Monthly Archives: October 2012

Women, the good, the bad and the crazy

Posted on by

1

Talking about men is usually fun.  We can poke fun at them and they don’t always understand.  Plus, they’re interesting to watch, kinda like a wildlife special. Women aren’t always fun.  A lot of the time, they’re dramatic, prickly and believe they’re always right.  The women in my life are not like that.  I just don’t have time for the serious ones or the ones you have to be careful around so you don’t make them grouchy. I only like REALLY fun women.

You even have to be careful about fun women sometimes.  You can’t always spot the underlying crazy. Women who were once fun can take a drastic turn once they reach “a certain age”.  I had a really fun friend who went, basically, how can I say it…bat shit crazy a few years ago.  And not in a fun way.  Everyone walks on eggshells around her and lives in fear.  I haven’t spoken to her in two years.  Scary stuff.  Nothing feels better than cutting the bad ones free. That’s why we need a universal ladies intervention when we see it coming.  There should be a ladies farm where they can go away and be reprogrammed.

My friend, the Trophy Wife, and I have “in case of crazy” clause in our friendship.  If one of us does something wrong, the other will tell her and then hide behind something.  I made her somewhat mad a while back and she said “this made me mad” and I said “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad.  I’m sorry” and she said “k” and it was over.  That’s how true friendships should work.  Any unhappy drama takes away from the time that should be spent talking about important stuff.  Like how much you both hate the mean women you know and how ugly their clothes are.

I’ve figured out that I like smart women.  I have some women in my life that can fire back such rude and intelligent comments that a night around the dinner table with them is like a shoot out in the old west.  I love that.  I like to laugh and I want women who will pull out a boob at the mall if it will make me giggle.  My daughter has inherited this and is so witty and sharp that the Goose and I are sometimes downright afraid.

My son picked up my phone the other day when I was driving and told me, shocked and quiet, that someone had sent me a message that that said “play, you disease ridden whore from hell”.  Who would do such a thing?  My favorite Words with Friends rival, that bald headed, wine swillin’, CHEATING, gorgeous fiend from my 9th grade english class, the Sweet Talker.  The Sweet Talker is all the more shocking because every word that comes out of her mouth is sweet.  She is the kindest, most supportive, lovingest woman on the planet, irresistible to dogs, children and baby pigs, but every so often, she comes out with something so vile that it’s hilarious. She is such fun that she let me take a 24 pack of sharpies to her head and draw paisley tattoos.  Now that’s a cool chick.

Image

My long time best buddy, the Empress, will mince no words telling me if I’ve come down with a case of chubby.  She will come right out and tell me that my jeans are doing me no favors or that I could be doing something, anything, else with my hair.  She will reach right out and re-situate my bosom in my shirt, in public.  She would also be there to bail me out of jail should I need it, if she were not incarcerated along with me.  One of her husbands once told us he had never heard two louder women when we’re together.  Well, he’s gone and I’m still here so…

I like loud women.  I like a woman who will root through my closet and take what she wants and then deny it (Peaches…okay, maybe I was wrong and there are TWO of those shirts) or dress up along with me if I want to wear my old prom dresses.  I like a woman who will, after I make a tipsy fool of myself, tell me “no, honey, you were CUTE!”.

A good friend will hate your ex with you, hate your husband’s ex with you, will leave your drive thru dry cleaner with you and move to one in which you have to get out, in the rain, all because the old one shrunk something and then wouldn’t fix it. They will steal a boat with your encouragement. (Notice that I won’t elaborate on this.)

When I had Shep and my boobs became so engorged and miserable that I had to put cabbage in my bra, my friend chose that day to explode her implant, thus making her boobie condition as miserable as mine.  I love that she spent hours on the phone with me, both of us on pain meds, describing our miserable racks.  That is true and abiding friendship.

I hope all fun women have friends as cool as mine.  I adore my girls.  They entertain me every day.  When I look back, there will be a LOT, a LOT of stories that will cause me to laugh.  While all those other, quiet and respectable women are telling stories about their grandchildren, I hope to still be calling my friends in the morning and saying “Do you think we’re going to get caught?  Think we got away with it?”.

Honey, I figured out what I’m doing off the TEE!

Posted on by

2

I know I’ve discussed men.  Most of us have one or have had one and some of us have had multiples.  There are several repetitive discussions that go on in most homes that have a man living within it’s confines.  The problem, as I see it, is that we women have failed to band together to formulate acceptable textbook dialogue for our part of these discussions.  I imagine that the amount of superfluous conversation that could be rerouted and redirected towards a happier and more productive man could increase as much as 65%.  It is our failure, ladies, not to take this situation in hand.

Here is a sample conversation as it stands in my home at least four days a week:

 

Goose: Honey, I’ve FINALLY figured out what I’m doing off the tee.

Me: Uh huh

Goose: See my wrist?  It was turned .007% too much towards my elbow.

Me: Uh huh

Goose: It’s all in the wrist. Look! (Displays same wrist position I’ve seen 6,798,444 times).

Me: You’re blocking the tv.

Goose: See how straight that is now?  (Shoots imaginary ball across the bedroom)

Me: Uh huh

 

Now, as I see it, men are only interested in telling us things we’re not interested in hearing. Do they ever talk to us about upholstery fabric?  Shoes?  Our deep thoughts and feelings?  He’s only blabbering on about this because he’s not getting a reaction.  The other day, I feigned interest and the conversation went like this:

 

Goose: Honey, I’m going to go to the club and use my new swing.  I’ll probably shoot a 30 or something.

Me: I’d like to go along! I have a new golf skirt! We can hit the range for a while and then walk (for the exercise) 18 holes.

Goose:  Uh, yeah, that sounds…

Me: And then I might like to look at some new clubs myself…

Goose:  Well, actually, someone already asked me to play…

 

And this “off the tee” conversation has not been repeated in two weeks.  This is because men are really talking to themselves and don’t want us in their stuff.  In the same way that I ask him to run with me, I’m really thinking heaven forbid I have to drag his lazy fanny around with me. The one time he went with me this summer the moaning and complaining was biblical in nature. Still, I ask to be nice.

 

Men, no matter how great they are (and the Goose is a truly great husband), are simple in the way a good dog is simple.  They want to be acknowledged, they don’t want us to know what they’re up to all the time and the just want a pat on the head when they do a good trick.  And then there is Jeff Foxworthy’s take on what men want that is the Goose’s standard answer when I ask him what he’s thinking, “I just want a beer and to see something naked”.

 

I love it that men don’t come with all the drama that goes along with women, but if  a man gets sick, we all know how that goes.  Recently, I’ve had the first cold in years.  It has been pretty miserable and has caused me to snore.  Snoring is something I’ve heard for years.  Now that the tables have turned, the Goose is walking around, pale and wan, from loosing a few moment’s sleep.  I could literally be giving birth and the man would ask the doctor about his own suspicious symptoms .  Once, I had to see an infectious disease doctor and when the doctor was through examining me, the Goose actually said the sentence “now, back to me…” while I reclined on the table, close to death.  This has become a code sentence in our family and I think it sums up men in general.  Maybe people in general.  We care about our loved ones.  We really do, we just want to talk about our own stuff and figure out what we’re doing off the tee. 

My Divine Swine

Posted on by

0

Image

Soooo, I’m just a normal wife and mom.  Today, I had the car cleaned and went and bought a new purse.  I also returned library books and went by the bank and the cleaners.  I am undistinguishable from lots of other women doing the same things to get their families back on track on a Monday.  Of course, I’m doing all this with a pig in the car. 

 

Remember a while back when I shared our mantra of “there’s no lovin’ like pig lovin”?  This may be true but we have plenty of others that take precedence such as “I need new shoes”, “where are we going for dinner” and “who wants wine?”.  The Goose looks forward to a time when he can retire, travel and golf without the restrains of a farm.  I, myself,  am a little tired of cleaning and feeding creatures.  I don’t know what I’m looking forward to but I know it’s not cleaning up poo!

 

That said, I now have a tiny stunning little pig named Babette, currently wearing a little turtleneck sweater and a pink rhinestone harness sitting in the seat of my fabulous new grown up car.  Uh huh, I said grown up.  

 

Let me digress and discuss how this happened.  I realize that faced with the evidence of a hog in my house that my tippling may, indeed, be more of a problem than I’d previously thought.  You know those low carb diets?  All last week I ate low carb.  By Friday, I was not only so much smaller that my jeans once again fit, but I was angry enough to commit a gory dissection of anyone crossing me.  It just makes a girl angry to pass up a chip!  

 

So, after being good all week I made a low carb cocktail.  Then, I made just one more little one…Then, my family went to the fair. 

 

Those who know me know my hatred of all animal cruelty.  I hate circuses, I hate animals for sale at the fair, giveaway goldfish, I even hate the men who drive the Tyson chicken trucks that drive the little chickens to their doom.  The fair is NOT the place to offer animals for sale because some stupid person who cannot take care of an animal might just be overcome with the loveliness of livestock and take something home.  Again, those without sin, cast the first stone.

 

So, I apparently rode the Himalaya twice, said two wildly inappropriate things and gave the man working the Tyson tent a dressing down that he won’t soon forget.  Filthy rotten killer. I also said Cricket could get a pig.  

 

In my rational mind, I am sure I would have told her no. I have no idea what the breakdown was with the Goose, but she must have beaten him down as well. He’s middle aged, it’s not hard to do. 

 

We are now cooing over this baby like she’s our own little black bristled, snouted, illegitimate grandchild, swaddling her and passing her back and forth lest she become fatigued walking from room to room.  My friends have come to behold her lovely countenance and to snuggle her divine little jelly bean shaped body. There is a lot of sickening baby talk and coochie-cooing.  When I was placing an order for a client on the phone the other day, I scooped up Babette, who produced a demon possessed pig squeal, and I just brushed it aside with a “oh, I’m babysitting” comment.  If the person on the other end had concerns about my baby’s respiratory condition or soul she didn’t say.  

 

This morning, my housekeeper, who continues to amuse me with her limited English sayings, said “Miz, there is little pork in room”.  I can only imagine the things she tells her family about us.  

 

We wanted to make her wear preemie diapers but she is already house trained!  She is so tiny that Chihuahua clothes won’t fit.  Her teensy hooves?  Painted and glittered.  She oinks every little step she takes just like a child’s toy.  She chases the dogs when they chase a ball, her front feet moving together and her back feet together so that when both are extended, she looks like she’s flying.  I will not stoop to a “when pigs fly” joke here.  I have some pride.  Yesterday I got her a bed, a halloween costume and a special little bowl with roses and bows, but I’m not bragging.  

 

Not being a huge human baby person, I fail to see how I could be a better grandmother to any baby than I am to Babette. I feel I am doing a great job hiding my resentment every time Cricket and her BF, Tutu, walk in the door and demand her, believing themselves to be her actual parents.  I just hope my children appreciate me and remember it when I file for joint custody when Cricket tries to move out with her.  Nobody takes MY baby!

Image

Signs

Posted on by

2

My friend and running partner, Peaches, is a great girl.  In any situation, she has my back.  She will listen to my problems, nodding wisely and always agreeing.  If I were in a barroom brawl, she would first hold my earrings and take my plate of nachos.  After eating them (the nachos, not the earrings), she would join right in the fight.  We talk about a lot of things that make us shake our heads during our runs and she has a saying that sums up a lot of situations, “people, they’re the worst!”.

People are the worst many times, but, dang it, they’re entertaining.  My daughter Cricket gets a big kick out of signs.  She takes pictures of some that she knows will one day be included in her great coffee table best seller.  (We already have our outfits picked out to wear on the Today Show.)  The sign that started it all for us was near our lake place at the Baptist church.  Imagine the conversation with the kids on the way home Easter Sunday after reading “The Easter Bunny Did Not Rise From the Grave!”.  Now, that’s a real egg hunt downer.

Some churches are getting into the groove by trying to be hip.  Picturing Jesus with a Facebook kinda seems wrong to me, but I don’t know…

Image

Some are just taking it too far and it’s downright creepy!  Recently, we’ve seen the church around the corner from us ask “Have You Had Your Heart Checked By Dr. Jesus?” and the even more disturbing “Sin, Drop It Like It’s HOT!”.  These bother me.  And, worst of all, what about these two?  WTH???

ImageImage

Cricket sent me a picture of this sign, which sums up the thinking of my friend, The Trophy Wife, and me at our local package store.  Several times, we’ve laughed so hard we’ve had to put our heads down on the counter while Mr. Wong, who just doesn’t get it, patiently waits while we go through the visual in our heads.  We have certainly entertained others waiting in line with our long and laughter interrupted explanation of what we think might have been tried in the past.  Mr. Wong refuses to join in our mirth by either confirming or denying what has been tried.  The sign simiply says “Finger Use Only” on the pen pad.  Well, WHAT, exactly has been tried that caused this?  Because of our enhanced senses of humor and our immaturity this has been causing us to laugh for three years.  But maybe that’s just us…

Image

Our whole family enjoys a misspelling.  For years, we’ve frequented the corner store near us that sells “bisquites and cantalopes”.  This has caused a permanent pronunciation issue with all of us.  Spelling is important. I am sure this church was confused about the meaning of this sermon!

Image

From what I read in the papers and hear on the news, human nature is mostly rotten.  People are, oftentimes, the worst.  Still, there’s that crazy bit of humanity that causes some man to roll over and wake his wife saying “honey, I got an idear” and the next day Jesus, Santa and a gnome are installed in the plastic Playschool playhouse in the front yard, strung with Christmas lights as the nativity scene, and that, folks, is what gives me hope.

What Would Doris Day Say?

Posted on by

1

ImageOccasionally, when my good family gets up to attend church, I decline.  In past years, I sometimes made up a headache (not always made up after Saturday night), a sore throat or female malady.  These days, I just decline on the basis of not being able to face my closet.  It seems monumental, especially in winter, to pull together an outfit.  So, sometimes, I opt to be home alone.  This allows for my favorite indulgence ever, the Doris Day movie event.

Inevitably, on any given Sunday, (take that, you sports freaks), there will be a Doris Day movie playing during the morning hours.  If the day is cloudy and cold, it is almost too delicious to bear.

I get that women needed to vote, I understand equality, I fully agree that women should be paid on level with men, but ladies, ladies, oh what we let slip along the way.

There are 11 truths that can be gleaned from Doris Day.  They are, in no particular order:

  1. Gold Lame goes with anything.  If you are wearing your husband’s t-shirt and boxers and whip on a gold lame wrap, you can achieve a glamour level of 7 or above in an instant.
  2. If you just use a soft voice and a lovely smile while you are plotting something devious, adding in a sexy nod of the head, you will certainly get away with it.  I’m sure DNA evidence and detailed autopsies will make this harder for today’s ladies, but, in the event of questioning, I’d again suggest the lovely toothy smile.
  3. Every woman should own and wear long silk peignoir sets instead of the aforementioned t-shirt and boxers.  Apparently, the sight of these render a man senseless and this, girls, is when you should ask for that kitchen remodel or new car. If you are asking for a new kitchen, I know a really good designer.
  4. A rich handsome man can always be reformed.
  5. If one is angry, there is no need to swear, crossing one’s eyes and blowing one’s bangs is enough to cause husbands, shopkeepers and milkmen to quake.  In this case, I’d have to agree.  Today’s TV has upped the epic tantrum level across the board and no one pays attention to an angry chick unless a car is driven through the garage door or something is thrown and broken.  I say, bring back the seething and the searing looks.
  6. There just can’t be enough satin, leopard prints, and kitten heels in our lives.
  7. Periodically, men should be coming home with gifts artfully wrapped where we can just lift off the lid and the box will remain beautiful.  There should be something really good in there.  Really good.
  8. Everyone needs a handsome gay friend like Rock Hudson.
  9. Women look great in hats.  When and why did we give up hats?  Women love accessories and we just let that one get away.  I submit that the emergence of the enormous handbag is overcompensating our phantom pain over the loss of our hats.  Can you imagine going shopping with your friend and getting a fabulous hat?  Taking it home in a box? How fun would that be?  If every woman went out today and purchased a glamourous hat and we all agreed to wear them, say, next Tuesday, we could change the world.
  10. All the remaining problems in the world, once we bring back hats, can be solved while talking on the phone to our best friend while sitting in a bubble bath.
  11. ImageSleeping with Cary Grant is the best revenge. Wait, that just slipped out.  Well, I’ll let it stand because, um, CARY GRANT! Without a doubt still the dishiest man ever.  Ever.

Image

So, by the time my family comes home I’m out of bed, a blue bird on my shoulder, wearing an apron and humming a tune.  If I knew how to bake a pie I would, but I don’t want to have to try out the toothy smile while explaining poisoning to the police just yet. These movies give me a happy feeling all day and it makes me think that we’ve gone awry somewhere.  Things just seemed lovelier back then.  I am longing for a big hairdo and a pastel colored car.

My Doris has, in fact, given us many life lessons not the least of which is why have we given up being glamorous?  Today, let’s all put on our gold wraps and false eyelashes,  don our heels and try out our lovely smiles and nods today and see just what we can get away with.

Image