I'm Bringing Sexy Back

Well…not really, but it makes for a good headline doesn’t it? Sorry. That was bad. Besides, I need better underwear to bring sexy back at my house. You know, some drawers that aren’t as old as my refrigerator. Perhaps, if they put an expiration date on underwear, I might actually throw it away instead of hanging on to them until the people in the gym locker room start staring and frowning. Of course, if I didn’t buy all my underwear on the clearance rack at Walmart, I might care about those items more. But hey, I scored a $14 sports bra for $2 there last night. Sweet!

I cannot stay focused this week. About the time I get knee deep in a task, I lapse into the “Oooh, something shiny” syndrome and veer off into another direction. I am full of random thoughts such as:

Am I the only person who is enjoying the fact that Paris Hilton has to spend a little time in jail? Boo hoo. She drove drunk, got caught, caught a break, didn’t follow the rules, and now she has to be punished. Sorry, honey. Daddy can’t buy you out of this one. It’s the spanking you should have gotten twenty years ago. Shut up, do your measly time and then go do some good in the world with all that money instead of partying and wagging your hoo hoo at people.

Is there a 12 step program for a “Dancing With the Stars” addiction? It’s the crystal meth of reality tv. You know you shouldn’t go near it, but you do. One hit and you’re hooked. You find yourself doing the cha-cha when you think no one is looking. On Wednesday morning, you swear you won’t watch it again. By Sunday you’re thinking that maybe you’ll watch just the Monday night episode but certainly not Tuesday. There you are Tuesday night, eyes all glazed over, waiting for your next Apollo Ono fix and trying to convince your husband you should both try dancing lessons. Isn’t it just like an addict to try to suck others in, too? Just one rhumba honey. I swear, you’ll like it.

Ever see someone’s baby for the first time, and it’s an ugly baby? What’s a girl to do? Every parent thinks her kid is beautiful, and I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings, but some babies are downright ugly. Oh, they always grow into a more pleasing form after a while, but how do you cover your initial shock? I usually gush something like, “Isn’t he cute”. But I’m afraid they know. Did they catch that brief flicker of “Whoa, Nellie” in my eyes? I need a better response. Fortunately, this doesn't happen very often.

We need a new rule in my house. If you don’t want me to eat it then put a sign on it or don’t bring it home. Hubby took his parents to Cracker Barrel and brought me home dinner. I looked in the bag and found a salad and a small container of chicken/dressing. Yum. Thank you Lord. I figured the dressing was something one of them didn’t eat, didn’t want to waste and brought home for me. An hour after I polished it off, my mother-in-law called, looking for the dressing she was saving for the next day. Um. That was yours? Sorry. I ate it. Yes, all of it. Oh, you ordered it special because you were craving dressing? Hmm. Belch. Good choice. It was mighty tasty. Sorry. Really, I am.

Thumbs Up

My mother-in-law cracks me up sometimes. She’s 80, so she’s entered the “I can say what I want and nobody will call me on it” stage of life. Throughout the years she’s been known to cuss out a bad driver or two, and she did raise five children, so she’s no stranger to profanities. I’ve even heard her drop the f-bomb a couple of times which is a little rare for that generation. However, a few months ago we discovered a gap in her repertoire of obscenities. My lovely daughter was on hand to witness the results.

The two of them were trucking down the highway, and I’m sure mom was diddling around at her usual 25 mph, when the guy behind her got fed up, whipped around her and honked. It really ticked her off, so she called him a bad name. I don’t know which name because Teen Angel had to bleep it out when she told me the story later. Then mom gives the guy a vigorous “thumbs up” sign, turns to Teen Angel and asks with great satisfaction, “Did you see what I did”? The rest of the conversation goes like this:

“Grandma, WHAT are you doing”?
“What do you mean”?
“What’s with the thumb thing”?
“Ha. I’m giving him the finger”.
“The finger?! Grandma, that’s not the right finger. That’s a thumbs up. You know, like George Bush does. It means okay, good job, something like that.”
“Oh. Hm. Well, what is the right finger”?
“It’s your MIDDLE finger.”
“What? Really? Show me.”
“Well, okay, but I’m not supposed to be doing this. See? I can’t believe I’m showing this to my grandma. Geez.”

Since then, mom has all but quit driving, so we’re not sure if she’s tried out her new technique on anyone. I have to wonder, if she thought for several years that George Bush was giving us the finger all those times he bounced off of Air Force One, winked and gave us the “thumbs up”. No wonder she wouldn’t vote for him.

Anyone Want to Join my New Club?

As I perused the “what’s happening this week” section of our local newspaper I noticed that most of the activities were related to an illness, addiction or social issue. This week’s events included meetings for: singles, interracial women, interracial men, fathers asking to have equal rights, women for sobriety, arthritis sufferers, gastric bypass patients, alzheimers victims, drug addicts, cancer survivors, overeaters, suicide survivors, those suffering mental illness, alcoholics, cardiac patients, amputees, widows, disabled veterans, those with emotional problems, ostomy patients, people with family violence, people suffering from grief, babies who need hearts, and an animal rescue group. Whew! That’s a long list. I’m sure all of those groups are necessary and serve a worthwhile purpose. It just seems like we’re suffering an awful lot. Keep in mind I live in a community of about 30,000 people. That list had me scratching my head a little bit. What happened to bowling leagues and card clubs? Is it okay to get together for a little fun or do we need a serious reason to gather together? I’m really grateful I don’t need a support group in my life right now, and I will be really grateful that it’s there if I need it in the future. In the meantime, I’m thinking of starting a new club: PWJWTHAGT, People Who Just Want To Have A Good Time. Think anyone will join?

Getting to Know Me

At janjanmom's suggestion I have created a quiz about me. Even if you don't know me, give it a try. It's a way to learn about me that doesn't require me creating one of those "100 things about me" lists.

http://www.quizyourfriends.com/quizpage.php?quizname=070515091223-674812&

PS. Okay, janjanmom is not a failure. I have discovered a boo boo in my quiz, and I can't figure out how to fix it. Everybody gets a freebie on the question about the tattoo. I do NOT have a tattoo. You'll have to pick the parrott answer though in order to get credit for a correct answer. Sorry janjanmom!

Lessons from Momma

I had an absolutely wonderful Mother’s Day yesterday. My brothers and I cooked for my mom, and we spent the day swinging on my parents’ front porch and reminiscing. It brought back so many wonderful memories of growing up in the arms of two outstanding people. Some of the things I’ve learned from my mom:

-Spraying each other with the hose on a hot day is ALWAYS better than staying inside and cleaning a dirty house. The dirt isn’t going anywhere. The sunshine might leave tomorrow. Of course, I absolutely suck at house cleaning, and this could be why, but I don’t care.
-Bursting into song and dance at inappropriate moments never killed anyone. In fact, it’s a great way to alleviate stress. However, it can cause some stares in the grocery store.
-You can drown in half a cup of water. You can get head lice from trying on Halloween masks in stores, and jumping off the back porch with your tongue hanging out of your mouth can cut off your tongue. My mother worked as an ER nurse and every time me or my brothers started to do something even the slightest bit risky, she would say, “You shouldn’t do that. You know when I worked in the ER, they brought in a kid one time that had (insert dangerous activity here) and he (insert mangling of body part here).” I was always being told not to climb on our big propane tank, and the time I fell off the darn thing, I sat on the ground forever, too scared to touch my eye because I was sure I had knocked it out just like that little girl in the ER.
-You can feed a family of five with a freezer and a garden. The summer my dad walked a picket line was pretty lean. We ate a LOT of vegetables, and while I knew we didn’t have two nickels to rub together that summer, I didn’t feel it much.
-It’s always a good idea to have a secret candy stash. Mom would buy candy and divvy it up. She saved her portion and hid it in odd places so we wouldn’t eat hers too. It was not uncommon to reach for the fabric softener in the laundry room and have a York Peppermint Patty tumble out onto your head.
-You should bail a relative out of jail for DUI only twice. When you pick them up the second time, you tell them they are not the only person to ever go through a divorce, that it’s time to quit drinking, get up off their *** and get over it. Be firm in stating that the next time they get arrested, you WILL let them sit in jail. (Let me clarify, I was not the one arrested.)

Did my mother yell at me? Yes, only when she had tried every other way of getting my attention and failed. Did she spank me? Yes, usually with whatever she had in her hand like a fly swatter or a wooden spoon. I always deserved it. I was HARD HEADED. It did not damage me for life, and I am not abusive to my child. Did I get everything I wanted when I was growing up? No. I didn’t get lots of Christmas gifts each year, designer jeans or my own car because we couldn’t afford it. What I did get was an appreciation for how much these things cost, how they had to be earned and how they should be taken care of when you finally got them. I learned an appreciation for wildlife and learned that family is family. You love them and help them even if they sell some pot and get arrested or they do other stupid stuff that makes you mad. Was my mother my friend when I was growing up? No. She was my MOTHER. There is a difference, and she knew it. I am thrilled that she is now one of my best friends and such a wonderful teacher. I find myself acting more and more like her each day (see bursting into song and dance in public above), and I’m proud to say, that’s okay. Love you momma.

That 70's Thing

We were watching "That 70's Show" last night and I got a good chuckle out of hubby because for a few minutes he thought it was actually an old show taped in the 70's. If it's not "Cops" or "America's Most Wanted" he doesn't really pay attention to the television, and he usually falls asleep within minutes of sitting in front of it, so I'm not surprised that he was slow to catch on. "That 70's Show" cracks me up. I think it's because I love looking at all of the old clothes and home decor. It brings back fond memories because I am a child of the 70's. Some of my favorite things about the 70's:
-puka shell necklaces. I still like them.
-mood rings. Mine always stayed green. I'm not sure what that meant. Probably that it was a cheap ring.
-Partridge Family reruns after school. Keith and I would have been "so happy together" if only he had known I existed. sigh.
-scraps of material sewn onto the bottom of my bell bottoms. I thought the whole patchwork thing was really cool and made me look like those hippies I saw on tv. My mom loved the fad because she got 6 months extra wear out of those pants once the original hem was too short. I grew fast during that time.
-Bonanza reruns after school. All of my friends thought Little Joe was the cute one. I liked Adam. He was older and more mysterious. My attraction to older men continues to this day, and I can pinpoint its source.
-vacation bible school. Kum Ba Yah! My favorite craft was gluing macaroni shells to the border of a Chinette paper platter, spray painting it gold and sticking a bunch of plastic grapes in the center. My mother had a lot of VBS home decor.
-Doctor Hook. I was too young to realize how drug laced their music was. I just loved "Sylvia's Mother". I was pretty ticked when my mom wouldn't take me to their concert.
-AM transistor radios. I had a plain black one, but my cool friend, Kandi, had the round white one on a chain. My Coppertone summer of 77' found me in the backyard on a towel for hours every day listening to the radio and roasting my fair cheeks.
-the library. We went once a week, and I checked out every Nancy Drew, Hardy Boy and Bobbsy Twin book they had. For about a year, I really thought I was "Harriet the Spy". When I was about 12 I found my mother's paperback stash and secretly introduced myself to "Mandingo", "Peyton Place" and other juicy reads. My vocabulary and knowlege of all things lusty grew tremendously that summer.
-bicycle riding. I grew up in the country with no neighbors my age, so I spent hours burning up the gravel roads on my bike, exploring old barns and trying to outrun our neighbor's vagabond bulls.
-platform shoes. My first pair was in 7th grade, and I thought I was Fergalicious. Too bad I couldn't walk in them.
-the Ben Franklin store. It had that old squeaky wooden floor and hundreds of bins filled with wonderous things. I could spend hours in that store. My favorite part was the ice cream stand near the cash register. It was a rare treat to get ice cream in there, so we lapped it up when the dairy gods shined upon us and showered us with butter pecan riches.
-the birth of my youngest brother. My mother went into labor so fast that my dad panicked, dumped us in my grandma's driveway without any shoes and raced to the hospital barely in time for the doctor to catch baby bro. It was a good thing grandma was home because dad had forgotten to call her before he dropped us off.

Ah, good times. Somebody turn up the Bay City Rollers. S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT.

Circle yes or no

My little drama queen had her heart broken yesterday. The boy she has been “going with” (not that they go anywhere) for the last two months broke up with her. What a turd-sicle! (That’s middle school lingo for jerk.) I knew it was bound to happen. He’s such a playa’. He’s hot and he knows it. You remember the kind. They start breaking hearts around age 12 and never stop. I could see it coming but couldn’t stop it. I hate that I can’t protect her from that kind of pain. The irony in all of this is that hubby couldn’t stand this boy from the beginning because, well, he’s a boy who wants to get close to our daughter therefore, he is evil. Now hubby is offended that this boy broke up with her. How can our daughter not be good enough for this kid? Fortunately, she has reached the anger stage of her grief over this relationship and has begun calling said evil boy names and refuses to talk to him. High drama. She could score an Oscar nomination for this one.

All of this reminds me of the soap opera woven into my days at F. Elementary. I attended a K-8 school, so I went to school with the same 25 kids for nine years. There were only so many boys, and I was pretty picky so my potential love interests were somewhat limited. I pined for K.O. (our resident gigolo), but he passed me by for girls with boobs. I called G.R. my boyfriend, but it didn’t last long once we realized we were just dodge ball buddies. I did break at least one heart, and in light of drama queen’s experience yesterday, I’m now feeling bad about that. Every morning for the first six months of sixth grade, a note from D.B. awaited me in my desk with the heartfelt request of “Will you go with me? Circle Yes or No”. Now, I just wasn’t attracted to this boy, so every day I heartlessly circled no and pushed it back in his direction. As the days wore on, his notes became more flowery. He drew hearts. He improved his penmanship. He added a piece of candy, and yet…I always said no. In typical female fashion, I brushed off the nice guy and chased after the playa’. I really hate that I was so thoughtless. I’m sorry D.B.. I want you to know that I’m older now. I appreciate the nice guys, and the swashbuckling heartbreakers don’t turn my head (well, maybe just a little if they’re hot). If I were single today, and you were to ask me, I’d probably circle yes.