Girl Friday...

Since it is Friday I thought I would post another fun conversation among my Fab Five, my gang of girlfriends that always keep me laughing...
Why do I need to make stuff up when real life can be so entertaining.

Dear Drunks:
So at training the other night the ADAPT guy (alcohol dependent dude) came to let us know about "warning signs"...one of them is if the person only wants to go out to eat at places that serve alcohol. :) It made me giggle and think of my girls...why would you ever choose to go out to eat at a place that DOESN'T serve alcohol? I would even push for Mc Donalds to obtain a liquor license if I could!!!
Thinking of you all! Signed, I'll take a Beer with my Big Mac

Dear I'll take a Beer with my Big Mac:
Wow! Maybe I should start worrying about myself! I DO only eat at restaurants that serve alcohol! I actively start thinking on Monday what/where I'm going to drink that weekend. On occasion I've only gotten drinks and... gASP, no food! Shit! I freaking need an intervention. Quick, everyone- come rescue me at Outback! I'll be at the bar with 2 for 1 Bloody Marys!!!! Signed, Make Mine Spicy

Dear Make Mine Spicy: Apparently my intervention was moving to PA - the weird liquor laws here make most every restaurant BYOB. So, Outback sounds great! Be there in about 20 hours! Signed, Drinking Diet Coke

Dear Drinking Diet Coke: OK so what if you think about drinking alcohol all the time even if you do not partake but once or twice a week? Does that make me a aspirant alcoholic? Crap, I can't even get that right. And if I was in PA I would be carrying around my Ed Hardy Flask (don't judge my mom bought it for me- come to think of it, is it bad when your mom buys you a flask?)

And, Make Mine Spicy- Two for one bloody mary's, hells yes, save me a spot, I will be right over. I will hook up my quad four runner and start heading that way, 20hours should be right. You think I am kidding but I am this close to convincing the Big Cheese to buy one so I can take the kids to school and ride it to the mailbox. Signed: Snowed In and Haven't Showered for Days, but looking forward to a Beer and a Big Mac

The difference between stupidity and genius is that genius has its limits. ~ Albert Einstein

So here is the situation…have you heard of the great Einstein Baby Scam? It seems Disney has been backed into a clever corner, and as a result is offering a refund to families that bought their Baby Einstein videos. The claim from the Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood was, "deceptive advertising". It seems placing our little cathedrals in front of the tube watching those endless hours of Baby Einstein Videos did not create the mastermind babies Baby Einstein assured they would.

WHAT?

C-O-M-E O-N… Did you really think that orange dragon hand puppet that babysat your kids, actually had the ability to teach them quadratic equations while you took thirty minutes to do laundry? Or did you seriously think that the green frog marionette was whispering the law of physics in your child's ear while you locked yourself in your room shoving down spoonfuls of mac-n-cheese, while crying because it was just one of those days? Sure, let’s stick it to Disney for our own parental shortcomings, because we really thought a video that showed a stuffed animal teddy bear playing Mozart on his violin would encourage my 2 year old walk right up to the piano and start playing Beethoven’s fifth… by ear.

So no, I am not going to request a refund from Disney. Admittedly, I have been drinking the $8.00 kool-aid and I am certain that they Disney is wholly responsible for adding a little magic into our lives, not to mention a giant dent in my wallet. But, hey, I’m OK with that.

Now, there are some companies that I would like write to and request a refund from, as their products simply did not deliver what they "promised" they would.

For instance, I would like a refund from every workout video I purchased between the years of 1996 and 2006. I would like my money back from The Secret, because I never actually learned what the secret was. I would like a refund from Carleton Sheets, that bastard and his Real Estate Foreclosures, whatever. Oh, and Space Bags Inc., because no matter how hard I sucked, there was no way those storage bags were going to get as flat as they showed on the infomercial.

Have you heard of Deja Fu?

I know we have all heard of Deja Vu, but I am making up a new word tonight. Deja Fu...because that is the way I roll and I just make up words whenever I want. For instance, I made up sidewards. I mean if there is a frontwards and backwards, why not a sidewards? It's not backways or frontways, right?

Any way, new word Deja Fu, and it means to see your future (which I did tonight). Oh, and when you tell your friends about Deja Fu, don't forget to put an umlaut, over the "u"...(that is two little dots for all you lay folk). I would but I can't figure out how to here.

OK, back to the future. The short of it is, a storm is rolling in tonight and I realized at 9:45pm that we have run out of cat food. There is a slight chance that I may be stuck in the house for days and the babies simply can't live on tuna in vegetable oil, I mean they could but I wouldn't do that to them...or to me since I am the only one that cleans the cat sh**. So I grab my shabby, fake fur brown coat and head out to the grocery store. On the way I realize that I have mascara smeared all over my face from watching a heart wrenching episode of the Biggest Loser and no practical way to take it off.

Now in the store, I stop real quick to check out the cover of the newest Star Magazine on my way to the prepared soup in the deli section. I glance up into the ceiling mirror and I there it is, a Deja Fu, I see straight into my future. I see me plus 40 years, shuffling through the grocery store at 9:45pm at night, mascara streamed down my cheeks, wearing a old nasty faux fur coat and carrying a 10 lb. bag of Cat Food under my arm. I am complaining about the cost of powder creamer to myself as I stumble over to the prepared soup in the deli aisle after one too many screwdrivers at Bingo earlier that night.

We Are Women Hear Us Roar...

Have you heard this song? It is the newest commercial for Dove and Wal-Mart. I am totally digging their beauty campaign.



Do your eyes sit wide
Does your nose turn to the side
Do your elbows kind of crinkle
Do your knees sort of wrinkle
Does your chest tend to freckle
Do you have a crooked smile

Do your eyes sit wide

Do your ears sort of wiggle
Does your hair make you giggle
Does your neck grow long
Do your hips sing a song

Do your ears hang low
---------------------------------
It's Monday after all, so I thought I would dive right in and add a couple of verses...

Did you shower today
Or did you skip like yesterday
Cause you got no place to go
Because you are trapped there in the snow
Did you wear your sweats again
Because you cannot find a friend

Does your face hang low?

Did you spend your grocery cash on shoes
Because you woke up with the blues
And now you’re eating rice and beans
Wearing your designer jeans
Did you order stuff online
Because it shipped for just a buck ninety-nine

Does your butt hang low?

Is your brown hair turning gray
In some places you can’t say
And your knees start to crack
When you are picking up the slack
Do you sound just like your mother
When you scold your naughty daughter

Do your boobs hang low?

If you had to answer yes
Regarding your face, butt or breast
At least you are alive
and you can smile at my rhyme
Though some days may be gray
Today can be the day
that we roar into the sky.

Let your head hang high!!!

Either you're in or you're out...

OK so late last night I found myself online searching Biz Rate for the least expensive pair of Mammoth Crocs I could find. Yes, I realize that sentence is probably more revealing than I want it to be. From the most obvious, to why would I buy a pair of Crocs, I don't garden. And ending with the fact that I am shopping on Biz Rate to find the least expensive pair available. Seriously, like I can't shell out the $39.99 on a pair of shoes. For heaven's sake, I can just look at a Target and drop a Ben Franklin. Have you ever watched Project Runway? Tim Gunn the fashion guru once said that he thinks that Crocs were the biggest fashion mistake of the 20th Century. So now how could I, a fashionita in my own mind go against the Gunn?

Have I just given up, finally rolling over and succumbing to comfort over style? YOU BET. Hey- don't judge unless you have ever worn a pair. The sheep that were shed for these shoes must have been from Abel’s own flock as they are undoubtedly, the most comfortable pair of slipper/shoes I have ever slipped on my cracked unpedicured heels. I tell you what, those "practical" utility pant wearing moms in the school pick up line really knew what the hell they were doing floating around in their bright orange, red and florescent green mother ships. I have climbed aboard, my friends... and today I vow to singled handily bring back the Croc. Long live Crocs-- crocs vivants!!!

Of course, looking back to less than a year ago I wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of Crocs. They were just one of the many fashion “trends” that I had the good taste to stay away from. Crocs, women’s suspenders and those horrid geometric and tribal shirts that were all vying for a great 80s comeback. No, no and no. But I gotta say, when you roll out out bed and the most important place you have to go that day is Wal Mart, crocs are the bomb.

Now since I have revealed this ugly truth to you, I thought maybe I should continue to dig deep and give you some background as to where it all started and how I have progressed to be the fashion icon I am now...again in my own head.

Remember Polo shirts? It was fifth grade, I had accumulated 13 polo shirts, which was a pretty big deal if you were to use this information as bragging rights against all the other children who didn’t have them. What I never told anyone was that only one was an authentic. The other twelve "polos" were bootleg with the tags ripped in half, purchased in a seedy hotel room. I have no idea how my mother found this place, but we spent an entire Saturday wading knee deep in oxfords to find those perfect shirts that weren’t ripped or stained. I can blame this day for my transformation from amateur shopper to professional hunter. I may as well have had my first taste of deer blood that Saturday afternoon. There I was covered from head to toe with cotton fibers and cigarette smoke from the Italian that had bootlegged the truck load of factory seconds from Jersey. Ralph Lauren permeated through the air, there was no going back, that day I became a true bargain hunter.


Or how about the Flash Dance trend, complete with big 80s big hair. Can I get a hollar for the color yellow!! OMG, what the hell was I thinking? Man, I remember "stumbling" upon the bag that held this outfit it in back of my mom's closet the month before Christmas, I could not wait to open and wear it. And I had the perfect occassion this outfit, it would be perfect for my entry to the Seventeen Model Search photo contest. Don't tell me you didn't send in a photo, hoping to be discovered? Now I am just glad I have this set of photos and not my girlfriend.


From Flashdance to Punk. Well, somehow I skipped over the whole punk/Madonna thing. I think I extended the shoulder pad phenom which came right after the Flashdance era a little longer than necessary. This was due to the fact that I had a coveted pair of removable shoulder pads. So basically I could put them, ANYWHERE I WANTED. Come on, I know you are digging the leggings and the yellow hightops.


However, today I think I would like a do over. I would scrap the shoulder pads and the leggings if I could enjoy being a punk for a day or two, maybe a week. I would walk around all pissed off, rocking out some red streaks in my hair and a lace fingerless glove on my right hand. Oh, and some motorcycle boots would be totally bad ass. And I would also like to walk into a Hallmark Store straight over to where the little crystal figurines are placed ever so delicately...and go Godzilla on them. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it either. I mean Seriously, Why Can't We?

Just because I don't care doesn't mean I don't understand.

Fifteen year old animated boys, you better start saving your cartoon cash because your wildest dreams have come true. Your favorite MILF, Marge Simpson, has hit the pages of Playboy. Time to find out if the blue drapes really match the carpet.

Yes, Playboy I realize that your circulation has slipped from 3.15 to 2.6 million in recent years...but I am not sure what market you are shooting for with your newest cover model. Don't you realize that Springfield cash is like .00003 pennies to the dollar? I mean what's next a lesbian pictorial of Betty Rubble and Wilma Flintsone. Rocks as payment will earn you even less.

Poor Bart, I guess he is finally getting what he deserves for all of his astatine pranks and abhorrent behavior. What goes around comes around my man. Not only does he have to face Milhouse and Ralph at school but Dolph has also seen the spread by now (get it) and wants in on the action. Later when Bart gets sent to Principal Skinners office for beating the hell out of Dolph for making rude comments about his mamma, he is ashamed to look up to see his mom's centerfold pinned up on Skinner's wall with kissy marks all over it.

There is one winner here, you know who lovin this publicity... Apu. The Kwik-E-Mart is raking in the dough left over right as he has his entire magazine display filled with Marge's covers, right next to the Duff's beer and electronic cooked hot dogs.

Uh oh, here comes Homer, "DOH"!

...dedicated to Sher

Bless his heart...

Nothing like waking up at 7am and having a feeling that you were visited by the paranormal last night. Not Casper the friendly ghost, but the other one, his evil pointed head brother, the one that likes to turn on lights and deficate on a whim.

So let me start at the beginning, which was yesterday. You see we have offered to host our squadron/ welcome open house/ meet your crazy spouses party this Saturday night. And because a simple party won't do, I have give this soiree a theme, Southern Haunted Manor, spooky hun? So yesterday the whole family spent the day out and about buying crazy random decorations for my "Haunted Manor". Stuff that we will never use again, from the dozen black ravens to the blood soaked candles. Vampire Martha, eat your heart out.

I gave the Big Cheese a task, I asked him to paint some drop cloths with some whimsical, yet spooky ghosts that we will later tape to the windows. My hubby is chuck full of talent, and quite a perfectionist, which is why he spent a good hour and a half on just one covering (with 5 more to go).

So when he is finished with part one of his task he gently carries the drop cloth and carefully lays it upstairs on the bed in the spare room so that no one touches it, especially the cats. He closes the door.

Fast forward to this morning, on his way out to work he checks on his "masterpiece" and finds it crumpled in a 10 inch ball on the spare bed, the bathroom light is turned on and the room smells like poop. He comes in to report this strange phenomenon, bewildered, and I too admit that for a brief minute, in my somnolent, coffee deprived state, I think holy geez, we have been visited by the ghosts of Halloween pasts and they are pissed off.

When we investigate further, we look under the crumpled up ghost masterpiece, and find it is covering a large pile of cat shit and a crumpled throw blanket is laying over a small lake of cat pee.

It seems the Big Cheese locked our cat in the SPARE ROOM overnight and he had his own frightening Party. Seriously...

Lazy Saturday...

So I spent my Saturday snowed in. OK I am flat out lying, it didn't snow, but there is a layer of frost outside that is in its own right very scary. So in lieu of getting dressed and doing anything productive, believe me, I had great intentions: laundry, reading my book club book, watching a great movie. Instead I spent my entire day jacking around on the computer...digital scrapbooking. You likey?

Oh man, talk about your instant gratification. Whew, I haven't had this much fun shopping online since Body Candy Jewelry had two for one belly rings.

So that is the reason for the new look.

Come As You Are...

Kurt Cobain once said "I sing and play the guitar and I am a walking, talking bacterial infection."

Whether you find him an 80s Renaissance man or the incensed product of a broken mobile home, or just plain dirty, he was revered for his words. Or at least that is what the small town of Aberdeen, Washington (Cobain's hometown) believes. And they have dedicated a park to Nirvana's front man to prove it.

Up to this point, while reading this article, I was totally on board. I mean why shouldn't Kurt Cobain have a grassy knoll, he practically pioneered the grunge movement. A movement that I, personally, never really bought into, I was far to self absorbed to stop caring about my personal appearance. I wasn't angst-ridden or really serious about anything in the 80s or 90s, unless it was nickel beer night at the local wing joint or a sale on aqua net.

But here is where the line gets a little blurred and the article sparked a tiny nerve. At the entrance of this park (for kids) there lies a plaque. And on this plaque right above Kurt's granite carved mug is the quote,

"...Drugs are bad for you. They will FUCK you up."

Whoa, hey wait just a minute for fuck's sake. I am all for a message, especially one that implies that drugs are bad for you. But the delivery here is all wrong. Kids don't read the park signs anyway, I mean they are always climbing "up" the slide, when safety signs clearly state not to. Instead, the Aberdeen Parks and Rec Department, could have saved their cash and instead pay a hobo in "hotdogs" to sit at the edge of the park and scream meaningful life lessons through a bullhorn. Off the top of my head, "hey little asshole, don't be a bully", or "drinking alcohol is for shitheads." I mean if we are going to get those kids attention while waiting in line for the swings, let's not carve it in granite. I say we take it one step further and get the mother of all parks involved. I can see it now...

"Welcome to Disney World, where your dreams come true. But only if you stay in school, don't be Fucking stupid."

Catching Butterflies...a writer's workshop

Catching Butterflies

Can I keep you cupped in my hands for just a moment longer?
Before I wipe all of the dust off your gentle wings
They say you need to be free, spread your wings and wander
But I am just five and I don't listen to these things... CRUSH

Writer's Workshop

Assignment: Find your one very favorite picture of Summer and write a poem about it.

I used to rule the world...

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own.
~ ColdPlay

I started this post with the idea that I have become a shadow of my former self "sweeping the streets I used to own." If in my twenties I was the bomb than my late thirties I would be compared more to a sparkler at the very end of it's life. A couple of random sparks and then turning to a scorching hot orange light.

So I started to think about all the "hip" (stupid) things I used to do in my youth mainly as a result of lack of confidence with my body and my mind. And I thought, ya know what, I am 10 times cooler now then I was then (or at least that is what I keep telling myself). It's not that my self-doubting inner voice has stopped whispering in my ear, it's just that I don't listen any longer to what that jerk off has to say.

So as I round third base and slide into 40 I am NOT a shadow of my former self but I am rocking a grand slam version of my HOTTER vibrant orange, don't give a shit, self. So I started a list of all the things I do now that make me so cool:

For instance, unlike my twenties, I can totally hold my liquor. Sure I may break a couple of glasses (or beer bottles) in a night because I talk with my hands (thanks mom)but that just comes with the territory. And I also will attract the only homeless guy in the bar with my antics, but I am having a good time being me. Loud, sloppy, slurry, beer soaked...ME. And if that homeless guy asks me to dance then I just hope the DJ plays something from Depeche Mode or a song that encourages individual dancing.

Speaking of dancing, I now dance when EVERYONE is watching and I do it ALL OF THE TIME. And when the Hannah Montana or iCarly theme song comes on the TV at home, I know for a fact that all of Mac's friends think I am major cool because not only do I know ALL of the words but I dance while singing them outloud. Because nothing is cooler than dancing in the kitchen with an oven mitt on one hand, breaking it down like MJ. I may even demonstrate my Thriller "recital" routine.

I drive a mini-van... hells yes, much, much cooler than the red Camaro I had in my twenties. We named it "Hip Hop you don't Stop Rocking" because it was so hot. But I'll tell you what my cherry red Camaro didn't have. Automatic doors, bitches.

And while I am driving around my way hot blue mini-van, I have the radio turned up loud, rocking out some NPR. Can I give a shout out to All Things Considered...?

My music tastes are mcuh better. I keep it real and lean more towards the 80s and the 90s. But some Barbara Streisand can always pick me up. Oh and the Grease Soundtrack of course.

I order cheeseburgers and eat them without abandonment. And the only use I have for Ranch dressing is for my fries, no salads for this girl. As a result in the summer I don a tankini bathing suit with a matching skirt, top it off with a big ass straw hat with giant glasses to match. Yes, you're right I make all those young girls jealous.

At night for bed, I wear my Police t-shirt the one I bought in 07 at a Police concert. I cut out the collar so it hangs off one shoulder. So freakin awesome. Roxxannnee- you don't have to put on that the red light.

I pluck my eyebrows while waiting in the car pool line (can't beat the natural sunlight), I am a multi tasker, what can I say?

And lastly, I have MC Hammer as ring tone on my phone. And I bet "you can touch that."

Uncomfortable Silent Pauses

Those of you who watch Seinfeld will completely understand. But do you remember the episode when every time Kramer would hear Leeza Gibbons' voice on Entertainment Tonight and he would go into convulsions, his whole body would spasm and he would eventually black out? Well that is what happens to me when I find myself 3 seconds into an awkward group silence.

I go crazy bananas, I can feel my eye twitching, my mouth gets drys and barely six seconds will pass before I find myself blurting out something ridiculous like "you know I am wearing band aids on my nipples because I couldn't find a clean bra to wear." You see, I would rather say something completely self depreciating than stand there sliding deeper and deeper into an abyss like silence.

And tonight at a dinner party I had to trudge my way through about a dozen of these awkward, silent pauses. I mean seriously, out of eight educated, employed, relatively bright adults, you would think that one person could find something interesting to say. For God sakes, A-N-Y-THING, a grunt, a burp or even some gas would have at least cut the silence, if only for a moment.

So as you can imagine I found myself teetering on the edge of insanity and full disclosure. With every silent pause I came closer and closer to accidentally blurting out my truths...starting with the fact that sometimes I pee in the shower when I am really tired in the morning (OK that only happened once...maybe twice) and ending with the fact that I haven't washed my hair in 6 days. Could someone please save me from going down that dirty yellow brick road of no return? Argh...

Fortunately it didn't get that bad, I did leave with my dignity and my bra intact. But I wanted to gouge my eyes out with my oven cooked, well done, crispy charred steak. And that's all I have to say about that.