Sunday, August 30, 2009

Another baby birthday party, another cake

So Mo's sister, the irrepressible Ivy Dawn just turned one. Of course we made the cake, I don't have a a picture of it yet, they are still on Mo's camera, at her fathers, but it was pretty boring as far as baby birthday cakes go. She loved it anyway, the face that child has, cracks me up! I don't think she could get any cuter.

I didn't go line dancing with my sisters this week because I was getting ready for Ivy's birthday and a bbq I was having, so I had to be responsible and do chores. So if one of my sisters would like to write a guest blog about their experience with all of our dancing friends, I would be more than happy to publish it here. (HInt, hint)

So Mo and I made birthday cakes for Ivy and enjoyed every minute of her birthday party. I just have one question- How many twelve month old shoplifters do you know? That's the only reason I can think of for the packaging that goes into baby toys.

Most babies have an attention span of 4.2 seconds and with three adults and one teenager anxiously tearing into toy packages it still took five to ten minutes to open one freaking toy!

Oh, and we took lots and lots of pictures of the three adults who were trying to assemble Ivy's first ride on toy. It couldn't have been more confusing if the directions were written in Chinese. At one point Steve wore the handlebars as a hat because he couldn't figure out how to make them fit on the toy. Pictures will follow on my Facebook.

Last night at the bbq Jen and Tim brought the girls. I realized that my reputation does proceed me.

As Jen was getting the girls ready to come to the bbq, Mylee wanted to wear a little pink necklace and bracelet set. She asked Jen if she rememeber who gave her those, Jen said she didn't rememeber, and my beautiful Mylee said " Yes you do Mommy, it's the lady who makes my cakes."

At least she's not still calling me Grandma!

More line dancing trauma

Oh my blogging friends, I have been ignoring you, not on purpose, I've just been trying to get a life. You can see how well that's working out because here I am, back in front of the computer.

Which brings us back to the lovely friends we last saw line dancing. We talked about Bigg Titties and the mini skirt, let's move on, I don't think I can relive that.

Sister wife.....I just love that woman, the way she rubs her hand across her ass when she's dancing, and the way she moves that ass! Sister wife is not a really heavy woman, just a little chubby, but she definately does have a big, BIG bottom. The last time we saw Sister wife she was preparing for Halloween. Oh wait, it's August, she's just learning to do make up, she's not allowed to wear any at the compound, and boy does it show. The eyebrows were dark brown slashes, the lips bright red slashes, and I think a clown helped her put on her blush. Someone help this woman!

Dear, dear National. Out here in the wild, wild west of Utah, there is an insult that I never heard anywhere else- "She looks like a rodeo girl". What that means is she is a bubbly blonde, with 80's hair, high waisted Mommy jeans and has the parade wave down pat from riding a horse as Miss Rodeo Queen. When I hear-she looks like a rodeo girl- I see National, rocking her farmers tan.

For those of you who want to know, Booger was resplendent in a black wife beater- he was shaking things up a little bit.

Before I go, just a little fashion advice for my line dancing friends. You know those high waisted mommy jeans with no pockets on the butt that made your butt look so cute in the 80's? Well, stop wearing them, cause now that your front is bigger than your back, it's a very jacked up look and some of us can't help but wonder " Doesn't she have a mirror?"

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Oh the horror of it all...........

So, once again my sisters and I went line dancing. First, before I make fun of other people, and you know I'm going to, I have to make fun of us.
Ok, Angie is all little and so when she gets lost in the dance it's not quite as noticeable as when Terrie and I get lost, but she does get lost sometimes. Mambo number 5 gets her every time, but I make her do it anyway.
Terrie, she is the best line dancer out of the three of us, she just gets it, Angie and I struggle, we are the kids on the short bus when it comes to learning new dances, Terrie, well, sometimes she just laughs at us but don't make her do a turn, she will turn the wrong way every time! And make sure she has a bra on, she knows what I'm talking about!
Me, well, I must confess, sometimes I look like I forgot to take my seizure medication. They go left, I go right, they go right, I go left, who cares, it's all fun right? I'm sure somewhere, someone is blogging about my inability to go in the right direction. Once, when I was learning to do the two step I actually screwed up so bad my dance partner and I fell over. Not tripped and fell, fell like a damn tree, straight over, he wouldn't be my partner after that, what a sissy boy. Is it my fault I can't follow? Ok, maybe it is, but enough about me!
So last night, first of all we had a moment of silence because twitchy ass and ballet hands were not there, you think they were together? Inquiring minds want to know.
Bigg Titties was there in all her 70 yr old glory and dear blog friends, I wish I had a picture because I'm not sure I can do her justice. First of all her hair was pinned up and had a flower in it. As we move south, she was wearing a long sleeve scoop necked cream shirt, very tight to show those boobies in all their glory, moving still farther south, she had a darker cream belt on. So far, not too bad, if you have a weak stomach now would be a good time to cover your eyes, I wish I had.
Bigg Titties was wearing..................not cloven hoof jeans, which I promise never to complain about again...........she was wearing a MINI SKIRT!!!!! But wait, there is more! Just when you thought it couldn't get any better, the mini skirt was cream colored with brown flowers was sheer! Oh cover the children's eyes! This wasn't just any mini skirt, it was right under her butt, or where her butt used to be! If you are over 25 you know that gravity is not your friend, I saw much more old lady butt crack than I ever dreamed I would. Bigg Titties sure does love to twirl and kick! And her leg skin doesn't fit her legs anymore. This outfit was completed by brown cowboy boots, would have been very cute, if she were only 50 years younger.
Which brings me to today's dilemma.. skinny or fat when you are old? Bigg Titties is thin, active and in good shape for someone who lived through the depression, but the skin on her legs doesn't fit. It hung in wrinkles, front and back of her legs. Chubby women, their skin fits their legs. So what do I do?
I go to the gym everyday to keep my ass from becoming it's own continent, and also because I would like to get married again before dementia sets in, but what about later?
I'm not a happy camper that my face skin has become larger than my face. I used to be cute, everything was firm and well defined but now, one order of french fries and I have jowls. So I think that as soon as I get married I'm telling him I'm getting fat,I want my damn skin to fit so when I am 70 and rocking a mini skirt, and I will be, I promise you, I may be chubby but at least my damn skin won't hang in wrinkles over my knees.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

The food we eat

Today we went to lunch for Joyce’s birthday, her birthday is not until Sunday but we wanted to go to lunch today. We went to the taco wagon. Doesn’t sound like a big deal but for me it was a sacrifice that I made for a friend. You wanna know why? I don’t like to eat anywhere that doesn’t have running water.

Here in Utah there is a taco wagon on every corner. I never eat there, first of all, I only speak English, they only speak Spanish- who knew carna asada was some kind of pork thing? Can’t you just say “some kind of pork thing”? I am one of those white people who is sure that since you don’t speak English if I just speak s-l-o-w-e-r and much, much LOUDER, you will understand. I’m always amazed when they don’t. So due to the language barrier I have no idea what kind of food they are giving me because after several moments of speaking slowly and loudly, I just start nodding my head to everything they say.

Then there is the handwashing thing. “But they wear gloves” everyone tells me. So today on my self sacrificing birthday lunch, I watched them. Yes, they wear gloves, the same ones while they keep touching everything. Hmmmm, didn’t make me feel better.

And while I was waiting patiently for my lunch- I think it was a chicken torta (what’s a torta?), the lady fixing my food stopped what she was doing to watch TV. There is a little TV in the taco wagon ( no water but apparently plenty of electricity) and there was a Hispanic soap opera on, must have been a juicy part because she couldn’t look away, and neither could I, I never saw a TV channel that didn’t speak English. I know how I sound, I am not a bigot, I just want to understand. My world has been expanded by taco wagons and the Spanish version of All My Children.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Managing your online life after you're dead

I’m not making this up, that was an actual headline for a news article. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about while I’m alive, now I have to worry about my email and facebook and myspace and blogs AFTER I’M DEAD!!!!!

The article went on to tell us, oh uninformed public, that now, you don’t have to worry about your online persona after you are dead. Why you might ask? There are companies who will take care of this for you! For a small annual fee they will store all of your passwords, account log ins, a “Legacy Letter”, funeral instructions and “unspeakable secrets” to be revealed only after your death. And just to make sure they don’t miss your death, they will send you automated emails, “at a frequency determined by you” and after a specific number of unanswered emails they will email the people you have listed as your emergency contacts and tell them how to access all the stuff you have online. Why didn’t I think of that?

Imagine getting the following letter:

Dear Sir/ Madam,

Your mother set up this legacy account so that in the event of her untimely passing, you can have access to all of her online activities, including the email account We have moved all your mother’s pertinent log in information for all of her accounts along with her funeral wishes to the aforementioned account, the password for this account is 696969.

Sorry for your loss, we understand this is a very difficult time. If there is anything we can do to help you with pastyfacedslut’s email account, please contact us.

Ummm, some things should die with you. Also, what if I forget to update any of my funeral information because I thought I had plenty of time and Mo buries me in the bikini I thought I looked so hot in ten years ago? Who’s fault is that? Poor Mo, she will have to put a disclaimer on the funeral cards:

“Please avert your eyes, she knows not what she does”

And the more I think about it the more depressed I feel that I have no unspeakable secrets for Mo to find out when I’m gone. I never slept with a Kennedy, I didn’t rob a 7-11, she is not Michael Jackson’s love child, I never even drove the wrong way on a one way street!

That’s it, I have some things to rectify. I’m going to find some unspeakable secret things to do so when I’m gone and Mo get’s the form letter above she will blush and then say- “Oh yeah, that’s my Momma!”

Saturday, August 15, 2009

When I fall I'm alive

Hot August nights, or something more beautiful. I round the corner, he comes toward me, we talk, smile. His words fall all around me, his eyes dart to the side, to the shadows that play there. He also wants to watch the dancers in this elaborate mating ritual.

We move to the deck, the view is better, we see the dancers come together, move apart, disappointed, disjointed, falling away, their smiles fading then reappearing for the next round.

His eyes search my face, looking for what he must find. I know he won’t find it there, but still, I let him search. He asks a question, I hesitate. To take the hand he offers mean letting go of the hand I hold, the one I fall so freely from and to. Will he stop the fall?

Smiling, the lie falls easily from my lips, as I walk away he picks it up and puts it in his pocket to be taken out later, turned over and over looking for the truth.

I realize as I let go of his hand and the hand I have been clinging to, falling is my destiny. Not falling feels like a trap, a death sentence. I was born to fall, gracefully, slowly, bumping into days, weeks, worlds, being held for a moment and left to fall again.

When I forget to fall I struggle to find what I don’t want, then when it has me in its grasp I can’t breath and must be free. I fight against what I fought so hard for, so I can continue my fall, so I can breath again, be me again.

I spread my arms wide, relishing this fall, this time, this moment before I become part of another moment. Living the destiny my mother gave me when I fell from her body and began this journey of falling into the life that suits me, moment by moment.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Catching up with old friends

Isn’t the internet a wonderful thing for catching up with people you haven’t seen in forever? It used to be that if you lost touch with your best friend from high school the only way you were going to see her again was by accident. Or maybe at the high school reunion.

I, for one, never go to my high school reunion. It wasn't fun then, what makes everyone think it will be fun now? I think the only people who go are the jocks and the cheerleaders, just to keep the gossip mill going. No thank you, my life has moved past that, thankfully. I have a whole new slew of friends to gossip about! :)

Now, thanks to the internet, Google, Myspace and Facebook, you can find just about anyone, even if they would prefer that you not find them. But at least they can't see how red your face is when they remind you of that time in the graveyard!

Recently, thanks to Facebook, I have found some people that I knew when I was a child. One of them was my crush in fourth grade. My how time flies. I’ve spent some time, online and on the phone, catching up with them, their kids, my kid, their job, my job, remember when?

It’s fun but one thing makes me crazy. Why do people think that saying “ You haven’t changed a bit, you look just like you did in high school” is a compliment?

So what they are saying is that even when I was young and hot I looked like a middle aged woman. That pisses me off, I need new friends!

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Not the boss of me

It’s finally happened. I tried to hide it, to make my daughter think I am omnipotent but somehow, someway, she figured it out-I am not the boss of her!

Monday my beautiful Mo and I had a bit of a loud discussion about her boyfriend. I have had enough, I tried to be patient, kill him with kindness, the whole reverse psychology thing. Game over, can’t do it anymore so I broke the cardinal rule, did the thing I said I would never do.

“This is it Mo, this cannot continue, you can’t see him anymore.” Drawing myself up to my entire 5 feet 4 inches, “ I FORBID IT!”

“ Really?” as she stood up to her full 5 feet 3 ½ inch height. “ I’m 16, this is my life, my relationship, AND YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!”

Shit, she’s right, I had just hoped it would take her longer to figure that out, like after she was married.

I remember the good old days (less than 12 years ago) when I knew everything and had the final word on all subjects. Mo had all the questions and I had all the answers. Most of the time I tried to reason with her, give her a real answer to her questions.

Me- Stop putting Froot Loops up your nose.
Mo- Why?
Me- Because they will get stuck and you won't be able to breath.
Me- Because you are supposed to eat them, not stick them up your nose.
Mo- Why?
Me- Because I said so.

Ah, it was a simpler time. I was the Mom so my word was law. I knew why rain falls down instead of up, I knew why carrots are good for you and dirt is not, I knew why dogs sniffed each others butts so it only stood to reason that she should do everything I say, because I knew everything.

Not so much anymore. I know nothing and I cannot make her do anything she doesn't want to do.

We know this from the very first time they run from us as toddlers, we can’t make them do anything. We can try and guide them, help them make good decisions. Try to make them think we know all and see all and that the most important thing is listening to your mother and doing what you are told. But short of chaining them in the basement we can’t MAKE them do anything.

Now we are in this weird place. I knew it was coming but I’m still not ready for it. My baby knows she is not a little girl anymore. She knows I don’t know everything, or even most things. Mo knows it is time for her to start making her own way in this world.

In less than two years my little girl will legally be an adult. She reminds me of this all the time, and tells me I need to start letting her make her own decisions and live her own life. There are still so many things to protect her from, more so it seems, than when she was a toddler.

Who decided 18 is the age when you are magically transformed into an adult? She’s not ready. I'm not ready. So the dance starts now, Mo pulling away, me trying to hang on. Mo trying to figure out the woman she will be, me only seeing the baby she was.

I will have to learn how to talk to this grown up daughter of mine in a way that lets her know that I respect the woman she is becoming but it is still my job to guide her. And Mo will have to learn to talk to this Mother of hers as an adult.

It's time for me to let her steer her own ship, to hope that the things her father and I have taught her are in there, and she hears them, to hope she respects herself, her parents and others enough to do the right thing and not just the easy thing. And to hope that eventually, we will come full circle, and she will need me again.

Until then, I will watch from the sidelines, always ready to catch her when she falls and hoping with all of my heart that she never needs me to.

I’m just not ready

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Feeeeeling a little siiiiiilly

Just some random ads from back in the day. Did people really believe this stuff?

Ok, that one is still true!

Yummy lard, blueberry, chocolate, strawberry, oh wait, can fat really make you
happy? Sign me up!

Everyone needs a fag now and again. Freaking hysterical!

Friday, August 7, 2009

Line dancing and people watching, oh my!

A night out with my sisters, what fun! We are going line dancing, which in itself is fun, but the most fun of all, is people watching. If you have never been to a country bar, you should go, you are in for a treat. I know we shouldn’t make fun of other people, but it’s so much damn fun.

We’ve been going line dancing for a while, although we took about two months off. The same people come week after week and from watching them we have given them all nicknames, well not all, but quite a few. We can’t help it, these people have earned these names.

Let’s start with Booger. We were sitting at our table, minding our own business, when we noticed this man sitting at another table, picking his nose. Gross!! We laughed about it, then he stood up to dance and we about peed our pants. He is probably early thirties, with a long pony tail under his cowboy hat. That’s all that was under that cowboy hat. When he took it off we discovered that he was bald except for a little fringe around the side and his pony tail. Wait! There’s more! He has a beer gut that is so big it hides his enormous belt buckle and……….he was wearing a white wife beater. Be still my heart, I may have just found the man of my dreams!

Then Booger’s girlfriend came in. She was wearing mom jeans, you know the ones, they start somewhere above your navel, a flannel shirt, unbuttoned and untucked, and a tank top. Doesn’t sound that bad does it? She had no bra on, and her poor little boobs were hanging over the waistband of her jeans. If she rolled them up and stuffed them in a bra she would have seemed quite well endowed. The funniest part though was when Terrie’s boyfriend said “ I haven’t seen boobs like that since National Geographic” Now we just call her National, and it cracks us up every time.

Sister wife is there every week. We think that it is her night out without the kids, maybe she got that instead of her weekly sex date with her shared hubby. Now if you don’t live in Utah you may not understand this, but we are the polygamy capital of the west. The Mormons, many, many moons ago, decided having more than one wife was a good idea, especially if you married them when they were 14. Any way, if you live here you can spot a sister wife (what all the women who are married to one man are called) from a mile away. They have this big swoopy bang that stands up like a bad 80’s hairdo, apparently the higher your pouf the more righteous you are, and they usually wear prairie dresses and have big bottoms. Well, our friend Sister wife doesn’t wear the prairie dress but she has the big pouf and the big bottom, which she uses with all her might. She dances and shakes those hips, in a very exaggerated way, and is constantly rubbing her butt check. It’s freaking hilarious! We’ve even witnessed her throwing back a shot or two, wonder if she tells the bishop about that?

Then there is Bigg Titties. This lady is freaking 65, at least, and has a very large, very perky rack. Thank you Dr Feelgood! From across the room she is actually cute, she is petite and can dance. Once you get close you see that she is much older than you originally thought and her jeans are so tight that her camel toe is more like a cloven hoof. Scary, scary, scary! And she is so proud of her boobs that she shimmies in every song. It’s amazing that her little stick body can hold up those goodyear blimp sized boobs.

Ok, that’s enough for now, I’m starting to feel like a mean girl. I’m sure tomorrow there will be an update, after all, tonight I will refresh my memory of Booger, National, Bigg Titties, Sister wife and all of their friends you have yet to hear about.

Elevator music

Today I called a client and I was put on hold. Now today is not one of my high energy days, I’ve been yawning since I got here and the day is dragging. The hold music lulled me into kind of a semi trance, when the person finally came back on the line I looked at the phone and found I had been on hold for over eight minutes, it felt like a mini nap and I was grateful.

What would your last supper be?

For lunch, Joyce brought meatloaf, it’s her comfort food. I can always tell when she is sick or overwhelmed, she makes meatloaf. As she was enjoying her lovely meatloaf she said, “ This is what I would have for my last supper.I love it.”

Meatloaf? Seriously? So we all started talking about what we would have for our last supper. Seafood, steak, ice cream, chocolate, the list kept getting longer.

Then I started wondering why we were planning our last meal, are we planning on going postal? Why else would we need a last meal? Do I need to be careful around these people?

So when we are all on death row I have a list of what everyone wants. Mine is going to take a while, I want a bite of everything!

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Reliving My Youth

I don’t usually consider myself a vain person, but after seeing a few concerts of performers from my teenage years I’ve decided that I am aging very well!

Remember the bands from your youth? The ones who’s albums you saved up for and then played so loud your mother threatened to throw them in the trash? I remember, and not only was the music good, the men in the bands were so hot!

My disillusionment started when Steve and I were still married and he won front row seats to see Bad Company. I was so excited, I had the biggest crush on Paul Rogers, he was the subject of many of my teenage day dreams, and I was going to see him up close and personal. Maybe it wasn’t too late to run away with the band, just like I dreamed when I was 17.

The whole day I was all a twitter, what to wear, what to wear? I could not wait to see the man of my dreams. Bad Company took the stage, after a very disappointing set by Billy Squire, I think I screamed louder than anyone. I was 17 again, listening to the songs I loved, standing next to my husband, staring up at Paul Rogers.

Then something horrible happened. Paul Rogers took off his shirt. I know that doesn’t sound horrible and when I was 17 there was nothing I wanted more than to see Paul Rogers partially clad. Now, twenty years later his man boobs were huge! There should be a law against men with huge breasts taking off their shirts. All my girlhood fantasies were shattered in that one moment. I couldn’t even look at the stage and was not the least disappointed when Steve suggested we leave before the crowd.

Fast forward to the latest concert, Chicago. Again, I was very excited, not so much because I had a crush on any of those men but because it’s always fun to relive the good old days. I went to the concert with Joyce and her daughters, in a venue that allows you to bring in coolers of food and drink.

We waited outside the gate for several hours, all the seats are lawn seats so you get there early, wait in line so you can run and put your blanket as close to the stage as possible. Also, in those hours spend waiting for the gates to open, we consumed large quantities of alcohol, how could it not be a good night?

Finally, the gates open and we are speed walking ( they frown on running now) to get as close to the stage as possible. We got to about 40 feet from the stage and staked out our spot, blankets, sleeping bags, low lawn chairs and coolers everywhere. We were ready. Time to eat, after all the alcohol we needed food. The buffet we brought was huge, chicken salad, pastrami, fruit, turkey wraps, shrimp, brownies, cabbage salad. We gorged ourselves in the sun waiting for the show to begin.

The opening act was really good. Just two guys from Park City, one who could really sing and one who could really play the guitar. They were good, we were already swaying to the music. When they finished we ran to the bathroom and to take a smoke break before reliving our youth in the dusk.

Suddenly, the crowd is on its feet, the music starts playing, Chicago is taking the stage! We are jumping and yelling, then we notice- they are old! How did that happen? We are certainly not that old. Not only are they old, apparently they have forgotten how to dress themselves. It was frightening.

The trombone player had on really tight jeans that were pulled up really high, that was scary enough, but it didn’t stop there. He had on a button down shirt, with the sleeves ripped off, tucked into his too high, too tight pants, but wait- there’s more--- the front of the shirt was untucked, AND TIED ABOVE HIS PANTS! Like Daisy Duke with a package- it was terrifying!

The saxophone player, had tight black jeans on with a rather large “business” area- which Joyce pointed out to me, sounding a little afraid. I told her it was a sock and to just look away.

We were traumatized for the first half hour or so. It didn’t help that they were playing new stuff which was not at all what we wanted. Finally they remembered why we were all there and played the stuff we know and love. The crowd was on it’s feet, hands in the air, swaying to the music. Joyce and I danced like lunatics, much to the embarrassment of her daughters, but we did it anyway.

Wonderful concert, wonderful friends, great food. Now if I could just get the image of the way they were dressed out of my head, it would be a perfect memory!