In 2009 I will NOT

Scream really loud when Dave is about to hit another car because it drives him nuts.

Be super pissed at Dave for not answering his Blackberry, not knowing where it is, or not taking it off vibe so he can hear it ringing when I’m calling him.

Fight with Trish like we are 13 years old.

Keep telling Trish her Texas accent (which comes and goes) annoys the crap out of me.

Mess with Trish’s match.com account, even though I know her password and could change her settings to attract only beer- bellied mama’s boys who live on farms.

Yell out a cuss word in front of the offspring and then try to turn it into a normal word (example: yelling shit really loud but then turning it into shiitake mushrooms).

Drink so much red wine it looks like I’m wearing purple lipstick.

Make disparaging remarks about the meeting leaders at Weight Watchers.

Keep referring to girls I don’t like as stupid crack whores.

Acknowledge stupid e-mail chain letters. Nothing BAD is going to happen to me if I don’t forward it to 10 of my friends. P.S., they don’t want it either.

Keep talking about the Dooney and Bourke medium chiara bag in black leather that I still don’t own.

Say out loud all the inappropriate things I may be thinking in my head.

Would you bite me, Edward Cullen?

I’ve got it bad for the vamps. I wish they were real. They’re gorgeous. And strong. And fast. A vampire is the ultimate bad boy. Yes, technically one could snap my neck like a twig or drain me of all my blood but those are just RANDOM DETAILS I’m not concerned with. Because lately I find vampires simply irresistible.

I didn’t lose my mind overnight and decide to lust after undead make believe men. It started when I read all four books in Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series. I also saw the Twilight movie last month with Amy. Then I moved on to The Southern Vampire Mysteries by Charlaine Harris (I’m on book eight). The HBO show True Blood is based on this series. We dropped HBO after Sex and The City ended but I think we might need to add it back.

First: Twilight. It’s a book about Bella and Edward, who attend high school together in Forks, Washington. Bella is the new girl, having just moved from Arizona, and Edward is a vampire. They slowly fall in love and Stephenie Meyer does an incredible job of building tension between Edward and Bella. Lot’s of tension. Smoking hot 41-year-old housewife caliber tension. Seriously, by the time I finished the first book I was ready to combust. I wasn’t really lusting after Edward, per se. He’s 17. I’m 41. We’re both in our sexual prime so we’d probably be quite compatible but I find that kind of creepy (to clarify – I only find the age difference creepy. I’m obviously okay with the vampire part).

I really loved this book series even though I wasn’t expecting to. Stephenie Meyer has managed to create a believable love story between two people that shouldn’t be together in the first place. That which is forbidden has a really strong attraction.

When I was done reading all the Twilight books, I moved on to Charlaine Harris’ Southern Vampire Mysteries. Finally, vamps closer to my own age. It’s much easier to lust after a vampire when he is not actually in high school. This series is about a telepathic barmaid named Sookie Stackhouse. She is an attractive, but quiet, young woman and she begins dating Bill the vampire after he walks into the bar where she works. She was a virgin but now she and Bill do it all the time. Then she and Bill broke up and she started doing it all the time with Eric the vampire. Now she’s getting ready to do it with a couple other vampires and I’m wondering if Sookie’s becoming a slut or she just can’t get enough. Either way, my infatuation with vampires does not show any sign of going away in the near future.

I think if I can actually find a real vampire I should be allowed to have my way with him if only to see for myself what all the fuss is about. And Dave? It’s a real shame you told me you never read my blog anymore because if you had read this post you wouldn’t be so blindsided when I tell you about my vampire lover. If you want to try and snare one of the Victoria’s Secret models you have my blessing. I am totally equal opportunity, especially when it comes to THINGS THAT DON’T HAVE A CHANCE IN HELL OF HAPPENING TO EITHER OF US.

Meanwhile, I’ll keep searching for the vampires. Maybe the werewolves of London know where they hang out and will point me in the right direction. Because I really need to know if the vamps are worth the hype.

You! Suck! Santa!

Santa Claus is one big, fat, mean, purse-teasing sack of crap. There was no Dooney and Bourke medium chiara bag in black leather under the tree this morning but you can bet your ass all the cookies I left out for him were gone.

I have coveted that purse since last spring and I STILL don’t own it. I am getting tired of visiting it at Dillard’s. It should be hanging on my shoulder by now and when I’m not carrying it, I plan on placing it on a special shrine I’ve constructed in my closet.

Since I’m not willing to mainstream and get a normal job (and I’m apparently not super employable for some reason) I have to find a way to increase my cash flow and BUY THAT PURSE MYSELF. Here’s the plan:

On Tuesdays and every other Saturday I will be selling my blood and platelets to the Blood Center of Iowa. I know they like my blood because they leave at least 15 messages per month on my voice mail begging me to come in. I gave them a couple pints back in 2005 and now they won’t leave me alone (imagine how excited they’ll be when I tell them about my super preferred life insurance rating). I’m going to ask them to install one of those vibrating massage chairs like the ones I sit in when I get a pedicure because I’m going to be there a lot and I want to be comfortable.

On Mondays and Thursdays I will be stripping at The Lumberyard. My stage name will be Peaches Honeyblossom and I will be wearing long fuchsia hair extensions, white thigh high boots, and my birthday suit. Every hour, I will be workin’ the pole to a three-song set by Def Leppard. Please stop by and contribute to my purse fund by slipping me a buck or two over the tip rail.

I have also put my eggs up for sale on Craig’s List. Because I’m 41 and my eggs are possibly a little funky genetically, I have priced them very competitively and I expect them to go quickly. My profile states that I am a teetotaling midwestern housewife who enjoys biographies and knitting (I am totally screwed if they find my blog and discover that I am really a wino with a potty mouth).

By my calculations, I should have that purse in about a month and I can put all this nonsense behind me. But if you have any other good money making ventures to suggest? Please leave them in the comments section of my blog. I think I’ve proven I’m open to just about anything.

Christmas Eve weigh day

Today was my 3rd Weight Watchers weigh in and I must be doing something right because I lost another 1.4 lbs. That makes 7.2 lbs. total lost in December (or as I like to refer to it, the month I usually put on 6). I didn’t want to stay for the meeting because I had PLENTY to do at home to get ready for the Christmas Eve dinner that Dave and I are hosting but Arlene was shaming someone into staying and I somehow got caught in the crossfire.

Today’s meeting was interactive which means that Arlene stood up in front (very festively dressed from head to toe) and asked us to yell out our favorite tips in various categories.

Category 1 was dining out. Everyone in the meeting was very worried about that one. Really? How about, don’t order fettuccine alfredo and cheesecake? Or, plan ahead, figure how much you can eat (and more importantly, how many glasses of wine you can have) and then go to the restaurant and DO THAT.

Category 2 was how to move more. Um, get off your ass? Get up? Get vertical? Put one foot in front of the other? GET IN YOUR CAR AND DRIVE IT TO THE GYM. Stop me anytime, I’ve got more and I can keep ‘em coming. I mean, do the people in the meeting really and truly need these tips or is Arlene just filling air space and we’re all too polite to tell her what a waste of time this is.

The final category was all about emotional eating. Arlene first asked who could tell her what feeling hungry felt like. How did we know when we were hungry? Are you fucking kidding me? If I can’t tell whether or not I’m hungry I am not intelligent enough to live on my own. Or reproduce. Apparently I was the only one that felt this was a completely retarded question because everyone else started saying things like, “my stomach growls.” Or “I feel weak and get a headache.” I understand that she was trying to help us differentiate between real and emotional hunger but I’m having a hard time believing anyone at the meeting couldn’t figure that out on his or her own.

Before anyone thinks I am being unfair, I understand that Weight Watchers is a program that was written for the masses. Some people may truly find these tips helpful. I am not one of them. My only problem is making sure not to eat MORE than the amount required to lose or maintain my weight.

I think the older members of Weight Watchers do find the meetings informative. The meeting I went to today is not the one I’ve been going to for the last two weeks but it was also chock full of old people. I commend these senior citizens for still giving a damn about their weight and being willing to exercise and follow a weight loss program.

When I’m their age I have no intention of watching what I eat or exercising. I plan on driving my golf cart from the front door of my retirement village condo to the bar and nail salon, even if they are only located 1/8 of a mile from my home. I will be wearing one of many velour elastic waist tracksuits and there will always be French silk pie and a cocktail within reach. In short, I will be letting myself go PERMANENTLY.

Until then, I will keep following the Weight Watchers program. If I can survive December on a diet, the rest of the year should be a cakewalk. In the meantime, I need to find another meeting. The one all the housewives are going to.

The Real Housewives of Orange County

Last night’s episode of the Real Housewives of Orange County began with Tamra and Vicki, and their families, preparing for a day on the river at Vicki’s vacation home in Lake Havasu to celebrate the fourth of July. The overall theme of the day was partying and Vicki and Tamra wasted no time in getting completely hammered. In the words of Chelsea Handler, whom I adore, those two were a hot mess. (As a side note they both wore these really cute cowboy hats and I plan on getting myself one to wear at Tom and Amy’s lake house this summer).

Throughout the afternoon, Vicki and Tamra continued to drink and Vicki was very upset because Jeana brought Frankie to the lake. Frankie is a former tenant of hers and she is currently suing him for back rent. Vicki would not join Jeana and Frankie at their table so Tamra acted as go-between and went back and forth between the two while simultaneously trying to prevent her three young kids from drowning.

Later on the boat, Tamra started stroking Simon’s you-know-what through his swim trunks. I hope Tamra was mortified when she watched last night’s episode. Vicki got hit in the head with a football which was funny because I thought it was like Karma telling her to shut the hell up.

The new housewife Lynne was featured heavily on tonight’s episode. She has the strangest set of breast implants I have ever seen. They are perfectly round and sit very far apart on her chest. Other than her horrendous boobs she has a good figure but I don’t know what the hell is up with her face. She has tanned herself into a handbag and she is quite a bit more wrinkled than the other housewives. Her two teenaged daughters are nauseatingly spoiled and will no doubt follow in the footsteps of their vapid mother.

Gretchen’s fiancé Jeff was in the ICU at the hospital but Gretchen was partying at another lake with her family and they showed her drinking and having a great time. Frankly I think she has some “daddy issues” because the way she and her dad interacted gave me the creeps. He was taking a picture of her while she pretended to ride a big yellow pool noodle. Meanwhile, Jeff’s children had flown in to be with their dad at the hospital. They showed Gretchen on the phone with Jeff later and it was really sad because she kept asking him if he felt better and he kept saying no. He sounded very sick and I could not understand her partying with her family while he lay there in a hospital bed.

This episode was hard for me to watch because last week I read an article in US Weekly that Jeff DIED last September. He must have been fighting his illness very hard during the last couple episodes and that bothers me.

I can only imagine what the producers of this show were thinking when they cast Gretchen as the newest housewife, knowing her fiancé was so ill. And I’d love to know what Gretchen and Jeff were thinking. I am going to HOPE that Gretchen really loved Jeff and that she did her best to take care of a dying man. I’m going to HOPE that she did everything in her power to help him face a terminal illness with dignity. Because if she was anything but sincere I don’t want to watch this show anymore. I hope that the producers really didn’t realize Jeff would lose his battle with cancer so quickly. But if they did, shame on them and shame on Bravo.

In the previews for next week’s show, they show the housewives ganging up on Gretchen for not being by Jeff’s side. They also introduce Lynne to the other girls and it’s always entertaining to watch the housewives haze the newbie. I’m sure next week will have all kinds of conflicts and startling revelations. For the first time since I started watching this show, I’m not sure I care.

Tales about my nails

I went to the nail salon today to get my fake fingernails filled and all the dead skin scraped off my heels before Christmas. There were only 3 technicians working when I walked in, two women and one man. The girl behind the counter told me to sit down and since one of the women was plucking her eyebrows and the other one was talking on the phone you can probably guess who she sent over.

I hate having the guy do my nails and this is the 3rd time it’s happened at this salon. He doesn’t speak English and I don’t speak pot sticker so we basically spend the next 50 minutes in awkward silence while he holds my hands.

Today his Black and Decker super fast fingernail sander thingy cut my cuticle and I started bleeding. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the cooties that were probably entering my skin via the exposed germ superhighway and wondered once again why I keep taking my life into my own hands for the sake of vanity.

I really needed a pedicure, because my heels looked like those of a ninety year old woman plus I wanted to have my toenails painted with OPI’s I’m Not Really a Waitress because it’s red and sparkly and perfect for Christmas. But when the nail technician who was done plucking her eyebrows started walking toward me, I recognized her as the one that almost broke my tibia last summer during the “massage portion” of the pedicure. I still have a Pavlovian pain response when I see her so I decided I’d go to a different salon in a couple days where hopefully I can get a pedicure from someone who is not a sadist.

I put some Neosporin on my cuticle when I got home and prayed that gangrene would not set in. Maybe someday when I catch something worse than funky toenail I’ll quit going to the nail salon. But until then, mama’s still got some grooming to do.

I'm such a loser!

I went to my second Weight Watchers weigh in today and I’ve lost another 2 lbs. I was pretty confident the scale would show a loss because the chest strap on my heart rate monitor had to be tightened this week (which means my boobs are already shrinking) but my ass is exactly the same size it was when I started WW and that is UNFAIR. However, thanks to J.Lo and Kim Kardashian, my honkytonk badonkadonk is a little more accepted these days. It will never be as small as I’d like though, because when you’re pear shaped like I am, your upper body will always be smaller than your lower body. It sucks wearing jeans that fit my butt but gap so much in the waist that every time I bend down to tie my shoes, the world can see my coin slot.

I don’t know what got into me today because not only did I PUT ON A NAMETAG, I fully participated in the totally gay meeting. And it was AARP city there today. No one but me and 4 chubby retired women (I had a vision of myself at a WW meeting 20 years from now and I was so traumatized by it I almost drove over to Jenny Craig). But then I remembered the tabloid photo I saw of Kirstie Alley the other day and she looks like she ATE Jenny Craig. And I heard alcohol is not allowed on Jenny’s program and that is just WRONG.

Once again I stayed within my points allowance but I didn’t do very well moderating my red wine consumption (shocker!). I did not get to go out for a greasy hangover lunch on Sunday at Ruby Tuesday like Dave did which pissed me off a little. It’s my own fault though as I do not remember anyone holding the offspring for ransom and forcing me to knock back a bunch of cabernet sauvignon.

So far I feel pretty good on WW. I think I can go the distance if I keep following the program. It’s not as FUN as eating and drinking whatever I want but unless I want to look like Kirstie Alley’s twin, I don’t have much choice. And when January 1st rolls around, I’ll already have made good headway on all those resolutions.

Watch out for werewolves, and me

According to the MSN homepage, the full moon tonight will be the biggest one of the year as Earth's natural satellite reaches its closest point to our planet. The moon will rise this evening around sunset, no matter where you are.

Yay! A loophole to explain my vile behavior this week. I have the most horrible PMS I’ve ever experienced in my entire life and now I can blame it on the lunar cycle instead of MY cycle. They say there is no proof a full moon makes you crazy but they are WRONG. Plus the barometer is all over the place and that alone can mess with your mood. Everything happening at the same time is creating a perfect storm of pre-menstrual psychosis. Consider yourself warned.

I've gotten some relief this week from exercise. I need all the endorphins I can get to help balance my whacked out hormones. But when I got ready to work out on Wednesday, I discovered my ipod was dead because Matthew left it on all night. I was forced to listen to FM radio on Lauren's Hello Kitty boom box. And our treadmill is such an incredible POS that it moves forward when you're walking on it and unplugs itself every ten minutes. What that happens, it feels like someone has yanked me backward really hard by my ponytail. I felt just as bad when I finished Wednesday's workout as I did when I started.

A couple years ago my friend Stacy told me about a pill her doctor prescribed that was supposed to help alleviate PMS. I made an appointment with my doctor and got a prescription for my own Mother's Little Helper. I followed the instructions and started taking it 7 days before my next period.

By the time Aunt Flo showed up, I felt like my world was being filtered through a giant marshmallow. I was sitting in a big pile of "I don't give a shit." My anger was gone and so was most of my personality and sense of humor. I'd rather have PMS than feel like I'm walking through life underwater. And P.S. Eli Lilly? If you're going to make a pill that treats PMS, make sure there are no sexual side effects. I'm a 41 year old housewife in her sexual prime and I don't want anything messing with my mojo.

It’s not that I’m all Tom Cruise about pharmaceutical drugs. It’s just that I don’t think swallowing a synthetic pill developed by some freaky poindexter in an industrial laboratory is the solution I feel the most comfortable with. I tried it and didn't like it.

It would be great if there really was a magic pill for PMS that didn't have a bunch of undesirable side effects. I certainly need one this week. But until they get it right I will just have to deal with it like everyone else. But be careful tonight. You don't want to get your head bitten off by a werewolf, or by me.

Help, I'm fading away........

I had my first weigh in at Weight Watchers and I’m proud to announce that there is now 3.8 lbs. less of me. I stayed within my points range and still had enough of my weekly points allowance left to use on an entire bottle of cabernet sauvignon, even though that SLIGHTLY exceeds the WW suggested alcohol consumption guidelines. Pffft, details.

I even attended the meeting again but that’s only because I ran into a friend of mine, who is a trainer for WW, and I was afraid she’d bust me if she saw me sneaking out after getting weighed. I still refused to put on a nametag.

Arlene was excited because she was going to explain the new plan to us at the meeting. It’s pretty much the same as the old plan. Then she started asking random people what they did that week that helped them be successful and this is exactly the reason I hate these meetings. No one needs to hear I passed up frosting out of a can or that I chose not to drink 5 cosmos in 2 hours like I did a couple weeks ago.

Oprah Winfrey talks openly about her weight struggles in the January issue of “O” magazine. She claims to have fallen off the wagon and now weighs 200 lbs. I guess Oprah likes to shove canned frosting into her pie hole too.

“I’m mad at myself,” Winfrey writes in an article provided to the Associated Press by Harpo Productions. “I look at my thinner self and think, how did I let this happen again?” She also blames her weight gain on her ongoing “thyroid problem” which caused her to “fear exercise.”

This I don’t understand. That Bob Greene guy basically lives with her and Stedman and she still can’t get off her ass to go to the gym? I manage to exercise 4-5 times a week and all I have is a 12-year-old Treadmill from Montgomery Ward and a Y membership.

Winfrey also writes that her goal is no longer to be thin; instead she wants to be strong, healthy, and fit.

Not me. I’m already healthy (and SUPER PREFERRED in case you’ve forgotten). I’m just vain and want to look good in my clothes. And if that means that I can’t eat frosting for a while? I don’t think it’ll kill me.

In case you'd like to buy me a gift

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with string
Here are a few of MY favorite things


The wine aisle at Dahl’s
All day Kindergarten
Tom and Amy’s lake house
Tom and Amy’s pontoon boat
Tom and Amy’s wave runner
Tom and Amy (yes they’re PEOPLE but they own a bunch of the things)
Diet coke
People Magazine
The Internet
Vodka
My ipod
Sushi
The F bomb
Books
When people fall down
Spicy food
My DVR
Grilled shrimp
Face book
The Real Housewives of Orange County
The Real Housewives of New York City
The Real Housewives of Atlanta
Online shopping
Snowstorms
Fresh lime juice
Sandalwood incense
Sex and The City, series and movie
Halloween
Lemons
Avocados
Twilight, books and movie

Everyone please get out of my way

Amy was telling me the other night that she and her mom went to Kohl’s and Target and both stores were packed with holiday shoppers. Then she proceeded to tell me she and her mom kind of LIKED it that way and didn’t mind the Christmas crowds. I think they both had a big fucking cup of crazy for breakfast because I find nothing more annoying than shopping during the month of December. Mostly it’s because I have no patience whatsoever.

I can’t stand how long it takes to complete my shopping transactions. God forbid there are more than two people ahead of me in line. Then, when it’s finally my turn, the retail employee wastes more of my time asking for my phone number and zip code. And NO, I don’t want to save 10% today if it means I first have to apply for your shitty credit card.

This is the conversation I had with the employee running the cash register at Pottery Barn:

Her: Will this be credit or debit?
Me: Debit
Her: And can I have your e-mail address?
Me: No.

She wasn’t very friendly to me after that and didn’t seem thrilled when I asked for a gift box. If I had been in a restaurant and she was my waitress she probably would have spit in my food.

I need e-mails from Pottery Barn like I need a hole in the head. In fact, I had to block them as a sender because they inundated my inbox with so much crap I got really annoyed and cursed myself for giving them my e-mail address LAST December. And P.S., Victoria’s Secret, Barnes and Noble, Amazon, Pet Smart, Kmart, Banana Republic, etc…. YOU’RE ALL BLOCKED!

We had Chloe embedded with a microchip so if she ever ran away and someone found her, they could scan her and find out who she belonged to. I want to have my debit card number micro-chipped under my skin so I can just wave my arm in the general vicinity of the cash register and not have to enter my PIN or sign anything. Transaction time: 20 seconds.

The other day Brooke and I were in Brighton and it was taking the salesgirl a really long time to ring up Brooke’s purchase. She was so slow I was almost embarrassed for her. Then, completely oblivious to her own inefficiency, she proceeded to tell Brooke and I the story of the history of Brighton. I left Brooke in the store and went out into the mall because I wasn’t positive I could control myself. I often fear a sudden onset attack of Tourette’s that might result in me saying out loud what I’m thinking in my head.

Next I had to go to Abercrombie and Fitch to get my niece Genevieve a gift card. I never shop there because at 41, I don’t think I really fit into their demographic and there are plenty of other places I prefer to shop.

FOR GOD’S SAKE, WHO IS IN CHARGE OF VOLUME CONTROL AT ABERCROMBIE?

When I walked in the music was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think. There were two teenagers behind the counter and one of them was helping an old lady. I walked up to the other one and SCREAMED that I needed a $40 gift card. She SCREAMED back at me to ask if I wanted a gift box for it. I SCREAMED “YES!” and was thankful this transaction process was actually very quick. I looked at the poor old lady next to me and noticed she was having trouble communicating with the other Abercrombie employee. My God if my ears were bleeding hers had likely suffered permanent damage and she probably had to buy a Miracle Ear on her way out of the mall. I like my music loud and I’m pretty sure I do plenty of damage by turning my ipod up as far as it will go when I’m working out but this was a total assault on my senses. I grabbed my gift card and got the hell out of there.

My last stop was Scheel’s because I wanted to get Dave a North Face coat for Christmas. Whenever Dave wants to buy me a gift he finds a salesperson, tells them what he is looking for, and then finds a comfortable chair to sit in while THEY shop for me. I decided to employ his method.

I walked up to the first employee I saw. His nametag said Lance and I told him what I was looking for. He led me over to the North Face display and started showing me some of the coats. Dave was right, this was so much easier than doing it myself.

I was a little confused about the correct size to buy when I noticed that Lance and Dave were about the same height and build. I asked Lance to put the coat on and give me a little twirl. Fun! Kind of like my own Ken doll. I had no idea Scheel’s employees were so helpful. I thought about having Lance try on the whole men’s North Face clothing line but that seemed a little excessive. I thanked Lance for all his help and walked to the cash register to pay.

I was done shopping, for that day anyway. It was a pretty successful trip to the mall. I bought several gifts and did not have any altercations with the Kiosk employees I hate so much. I’ll probably have to go back at least once more to finish up. Maybe Amy will go with me.

Trish is leavin' on a jet plane

My sister is flying to Austin today to stay with Stacy over the weekend before continuing on to Phoenix for a work training session. I’m a little nervous about her flying, not because I think the plane will crash but because Trish has had some ISSUES with flying in general and the TSA folks in particular.

First of all, she thinks none of the rules of airline travel apply to her and will try to sneak all kinds of shit past security. She just texted me that “flying sux – airport security is not my friend.” I immediately texted back to inquire if she’d been arrested. She replied that she had not been arrested but that her liquids weren’t in baggies and both laptops were now separated. The airport personnel hi-jacked her water bottle but not to worry, she’d just buy more once she got through security.

I should be glad she made it to the airport at all because she misses more flights than anyone I know. She managed to miss her flight home for Christmas two years in a row and would spend the whole day trying to finagle her way onto the next one so she could make it to DSM by midnight. I assure you my dad will be calling my house around noon today to ask, “Have you heard from your sister? Do you know if she made it to Dallas and Austin okay?" She makes my dad really nervous when she flies.

You know how NORAD tracks Santa every year and the kids can pull up the web site to see where Santa is? I wish NORAD would loan me some GPS to stick on the back of Trish’s head so I could monitor her whereabouts or better yet a web-cam I could mount on her shoulder so I wouldn’t have to miss any of her interactions with both airline employees and fellow passengers. I guarantee you it will be entertaining.

(Trish just texted me to say the TSA Nazis missed a travel sized hair spray. Then she referred to them as “minimum wage schmucks that think they’re so cool.”)

Trish flew home for dad’s birthday many years ago. When it was time for her to fly back to Austin, I dropped her off at the airport and drove back home. I hadn’t been there very long when the phone rang. I checked the caller I.D. and noticed that the call was coming from the Polk County Jail. Turns out if you argue with security and keep insisting that it’s only your under wire bra that is setting off the metal detector and then you get really lippy about it the TSA Nazis will throw your ass in the clink for a few hours until your sister and brother in law come down and bail you out.

I don’t like airline travel at all. I refer to all aircraft as “smelly germ capsules.” I am thisclose to donning a mask a la Michael Jackson the next time I have to fly somewhere. I cannot handle having to breathe the exhalations of all the other passengers, especially the guy in the back row who has passed out with his mouth open and is drooling all over himself. And there’s no fucking way I would ever use one of those airplane pillows because I KNOW they are crawling with cooties. Gak!

Even though I don’t enjoy flying I don’t find the rules of airline travel all that hard to live by. I’m not sure why Trish insists on making it so difficult. I do know that I won’t totally relax until her plane touches down in Austin and then she’s Stacy’s responsibility. I’m sure she’ll have some stories to share. I’ll be sure to pass them on.

There's more of me to love right now

Recently I noticed that a lot of the clothes in my closet have mysteriously shrunk. At first I blamed our dryer but when I realized no one else in my house was complaining it became obvious that my clothes weren’t getting smaller. I was getting bigger. I didn’t want to confront the problem because I was pretty sure that would curtail my appetizer snarfing and cosmo guzzling. But I’m afraid nothing will fit by January 1st so maybe it would be prudent to get a head start on my New Year’s resolutions right now.

I walked in to the local Weight Watchers center. The program really does work if you follow it and I should know. I had great success with it in 2001. And 2005. And now hopefully 2008/9. Perhaps it is MAINTENANCE I need to get a handle on and then I would not have to visit the helpful staff at WW every 4 years.

I filled out a shitload of paperwork and got weighed. I really wanted to just leave because I have always found the WW meetings a big waste of time. I don’t like sitting around with a bunch of fatties talking about my feelings and I hate having to wear a stupid nametag. I much prefer going incognito and don’t even like to take my sunglasses off while I am there.

I decided to stay anyway because I had the time to burn and I wanted to see if anything had changed since the last time I’d been there.

Arlene was leading the meeting! Hey, she’s been there since 2001. And she hasn’t changed her presentation since then either. She’s pretty old and reminds me of a grandma but she’s very sweet and you can tell she genuinely wants to help people reach their weight loss goals. At the end of the meeting, Arlene reminded new members to stay after so she could explain the program to them in detail. Arlene, I could teach the program. Just because I’d RATHER enjoy a mountain of Kung Pao Shrimp from P.F. Chang’s instead of calculating the points value of every bite I shove into my pie hole does not mean I don’t know HOW to follow your program. It just means I chose not to.

After the meeting I met with Arlene. She was really nice to me and I shared some of my concerns with her about the program. I also made several suggestions on how Weight Watchers could make the Flex plan even better. I’m sure she forwarded them to the corporate headquarters after I left.

So, to recap:

Eating like a truck driver+drinking like a barfly= Troll

Following Weight Watchers+sweating my ass off at the gym=MILF

It really isn’t hard to choose when I think of it that way. Plus Tom and Amy are doing WW too so we can discuss the plan and support each other’s efforts while drinking straight vodka because we can’t afford any points on drink mixers. And that? Sounds like the kind of meeting I would like.

Ladies, start your engines!

Hallelujah! The holiday drinking season is firmly underway. Actually I started indulging last week but that’s mostly because the offspring got 5 days off from school for Thanksgiving and drove me to drink within the first 12 hours they were home.

And although I often portray myself as a total alcoholic on this blog, I actually PREFER to limit the happy juice to once a week. I am not always successful but I TRY. But this month is a whole different story. I will be positively filled to the brim with holiday spirit (and alcoholic spirits) and for the month of December I provide no excuses or explanations for my behavior. And absolutely no photographic evidence. You can TELL everyone what I did while under the influence of 14 Jack Frost martinis but you cannot PROVE it.

Our neighbors Brooke and Spence had an awesome holiday party last year. They served vodka cocktails with pretty little cranberries floating in them and all the housewives drank so many we felt it was totally acceptable to put our hands on Wendy’s recently augmented breasts. We had been dying to check them out as soon as she got them but we are much too ladylike for that kind of behavior. However, once we were hammered none of us had any qualms about going to second base with her. Our husbands did not find this behavior amusing at all and wandered into the other room to watch the basketball game. They're just jealous fun haters!

The rest of the evening is a little blurry to me. I could have sworn I left my high-heeled boots at Brooke and Spence’s house but when I woke up the next morning, there they were next to the bed. I have no idea how I navigated the icy sidewalk in them.
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I did not have a single trace of makeup on or mascara ringed eyes a la Alice Cooper because I still managed to wash my face before I passed out. I did, however, wake up in full jewelry, my sparkly holiday top, and no underwear.

We were using a brand new babysitter for the first time and neither Dave nor I could remember if we paid her. I ran downstairs to check the drawer where we keep the babysitting money and was relieved to find it empty. Bet she was TOTALLY impressed with us!

While I am in no hurry to have another hangover of that caliber, I am certainly looking forward to all the holiday festivities this month. ‘Tis the season to be jolly and I’m sure we’ll be all kinds of jolly here in the ‘hood. We may not remember all of it but that's a risk I'm willing to take.

Please let me know what YOUR favorite holiday cocktail is. I finally figured out how to open the comments to everyone (not just those with a blogger.com account). If you have read this blog post, please take a second to tell me your favorite cocktail. I’m always looking for ideas! (And if it doesn't let you leave a comment then I've done it all wrong).

Are you there Santa? It's me, Tracey

Dear Santa,

Happy holidays! I was wondering if you could check your “list” for the name of a certain midwestern housewife. Though you did not bring me anything last year I think you’ll agree that I have most of my behavioral issues under control.

I have been such a good housewife. I have not insulted the hairstyles of any retail employees in a really long time and there were hardly any altercations in the Target parking lot. I did not stab Dave in the head with a fork during a particularly bad pre-menstrual frenzy nor did I try to curtail his endless pre – election MSNBC viewing. I think you’ll agree that I am pretty “present worthy” this year.

Please bring me the Dooney and Bourke medium chiara bag in black leather. I asked Dave to get me one but he said something about the price being “exorbitant and ridiculous.” He also said something about me getting a job so basically you’re my last hope.

And Santa? Why do all the 13-year-old girls have Ugg boots in a rainbow of colors while I walk the offspring to the bus stop in my Target knock-offs? Does this seem fair Santa? It doesn’t to me so please throw in a couple pairs of Uggs too.

And lastly, do you think you can bring me a machine that makes Cosmopolitans? I want to put limes, vodka, cointreau, and cranberry juice into a little hole on top and when I push a button, I’d like everything to stream right into my martini glass. Thanks in advance!

Our fireplace (like our Christmas tree) is totally artificial and activated by flipping a switch on the wall. We don’t have an actual chimney so I will forward you the code to our garage door when we get a little closer to Christmas. Please keep the code to yourself because your elves creep me out and I don’t want them to know how to get into my home.

Well Santa, I’m sure you’re very busy so I’ll sign off now. I just know you’ll come through for me and I’ll be carrying that handbag, drinking some cosmos and wearing my new Uggs in no time.

Kisses,

Tracey