest of his siblings are comforted knowing that where ever we go when this is over, whatever you believe, there is a special place for men like Wayne. Men who did what they had to do to take care of the ones they love and paid a heavy price for it.
Mo and I love you Wayne, and we will miss you.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Reality TV? Seriously............

Ok, not a reality TV fan, not really a TV fan but reality TV is like the shit you scrape off your shoe, you keep looking at it because you have no idea how it got there.

It seemed innocent enough, American Idol, of course I only watch the first few episodes where they have the people who are so horrible you just have to laugh. My favorite was Keith from season one with his "Like a Virgin" remake, he is my hero.

I hear people at work talk about these shows all the time, but I never watch them. The funny thing is, even if you have never seen them there is no escape.

Jon and Kate plus 8. What the hell is that? I only saw commercials and Kate was always yelling at someone. Does having eight kids really make you TV worthy?

And then there are the Duggar's. A quiverfull? That's a religion? You know why God said go forth and multiply? Because people rarely lived past thirty and you needed kids to work the family farm and take care of the ones left behind when Mom kicked the bucket from having too many babies.

I don't know about the rest of you but pushing one screaming six pound person from my vagina was enough to last me a life time. Pregnancy was great, it was giving birth that sucked. Although I imagine that being pregnant while you still have three under 5 would not be so much fun.

If only I had continued until my uterus needed rebar to hold it in then I too, could have my own reality show. Cheese and rice.

Still, those shows are fairly benign, as long as you don't think of the damage being done to the children when everything they do is played out in front of a TV audience.

Then there is the Octomom. What was she thinking, and how did it ever sound like a good idea- even in her head?

" I know, I'll have fourteen kids, no job, no spouse, call 911 all the time because I can't keep track of all these kids, fight with my mom, have the maturity of most twelve year olds and America will hate me so much they will be compelled to watch."

Nothing is as bad as the balloon boy saga. This kids parents have already been on wife swap, they love the lime light. Their fifteen minutes of fame was over. So what do they do? Concoct an elaborate scheme to get all of America involved in the fate of their youngest child, tell the children before hand and coach them on the lies they will have to tell, and then set their plan in motion.

I, like everyone else, was holding my breath, praying that their little boy was safe. All while thinking, what were they doing, why wasn't that balloon secure so a little boy couldn't get hurt in it. And when the balloon landed and there was no one inside, the image of him falling 8,000 feet or so to his death would not leave me.

He wasn't in the balloon because he never had been, when they interviewed him, he vomited, twice, trying to keep the lies he was supposed to be telling straight.

So, someone, in their infinite wisdom, gave this child's parents exactly what they wanted, a TV show of their very own. Where are the people who are supposed to be protecting these children? Certainly their parents are not up for the job.

What happened to the days when it was a parents job to teach children that lying is never appropriate? Now, parents coach their children on the lies to tell during interviews.

What happened to child labor laws? Now, parents have more and more children and put them in danger, just to get their own TV show.

But, before you get on your high horse and say " How dare they?" Think about the reality shows you watch. Maybe they are not even close to being like these but they all lead to one thing- the exploitation of someone for someone else's gain.

Seriously, would you have ever though about the Kardashian sisters if it were not for reality TV?

Never give in to sudden urges

I really don't know what's wrong with me, or more specifically, what was wrong with me on Saturday.

It started like any other Saturday. Laundry, vacuuming, purging (we'll talk about that later) and a trip to Home Depot.

I was finally going to finish the spare room so I could move my stuff in there and start sanding my room. Just a typical Saturday. Until I paid attention to a radio ad.

It was an ad for a car dealership " Come on down" so I did what any brain dead parent of a sixteen year old would do, I yelled for my daughter.

" Hey Mo, wanna go car shopping?" Wait, who said that? No sooner had I thought it then we were in the car on our way to the dealership.

The rest of the day was spent on autopilot. I did not know this woman who was buying a car from some sleazy little car salesman who kept calling me Mom.

Fortunately, Mo was on it, she test drove many cars and finally fell in love. Even when the sleazy guy tried to talk her into another car she stood firm, too bad I didn't.

So now we are the proud owners of a new car. Mo has learned to change a brake light, check the oil, the antifreeze and the windshield washer fluid.

Me, I just signed the check. What was I thinking?

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Cyberslut Bingo

Last night Joyce and I went to CyberSlut bingo. We played bingo with lesbians, gay guys and cross dressers, oh my! It was a freaking blast!

Joyce was a little nervous so we had some vodka tonics in the parking lot before we went in and she made me promise not to let them make her do anything.

Upon entering we were greeted by a 6 foot tall man with an additional three feet of yellow hair, he was also wearing silver boots with a big heel. What a cutie! His name was Fonda Dick, then there was Monaco Lewinsky dressed like a little dutch girl with big red hair and huge knockers. And don't forget Freda Snatch, they were amazing, and the most fun you can have in a room full of gay men on a Friday night.

Since it is October this months theme was Halloween so lots of people were dressed up. My favorite was two older guys, in their mid to late fifties, dressed as cowboys, chaps and all. They were broke back mountain, it was hilarious!

This bingo has some different rules. It is to benefit the Utah Aids Foundation so all the prizes are donated, things like dinner for two at a nice restaraunt, an overnight stay at Hotel Monaco, and a bag filled with goodies.

You just play basic bingo but they have a saying for almost every number, my favorite:

Oh sixty three,
oh sixty three,
I wanna lick you
where you pee
Sung to Old Christmas tree in case you hadn't guessed.

If you are down to one number you have to get up and spin around in a circle with your hands in the air. There are also party fouls, things like talking on your cell phone- they will take it and talk to whoever is on the other end, not good if it's your grandma!

Also, no hands or arms on the table, if you are caught and you are a girl, you have to wear this huge, silly drag queen wig, if you are a guy, you have to take your shirt off and don't get it back until you have collected twenty bucks, so you have all these cute shirtless guys running aroung collecting dollar bills. Too bad they are all gay.

During a fifteen minute break Joyce and I were talking about how much fun we were having.

Me- They all think we are lesbians.
Joyce- No they don't, I don't care anyway.
Me- It's because you wore your lesbian shoes.
Joyce- You are so rude, what about you, you look like a twelve year old boy.
Me- That's the way you like them baby.

We had the best time and plan to go again. When we were leaving an older lesbian couple told us to have a good night. Joyce said, they really do think we are lesbians.

Friday, October 16, 2009

Rant of the day

I’m surrounded by idiots. There really is no other explanation. Yes, I know I’m one of them, but my idiocy shows in different ways. Today I am on a rant about people who bilk the government, charity organizations and churches instead of getting a job.

I understand that lots of people cannot work and need these programs, they can’t go away, if they do there will be even more problems than there are right now. My issue is with the people who can work, but simply choose not to, they have plenty of excuses, lots of reasons why they can’t work.

My first example is a person I used to be friends with, let’s call her Marie. She is funny, smart, articulate and refuses to be a contributing member of society. Marie has two children, neither of which she currently has custody of, but she uses their names and ages when she goes to the bishop for help.

Marie is an alcoholic, she has lost custody of both of her children. DCFS paid for her to go into a rehab facility as part of a plan to regain custody of her youngest. In other words, you and I paid for her to go into rehab, I know many people who work hard and either they or their children have drug or alcohol issues but their health insurance doesn’t cover rehab and they make too much money to qualify for any programs. There really aren’t a lot of programs for people who are indigent, that’s why so many substance abusers are homeless. Marie got lucky that her daughter’s social worker could pull some strings to try to get help for her.

So what does she do? Marie, in her infinite wisdom, WALKS OUT OF THE PROGRAM!!!! She doesn’t need it, this isn’t really for someone like her, she says all of this while looking down her nose, as if she is better than the other people in the program. Marie says things like- “They have drug problems, I don’t.” Well, no you don’t but you did drive your child to school so drunk that the teachers took your keys and refused to let you have them back- and this was at 9am.

I am amazed by other peoples stupidity and their sense of entitlement. Marie has not worked since she got pregnant with her youngest, the state of Utah and the LDS church has supported her for the last six years.

When she walked out of this program that the taxpayers of Utah were kind enough to pay for, she was right back up to her old tricks. The state and the church are again paying for her apartment, her utilities, her food, her cell phone, her internet. And she doesn’t see a problem with this.

Did you know there is an expensive frozen food delivery company here in Utah that will allow you to pay for your home delivered food, with your food stamps? Me neither, but Marie used them to buy me ice cream for Christmas- there’s one Christmas present I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy. How many children go hungry while Marie buys ice cream, to give away, with her food stamps?

The second example is a woman I work with, she has two daughters, late twenties, they both have toddlers, no baby’s daddies on the scene in this world. All day long I hear this woman over in her cubicle on the phone telling her daughters how to apply for housing, who to call for sub for Santa, what stores they can use their food stamps when they shop. Not only will these girls not work, they are not even ambitious enough to actively seek help, their mom does it for them.

Every year I do sub for Santa or pick names off the Angel tree, I stopped two years ago. I got the name of two little girls, 5 and 7, talked to their mom about what they wanted, spent more money than Sub for Santa recommends but I didn’t care, these two little girls were going to have a nice Christmas.

A week before Christmas I make arrangements to drop off the gifts. The house I deliver the gifts to is huge, in one of the best neighborhoods in the valley. The mom answers the door and tells me to just put the gifts in the front room. She was talking on her cell phone and really didn’t have time to talk to me. I walk into the front room, dragging bags and toys and wrapping paper and tape and stocking stuffers. The front room looks like something out of a Martha Stewart magazine, the tree is at least ten feet tall and beautifully decorated, the entire home is beautifully decorated for Christmas. There are so many presents under the tree, the majority of which have tags with the little girl’s names on them. The mother didn’t even acknowledge me the whole time I made trips in and out of the house. She never said goodbye. She never said thank you.

I feel like an idiot, I didn’t help anyone. This wasn’t a case of giving to someone who might not otherwise receive, this was all about greed. I have discovered that people who are living off government or church or charity can never get enough. They know there is always someone else out there who will give to them as well, and they want it all.

There has to be a better way.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Nothing a bubble bath can't cure

What a day! It started out bad and quickly went downhill. My beautiful Mo and I argued on the way to work this morning, never a good start to a day. I hate argueing and being "grunchy" with her, it makes my whole day sad.

It was an emotional day. I wallowed in self pity. Damn him! I'm glad he is out of my life but sad for the time I lost to him. I'm also repeatedly kicking my own ass for being such an idiot.

Work was hard, I just wanted to come home, crawl in bed, cry, scream and throw things, but work stops for no man.

I held it together, barely. We went bowling which made me laugh, very welcome on a day like today.

Then on my way home my best friend called, she was upset because I lied to her. I lied to everyone, I was so tired of hearing the crap for dating him that I just lied. I'm not dating him, we are just friends, hanging out. Now of course they all know I lied.

It was much better than seeing that look on their faces that said they knew it was just a matter of time. If everyone else could see it, why couldn't I?

I told my friend I couldn't talk about it, I really couldn't, thinking about it made me cry, forget about talking about it.

Mo and I went to a birthday party, I just wanted to come home. My plan for the night was a bubble bath, a glass of wine and crying until my head exploded or I couldn't stand my nose running anymore, whichever came first.

We got home and I prepared for my bath of misery. Mo was not happy that I was shedding a single tear over him, let alone a bathtub full.

I got everything together, lit the candles, got my wine, poured the bubble bath under the running water and waited for the water to be high enough to turn on the jets. I may be a crybaby but I want my privacy when I cry.

Finally I turn on the jets and settle in for a good cry. As soon as the tears start I realize I've used WAAAAAAAAAAAAy too much bubble stuff and this is turning in to the bubble bath that ate the world. I quickly turn off the jets and call Mo and ask her to bring me a towel.

My baby walks in, sees me covered up to my chin in bubbles and starts laughing, then she throws bubbles at me. Giggling we start to have a bubble fight when I realize I have really, really huge bubble boobs, which makes us laugh harder. Then I do the Santa beard with the bubble boobs and the sad tears are gone, replaced by ones from laughing so hard.

"That's enough, I'm done feeling sorry for myself, I'm getting out of here before the bubbles take over the house."

As Mo leaves the bathroom I tell her I love her and thank her for making me laugh. Had I really forgotten what's important? The sound of my teenager laughing at my Santa beard and bubble boobs as she throws bubbles at me made me realize, I have everything I need.

I may have stumbled, and fallen, and lost my way for a while, but I have so very much to be grateful for, so many people who love me, even when I'm an idiot.

The pity party is over, I had an entire day to kick myself in the ass for this mistake but you know what? In the grand scheme of my life he is a blip on the screen, and one day I will look back and be grateful for the lesson.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Prelude to a post

Ok, this is an introduction to the post that follows. I haven't blogged much lately, haven't been able to find the funny in the every day. There hasn't been a lot of funny lately, just a lot of hurt. I found out my boyfriend ( now ex boyfriend) had another girlfriend. The post that follows is about that, the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Once this is out of my head we will return to our regularly scheduled blog.

Candy Coated Misery

What do you wear to meet your boyfriends other girlfriend? Hmmm? Really, I didn't know the answer because I never asked the question, never thought I would need to know. So, after Jessica invited me out I poured myself a glass of wine and googled it. Not that it really mattered, who cares? We were just two women who were going to dump our hurt into each others laps. We understood.

Just for the record, google was no help, not that I really wanted or needed suggestions, it didn't matter, I just wanted to take my mind off the real question.

How did I not know this? How did I believe him? How many times was I dropped on my head as a baby?

For the record, Jessica, is a wonderful woman who is much braver than I. We have known about each other in an obscure way for the past year. I knew when he met her, we broke up, I knew when he told her about us, they broke up, after that things got very muddled.

I guess it's true that we only see what we want to see. I wanted to believe all the bullshit he spoon fed me, and so did she. Jessica said it best, she said " I knew something wasn't right, out of the corner of my eye I could see it, but I would just make myself look somewhere else and pretend I saw nothing."

We both did. We both fell in love with a man who only loves himself. We shared him, unknowingly, one weekend with her, one weekend with me, a night here a night there, just enough to cover his trail on both ends.

Jessica finally took the bull by the horns and emailed me, asked the question that was in the back of my mind but I was too afraid to ask, too afraid to find the answer I didn't want to hear.

We decided to meet, now there is an uncomfortable situation if there ever was one. She invited me out and I figured since she was brave enough to take the first step to ending our misery, it was my turn. I showed up at the bar she suggested.

We had a few beers and discovered all the lies he told us both, most of them the same lies, guess it was easier for him to keep track that way. And you know what? I like her. I really, really like her. She is bright and funny and pretty as hell. She absolutely doesn't need a loser like him in her life.

Then she reminded me that I don't either. One thing we discovered during our talk was that he took so much away from us. Mainly, he took our self esteem, our sense of self worth. Before meeting him we were both pretty sure that we deserved good things, he made us believe otherwise.

Well no more my friend. Sometimes good does triumph over evil, sometimes we do the right thing, and sometimes we women stick together.

There are plenty of women, friends of his wives, who knew and didn't tell us. Who listened to us say we loved him and were going to have a future with him, and they said nothing. Would we have listened? I guess we'll never know. Instead we listened to each other and found the strength to walk away.

It's scary. Sometimes it's so much easier to stay in a relationship, even a bad one, then to go out in the big bad dating world again. I still cry at night, but this time I welcome the tears, I know that when they stop, this is really over and I will get on with my life.

Thank you Jessica, for giving me back myself, for becoming a real person to me instead of just who he threatened me with whenever things didn't go his way.

Together we will get through this and all he has is the memories of what he lost. And he lost more than he will ever know.

Monday, October 5, 2009

My baby, she is so grown up but still sleeps under her baby blanket. I made that blanket for her first birthday out of outgrown clothes. It has been patched so much that the only thing on it that is still original is the back. She can't sleep anywhere without it.

Isn't life wonderful. All I have to do is look at her and I know that whatever purpose I have in life was fulfilled when I pushed this child out of my girlie parts.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Another Saturday night in Utah

It's General Conference weekend. If you don't know what that is, you don't live in Utah, or even visit very often.

General Conference happens twice a year. The leaders of the predominate religion (those damn Mormons) give instruction to church members, there are five two hour sessions.

Some people go in person to hear the speakers, some sit home where we can watch or listen to it around the clock if we want. And some of us, get our drink on.

General conference always talks about women, how important they are, in the home and at church, so, we went out and celebrated women.
We started at the strip club. Strip clubs are some of the best places to people watch and not just the strippers!

First there was this little rock star wanna be. He looked like one of the guys from Poison, the one that always wears the bandanna over his head with lots of black eye liner. That was him, he danced for us, we gave him a dollar and someone in our group sucked tequila out of his belly button and rubbed her tongue raw licking the salt off his stomach.

It wasn't me, I hate tequila, even if it is on a cute twenty somethings six pack. Eventually we got bored, you can only watch strippers for so long before they all look the same, kinda like Chinese people.

So, since it was Celebrate Women night Marianne had two of her favorite lesbians pick us up and take us to the gay bar. Marianne said she had been there before and learned the Lesbian dance- they have their own dance? Who knew.

Turns out it was Cupid Shuffle, which I learned at the Westerner with my sisters- actually I learned it the night Angie got married but that's a whole different story.
So we were cupid shuffling as soon as we got there, and then we danced to the apple bottom jeans song and all I could think of was that video on you tube with the little boy in the red shirt dancing to that, I tried his moves, it wasn't pretty.

Then, suddenly we realize, we are not going to pick up men here, hello, its a freaking gay bar! Who's idea was this anyway?

We called our trusty designated driver- thanks Greg, you rock- and he came and picked us up and took us back to the strip club and we made it before last call.
The end of the night at strip clubs is pretty funny. Marianne and I sat in the end of the night perv seats for a while, gave us a better view of the guys, then we all went outside to smoke.

Ok, it's the end of the night so all the guys who haven't found someone to go home with are desperately seeking the love of their night. And we are laughing at them.
One guy was showing off his east side tattoos- cause apparently gang wannabees are every woman over 40's dream man, and here comes Alabama.

This man was tall, I mean tall, he towered over Marianne and I and Mr. East side. So Alabama starts showing us him "pure Alabama" tattoos. That's when we notice he has one tooth, right in the front.

Marianne topped them both with their pure east side and pure Alabama shit, she showed them pure Murray, they will never be the same.

Last call, Greg shows up and we are headed out the door when pure east side and another guy in a wife beater start talking to us.

Wife beater is checking out Kim, and then he says the magic words, "I just got out of prison"

Kim and I are both like, " Ummm, dude, you might not want to tell the ladies that when you first meet them." He was a little offended.

Then we ran giggling and got in the car with Greg. It was fun and we almost talked a guy in the parking lot into stripping for us, but then his wife called!

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Baseball, black eyes and trailer trash

I just got off the phone with a friend and we were talking about how klutzy people can be. I said that I never really had that problem, thank God. She laughed and said "Really? Where have you been for the last couple years?"
Gotta love those friends who never, ever let you forget all the stupid things you have done. Since this blog is all about over sharing and giving you way too much information about my life, here we go again!
A few years ago I was on a coed softball team at work. I played second base, something I was very proud of since I wasn't all that athletic as a kid. I was good at it, I can catch and I can throw, not far but being in the infield you don't have to throw far. Anyway, it was our first 9 o'clock game. We were in the outfield when the pitcher threw the ball to me because someone was rounding second. I lost the ball in the lights and caught it with my eye. I dropped to my knees not really sure where the ball had hit me, just that it had, and I wasn't going to let all these people I worked with see me cry. Don tried to help me up but I just kept crying for Angie, she was in the outfield, we worked together.
Angie came running in, helped me up, took one look at my eye and told her boyfriend, who was the pitcher, that we needed to go to the hospital.
We go to the hospital, I get seven stitches all while my sister makes fun of her boyfriend for hitting me with the ball.
In the morning, I call in to work, no way am I going to work with a black eye and stitches. I send Mo off to school and start cleaning the house. About an hour later I get a phone call from the principal asking me to come pick Mo up because she has been suspended for PDA (public display of affection) She's in eight grade.
I call Steve to see if he will go get her, I don't want to be seen like this and I figure he will lecture her so much I won't have to. Not gonna happen, he is working over an hour away. Shit.
I go to school, try not to make eye contact with anyone, sit in the principal's office while he tells me what a delinquent my child is and what can I say? I am the poster child for spousal abuse. Eventually he feels sorry for me and stops lecturing me and turns my child over to me.
We walk to the car, my blood is boiling but I don't want them to call child protective services so I wait until we are in the car to start yelling.
" What were you thinking? Holy hell, can't you just go to school and stay out of trouble? Look at me, do you think I wanted to come out looking like this? I work so freaking hard so you have a good life, not a white trash life, a good life, and this is what I get?"
" Mom, I didn't do anything! Stop yelling at me, it wasn't my fault!"
I'm about to lose my mind " Mo, I come to school, with a black eye to pick you up because you have been suspended for PDA in the hallway, with a GIRL no less, we look like white trash. They probably think your father beats me."
" Don't worry Mommy, they all know you and Daddy are divorced."
"Great, they think my boyfriend beats me, that's soooooooo much better."
Just a friendly reminder that we are all just a black eye away from the trailer we came from and this is just the first of my klutzy moments. Next time, I actually fall out of a house.

Fall is here

October 1st. Can you believe it? When I started this blog it was going to be all about finding myself. Figuring out who I am now that I'm someone else. Guess what? I still have no freaking idea!
My beautiful Mo is maturing by leaps and bounds, taking PSAT's and SAT's and ACT's and a bunch of other things I don't understand. I know it has something to do with college but what, I couldn't tell you. She wants to be a kindergarten teacher. I'm still wondering how she can possibly know what she wants to be when she grows up when I still have no clue, and I'm already a grown up!
Some days Mo is so sure of herself, she knows who she is and what she wants. I just want her to sit still and let me figure this out.
I'm a helicopter parent, I hover. Lovely image isn't it? If I could have put her in a bubble and protected her from the big bad world I would have, but I can't, society frowns on chaining your children in the basement. Don't they know whats out there?
Strangers, and cars, and boys and mean kids, and poison, and drunk drivers and pedophiles and aluminum foil in microwaves, and drugs and parents who let their kids drink and falling with scissors, the list goes on and on.
I know how it sounds, but isn't it my job to protect her? After all, I'm the mighty grown up and she is just a little girl who has no idea that in the right situation even candy can kill.
I am the parent that takes every freak story on the news and remembers it and designs my life to protect my child from just such a tragedy.
How many children are abducted? That's why she is never out of my sight.
How many children get decapitated by flying objects in a car during an accident? That's why there is never anything loose in the car.
How many children get hit crossing the street? That's why she couldn't cross the street by herself until she was twelve and why, even now if we are walking together and have to cross the street I reach for her hand.
How many children get high sniffing sharpies? That's why the sharpies are hidden in my room.
I could go on and on and on. Really, the things that I worry about are infinite. If I call her and she doesn't answer the phone I'm sure something horrible has happened. When she finally answers the phone she gets a lecture about "What's the point in having a phone if you never answer the damn thing? I though aliens abducted you." It could happen.
My only source of comfort in this helicopter life is knowing that I'm not alone. my nephew is 18 and still not allowed to eat Cap'n Crunch cereal, he choked on it once when he was three. His mom has never forgotten.
Just the other day I was thinking that life will be easier when Mo is 18 and I don't have to worry about her. I was talking to Joyce about teenagers, driving, boys, grades, all the drama that goes on.
Joyce, the mother of three grown daughters said, "I'm so glad that I don't have to do that anymore, so glad my girls are grown." Then she said, " I hope my granddaughter will not be a follower in junior high." And I realized, it never ends, absolutely never, and what's worse, those children you worry about will one day have children of their own for you to worry about.
Kill me now.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Happily ever after.....NOT!

We're married! Woo hoo! It's 6 a.m. and I'm a little delirious from lack of sleep so I'm still thinking this is fun! We start making phone calls, me first, I call my parents:
Me : Hi, Mom, guess where I am?
Mom, "Camping"
Me "Vegas"
Mom "What are you doing in Vegas"
Me " I got married"
Mom s i l e n c e. My mother is rarely speechless. "Clarence, pick up the phone, your daughter just got married in Vegas"
Dad, "Angie?"
Mom " No, Missi, pick up the phone."
Dad " Hello"
Me " Hi Daddy"
Dad "Are you drunk"
Me " No, Daddy, I'm not drunk"
Dad " Is he?"
That pretty much summed up the conversations we had with our family on the ride home. One of my sisters would only say "Shut the fuck up, you did not" over and over and over again. She said it every time I tried to say something.
So we rode home, giggling from our lack of sleep, ready to begin our lives together. But first, we must tell our children. Mo was 12 and just for future reference it is NOT a good idea to leave your child with their other parent for the weekend and come back married. Not a good idea at all.
I woke up the next morning, our first morning waking up together as man and wife, and he was laying there, still asleep, on my side of the bed, drooling a little on my pillow and all I could think was " You're really never gonna go home are you?" Shit
So after such an auspicious start is it surprising that we didn't live happily ever after?
In the first week of wedded bliss I found out my husband had two problems, ok, two OTHER problems, working and drinking. Way too much of one and way too little of another. No, he wasn't a workaholic.
Fast forward two and a half months, I get home from work at ten and find my new husband passed out on the floor and my twelve year old locked in her room, she's scared of stupid drunk people, who knew?
Anyway, I take the keys out of his pocket, drag his drunk ass to the front porch, lock the door and leave him there. If only that were the end, but no, he had to come back for his things.
When he comes back he is in rare form, yelling and stomping and snorting fire, I'm trying to ignore him. I'm carrying boxes because I'm moving and he is standing in the doorway yelling. I tell him to get out of my house. He says, make me.
Ok, I put the box down and try to push him out of the doorway. He's 6 feet tall and about 200 pounds, needless to say, it didn't work, but he did get a disgusted look on his face and walk outside.
I go back to moving and the police show up. I'm thinking they are there because of all the yelling, how naive I am.
Officer Friendly " Do you live here?"
Me "Yes" but thinking, no Einstein, I always move other peoples shit.
Officer Friendly "Is that your husband?"
Me "Yes"
Officer Friendly "You wanna tell us whats going on here."
So I tell him an abbreviated version, we're moving, he wanted to argue, yelling, get out, yadda, yadda, yadda.
Officer Friendly " He says you pushed him"
Me " Yes, I pushed him"
Officer Friendly " Where was he when you pushed him"
Me "Right here"
Officer Friendly " And where did he end up?"
Me " Ummmm, right here, he's a bit bigger than me"
That's when I found out that your first instinct should be to lie to the nice officer because not only had I pushed him, but I admitted to it so now I had to be arrested.
WTF!!! You're kidding right? Not kidding apparently. Officer Friendly takes me to the patrol car while his buddy talks with my wonderful husband. I sit in the car give the officer all the information he asks for, he gives me a citation for disorderly conduct and walks me back to the apartment.
As we are walking back we walk right past my husband and the other officer. My wonderful husband says "I'm really sorry about all this."
I turned and looked at him, I wanted so badly to call him a pussy, but with an officer holding my arm and a citation with a court date on it in my hand, that didn't seem like the best course of action.
Instead I sweetly smiled at him and said " It's ok Sweetie, I understand why you would be afraid."
The cops laughed like mad men, which made it so worth it. And that is how I got divorced and arrested for domestic violence. I had to go to anger management for a year, which really pissed me off. But I learned my lesson and my family got a huge laugh out of it, the joke with my sisters now is " Don't make her mad, she might push you."
So children, what have we learned? Never, ever admit anything, even when you haven't done anything wrong. The cops asked me if Kurt hit or pushed me,I said no, because he hadn't but when they asked if I pushed him I said yes, the truth, again. Before they left the cops told me, once they stopped laughing, if I had denied it nothing would have happened, his word against mine and all of that good stuff. Instead it cost me over a thousand dollars to hear my therapist at anger management say " Well, we dont' think you have anger or violence issues, if anything, you need to be more assertive." Really? Isnt' that what got me into this?

Saturday, September 26, 2009

True love in Vegas

My cousin Tink called me today, apparently her Alzheimer's is more advanced than mine because she actually forgot that I LIVED WITH HER! In her house! For quite a while! If you have ever met me you are as amazed by that as I am, I'm quite unforgettable you know.
Anyway, we started talking about my husbands, yes, that is plural and the number continues to grow. I'm nothing if not persistent, I'm determined to get this right one day. Anyway, my first husband, Danny, not only had she met, he helped her husband work on a furnace when she was pregnant with Jake but she doesn't remember him. If only my memory were so forgiving.
I mentioned my Vegas wedding and she just giggled, so Tink, this blog is for you!
After Steve and I got divorced ( husband number two in case your anal ass is keeping track) I dated the brother of a girl I had worked with for three years. Let me just say, this is never a good idea. I mean never, trust me on this. Anyway I went out with Kurt once or twice, decided I wasn't really ready to date, Steve and I had only been separated for a few months, then I never saw Kurt again.
Occasionally, just to be polite, I would asked Jessica about her brother. Well, one day she tells me he went to jail for a DUI that he never paid his fine for, yadda, yadda, yadda. "Can you write to him Carol? He has to be in there for nine months, it's not his fault, yadda, yadda, yadda, he's so bummed, he could really use a friend."
Now, I was feeling kinda bad for him, cause that's what I do you know. Every wounded man in the world just needs me to make his life complete.I can fix him! So I started writing to him, which led to visiting him. Which led to dating him again once he got out of jail. I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
Anyway, we started dating and after about six weeks we went camping. Our kids were with their other parent so it was just the two of us and my dog, Shenzie.
I had a blast, we hiked, we cooked, drank some beer and got naked repeatedly in the woods. The makings of a beautiful weekend. Then, Saturday evening while he was cooking dinner he suggested we move in together. I told him I wasn't living with him or anyone else, Mo was twelve, that wasn't the example I wanted to set for her.
Kurt said, " Then let's get married."
Me " Sure, I'll marry you tomorrow." And I drank another beer.
About fifteen minutes later he looks at me and says, " Are you serious."
Me " Sure"
So Kurt dumps our dinner in the fire and starts packing up camp. I'm sitting on my ass watching him, thinking, he can't possibly be serious. Shenzie is going nuts, Kurt had given her bacon and eggs for breakfast and now he was throwing her partially cooked steaks while he was cleaning up. It was kind of funny, but it would come back to haunt me later.
A short while later he has everything thrown in the car and says, let's go get married. I jump in the car thinking " I can do this, if it's wrong, my gut will stop me, right?"
We start driving, I'm no longer drinking beer, it's coffee and rockstar, I need to stay awake so I will hear that little voice that says " What the f**k are you doing?" I'm sure it will come, so I'm not worried.
About every 50 miles or so, Kurt looks over at me and says, " Are you sure?"
I'm still waiting for that little voice so I say, " Of course, keep driving!"
By the time we get to Vegas it is 4am and I am exhausted, pre menstrual and I have to piss so bad I'm ready to pee my pants. And Shenzie is whining and farting like a banshee in the backseat.
Well, in Vegas, no one will let you use their bathroom ,they are afraid you will go in there and shoot up or something. I'm arguing with some Arab in a 7-11, telling him he can come in the damn bathroom with me, I gotta piss! No dice, he is not giving me the key. Asshole.
I get back in the car and Shenzie's whine has turned into a full fledged guttural screech. The dog had diarrhea from all the food Kurt gave her. I tell him to find somewhere for the dog to shit before she shits in the car.
We ride around, there is no grass in Vegas. Finally we find a vacant lot and pull over. I let Shenzie out and she takes off like a bat out of hell, trailing shit. I'm standing in the middle of this vacant lot while Kurt sits in the car and the dog empties everything she has ever eaten out of her bowels when I notice....... I'm surrounded by prostitutes. There is one on each corner and lots of cars slowly cruising around checking out the merchandise. All I can think is, I'm gonna die here because my dog had to shit. Not once did Kurt get out of the car.
After an eternity Shenzie is done, she runs over and is all wagging her tail and happy now, I want to kick her. I still have to piss.
Back in the car, we start cruising the strip looking for a place to get married. I told Kurt, " Find a drive through because I am not getting out of this car"
Remember, we were camping, I'm wearing sweatpants with Tigger on them that say "Wild One' on the ass and a sweatshirt that says "Is it over yet?" on the front. My hair is in a pony tail, I smell like campfire and haven't showered. I'm not getting out of the car.
Kurt finds the Little White Wedding Chapel, they tell us we need to go to the courthouse and get a license. I'm thinking " This is for real, little voice, where the hell are you?"
We go get a license. That's when I find out we currently have five marriages between the two of us, not counting the one we are about to do, but it's gonna be ok, right?
Back to the Little White Wedding Chapel, I still have to pee. In the six hours it took us to drive there I had three cups of coffee and four rockstars. I'm in serious bitch mode because I have to piss!
I'm yelling at Kurt because I gotta pee, and so I say to him " Still want to do this?"
He says yes. Dumbass.
While we are sitting in the drive through he notices there is a bathroom inside so he says, as nice as he possibly can because I'm ready to kill someone, "Baby, there's a bathroom inside."
I jump out of the car and run inside. I swear I peed for twenty minutes. While I was in there the dog jumped into the front seat and the guy who marries people came to the window, sees Kurt and the dog and says, "Dude, we can't marry you to your dog."
When I come out Kurt is laughing his ass off, explaining to the guy that he doesn't want to marry the dog, he wants to marry me.
I'm still pissed off about the over extended bladder so being the blushing bride that I am I say, " Can we just do this?"
Then I remember that I told my mother if I ever got married again it would be at the drive through in Vegas, by Elvis. So I asked for Elvis. The guy at the window said Elvis was sleeping but if we wanted to come back at 9 he would marry us.
Oh, hell no, get this shit over with. So man in the window reads his little pre prepared speech about marriage being forever and not to enter into this lightly (we are in the drive through after all) I'm just wishing he would shut up and hurry, The dog is whining again so I know at any time there may be explosive diarrhea in the back seat.
I agree to everything he says and next think I know, he tells Kurt to kiss his bride.
Holy shit, I'm married. Now the fun really begins, but you will have to wait until tomorrow to hear about how I got divorce and arrested for domestic violence. I can only take so much remembering in one night.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

overshare (verb): to divulge excessive personal information, as in a blog or broadcast interview, prompting reactions ranging from alarmed discomfort to approval. — Word of the Year 2008, Webster's New World Dictionary

Have you noticed that the English language as we know it will never be the same? Today I found out that “overshare” was the word of the year for 2008. I don’t think it was my fault, but I’m sure I contributed, as have you. So in the spirit of oversharing I thought that when I get a chance I will research new words that weren’t part of our vocabulary when I was growing up, and tell a story about the word, some may be true,some may be a product of my very twisted imagination.

When I was about 27 I found out that reproduction would not be as easy for me as it is for most 13 year old girls. Oh no, I was a married adult but apparently God thought it would be fun to jerk my chain, repeatedly. So after three lost pregnancies and the snotty doctor telling me I would never have a biological child, we decided to try IVF- in vitro fertilization for those of you who are fortunate enough to not know what that acronym represents.

Any and all fertility treatments are painful, scary and in many ways, demeaning. I mean really, does the janitor need to look in my damn cooter? Even worse than that, is the fact that you have no control over anything anymore. I’m not good at being out of control, I like to know what is going to happen, when and why. I’m a planner, don’t tell me I have to wait and see.

Oh and you are pumped so full of hormones that if you suddenly went postal and killed everyone in Walmart they would never be able to convict you. Crying becomes as common as breathing, and you have no idea why. Such a wonderful time, you can see why I’m so anxious to relive it, but relive it I will, just so you too can get a laugh out of my experience.

IVF is fun, let’s just put that right out there. The first thing they do to you is give you many, many, painful, vomit inducing, frequently causing you to pass out, tests. Those are for the insurance company. They just want to make sure you are not lying on your infertitlity paperwork.

Then comes the real fun! You must be at the hospital every morning for a blood draw, a shot in the tummy, a shot in the hip and a vaginal ultrasound. Then in the evening your loving spouse gets to give you a shot in the other hip. Word of advice here- don’t piss off a man who holds your hip and a syringe in his hand, it is really not in your best interest.

So, you get through all of the lovely little hoops they make you jump through, you get up at 5 every morning and go to the hospital, you are nice to your husband, at least until after the evening shot, you pray, you make deals with God, you promise to never, ever do__________ ( whatever it is, cause at this point you will promise anything) if you can just please, please, please have one baby. Just one God, that’s all, one teeny, tiny little baby to love. Finally they say, you are ready for retrieval. Retrieval means they are going to stick a very loooooooooooong needle through your vaginal wall and suck all the little eggs out of the follicles that are mature, I had 23 mature follicles. My fertility doctor said, great job, you are in the group we get our quads from so we are only going to transfer three.

We wound up with 18 eggs, lovely little things, then they put four of them in a petri dish with Steve’s contribution and we waited. The next morning I called in to see how my babies were doing and the doctor said- “Dying, we need your husband to come back down and give us another sample so we can fertilize five more eggs.” So Steve journeyed back to the hospital to spend time in a room with magazines, knowing that everyone on the other side of that door knows what you are doing in there. At least it was fun for someone.

Transfer morning. Congratulations! You have six embryos ready to transfer. Six? What happened to the quad danger? Needless to say, I spent the entire drive to the hospital losing my mind, thinking I’m gonna have a freaking litter, all I wanted was one healthy baby. Would God really do this to me? Go from zero to six in 8.5 months? What the hell?

Steve and I sat with the doctor while he gave the spiel, selective reduction, too many babies, yadda yadda yadda. What did he say? I have no idea, I wanted to get this show on the road. I had no idea what I was in for. The doctor told me Steve could not go with me for the transfer, it was a very sterile environment, blah, blah, blah. Whatever, lets get going! Why are you still talking?

The nurse leads me to a room that is not actually a room, it’s kind of like being in the emergency room where there are beds every five feet and just a curtain separates them. I didn’t care if they did the transfer in the middle of the street, I wanted to get my baby!

“ Here’s your gown, put this on, open in the back and the doctor will be right in.” That was wonderful Nurse Perky, you will hear more from her in a moment.

Ok, I’m getting excited now, we are moving forward. I stripped in record time and put that hospital gown on, hopped up on the table and waited. Dr. Katz came in with a rolling tray that had a catheter like thing on it. He explained that this catheter held my embryos(My babies). Each embryo(baby) was cushioned by an air pocket on either side of it, the catheter would be fed into my uterus through my cervix, the embryos (babies) would be emptied into my uterus and then the catheter would be examined to make sure they all transferred. Important note- the word baby, was mine-not the doctor's, he never said the B word, but it was the only word I heard the whole time he talked. Any questions? Nope, none, let’s go, I’m ready, what are you waiting for? Hurry,hurry, hurry.

I’m very impatient.

Dr. Katz goes off to wash his hands and to let about ten “students” into the room. When I had IVF seventeen years ago it was still considered an experimental procedure.

“Ok, sweetie” says Nurse Perky, “ I need you to get on all fours with your knees at the bottom of the table.”

Done, I am nothing if not cooperative. Nurse Perky covers my bottom half with a blanket, how kind of her!

“Now I need you to put your chest on the table”

What? Seriously? I must assume a porn flick position for this? Ok, ok, I can do this, I remind myself of the little baby who is waiting for me to do this.

So, there I am, in a hospital gown, on a gurney, with my chest on the table, butt in the air, surrounded by 10-12 people and lovely Nurse Perky flips the blanket up to expose my butt to the room. Kill me now! Even the soles of my feet are blushing.

Suddenly I am no longer a person, I am a medical procedure, I’m about to die of embarrassement but everyone in the room has forgotten I’m there. I have become a cervix and a waiting uterus. As Nurse Perky swabs my girlie bits with something Dr. Katz explains to the students how my body has responded to the hormone therapy, how fertilization went, issues we encountered, best case scenarios, worst case scenarios, etc.

Hello? I’m still here, and I can freaking hear you! Dr. Katz continues explaining to the students what he is doing as he guides the catheter into my uterus. None of this is painful, something I am very, very grateful for since I’m surrounded my strangers. He removes the catheter and explains how to examine it, what to look for, how to know the transfer was complete.

Success! We have an empty catheter, the transfer is complete, you may slowly lower your tummy to the table now. Remember when I said each embryo was cushioned by an air pocket? Well, when you lower you belly to the table, guess where all that air goes? That’s right, I’m queefing the whole way from on my sexy butt in the air porn pose to prone. And to make matters worse, as I turn my head so I’m facing away from the doctor, nurse and students, I notice the maintenance man on a ladder, fixing something in the ceiling, with a perfect view of my queefing ass and all I can think is – This better freaking work!”

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Southern Belles in waiting

Where do kids get their preconceived notions? I know a lot of what they think, say, like and believe initially comes from their parents. In our house an example of this is that when Mo was a baby/toddler, she LOVED spaghetti, as she got older and realized that her Dad didn’t like it, she stopped eating it, she’s just barely starting to come around on this one.

As they get older their friends start to exert more and more influence. This starts at a very young age- right around kindergarten. When Mo was little we were so very fortunate to have the best day care Mom in the world. Anna is great with kids and she loved Mo. Anna has three girls of her own but always treated Mo like part of the family. Mo loved her back.

The summer before Mo went to Kindergarten we were teaching her to tie her shoes, so was her daycare family. Her dad and I were teaching her the “round the tree and through the hole” method. One morning I’m working with her to tie her shoes before day care and I notice she is trying to do the “bunny ears” method. I ask her if she needs help, and my cute, chubby cheeked little preschooler says-

“Mommy, you don’t know anything about this, it’s the Mormon way.”

It took me a moment to get what she was saying. Her daycare family was Mormon and we were not, so if they were teaching her something that we hadn’t it had to be because it was the “Mormon” way and I could not possibly have a clue.

And so it began.

Now that Mo is mostly grown up I can see the influence of those around her on her choices. The music she likes changes according to boys and friends, the clothes she wears change too, one type of boyfriend means more black, a different type means more color. Also, she will try just about any food if her friends are eating it, for me, she won’t try anything.

But, every once in a while she will voice an opinion and I’m like, “Where in the hell did that come from?”

Yesterday Mo and I were hauling rocks. Terrie has a water feature she is getting rid of and there is lots of lovely flagstone that she said I can have.

Now, I don’t want you to think that my teenage daughter would voluntarily haul rocks, or anything else for that matter, I bribed her.

Anyway, my little princess is helping her Momma haul flagstone and we take a break and have the following conversation:

“ How come we’re doing this instead of men?” spoken like the Princess she is.

“ Because I don’t have a man so we have to do it.” I said.

“You have Marty” While rolling her teenage eyes.

“He’s not my man” I remind her in my subject closed voice.

“ Well, he is a man and men should move rocks, we should be sitting on the deck in poufy dresses sipping ice tea.”

I almost choked on my beer.What the hell? When did my daughter become a southern belle? I don’t know where this particular preconceived notion came from. Mo has always watched me and my sisters and my friends work hard. My sisters and I don’t sit around and wait for someone else to do for us, we grab the bull by the horns and do for ourselves.

Mo has watched us patch roofs, lay sod, dig sprinkler ditches, trim trees, plant trees, move furniture, install fences, clean gutters, hang Christmas lights, the list goes on and on. Why does she think that none of that is womens work?

I remember when she was around five and I wanted tile at the entry ways instead of the linolenum that was there. Steve ripped up the linoleum and was going to lay the tile but first he needed me and Angie to scrap up the old linoleum adhesive. So Angie and I are chatting and scraping when my baby girl walks into the room, dressed in full princess garb and sadly shakes her head and says to us,

“ I can’t believe Daddy is making you work like Cinderella.”

I am kind of comforted though, it’s not only my daughter. My cousin John’s wife Denise, who is very funny, posted on my Facebook in reply to my comment about hauling rocks- “ Isn’t at why they make convicted felons?”

I love these girls.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Saturday's are for relaxing

Another beautiful Saturday. I woke up early, the weather is perfect for all the yard work I have to do, that little nip in the air to remind you that fall is around the corner.
I have become an early riser, which works to my benefit today. Mo is going to the first of two Homecoming dances tonight and I will be helping her get ready, but first, yard work.
I love my yard, it's tiny and manageable. Unfortunately this summer I decided to have fun instead of managing my very manageable yard, and boy am I paying for it now.
Everything is still pretty and green, there is just way too much of it and the weeds have dug their grubby little roots in pretty deep due to my neglect.
I start in the front yard, mowing and raking and weeding and planting the tulips Terrie gave me. I was getting a little frustrated because the beautiful tree in my front yard kept hitting me in the head. Not really, I kept running into it when I was pushing the lawn mower but since when do I take the blame?

(this was after it's little haircut)

Anyway, I decided that tree needed a little grooming to show it who's boss. For those of you who don't know, I'm 5'4" so tree pruning is difficult, not impossible, just difficult. I have a small collection of tools, which I'm very proud of, so I get my trusty saws all and a hack saw and start chopping away. I piled all the branches I amputated on the side of the driveway I don't use until I can cut them up and fit them in the green waste can. Life is good.
In the house, I see that my beautiful Mo is awake, so I review the day's plans with her, shower, shave, fingernails, toenails, extensions, hair, makeup, jewelry, oh, and don't forget Keith's boutonniere Mom, what time can you pick that up. Anytime after twelve, we have plenty of time, they are not picking you up until 4. It's 11- 5 hours to pickup, we're fine.
Back to the yard, my wonderful, green happy place. After painting the fence gate I replaced last year I went to start on the back yard.
It's now almost one so I figure I'll take a break and run and get the boutonniere while Mo bathes. 3 hours to pickup- remember that, it's important.
I hop in the car, insert my key in the special little slot and turn.........nothing happens, no radio comes on, no little clicking sound, nothing. Complete silence. Ok, there must be a mistake, ummm, my car is the one that starts when I put the key in the little slot. So I try again. Nothing. Hmmm, let's see if the lights come on............oh wait, they are already on.
Last night Mo took my car to the Homecoming football game. You can guess the rest. Back into the house, upstairs, into the bathroom-
"Ok, we have a slight problem, the car won't start"
"What? It always starts." says Mo, she is my daughter.
" I know, but you left the lights on last night and now the battery is dead."
" No I didn't," (See above about not taking the blame, again, the kid is mine.)
" Ok, whatever, I'm gonna walk to the flower shop, it will take about two hours, you will have to do your own hair and nails, I'll help when I get back."
"Ok, Mommy" By this point there is serious panic in her eyes, I'm not sure if its about the boutonniere, or the car, I'll worry about that later.
" Wait!" I say in a moment of brilliance, "I'll take my bike"
"But I broke your bike" (Are you seeing the same pattern I am?)
"It's ok, I fixed it, I'll be 45 minutes at the most."

Ok, backpack, wallet, helmet,but wait, just when you thought it couldn't get any better, the bike has two flat tires. I call Trina, she is on the way to jump her hubby's vehicle, I call Terrie, straight to voicemail. Finally, I call Marty. He can be here in 20 minutes. Woo hoo, life is good!
Mo comes out of the bathroom, I tell her about the bike and that Marty will be here in 20 minutes, and my beautiful, wonderful, darling child says-
"But I'm naked." Yes, there is an argument for why some eat their young.

I go out in to the garage and realize that one half of my driveway is covered with branches so I quickly drag them to the other side of the yard. Then I get in the car to put it in neutral so I can push it out of the garage, and my lovely car will not come out of park unless the car is turned on, yes I turned the key, yes I had my foot on the brake, yes I read the owners manual. My car is parked on the left hand side of the garage, the little post that sticks out of the Tupperware under my hood, is on the left side of my car. The right side of my garage is storage. It's a two car garage, but a very small one.

(Does tht look like an engine to you?)

By the time Marty pulls up I'm almost in tears, not because of the boutonniere but because I'm afraid my car will never run again, and I won't be able to trade it in because I can't get it out of the freaking garage. Marty says, relax, we can do this, did you try putting the car in neutral? I think I might kill him.
He pulls his truck all the way up to my bumper, the jumper cables are too short. Not a problem he says, getting out his trusty tape measure, there is 7 and a half feet from the side of the garage to your car and the truck is 7 feet, all we have to do, is move these boxes.

It's now 2:30 just 1 and a half hours to pick up. We quickly empty the garage onto the front yard, prompting several people to stop and ask if we are having a yard sale, why oh why can't people just leave me the hell alone when I'm having a break down?

Ok, pull the truck in, cables reach, I'm able to breath again. Marty starts the car, and so wonderfully helps me put away all the stuff from the front yard.
Sorry, I say, thanks so much but I have to go pick up that damn flower.
Well, we made it, she looks beautiful, Keith looked very handsome when he picked her up and more than a little nervous. His mom promised to bring her straight home after the dance.
Me? Well, I'm drinking wine and watching the sun set and praying that next weeks Homecoming dance goes off without a hitch.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Older women inspire me

It’s amazing how your prospective changes as you get older, the things you realize. I remember when I was a child, my mother, grandmother, older aunts, were just there. I didn't think of them as having thoughts, feelings, insecurities like I did. They were old, they were just there. It was almost as if I thought they existed just to be my mother, grandmother, aunt, etc, as if, outside of me, they didn't have a life or interests. They were old, they could not possibly understand anything about me, my friends, my life.

Now that I’m older, I realize these women who I have loved as if they were part of the furniture, may have actually had feelings, wants, desires, and- those things had nothing to do with me! How could that be, I was sure I was the center of the universe when I was younger, how could they have had a single thought that didn’t have to do with me?

Lately two women have been inspirational to me.Reminded me that I can still be something else when I grow up, or grow into the woman I will be. They have reminded me, at a time when I'm feeling like a middle aged adolescent, that I still have more and more and more to give, learn and be.

The first lady, Ivybean, I follow her on twitter, she is 104 and still tweets! She updates us on her life, the staff, TV shows they watch and what the other women think and feel. Did I mention she is 104? I love her, she is very optimist and upbeat,just getting a tweet from her makes me smile. She has seen so much in 104 years and adapted, she twitters for hell’s sake!

My second inspiration I just read about today, she is 107 and worried that her 37 year old husband may leave her for a younger woman. He is her 22nd husband, and just in case he has been eyeing the younger ladies, she has her eye on a 50 yr old that she would like to make husband 23. I say, you go girl!

These women inspire me to take charge of my life, keep learning new things, live large and set my sights on what I want and go for it.

I wonder if that beautiful boy from Kingbilly would like to be husband number 4 for me? I have quite a bit of catching up to do!

Monday, September 14, 2009

College? Seriously!

Today we had Mo's SEOP, or student education occupation plan, for those of you as uniformed as I am. We sat in a little office with her guidance counselor, who was approximately six months older than Mo, and talked about LIFE AFTER HIGH SCHOOL.
They talked about ACT's and SAT's and Regence scholarships and credits needed, while I put on my reading glasses and pretended to follow along.
The whole thing came down to this- Mo is going to graduate, and, if she so chooses, go to college. My kid! Who'd a thunk it? I can't get her to pick her underwear up off the bathroom floor but apparently they can get her to go to school, and LIKE it!
We have struggled the past few years, me, because my kid is smarter than I am, and Mo, well, because she knows it. All homework related questions are met with an intelligent "Huh?" and then I take her for ice cream. May not help with physics but it sure helps hide what I don't know.
My baby, just yesterday it seems I was taking a million pictures as she walked to Kindergarten in her cute little dress wearing a backpack that was bigger than she was, and today, we are talking about visiting college campuses.
I'm positive we're not ready, I'm still adjusting to the fact that she drives, can I really let her go to school with the really big kids?
I need to stop watching the news, all the things that happen to girls on college campus's, spring break,basically anytime they are out of their mothers line of vision.
On the way out of that little office I said "Can't you just go back to kindergarten and start all over again?"
And my Mo said " Yes Mommy, but this time I'll be the teacher."

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Our Skinny Obsession

Who decided that being able to fit into size 2 jeans was a perfect female body? Oh wait, along with that size two hienie you need double D boobs. I don’t know about you, but how often does that happen in real life?

I was at my friends pool the other day and there was a couple there, both divorced, now dating, with their combined four children. He is a good looking guy, over six feet tall, broad shoulders, little bit of meat on his bones. She was a pretty, petite little blonde, late twenties, early thirties, very cute, but she was wearing a swimsuit that covered her basically from shoulder to mid thigh. The top came down to the top of the bottoms, loose fitting, and the bottoms were covered with a skirt, and every time she got out of the water she ran for a towel like she was naked.

We had a bbq, she didn’t eat anything, (while I had two hotdogs and all the chips I could fit in my gut), and we talked about girl stuff, I found out she is having a boob job next week, but feels she still needs to do something about her bottom and thighs. This woman has two children and is probably, at most, a size 4. What the hell crazy train is she on? She is funny, bright, articulate, beautiful, a good mom, but still, she is not perfect enough for society. Her boyfriend actually got a little offended when all of us, including the other men in the group, told her she didn’t need a boob job, or anything else, seems he likes the feel of fake boobs.

Are we meant to be thin, or are we fighting a losing battle? I’m not gonna lie, just like everyone else, I want to be thin, I want to look good in a bikini, I want to make my ex boyfriends eat their heart out when they see me, but is this the way we are supposed to be?

How did we get here? What happened to those curvy women that everyone loved? Marilyn Monroe was not a tiny woman, but no one denies that she was very sexy. How did we go from Marilyn Monroe’s version of beauty to today’s, eat nothing, purge, purge, purge, drink lemon juice, purge some more and maybe, just maybe you will be skinny. Not skinny enough of course, just skinny.

I know fat is not healthy, but I’m not talking about being obese. Isn’t being skinny by eating just enough to stay alive just as unhealthy as overeating?

Michael Jackson weighed 112 pounds when he died. Who would consider that a healthy weight for any 50 year old person over 4 feet tall? When can I get chubby and not care? When I’m 50? 60? 70? Dead?

I love food, all food, all the time. I’ve given up every liquid calorie, unless it’s alcoholic, I don’t even put sugar in my coffee any more, and I go to the gym 5-6 days a week for an hour and a half. Still, I’m on the chunky side of normal, seriously?

At the same time, we are a lazy society and we want instant gratification. We don’t want to work at weight loss by eating right and exercising, we want a magic pill, and sometimes one comes along, but them we find we are going to die from the heart problems it has given us.

I’m not a dieter, I’m much too lazy and too into self gratification. If I want chocolate, I eat chocolate, same goes for ice cream, cheesecake, chips, Big macs, and my biggest weakness, ju ju fish. I’ve just had to learn to really savor every bite, so that a little is all I need, oh, and I don’t keep those things in the house, so if I want them I have to leave the comfort of my home and seek them out. Somehow that makes them less appealing.

At work, someone is always on a diet. First there was Atkins, really, are we meant to live without potatoes? I think not. Then there was South beach, a little different, still not enough potatoes. Most recently it was the HCG diet, put some drops under your tongue three times a day, eat exactly what they tell you, which is less than 500 calories a day, and you will lose weight. Of course you will, that’s a freaking starvation diet!

I am trying not to care, I wear my bikini loud and proud, yes I have a little jiggle in my tummy, and a little bumbly on my hips, but dammit, I want to wear that bikini! I want Mo to see we are all beautiful, no matter what the package looks like, it’s our heart that shows our true beauty, not our six pack abs. I remember a time when I would look at overweight women in bikinis and think- What the hell was she thinking? Now I think,- You go girl.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Things I'd like to see.........

I was walking to the grocery store, don't worry, it's next door but I still feel all earth conscious when I do it, almost tree huggerish, anyway, I was thinking about some things this world could use. So, if you see any of these, remember, someone stole the idea from my blog and I deserve royalties!

1. An arm jiggle fetish. Come on, you know you have it too. Sometimes, at work, I move my arm and from the corner of my eye I see that the bottom half of it keeps moving for a full two seconds after the rest of it stops. Arm jiggle deserves love too, and if we have a fetish for it I can stop lifting those weights that aren't working anyway.

2. A discreet fan, you know, a noiseless one that I can put under my skirt when I'm having a hot flash and no one will look at me like I fondle puppies.

3. A lotion to dissolve foot crusties. It's hard to feel sexy when you are in bed taking sandpaper to the bottom of your feet.

4. Retractable hair. Some days you can wear it long and sexy, some days short and sassy. Not extensions, too time consuming. I want to be able to spin my arm in a circle like that doll I had when I was little and make my hair shorter and then just pull on it to make it longer. You know you would buy it.

5. Reading glasses that instantly make me more attractive, instead of turning me into a librarian, and not in a good way either!

6. A coat tree that doesn't tip over when all the coats are on one side.

7. A thermostat that can sense your internal body temperature and adjust accordingly. Could be bad though, lots of people may freeze to death as a result of Mom's menopause.

8. A radio that can play two different stations at one time but you can only hear the one you want, and the same goes for the other person in the car. Would make driving with teenagers much less stressful.

That's it for now, like I said, it was a short walk, the mind just keeps going unfortunately and you my friends, get to reap the rewards of my weirdness.

Yellowstone and camping

This was my second trip to Yellowstone and of course it brings back a ton of memories. My mind is like a little kid with ADD, jumping around all the time, follow, if you can.
When the kids were smaller, me, Steve, Trina, Darren, Angie, David and our assorted children did everything together, including camping. We were the family we made for ourselves in Utah. Once, over Memorial Day weekend we went to Yellowstone. The memories of that time are bittersweet.
Our kids were all so little, we were all still married with no idea of what was to come. Not to say that the weekend was all sunshine and roses, Steve and I argued, we always did when we were camping. That man would take everything from the house that wasn't nailed down and then we would have to pack it in and clean it up. Drove me nuts! But it was fun and Trina will be happy to know that the benches around Old Faithful are no longer metal!
The kids got to see life flight land in our campsite when someone rolled a four wheeler up the hill from us. The also scared us to death by running and screaming when they saw a mama moose and her babies. They screamed bear, the guys all took off running up the hill, I lost as shoe and about ten years off my life. We played hide and seek in the dark, I skinned my knees, just like the kids. Buffalo scared Angie by coming right up to the car on her side. We about starved to death on the eight hour ride through the park Steve took us on. In the caves around the park we have pictures of Mo crying, somehow my short little baby, the tiniest person in the group, kept banging her head in the caves. The six foot men in the group went through there with no problem, my three foot tall baby girl banged her head so many times I thought she was going to be cross eyed. Oh, and I hit her in the head once with a flashlight, it was an accident of course.
We camped so much, especially Trina and I with our families. We would come home on Sunday, clean everything so we could repack to leave again on Friday, after a while it was pure hell. No one should camp that much, especially with toddlers.
I miss those times, those memories and the kids all being small. I miss the laughter, mostly at me, because I'm kind of brain dead and will believe most anything you tell me. Like the time Trina, Darren and Steve told me the bears were going to eat me because I got my period on a camping trip. When the dog pounced on me in the middle of the night I pissed my sleeping bag, I thought it was a bear. They got a good laugh out of that.
I miss sitting around the campfire with Trina after the men and children were asleep, drinking coffee, talking and laughing. We always had to pee before we went to bed and we went together because it was dark and we were a little afraid. That damn Trina is a fast pee'er and every time she would finish, pull up her pants, start running, yelling "BEAR", and every time I fell for it. Every. Single. Time.She still busts a gut laughing at the memory of me running with my sweat pants still around my ankles. Bitch.
This time was different, not better or worse, just different. We stayed in a cabin instead of a tent. We only had one child with us, we listened to adult music, not what the kids wanted to listen to, I didn't feel responsible for anyone, I just got to enjoy the scenery, really take it all in without worrying that Mo was going to get eaten by a bear, or fall in a hot spring, or cork herself again in a cave.
It was too quiet, too clean, too mellow. I miss half eaten granola bars, chip crumbs and juice boxes. I miss the kids arguing about who saw the moose first, I miss my baby being little enough to carry when necessary.
Life changes, time moves on. Mo recently did a survey on her myspace and one of the questions was " Who carried you last?' Her answer was " I don't know" I hope it was me, but I think it was probably her dad.

Driving to Idaho

Ok,. I'm used to the windshield being covered with bugs on a road trip, or really anytime you are on the freeway for more than ten minutes. You always know if you are on the freeway for any length of time you are going to have to do some major scrubbing every time you stop for gas. We know this, we are prepared.
Or so we thought! Marty and I are driving along, Donovan is in the backseat watching a movie, Mercedes is in the car in front of us with Rick, Becky and Nariah.
We're listening to the radio, talking about all the things we want to do on this long weekend and basically enjoying the kid free silence.
BAM!!I swear a freaking eagle hit the windshield. I was surprised it didn't break, that's how loudly it hit. As I watched in horror it slid down and jammed itself under the windshield wiper on my side. Ok, maybe it wasn't an eagle but it was easily the size of a freaking hummingbird. I was mildly afraid, waiting for a whole flock of the things to attack the truck for killing their leader.
Did I mention the guts? They sprayed up the entire windshield on my side. I'm freaking out, Marty is laughing like a hyena because I'm trying to climb into the backseat to get away from the guts.
Then I notice, some of the guts are light blue, and the stripped head of this thing is orange. I thought we were going to Idaho but apparently we have stepped into another dimension of weird bugs. I just hope they only eat boys on this planet.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Mommy, mommy, mommy......

Recently I got an email from my mother telling me she is proud of the woman I am and also thanking me for making her a mom. That’s right, I started it all, if I hadn’t decided to be born she would still be a pregnant teenager.

That email got me thinking about how becoming a mom changes us. It is such a huge change, even if you fall into it by accident, you can’t help but be changed by it.

Think of all the things that would not be part of your life if you had never become mom. As I look around the house I see the baby blanket draped over the couch in the family room, the one my sixteen year old has had since her first birthday and still cannot go anywhere, except to school, without. Then there are the women’s shoes that are not mine. Bookcases full of books I haven’t read. Ravioli in the pantry, Mountain Dew in the fridge. Music I would never have heard, TV shows I would never have watched, I mean really, who watches The Secret Life of the American Teenager, if you don’t have a teenager to watch it with you. Hair extensions, bright eye shadow colors, rubber bands for braces, and contact lens stuff clutters the bathroom, not mine, hers.

This wonderful little person who is growing into such a wonderful young lady has brought so many things into my life, but she has brought so much more out in me.

It’s no longer all about me, it’s all about Mo. From the second the fertility center said it worked, life became about Mo. I ate better, I slept better, I was happier. Before she was even born she taught me things I wasn’t aware of, until now. Like how to walk with an extra twenty five pounds on your front, that is an important skill, considering how long you carry that baby around in your arms after it’s born.

Then, once they put her in my arms I learned that a human being has a capacity to love that we are not even aware of until we love someone totally dependent on us. I learned patience, starting with labor, which will not be hurried even when you are sure you are going to die. I learned to laugh instead of cry when things didn’t go my way. I learned that the bowel habits of a newborn will consume you. I stepped out of my comfort zone, so that Mo would never feel constrained by my inability to be comfortable in certain situations.

Being Mo’s mom made me want to be a better person, for her. I’ve learned in the last sixteen years that I knew nothing before she was born, and now that she is sixteen, I know nothing again. I’ve learned to do things I don’t like, so that she will give new people, places, experiences a chance. I eat my vegetables, all of them, Mo doesn’t, but one day she will, for her babies. I found that I have a whole slew of mom sayings and one day my daughter will catch herself saying them to her kids and have the same reaction I did “ Oh shit, did my mother just come out of my mouth?”

“Eat your dinner, kids in Ethiopia are starving”

“Do what you have to do and you will have plenty of time to do what you want to do.”

“Don’t cross your eyes, they’ll get stuck like that.”

“To have a friend you need to be a friend”

“Little girl, go find your real parents” (her father made me stop saying that after she asked if she was really adopted)

“Life’s not fair baby girl, suck it up and get over it”

“Pull your pants up, you’re selling crack again”

“Stop humping her head, no one likes that” (That’s for the dog, but it is an important life lesson, cause really, no one likes that)

“Boys are dumb and smell like ass”

“I love you and I’m so very lucky to be your mom”

“Clean your room before the health department comes in and shuts us down”

“Boys have cooties”

“ You can do anything if you just apply yourself”

“I’m going to sell you to the Gypsy’s for beer money if you don’t stop…(fill in the blank with annoying child habit)

“No smoking crack or surfing porn while I’m gone” ( I like to cover all the bases because I have found if you do not specifically forbid it they will say- but you didn’t say I couldn’t, so now, I cover everything)

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine”

I can’t imagine becoming this other person at such a young age like my mom and sister did, but they did it and managed not to kill and eat their first born, which Kay and I are very grateful for. So thanks mom, for not killing me, although, I now know I deserved it. There is a reason why God starts us out so small, I don’t know anyone who would keep a PMS’ing teenager if they hadn’t loved them always.

I’m still becoming the person that being Mo’s mom makes me. Every day, every year, we grow into a different phase of it. This year’s phase is that my baby is driving and really having a life of her own, making choices that are more important than what to wear to homecoming, and I have to let her.

So thank you my beautiful, talented, wonderful, one of a kind, baby girl. Thank you for turning me into your Mom and being patient with me while I learned (I’m still learning, so please, still be patient). I would walk through fire for you.
And another- I can't tell you what to do about your eyeballs.
Today's Joyceism- if i'm on my no white diet i won't participate in the feeding.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


I've been wandering around the house, sweating to death because the cooler is broken, giggling under my breath.
What is making me giggle as I drown in my own sweat? Joyceisms. My friend Joyce, the one who is afraid of walmart people and dwarfs, has a way with words. She doesn't mean to be funny, it just comes out that way.
Some classic Joyceisms:

" My ex husband, who I married."
" Somewhere in the conversation, I felt large."
" Things will be fine as soon as they fix the sun" (She was talking about the blinds at work)
" Does someone still have access to my toaster?"

And the one that is making me giggle so hard tonight, we had a conversation on the phone and she said,

" I don't think I can go tonight Carol, I'm standing under the cooler with my skirt pulled up, sweating like a farm animal in my large lady underwear>"

She kills me.