Weigh in, highlights, and psychics

I weighed in at Weight Watchers yesterday and was happy to find that even after exceeding my allotted points for the week, I still lost .8 pounds.

I didn’t think that was too bad considering I allowed myself to have dinner from Macaroni Grill on my birthday and I ate pasta and bread.

I actually wanted P.F. Chang’s for dinner but Matthew was so hopeful that I would choose Macaroni Grill, which is his favorite restaurant ever, that I didn’t want to disappoint him.

When I got to Weight Watchers there was a big line for both the scales and the bathroom. If the ladies there knew the laxative effect my Augmentin antibiotic was having on me they would be very jealous. I felt light as a feather.

When I was standing in line a woman in front of me started telling me how nervous she was about weighing in and how she was wearing shorts under her sweats so she could take them off and then she told me she really wanted to take off her bra too. When she finally got on the scale she was down to a t-shirt, shorts, and bare feet.

I noticed the woman before her stepped on the scale in bare feet too. And I thought to myself that if I’m still going to WW when sandal season gets here I’m bringing socks.

I shouldn’t be grossed out by this considering I am always dunking my feet in Top Nail’s polluted pedicure water but at least they pretend to clean out their foot baths between customers. There is no cleaning of the scale at WW.

After weigh in I went to get my hair done because Trish told me, in a brutally honest moment, that my hair was too dark and she didn’t like it one bit.

It didn’t occur to me until I was sitting in the chair at the salon with about 100 foils covering my head that I had taken hair color advice from my sister, who had talked dad into bringing home a box of Clairol Nice ‘n Easy from the grocery store when we were fifteen and has been bleached blonde ever since.

It took Joann almost three hours and no fewer than four different mixtures of hair dye (and something called toner) to undue what I had done with thirty minutes and a box of Garnier Nutrisse that I bought at Walgreen’s for $6.99. Now my hair is light brown with lots of highlights. I love my new hair color and will gladly sell my kidney on EBay to afford the maintenance.

Tonight is my psychic party. I’ll be posting pictures and blogging about it tomorrow. I’m not sure what question I’m asking Dixie tonight. Maybe I’ll find out who wins the Super Bowl a little early.

The Dating Game, the Sequel

Trish thinks dating all the men she’s met on match.com is like another full time job. She also thinks she’s wasting her time because she hasn’t been on a date with anyone she’s interested in going out with again.

Trish had a few good dates with a guy who showed promise. He called her at work at 11:00 AM one day to say hi and see what she was up to. He was also halfway through a bottle of wine. Trish and I thought that was pretty much a deal-breaker. We like our wine but there’s really no reason to drink a bottle of it by yourself on a weekday morning.

Trish said wine-guy also had really bad grammar which is a pet peeve of both of ours. If you can’t keep your saw/seen and your doesn’t/don’t straight there’s going to be a compatibility problem with us.

Grammar is in my top five requirements for a suitable mate along with good teeth, kindness, must weigh more/be taller than me, and have the ability to buy me designer handbags.

Trish went out with a couple more men that didn’t seem to be a good match, one of whom she agreed to meet at Buffalo Wild Wings.

“You didn’t actually order wings did you?” I asked.
“They were boneless,” Trish said. “And I’m not interested in him anyway.”

Trish sent me an e-mail yesterday and attached her recent new matches. I think Trish needs to tighten her criteria because I don’t know how a guy who goes by the handle lik2licursplspot got through. Trish, run! Run far away! And is no one monitoring shit like this over at Match.com headquarters? This is a suitable user name? Really? Seriously?

Here’s what he wrote about himself and what he’s looking for: “I am very honest, respectful, straightup, open minded care about a persons feelings good or bad, I am looking for a female who is open minded, honest, not a drama qween, and dosent play head games. She should like to party a little and enjoy sexual activity.” (I didn’t edit, correct any of the words he spelled wrong, or fix his horrible punctuation).

He also says he’s a daily smoker that likes meat and potatoes and never exercises. He likes being by the water, walking in the woods, and reading informational material (probably he means porn). His picture scared the crap out of me. Think of an ugly Ted Bundy with a beard and crazy eyes.

Trish, this is what happens when a nice girl like you has erotica listed as a turn on for your ideal match (surprise! He does too). I told you to take it off your profile and you didn’t listen and now you’re being pursued by a sexual deviant with an agenda. I did notice, Trish, that you replaced your daily smoking status with trying to quit. Good for you.

I know you’re not really liking Match.com and the whole dating thing right now and I don’t blame you. Dating is hard. I had to endure my share of bad dates before I managed to snare Dave.

Remember Todd who said he was a fireman and I was so jazzed because he said he drove a cool Mazda? And then I found out that Todd wasn’t even his real name and he drove a big piece of shit boat car and lived in a shack with his grandma and had a best friend that went everywhere with him that looked like Buckwheat?

I dated a whole bunch of dorks before I hooked up with Dave so try not to get discouraged Trish. Sometimes you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. But nobody said anything about licking.

I get by with a little help from my friends

I went to the doctor yesterday. Since we also needed cocoa puffs and toilet paper I decided to play medical roulette by going to the urgent care clinic conveniently located inside my neighborhood grocery store.

I wasn’t really that sick. I’ve been working out and generally going about my business but the cold I got a couple weeks ago never really went away and I was pretty sure it had turned into a sinus infection.

At the grocery store doctor you don’t actually see an M.D., you see a nurse practitioner. I don’t care who it is as long as they cough up the antibiotics. Once I’ve decided to go to urgent care I’m not leaving without a prescription even if I have to invent extra symptoms and give an academy award winning performance to get it. I’m sure the antibiotic resistance I’m building will someday get me killed.

The nurse practitioner took my temperature and blood pressure. She was impressed with my blood pressure reading and told me how good it was. I swear I had to bite my lip to keep from telling her just how super healthy I usually am. I wanted to tell her all about my low cholesterol and triglyceride levels and how my life insurance company loves me so much it gave me the super preferred rating. I could feel it building, tourettes like, but I managed to gain control and keep my mouth shut because I knew there were probably other, sicker patients waiting and I needed to make sure I didn’t take more than my fair share of time with the not-quite-a-doctor.

We could have saved a lot of time if she’d treated my verbal diarrhea first and then diagnosed my sinus infection and sent me on my way. But she was afflicted too. I think it must get boring in the urgent care office back in the corner of the grocery store because she would not stop talking to me. We spent 10 minutes just talking about The Biggest Loser. I totally held my own in the conversation which is weird because I don’t even watch that show. We also covered wine, Weight Watchers, book clubs, and we swapped a couple recipes.

I must be a catalyst of sorts because I’m always having long conversations with women I just met. If you walked by us you’d think we went to college together or maybe our kids were in the same classroom in school.

I made a new friend at Nobbies Party Store on Monday when I stopped to buy supplies for my psychic party.

I walked in and before I could even grab a cart my new friend (who turned out to be the head of marketing) asked if she could help me find anything and I told her I was looking for stuff for my psychic party and we started talking and didn’t stop for 25 minutes. She made some suggestions and showed me where everything was so I didn't have to find it by myself. It was like having a personal shopper. Her name is Kristen and I’m supposed to call her on Monday and let her know how the party went.

Back at urgent care, my new friend Liz wrote me a prescription for Augmentin after she checked me out and determined I actually did have a pretty bad sinus infection. I swallowed a pill as soon as I got home so I should be feeling fine for my psychic party on Saturday.

Liz warned me that the Augmentin might be hard on my stomach (I know she meant it might give me the non-verbal kind of diarrhea). I’m not worried. And next time I’m sick, I plan on stopping by for a chat with a friend.

The Marble Jar

No one is listening to me in this house. Matthew and Lauren don’t hear me until I start yelling. Dave can’t hear me because he’s from Mars.

In an attempt to shamelessly manipulate everyone into actually listening to what I’m saying (and it’s not blah, blah, blah people) I have decided to employ the marble jar method. I will stay calm and everyone will want to listen to me because I will have modified their behavior via positive reinforcement, thus returning our household to a lovely harmonious state.

Everyone gets a jar. Do what I ask and you get a marble. Do it without my asking and you might get two. Not listening to me or not doing what I’ve asked will result in me taking a marble out of your jar. There will be no yelling, debating, arguing, or pleading. Just marbles going in and out. I’m going to be keeping track of invisible marbles for Dave because if I actually get him a jar he might divorce me.

At the end of the week, whoever has earned their pre-determined minimum number of marbles will get to choose a corresponding reward. The more expensive the item, the more marbles that will have to be earned.

I believe in this method. And either I straighten everyone out now or juvie hall’s gonna do it for me.

Lauren’s already tried to beat the system by giving Matthew a fake hug goodbye in order to earn a marble.

Dave earned an invisible marble by loading the dishwasher on my birthday. Dave lost an invisible marble because when I opened the dishwasher to unload it all the bowls and cups were upside down and filled with water that had what looked like pulverized cocoa puffs floating in it. Seven spoons were stuck together because he had stacked them all in the same section of the silverware thingy. Everything was jammed in so the stuff he piled on the bottom rack was still dirty. I organized everything and ran the dishwasher again.

Matthew tried to boycott the whole thing by saying he didn’t care about any stupid rewards. Once he heard what some of the rewards were (like duct tape and Wii games), he went upstairs to build a treasure chest for me to put everything in. He’s catching on quick.

I am trying to be clear with my expectations for everyone. Here are some of the ways they can earn or lose a marble:

1. Saying please and thank you to anyone without being asked (earn a marble).

2. Watching YouTube videos without adult supervision (lose a marble). I know the kids were only trying to find SpongeBob SquarePants but when I came upstairs they were watching SpongeBong HempPants (the crystal meth episode). I know they’re too young to understand the content but from now on nobody’s on YouTube unless I’m in the same room with them.

3. Let Chloe out when she rings the bell (earn a marble). I can hear it when I’m clear upstairs going to the bathroom and I don’t understand why no one else can hear it when they’re downstairs in the same room as the bell.

4. Hitting, spitting, or using physical force of any kind (lose a marble). I don’t care who started it. Just because your sibling hauled off and socked you in the arm does not mean you need to retaliate with a psychotic karate chop to the head. ***And Matthew, Lauren’s kind of a spit-talker so don’t be so quick to think she’s doing it on purpose or to be mean.

5. Unpack your backpack and bring me all forms, notes, assignment books and home folders (earn a marble). If you are capable of doing this at school you are capable of doing it at home. ****Dave please try harder to give me all your ATM receipts. The one you gave me last Sunday, dated September something, does not help me keep the checkbook balanced accurately (lose a marble).

6. Leave a path of destruction with a debris zone a mile wide through whatever room I just got done cleaning (lose a marble). If you are able to drag it all out you are able to put it all away. Don’t bother telling me you all of a sudden have a headache and need Motrin.

We had a family meeting after dinner tonight because we’re still working out some of the marble jar details. Matthew is currently at a negative three marbles and Lauren has earned two. It’s too early to tell if anyone will visit the treasure chest this week.

I hope this works. I’m going to lose all MY marbles if the behavior of my children doesn’t improve. I probably wouldn’t have to spend so many of my Weight Watchers points on wine if they’d stop acting like savages. But I probably still would.

SOS

Our friends Tom and Amy bought a pontoon boat a couple years ago and we affectionately refer to it as the party barge. As an Aquarian, I love being on the water and have no trouble whoring myself out to anyone who owns a boat. I don’t barter with sexual favors but rather my ability to put together a picnic spread that would make Martha Stewart proud (though once I know the boat gig’s a sure thing I get lazy and start showing up with a bucket of chicken from KFC).

Dave contributes by being the de facto first mate for Captain Tom. He does a bunch of rope tying and generally helps Tom avoid hitting stuff. They’re mostly successful as a team.

I’m in charge of gathering up all the shit we need to haul to the lake like floaties, and towels, and sunscreen, and chairs. It’s piled up so high Dave can barely see out the back window of our SUV. I also stock the cooler and it would be nice if the kids would stop calling their juice boxes "kid beer" because that does not paint us in the best light parentally.

One evening Dave and I got a babysitter and joined Tom and Amy and two other couples for a sunset booze cruise. I was almost high I was so excited at the prospect of being on the water without worrying about anyone drowning or complaining that we were out of Chips Ahoy.

We left the marina around 6:00 and boated over to party cove. We docked the boat on the sand and uncorked the wine.

I was having a fabulous time. I didn’t have to worry about my pathetic bladder control because I spent much of the evening standing waist deep in a big lukewarm toilet swilling wine with my friends. It's not often I encounter situations where it's totally appropriate to pee right in my swimsuit. I drank so much wine I didn’t care that my friends standing near me were using the lake/toilet as much as I was.

We stayed at party cove until it was dark. I was really glad that navigating us back to the marina didn’t fall under my list of responsibilities. Tom and Amy’s boat is really big and I could only imagine the shit we might hit with it since no one was exactly sober. I had no idea when we left the cove what it would take to get us back on terra firma.

We headed to the marina but it was so dark I was having a really hard time identifying where it was (I’d also had so much wine I had mono-vision). I figured Tom probably knew where he was going so I didn’t concern myself with the navigational details.

Until we hit the sand. Apparently we were not yet at the marina but were actually in very shallow water off a beach. Trust me, in the dark everything looked the same.

I don’t think we had the required amount of lights on the boat though. I say that because a boat roared past us and yelled, “Get some lights on!” in a very hostile tone (some boaters are so “by the book”). Tom and Amy hadn’t had the pontoon very long and we were still working out a few kinks.

Tom steered the boat away from the beach and we headed out to deeper water. The boat sputtered and died shortly after that.

We tried to get the marina on the phone so they could send someone out to tow us in (Tom had their number on speed dial because this actually wasn’t our first snafu). No one answered even though we called them repeatedly.

The men in our group busied themselves with some boat motor diagnostics while I threw on a life jacket and prepared to make another cabernet deposit in the lake. I jumped overboard and quickly realized that I don’t like being in deep water when it’s dark. I thought of the giant mutant carp that were always swimming around by the marina and wondered if any of them liked to swim out to the middle of the lake.

When it was time to get back in the boat I found out the ladder was broken and it is nearly impossible to haul your ass into a pontoon boat without one, especially when your blood alcohol level is probably twice the legal limit. Luckily Dave and the guy Susie was dating plucked me out of the water. I tried to stay out of everyone’s way after that.

We were lucky Jim was on board because he has a boat of his own and knows his way around a motor. He was able to determine that when we hit the sand, the gas line became disconnected and the boat died because gas was leaking everywhere.

Unfortunately, Jim was also smoking a cigarette when he discovered the problem and we’re lucky we didn’t end up on the front page of the Des Moines Register’s Metro section with the headline: Forty-something’s blow up boat, and selves on lake. I had a sudden mental image of the boat morphing into a giant Roman candle that shot drunken adults out of the center of its fire-cracker inferno. Any accompanying article would probably also mention that alcohol was thought to be a factor.

Jim got rid of the cigarette and hooked the gas line back up. We managed to make our way back to the marina on fumes.

I still had a great time. It’s true I never drank anything stronger than iced tea on the boat for the rest of the summer. And I got so many mosquito bites that night that my legs were covered in calamine lotion and band-aids for a week. And we owed the babysitter a bunch of money because we were so late getting home.

But I still love boating and I still love being on the water. I can’t help it. I’m an Aquarius, you know.

I'm too lazy (hungover) to think of a title for this blog post

She’s forty-one and her daddy still calls her “baby“,
All the folks ‘round Brownsville say she’s crazy,
‘Cause she walks downtown with her suitcase in her hand,
Lookin’ for a mysterious dark- haired

---Helen Reddy, Delta Dawn


As of today I’m no longer 41. And my dad calls me honey, not baby, and has for as long as I can remember ( I call him dad because I don’t live in the deep south and I think calling anyone daddy when you’re older than 11 is super creepy).

I’m not freaked out about being forty-two years old. I’m not worried about getting wrinkly (Botox), or flabby (tummy tuck), or saggy (boob job) because when the money tree I planted in the back yard starts sprouting fifty dollar bills, I’m giving Dr. 90210 a call.

I have no regrets so far and worrying about things I can’t change is a total waste of time. And since the DeLorean is in the shop, I can‘t find my flux capacitor, and Dave used all the plutonium I can’t go back to the future even if I wanted to. But if I could, there are a few things I might mention to my younger self:

1. Don’t let Trish get so smashed at your bachelorette party. Everything was fine until she fell down Angie’s stairs and broke her leg a week before the wedding (also warn Angie about tricky stairs).

2. Always wear sunscreen and don’t climb into a tanning bed ever again. The more sunscreen you use now, the fewer dollars Dave will have to spend on chemical peels and microdermabrasion (leaving more money in the kitty for better boobs).

3. Don’t waste so much time on the couch with Dave watching Real World/Road Rules marathons on MTV. Once the babies start coming you and Dave will feel like two ships that pass in the night so get off your ass and go see a movie or something.

I’m sure I could think of more but mama had a lot of wine last night and I don’t think the part of my brain that creates the content for funny in the ‘hood is firing on all cylinders today. I think I need to put myself down for a nap.

But first I need to search itunes for a song about a woman who’s 42.

Tips and Toes

I kicked off the “all about Tracey” birthday weekend at the nail salon today.

When I walked in I saw that the tibia crushing sadist was already manhandling another woman so I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about spending my birthday on crutches.

I was in dire need of a pedicure because I never did get around to having one before Christmas and things were getting really scary south of my ankles.

When the kids were at their grandparent’s house over Christmas break, Dave and I drank a bunch of wine and were, well, let‘s just pretend we were watching TV in bed one night and my totally dry and crusty heel somehow got drug across the sheets while we were watching TV and the sound it made was so absolutely horrible yet hysterical that we had to stop watching TV for a minute because we were laughing so hard and then Dave wanted to start watching TV again right away but I would not let him until he agreed that pedicures were not a frivolous waste of his money but actually a necessary part of my grooming and since David really wanted to get back to watching TV RIGHT THAT INSTANT he agreed so now I get to go to Top Nails whenever I want. I didn’t get anything in writing but I know Dave wouldn’t like it if the TV refused to like, TURN ON some night so I’m not worried.

But the girl who did my pedicure today skipped the most important step by not scraping all the bad stuff off my heels. Sure, she did some serious buffing and used some sort of loofah but that’s it.

The only reason I go to the chopstick salon in the first place is because they use the razor blade thingy to scrape off anything undesirable they might find on my heels. I always make sure my head is buried in a magazine so I don’t have to actually see them doing it.

I should mention that I was too busy talking to Wendy on my cell phone to notice nothing was being scraped until it was too late. I have one of those scraper things at home but one time I used it on my heels and cut myself so bad that Dave doesn’t think I should use it ever again.

After the pedicure I moved on to having my fake fingernails filled. The only dude in the whole place was waiting for me. This makes four times in a row if anyone’s interested. Some horrible soap opera was blaring from the TV and since my Top Nails boyfriend and I don't speak the same language, I tuned everything out and spaced off for an hour to kill time.

I’m glad I had my nails done. It really was relaxing and now I’m ready for the weekend. I wish my heels were a little smoother but I don’t think that’s going to keep me and Dave from watching a little TV tonight.

I'm just getting so teeny tiny

I weighed in at Weight Watchers this morning and was pleasantly surprised to discover that 1.8 more pounds of me have gone poof.

I wasn’t sure what to expect because I’m currently masquerading as the poster girl for PMS and I wasn’t sure if that would be reflected on the scale.

I had to stand in line for a while this morning before I could weigh in. I made the following observation:

The bathroom at Weight Watchers is a popular place and I don’t like to think about what people might be doing in there. One lady had to go to the bathroom before she’d agree to step on the scale.

I don’t know how much the average pee-pee weighs but if that’s all that’s between her, a box of Krispy Kremes and a bell tower, she might want to re-think her weekly weight loss goals because she’s not leaving herself a big enough margin for error.

I didn’t stay for the meeting because I heard someone say it would last an hour and I clearly have better things to do. I managed to sneak out without having to make up any excuses for why I couldn’t stay (although I was prepared to say I was on my way to the gynecologist).

For lunch today I WAS going to treat myself to a grilled cheese sandwich. I used real butter but I did choose 2% milk cheddar cheese because I can’t tell the difference between it and the full fat kind. I also used my 1 point bread. It’s not 1 point because it’s fake diet bread filled with air. It’s only 1 point because the slices aren’t huge like the kind I buy for everyone else in this household.

However, I stepped away to blog a little and when I smelled something burning I ran to the stove to discover my grilled cheese was black and smoking (see visual aid at the top of this post). And there’s no more of my bread. And not quite enough butter to make another one anyway. And have I mentioned I have PMS? Is it to much to ask to have one little mother effing grilled cheese sandwich on weigh day? Is It???? I know it’s my own fault but now I’m stuck here in a stinky kitchen with no gooey, cheesy goodness.

My dad called this morning to tell me he and Debby were planning on picking up a birthday cake to have after we all go to dinner Saturday night (because apparently I‘m turning 8). I told him that was very nice but I was saving my WW points for going out to dinner both Saturday and Sunday night. Of course I’m also saving a bunch of them for wine (hello? It’s my birthday weekend) and if there’s a smack down between cake and cabernet, the wine is going to win every time.

That’s all I’ve got for today. I’m off in search of a lunch that’s still within my WW points budget and doesn’t suck. Maybe I’ll go to Krispy Kreme.

It's my blog and I'll write if I want to

My sister in law Stefanie sent me an e-mail the other day letting me know she left a comment on my blog. She mentioned she had never heard the adult diaper story and thought it was funny. She said she hoped Debby never got a hold of my blog because if she did, she’d need her own diaper because she’d probably crap.

My mom and dad got divorced when I was seven years old. Debby is my step - mom. She’s an important part of my life and she’s been with my dad since I was twelve. Even though Debby will never take the place of my mom, who died when I was 18, she comes pretty damn close.

Lots of people have asked me what I’d do if my dad and Debby found my blog. Damage control, probably. But I’m 41 years old and at some point we all have to come to the realization that we only really need to answer to ourselves (and maybe the police and God).

I have no such concerns about my mother in law reading my blog posts. Dave and his siblings spent a year of their childhood living in a Winnebago touring the west coast with their mom and her boyfriend (who went by the moniker Poet). I’m guessing she’d be A-OK with everything I’ve written.

Since I haven’t told my dad and Debby I’ve started a blog, they’d have to stumble across it on their own. That might not be so difficult since I used traceygarvisgraves.com for the domain name. If they Google me, they’ll see it. They’re getting pretty technically savvy at their house.

I’m not trying to hide anything. Some might wonder why I even care, at my age, if my dad and Debby read it. But I do care. I have a lot of respect for them and some of the things I blog about are things they might not necessarily be proud of.

I’ve posted about things I’ve done that are “technically” illegal. But much like the proverbial tree that falls in the forest when no one is around to hear it, I like to think my illegal shenanigans don’t count if certain people don’t know about them (plus the statute of limitations has long since run out on any of the crap I’ve pulled. I’m not entirely stupid).

I’ve always been the one no one has to worry about. I’ve only had one husband, both my kids are by the same father, and I don’t do anything freaky like practice witchcraft or swing with my neighbors. I try not to embarrass anyone with my blog posts but myself (and sometimes Trish).

I’ve never been arrested. The closest I’ve come to the clink was when the campus police pulled Noelle and me off the roof of Seashore Hall after we ate a big pile of ‘shrooms. The officer loaded us into his pseudo cop car and drove us back to the dorms. Even though we asked nicely, and thought it would be hysterical, he wouldn’t turn on his lights and sirens and run all the red lights. He deposited us back at our dorm and promised us the incident would appear in the Daily Iowan (we made sure he wrote down our first and last names). He must have been lying though because we never saw any mention of it in the paper.

I’d have to do a lot to surpass some of the stunts my siblings have pulled. God knows Trish has set the bar pretty high. But as I sit here polishing my sparkly good girl tiara, I realize my perch on the pedestal I’ve placed myself is growing more precarious by the day. The more people that read the blog, the better chance I have for someone to mention it to dad and Debby.

I should be more worried about a potential employer finding it. I’m guessing even if I’m hired by a company that doesn’t drug test, I might be asked to pee in a cup (I would like to think I’d pass but I might go to Jamaica again). I’d rather cover my naked body in honey and roll around in a pit of fire ants then put my neck in the noose of corporate America again but I may not have a choice. And blogging might make me less employable than I already am after a nine year hiatus from the work force. Let’s hope Human Resources has a sense of humor.

Sometimes I think about telling my dad I’m writing a blog. He knows I like to write and he’d be happy I was doing something I enjoy. But it would be kind of like telling him I’m earning some serious coin as a stripper. On one hand, yay for me for earning a nice living. On the other hand, he probably wouldn’t brag about me to his Friday morning breakfast group. I’m guessing telling all his friends I write a blog that highlights my love of wine and showcases my potty mouth wouldn’t be something he could get real excited about either.

My dad has always operated on a need to know basis. I once rolled in at 6:30 on a Sunday morning without a shirt on under my coat (I couldn’t find it in the dark. Could happen to anyone). He didn’t ask any questions, just offered me a cup of coffee. I was 21 at the time and home on break from college so he probably figured there wasn’t much he could do about it anyway. I love that about him. Debby is the one I’m worried about. She thinks Redbook magazine is kind of racy so if she reads the blog, the top of her head might blow off. She’s a bit more conservative than me.

When Matthew was a baby Dixie the psychic told me I would start writing again someday when the kids were out of the house. She said I would want something just for me. I never forgot what she said and I don’t know if the blog is just a self fulfilling prophecy or she really could see into the future.

For the first time in 9 years, my house is quiet during the day while the kids are in school. Blogging is something I tried and discovered I really liked. That fact that some people read it regularly blows my mind and I appreciate it. If you’re one of them, thank you.

Sooner or later I’ll tell dad and Debby about the blog. They’re welcome to read it at their own risk, of course. I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve written but my dad would probably be a little surprised by my language and some of my behavior. His opinion will always mean something to me. And no matter how old I am, there will always be a part of me that is still daddy’s little girl.

Must Love Dogs

Lauren and I went to see Hotel for Dogs on Sunday afternoon. Dave and Matthew thought Paul Blart: Mall Cop was more their style so we split up after lunch at Champps (where all the waitresses had Amy Winehouse beehives for some reason. Amy Winehouse is totally fugly so either I’m getting really effing old or I missed some sort of hair memo. One Amy Winehouse impersonator came perilously close to dragging her skeevy dreads through my Greek salad and I wanted to gag. Hairnets. Good idea, yes?).

(Ahem)

Anyway, I really enjoyed Hotel for Dogs. It was a bit formulaic and predictable but it had a happy ending. I cried anyway even though I knew they were HOLLYWOOD DOGS and not in any real danger. My loathsome PMS had reared its ugly head again and had I been at Marley and Me it would have taken a team of men in white coats and a big ass tranquilizer to get my emotions under control (I read the book - I know how that one ends).

After the movie we went to dad and Debby’s for dinner and I was bragging about my 10 lb. weight loss. I said I still wasn’t sure what had happened that made another trip to Weight Watchers necessary. Usually I only go there after I’ve had a baby and this is the third time I’ve joined. I only have two kids and even my rudimentary math skills told me that didn’t add up.

Then, I had an epiphany. I may not have had another baby but I had a Chloe and that’s awfully close in my book.

Chloe is the first pet we’ve had as a family. Actually we had a couple hamsters before that (starter pets, if you will) but they have a pretty short life expectancy and I don’t recommend them unless you want your children to experience the traumatic death of a pet every 18 months or so.

A little over a year ago, right after the last hamster died (R.I.P. Murphy), Dave and the kids started hinting around that a puppy might be nice.

I wasn’t so sure. I love animals. I mean like, really love them. I was quite attached to the hamsters. But a puppy was a huge responsibility I wasn’t sure I was ready for. I also knew I’d be the one taking care of it.

Slowly, they wore me down.

Dave did quite a bit of research and compiled a list of suitable dog breeds for our household. The Cairn Terrier (like Toto from The Wizard of Oz) was one that Dave thought would be great for our family.

My big mouth and I mentioned that a veterinarian had listed an ad in the Sunday paper about a litter of Cairn Terrier puppies he had available.

Dave called and spoke to the vet and suddenly we were on our way to take a look. I knew we’d be coming home with one. I may have had some reservations about getting a puppy, but you can’t stick me in a room full of them and expect me to walk away empty handed. I love cute, furry, cuddly things almost as much as I love wine.

Dave and I decided we needed to come up with a code word in case the vet turned out to be a deranged lunatic. If we noticed anything worrisome about the vet or the puppies, we wanted a way to communicate that operation “we’re getting a puppy” had encountered a problem. I don’t know how in God’s name glockenspiel became our family code word but that‘s what we decided on (just try to work it into a sentence).

The vet turned out to very nice and totally normal. He brought all three puppies into the room and we played with them for over an hour.

We selected a calm female puppy and named her Chloe. We left with a little 1.4 lb. ball of cute and drove straight to Pet Smart.

The first nights, and the first three months, were hard (mostly on me). I had never potty trained a puppy before and I thought I was all done with the getting up in the middle of the night nonsense.

I spent most of November, December, and January standing in the front yard, in the snow, while Chloe did her business. I walked through knee high drifts in the back yard while the invisible fence guy and I taught Chloe where her boundaries were. And I took her out in the middle of the night when she cried.

We hung a bell by the door and taught Chloe how to ring it when she wanted to go out. Things got a lot better after that but it was several months before I let Chloe roam the house without worrying that someone would step on her or she’d pee or poop on the carpet.

When people came over we showed everyone all the tricks Chloe had learned in puppy school. We e-mailed pictures and slide shows to our friends and family. We regaled them with stories about all the cute things she’d done.

See, it’s just like when we had human babies. We assumed everyone was as enthralled by our puppy as we were and we bored them silly with our pet anecdotes.

Chloe is an important member of this household. Now I have three kids to check on when I get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. I often sneak Chloe into bed with us even though Dave says he can't sleep with her cuddled up next to him (yes he can, I've seen him). He loves her as much as the rest of us.

I’m just kidding about blaming Chloe for my return to Weight Watchers. I’m pretty sure the cosmopolitans and pizza had something to do with it. I just needed to make time to get in shape for swimsuit season. And with three kids (4 if we count Dave) that's sometimes hard to do.

Tracey is having a birthday!

Dear David,

There are only 6 shopping days left until I turn 42. Though you probably won’t go near a mall until the day before my birthday, I’ve compiled a list of things I would enjoy receiving from you (in case you want to start shopping early).

1. The Dooney and Bourke medium chiara bag in black leather (not the patent leather one - patent is shiny. Just do what you usually do and tell the salesperson exactly what you need and then let them find it). I am going to ask for this handbag on every gift giving holiday from now until eternity (or I receive it, whichever comes first. To hell with my New Year’s resolution not to keep talking about it).

2. Black Uggs (the tall ones). I saw a 7 year old girl wearing them the other day and I almost snapped. The bastards at Younkers don’t sell them so you’ll have to go to Dillard’s (where the Dooney and Bourke handbags are also sold).

3. Nike Shox workout shoes. I need to replace my shoes if I’m going to continue going to Body Jam classes at the Y. My current shoes are getting worn out and if I trip and fall on my ass I won’t be able to wait on everyone hand and foot. Think of the shoes as a gift to the whole family.

4. Approximately 40 units of Botox. Stacy told me all about what Botox can do and I want to try it (no medi spas please. Dr. Feldman is the only one I trust to shoot poison into my forehead). While you’re at Dr. Feldman’s please grab a brochure for Restalyne (Stacy’s just recently filled my head with what this wonder drug can do).

5. Jo Malone Grapefruit Cologne. You can find this at Sephora at Jordan Creek Mall. You were so sweet to buy me Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle (that I asked you for) as one of my past birthday gifts but unfortunately it smells horrible on me. I do not smell like a mademoiselle, I smell like a 90 year old Madame when I wear it. I’ve done my research this time and the grapefruit scent is fabulous.

6. Please, no gifts from Dr. John’s lingerie boutique (and sex toy emporium). I’ve got enough of their inventory already. I know you like going there and they recently drew your name in the raffle but enough is enough (and the lingerie you “won” in the raffle wouldn’t fit an anorexic 9 year old so you’ll probably never see me wearing it).

Hopefully you’ll find this list helpful David. I want your shopping experience to be a pleasant one.


Love,


Tracey

Let's Ask Tracey!

Dear Tracey,

I desperately want to have another baby but my husband feels that having only one child is perfect for our family. Now that our son is three, I can’t stop looking at pregnant women and wishing I was one of them. I’ve tried everything I can think of to convince him but he still says no. I don’t want to trick him into another baby but I’ll do whatever it takes to get what I want.

Signed,


One is not enough


Dear one is not enough,

I’m sorry to hear that you and your husband cannot agree on what is a very important decision between a husband and wife.

I don’t usually make such drastic recommendations but I can tell from your letter that you are 100% serious about reaching your goal of becoming a mom of two.

If you’re truly as desperate as you say, I suggest you offer your husband a no strings attached three way with you and the hot 20 year old teacher’s aide at your son’s pre-school, in exchange for another baby (if you can manage to be ovulating when it happens it could be win-win for everyone.)

Make sure you set careful parameters and verify that everyone involved knows this is a one time thing. You’ll also want to be very, very drunk. If you’re lucky, you’ll black out and forget the whole thing.

Just be careful if you go this route. I gave this advice to another mommy and even though she was not desperate enough for a three way, she now has a live in au pair from Sweden named Annika (who has the biggest rack you’ve ever seen). Luckily she is too busy breast feeding her newborn to care.

Good luck!


Dear Tracey,

I’m a stay at home mom tired of living within my means. All the other housewives drive nicer cars, have designer handbags, and spend their days shopping at the mall. I’m lucky if I can afford something from the sale rack at Old Navy.

I can’t even take comfort in the fact that I’m a good saver because our country’s current economic crisis has my IRA and stock portfolio in the shitter. What can I do to make myself feel a little better without spending money I don‘t have?

Signed,


Unable to keep up with the Jones’


Dear unable to keep up with the Jones’,

Don’t sweat it. Just because your neighbors appear to have everything you covet does not necessarily mean it’s all paid for. They may be in debt up to their eyeballs and so cash poor they can’t buy a stick of gum unless the visa logo is prominently displayed at the cash register.

There is nothing wrong with Old Navy. Target also has some pretty nice stuff on the cheap. In the meantime, I suggest you find something to sell. One of my friends sold her husband’s golf clubs on EBay and bought several new outfits, some shoes, and a handbag at Dillard’s. She told him the clubs were stolen when he came home drunk and forgot to close the garage door.

Does your husband golf or participate in any hobbies that require expensive equipment? Go look.

Until then, keep it real and keep using cash.


Dear Tracey,

My neighbor is constantly talking about how brilliant her kids are. According to her, they are bilingual Einsteins who do logarithms in their spare time (Francois is 18 months and Siegfried is 4 so I know she is full of shit). Children possess many gifts and I’m tired of her acting like I.Q. is the only thing that matters.

It’s true our son still cannot pronounce all his consonants (he’s 10) and he’s a little closer to having to ride the short bus than my husband and I are comfortable with. He’s a sweet child, and a friend to all, but he’s not the brightest crayon in the box. We love him and want what’s best for him and I don’t appreciate my neighbor implying that he’s retarded or her suggestion that I home school him because “he can’t possibly be mainstreamed.”

I hate her and I need to know how I should handle this situation.

Signed,


He’s not that stupid


Dear he’s not that stupid,

Your neighbor sounds like a real C. U. Next Tuesday. I’m sorry you are dealing with this situation. You sound like a very caring mom and I’ll try to help you.

The first thing you need to do is scour the elementary school parking lot for one of those “parents of an honor roll student” bumper stickers. Scrape it off and slap it on your car. Then start doing your son’s homework and see if you can proctor his tests at home. Make sure to show your neighbor his next report card.

Next, you need to uncover something your son is really good at. Can he play a musical instrument? If he’s in a successful rock band someday I bet he’ll pay you back for believing in him by buying you a mansion.

Is he good at sports? Dumb jocks have laughed all the way to the bank after being signed to the NBA or the NFL so if he shows some promise in this area, I think you should be very supportive. Since you’re already doing his homework he’ll have plenty of extra time to go to practice.

And remember, it doesn’t matter how smart your neighbor’s kids are because they’re going to get their asses handed to them on a daily basis because of their fucked up names. Everything will work out in the long run, I promise.


Tune in next week when I dole out more sage advice to people who haven't figured out I am full of shit.

Don't hate me because I'm so skinny

Today was my first Weight Watchers weigh in of 2009. I last weighed in on Christmas Eve day and even though I faithfully followed the program almost the entire month of December, I decided to take a hiatus from WW on December 27th when we shipped the offspring off to their grandparents for three days.

In the interest of not being totally inflexible and a huge buzz kill, I gave myself permission to skip counting points while the kids were gone because I knew Dave and I would be going out to dinner every night and I also knew we’d be drinking. Heavily. I tried to be careful about what I ate although I did have McDonald’s twice (necessary hangover remedy).

I got back on the program January 2nd and because I’m a lifetime member, and not required to weigh in weekly, I took advantage of this loophole and decided I’d weigh in only when I knew I’d undone any potential holiday damage.

As of today, I’ve lost another 2.8 lbs. since my last weigh in (10 lbs. total!) and I’ve gone down a whole pants size (I have a selection of jeans in about 4 different sizes so it was easy to grab a smaller pair - I call it going shopping in my closet. It doesn‘t require spending any money at the mall so Dave is a huge fan. If I keep this up I should be back in my 8th grade Gloria Vanderbilt’s in no time).

Because I allowed myself to indulge over the holidays, I’ve been alcohol free for almost two weeks now. Weight Watchers has something called the good health guidelines and one of them is to limit sugar and alcohol. I have no problem avoiding sugar but frankly alcohol is the only thing that makes dieting tolerable so I usually pretend I forgot about that part of the guideline. The wine I am so fond of takes a lot of my points and because I haven’t had any in forever, I actually had points left over this week.

I convinced Dave to watch the Sex and The City movie with me on pay per view Saturday night and even though a glass of red wine sounded really good and Dave had opened a bottle, I chose not to indulge. Clearly I drink when I WANT to and not because I HAVE to. However I started getting sick last weekend so I probably shouldn’t have let my antioxidant levels get so low. We’re having our neighbors over Saturday night so I should be able to get the levels back up where they should be.

I changed my weigh in day from Tuesday to Thursday so there would have been a different Weight Watchers leader had I stayed for the meeting. However, school is cancelled (again!) because of the weather and since both kids were with me, I had an excellent excuse for not staying for the meeting.

I’m curious to know who is in charge of television advertising at Weight Watchers. I saw a commercial the other day that stated Weight Watchers is NOT a diet (it totally is) and they have started showing this creepy little hunger monster that looks like a furry orange Sasquatch. It’s a tie in to their new momentum program which suggests filling foods to help you stay satisfied longer (wine is not on the filling foods list). I think the marketing people at Weight Watchers are all high and I want them to change their commercials immediately. Where the hell is the Duchess of York? I thought the commercials with her were very nice. I hope she hasn’t pulled a Kirstie Alley and exploded.

Anyway, I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing. It hasn’t been too hard and I still got to enjoy the holidays. Once I get a good dose of antioxidants my cold will go away and I’ll get back to the gym. Something tells me there won’t be any leftover points this week.

Oops, we peed our pants

Dave and I have an almost uncanny ability to align ourselves with people who own lake houses (it’s a gift really). We’re lucky the people who own the homes are such great friends and that they keep inviting us for the weekend. We’ve had a lot of fun, and some very memorable experiences with them. The great adult diaper caper was one of those times.

In the summer of 2001, Tom, Amy, Dave, and, I joined Ed and Angie at their vacation home on Lake Panorama. Everyone brought their kids and we spent the day swimming and hanging out on the dock.

We had an idea we’d been tossing around for awhile, usually when we were full of beer. We thought wearing an adult diaper would be an ingenious solution to the problem of having to actually get off our asses and find a bathroom, especially if there was a really long line somewhere. For example, a diaper would have come in really handy at the Elton John concert because Tom and I wouldn’t have been stuck waiting for a port a potty when Elton sang Tom’s favorite song. I think the diaper idea really picked up some steam after that.

The weekend at Angie and Ed’s lake house must have seemed like an ideal time for the experiment because the guys brought home some adult diapers when they went on a beer run. We decided we’d put the kids to bed and see how much beer we, and our diapers, could hold.

I was the last one out on the deck because Matthew didn’t want to go to bed. By the time I got outside, everyone was already diapered and drinking. Adult diapers are held on by a belt that comes in the package. There was only one belt though, and 6 of us, so they improvised by using duct tape. They left the belt for me because they had some crazy idea that I am such a princess I wouldn’t agree to the duct tape (they were right).

The rules of the experiment stated you had to keep your diaper on until you peed. I drank a huge quantity of beer and felt like I was going to explode. But when it was time to pee, I couldn’t do it. Sure, I pee my pants all the time now but it’s totally on accident and usually caused by a wayward sneeze or a laughing attack when I’m plowed on wine. But during the experiment I could not make the pee pee come out for a really long time. By the time I finally relaxed my bladder enough to let it fly I had about a pony keg’s worth in there. My diaper completely and totally failed me. It weighed about 4 lbs. when I removed it and we took turns holding it with one hand and laughing about how heavy it was.

Well, we got that out of our system I guess. Let me share with you what we learned:

Adult diapers aren’t meant to hold very much. Adult diapers are not at all comfortable when they’re full. This experiment will never be repeated. When we‘re old every single one of us will NEED diapers because I believe in Karma.

We still talk about that weekend at the lake. It was one of many we enjoyed at Ed and Angie‘s house. This summer we’re planning on going to Tom and Amy’s lake house (see, all our friends have one). I think it’s time for a new experiment. I’ll let you know what we come up with.

All about my music

Santa brought me a new ipod for Christmas and I’ve been spending a lot of time walking around with my ear buds in (mostly to drown out the sound of the offspring fighting and saying my name repeatedly).

I used to have a shuffle that I really liked because when I worked out I could just clip it onto my shirt. Now that I have a nano I’m trying to get all my music organized into playlists. When I registered it on our computer it loaded our whole itunes library so I also need to delete all the Alvin and the Chipmunks, Hannah Montana, and everything from Kidz Bop.

Matthew and Dave have nanos and I gave my old shuffle to Lauren. We have so many ipods in this house we need a separate drawer to keep all the cords straight. Apparently I didn’t do a very good job of checking for explicit lyrics before I gave the shuffle to Lauren because she informed me that she listened to a Green Day song and heard the F word. That’s wonderful. I swear I have deleted that version of American Idiot from our itunes library 2 or 3 times and it somehow keeps coming back.

Coincidentally, the band Green Day came into my dad’s motorcycle dealership a couple years ago when they played in Des Moines. They bought a motorcycle to take on tour with them and Georgie did not tell me about it until after they left. And yes Georgie, I AM still kind of pissed about it. You should have called me immediately and then locked Billie Jo Armstrong and the rest of the band in dad’s office until I could get there. I would have asked them for a couple tickets to the show and maybe a backstage pass and then I could have had you or dad take my picture with the band. Trish has a picture of her and Scott Baio, Dave has a picture of him and Corey Hart and I’ve got nothing.

Trying to organize all this music is more time consuming than I thought. I don’t know whether to make playlists based on genre, decade, or personal preference.

My all time favorite songs are anything by the following artists: The Eagles, Elton John, Billy Joel, Chicago, John Denver, James Taylor, Jim Croce, Fleetwood Mac, and Paul McCartney.

There are a few songs you will NEVER find on my ipod because they suck.

Old Time Rock and Roll – Bob Seger (banned from our wedding reception)
Mony, Mony – all artists who have sung this song (also banned)
The Macarena, both song and stupid dance – I have no idea who is responsible for this piece of crap (banned!)

Here are some of my other favorites, in no particular order. I have no idea how to organize these into any kind of playlists. Please feel free to download some of these onto your own ipods. You’re welcome.

Let Me Be There – Olivia Newton John (song I always sing when I do karaoke)
Love Will Keep us Together – Captain and Tenille (song Janice and I always sing when we do karaoke. And yes we DO bring down the house)
Afternoon Delight – Starland Vocal Band (my favorite karaoke song Dave and I used to sing together back in the 90’s)
Tracey – The Cufflinks (natch)
Building a Mystery – Sara Mclachlan (mentions vampires!)
Africa – Toto (I have liked this song since high school. It reminds me of Stefani and I riding the bus to an away basketball game at North Polk)
Aquarius/Let the Sunshine in – The 5th Dimension (my zodiac sign)
Wicked Game – Chris Isaak
Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing – Chris Isaak
Behind Closed Doors – Charlie Rich (go to itunes and download this one for your ipod RIGHT NOW)
The Best of Times – Styx
Games People Play – Alan Parsons Project
Psychobabble – Alan Parsons Project (Stefani!)
Amie – Pure Prairie League (they spelled your name wrong Amy but you OWN this song)
Every Time I Think of You – The Babys
The Weight – The Band
If I had a $1,000,000 – Barenaked Ladies
Don’t Fear the Reaper – Blue Oyster Cult
Night Moves – Bob Seger
You’re So Vain – Carly Simon
Where You Lead – Carole King (from Tapestry – my mom had this album)
Kiss an Angel Good Morning – Charlie Pride (yes, really)
Southern Cross – Crosby, Stills, & Nash (one of my all time favorites)
Same Old Lang Syne – Dan Fogelberg
Please Come to Boston – David Loggins (love, love, love this song)
I’d Really Love To See You Tonight – England Dan and John Ford Coley
Criminal – Fiona Apple (Lisa!)
Nights in White Satin – The Moody Blues (but only in the winter, only if it’s cloudy, and preferably in my car)
Sundown – Gordon Lightfoot (who I always refer to as Gordon Heavyleg. Then I laugh)
Love Don’t Live Here Anymore – Lady Antebellum (I don’t listen to country music much anymore but I love this song. I heard them sing it on a country music awards show and had to download it)
Into The Night – Santana featuring Chad Kroeger
Hey, Hey What Can I Do – Led Zeppelin (this song is not about me, I swear)
The River – Toby Lightman (thanks Charlee!)
Country Boy – Glen Campbell (I don’t know how to explain why this is on my ipod but I like it)
Ridin’ the Storm Out – REO Speedwagon (especially if we’re having a blizzard and there’s wine available)
Dani California – Red Hot Chili Peppers
Rock ‘N Roll Jesus – Kid Rock
No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature – The Guess Who
Werewolves of London – Warren Zevon (This song reminds me of Noelle)

I have a lot more songs I have no idea how to organize. I think our library is up to 1,500 songs and we add to it all the time. I guess it's just going to take some time before I figure it all out. If you have a song you really like, and you think it belongs on my ipod, please make a suggestion in the comments section. I'm always looking for a new download.

The Dating Game

Trish has recently joined Match.com and she’s finding the world of online dating very entertaining. She sends me all kinds of e-mails with responses from various men who have checked out her profile and sent her a message. I’m not sure how I got sucked into the clusterfuck that is her dating pool but since I have, I think I’m entitled to give her some advice whether she wants it or not.

From what I’ve been able to piece together from her dating correspondence, Trish already shattered one man’s heart by telling him that she is “only looking for metro sexual yuppies that ride Hondas and don’t need Viagra. And since only young men have the sex drive, muscles, and stamina she is looking for, old guys shouldn’t even bother. Even when SHE’S old she’s not going to date them. She also prefers clean-shaven men, not Kenny Rogers look alikes with glasses that tint when they walk outdoors.”

Ouch! Frankly I can’t imagine what prompted this exchange and I’m dying to know what Kenny Rogers said to Trish to make her respond so harshly. I don’t know how Kenny even made it through the matching process since they’re obviously NOT compatible. Since I know her password I decided to go to her Match.com profile and do a little investigating.

Trish has listed herself as a social drinker (maybe one or two drinks). Really Trish? What about that time you drank 5 glasses of Merlot at the bowling alley? Even though you soaked your shirt in OxyClean I can still see where you threw up on it. What about last Saturday when you and Kristi left a path of alcohol fueled destruction in my house? I’m sure I can come up with several more examples of your recent intoxication if I had more time.

Try to limit yourself to only 2 cocktails when you are on a date. Remember, no man wants to see your eyes unable to focus in the same direction while you slur and cackle your way through dinner (wait until you’re married and then it’s no biggie).

Trish listed in-line skating as one of her interests. Wait, you mean the in- line skates you asked me to sell in my last garage sale along with your crappy old stereo? What if you meet a nice man on Match.com and he wants to go in-line skating? Will you be driving to Scheels to buy a new pair?

She is listed as a daily smoker. Trish? Go to Walgreen’s on your way home from work and buy one of those nicotine patches. Slap it on, ditch the smokes, and febreze the hell out of everything. Voila! There will be a whole new batch of eligible men coming your way. (And to all my girlfriends who are still smoking? Please do this as well. I love you all and if anything happens to you I will have to drink wine all by myself).

There was a section where Trish could list her ideal man’s turn ons. Trish, please remove erotica. Men are visual creatures and can be aroused by an errant bra strap. All men love erotica so referring to it at all is completely redundant. It might also be why you’re getting winks and e-mails from every man on Match.com in the tri state area.

Your townhouse is not a sex portal and you don’t live in a red light district so remove everything from your profile that might inadvertently give men the idea that you are easy. No man should even be seeing the inside of your kitchen until after the third date or your bedroom until the fourth. I think you’ll attract a better caliber of men if you go for more goddess and less bad girl.

I know what you’re thinking and I’m not saying these men aren’t going to buy the cow if you give them the milk immediately. I’m proof that you can give some milk to one of them a tad early and still be with him 16 years later. But this is not about me Trish. It’s about you.

At least you’ve gone legit and joined Match.com. I don’t know where you were finding those other x-rated suitors who texted you at all hours of the day and night. And P.S.? If you don’t change your text tone to something other than Daughtry’s It’s Not Over, I am going to drop your cell phone into a dirty toilet. It even annoys the offspring when you’re over here. Shit can that song and replace it with a nice little bell or chirp.

And according to an article on the MSN home page, if you want to attract a man you should wear red, not black. Dave was telling me just the other day that too many of my clothes are black and I should wear another color. Thank you Mr. Blackwell but I don’t usually take fashion advice from a man who owns a gray wife beater with the Tasmanian devil on the front. (But maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea Trish, to buy a red sweater or something. You never know).

Anyway, I know you’re having a lot of fun right now but in time, you may actually find someone on Match.com that you really like. And I want him to know he is lucky to have found you too. There’s a hero out there for you Trish. Please hold out for him.

So you think you can dance?

I went to a Body Jam class at the Y this morning. I didn’t know what to expect since I haven’t taken an aerobics class since the early 90’s. My cardio workouts are of the solitary kind these days but since I had such a good experience in a group environment on Monday, I was looking forward to trying out the class. I was hoping it wasn’t going to be full of queer jazzercise moves like the grapevine and I wanted it to be challenging because I was taking the class instead of spending 45 minutes on the Stairmaster.

The instructor was great. She showed up in pink and gray camouflage pants with matching shoes and a sparkly pink military style hat. I liked her immediately. The room was packed so I figured she must be pretty popular.

The class consisted of hip-hop style combinations that we kept building on by adding more moves. I loved it. It was nothing like aerobics in the 90’s and the choreography was way cool. I could see myself doing some of the moves on a real dance floor with my girlfriends if I had enough wine in me.

And it was not easy. I always wear my heart rate monitor to track my calories burned because of Weight Watchers and I spent a lot of time in what I’m going to start referring to as the coronary zone. This class kicked my ass. I thought I was in pretty good shape cardiovascularly, especially when I work out on my NordicTrack but apparently I am not nearly as fit as I thought I was.

At one point my heart rate monitor showed 00 so I assumed I had died but since I was still booty poppin’ and shaking my groove thing all over the place I finally realized that the chest strap on my heart rate monitor had slipped down and wasn’t picking up my heartbeat.

The class finally ended 56 minutes after it started. I was totally wiped out and when I looked at my heart rate monitor to see how many calories I had burned it said 666. It was a devil of a workout.

My original plan was to check out Body Jam and then stay for Y-pump, which is the class I went to on Monday. I realized when Body Jam ended that taking another class was unnecessary and stupid.

Body Jam + Y-Pump= dead housewife.

But I’m definitely going back to this class on Wednesdays. I might take it on Saturday or Sunday at another Y location because I liked it so much. In time I’ll start my slow hostile takeover of one of the good front row spots. Then it really will feel like the 90’s again.

A family dinner, hibachi style

The other night Dave and I decided to go out for a family dinner. I wanted sushi but Dave and the offspring wanted chicken or steak so we decided to try a new restaurant that just opened by Jordan Creek Mall called Samurai Sushi and Hibachi since we figured they’d have something for everyone.

I was in the throes of some pretty lethal PMS (and had no business even going to a restaurant that served soy sauce) and I told Dave I hoped this wasn’t one of those places where you had to sit around a big table with people you don’t know because I wasn’t in the mood. Dave likes discussing my PMS about as much as he likes putting the Christmas lights on the roof so he told me if it was, I was just going to have to deal with it.

When we got to the restaurant the waitress led us to a table for 15 and started filling it up with people I’ve never seen in my life. Dave tried to leave a space between himself and a man I’ll call Joe Plumber but the waiter asked him to move over so they would be sitting right next to each other which is probably why Dave ordered sake immediately.

I swapped out my diet coke for a glass of wine when the waitress brought more people to the table. A woman I’ll call lady Fat Albert didn’t look very friendly and the girl sitting next to her had a stocking cap pulled down almost to her nose just like Fat Albert’s friend always did. And yes I’m going straight to hell for referring to someone as a female version of an obese cartoon character. Tell me something I don’t know. I’m sure she was equally impressed with the slightly bloated and bitchy pre-menstrual housewife sitting across from her and probably had PLENTY to say about me to her friends later.

The chef finally got the show started by lighting a bunch of cooking oil on fire right in front of us. I’m not sure I left the restaurant with all the eyebrows I came in with and I’m really glad Matthew no longer has a fire phobia because the chef was a crazy pyromaniac.

The first thing he started making after the smoke cleared was fried rice. Lauren is allergic to eggs so Dave tried to make the chef understand that he needed to leave her rice plain. A complete communication breakdown ensued that resulted in the chef taking all the eggs away while everyone at the table glared at us. Dave tried unsuccessfully to make the chef understand that he could use the eggs for everyone else’s rice but not Lauren’s. Dave then flagged down someone else and started explaining how the chef did not understand us so Dave tried to make the new person comprehend our situation and then translate. Our fellow diners did not look very happy with us and unless the employees at Samurai Sushi and Hibachi are really good at charades they probably didn’t know what the hell we were trying to tell them. Finally it looked like they understood but that didn’t stop me from checking my purse to make sure I had my epi-pen and some Benadryl handy.

The chef started cooking everything and then tried to get fancy by throwing food into everyone’s mouth. His aim was really shitty and food was bouncing off the offspring’s faces like crazy. I don’t think one single thing made it into their mouths. The chef over at Ohana Steak House is way better at that kind of thing.

Eventually the universal equalizer (liquor) kicked in and everyone started talking to each other. Lady Fat Albert was actually a single mother who worked for FEMA and was living here temporarily with her two children. They had relocated from Chicago and she told us she was very impressed with our school system and neighborhoods.

Joe Plumber was actually a single dad named James who worked as a parole officer and had adopted all 6 of his (special needs) kids on his own. One of them was with him at the table and even though he didn’t take his ear buds out the whole time we were eating he seemed like a nice kid.

Everyone complimented us on how well behaved our children were (I KNOW!) I don’t think we’re going to be exchanging Christmas cards next year or anything but it just goes to show that you should never judge people before you’ve had a chance to get to know them no matter how much fun it is.


Maybe the Japanese are onto something with their table arrangements and sake. They probably made fun of all of us once we left the restaurant. Actually they probably made fun of us while we were there since we couldn’t understand a word they were saying. But I think everyone felt a little better at the end of the meal then they did when it started.

Resolutions and Routines

The offspring headed back to school and Dave went back to work today. Thank God! It’s nice and quiet here at home which is the way mama likes it. Now I just need to get back into my normal routine, the one that doesn’t include daily trips to the wine aisle at Dahl’s and 4 Motrin.

I started going to the YMCA today. The offspring really like the indoor pool and water slide there so we signed up for a family membership.

I’m not used to exercising with a bunch of people around me. I usually work out at home because we have a treadmill and a NordicTrack in the basement. I can wear workout clothes that don’t match and if I get too hot I can whip my shirt off and work out in my sports bra if I feel like it. I can put my hair up in a sloppy ponytail and sing out loud when a good song comes on my ipod. Something tells me that kind of behavior may not be appreciated at the Y.

But one of the reasons I did want to join the Y is because they have a class called Y-pump and since I do no strength training whatsoever (because it’s totally boring), one of my resolutions was to start achieving a better balance between cardio and weights. I might even go crazy and start working on my abs instead of telling Dave I want a tummy tuck for Mother’s Day.

Anyway, I really liked the class. The instructor seemed to have a good sense of humor and she played a lot of loud music. I think I need to use heavier weights next time though because the class wasn’t that hard.

Going to the Y is going to take some getting used to. Even though I am an extremely social person, I really like working out at home alone. But this Y-pump class is one of my resolutions so I need to make it part of my routine. I think I can do that.

Trish and Kristi make a mess

Remember in college when you used to go to the bar and they had dime draws or ladies night or some other special and you would drink so much cheap beer you’d puke your guts out in the bathroom and one of your friends would be in charge of cleaning you up and making sure you got home okay?

Substitute Trish and Kristi for you, martinis for beer, and my couch with its light colored Pottery Barn slipcover that I just washed two weeks ago for a toilet, and you have a good idea of what went down here last night.

Trish and Kristi started out at Dragon House because really, who doesn’t want to have a drink in the bar of a run down Chinese restaurant on a Saturday afternoon. They called me to ask if I thought Kristi would be okay if she had a martini even though she’d already had 3 beers. I generously gave her the go ahead because I figured who cares? Certainly this decision will have no effect on me. And she had already ordered the martini and was actually drinking it when she called to ask my opinion so I guess she just wanted some reassurance that her decision was a good one.

When they showed up at my house an hour later I quickly realized we were at opposite ends of the sobriety spectrum. They were also completely annoying. I know I promised not to fight with Trish in 2009 but she started driving me crazy the minute she walked in the door because she was being sofa king LOUD and OBNOXIOUS I could hardly stand her. Kristi insisted on doing a bunch of handstands in the kitchen and I was afraid she was going to hit one of the pendant lights that hang over my island because her legs were kind of flailing everywhere.

Dave segregated Kristi, Trish, and I down in the basement. I made cosmopolitans but took Kristi’s away and gave her a Miller Lite when I realized how shitfaced she was. It was all in vain though because 10 minutes later I got to see the entire contents of Kristi’s stomach splashed all over my couch and rug.

Trish and I got her cleaned up a little and they decided to go home. Luckily Kristi lives right around the corner and she and Trish headed back to her place. Dave and I spent some quality time with various cleaning products but I think we got it all taken care of.

Next time I’m going to remember that everyone needs to start drinking at the same time. They had way too much of a head start and when they left, I was just starting to feel a cosmo buzz. Kristi and Trish always have a good time when they’re together and they are too entertaining for me to stay away from them for long. But next time they’re going to be doing the cleaning.

Just ask Dixie

I’m having a psychic party at the end of the month. I’m inviting 15 girlfriends over for wine and a peek at their future. Some of the girls I invite will be skeptical. Some will be too afraid of what they might find out. But I think the girls who came to my last psychic party will be looking forward to this one as much as I am. Because once you’ve learned a few things about yourself, you realize there’s a lot more you want to hear.

I first met Dixie when Stefani’s mom Patty hosted a psychic party. I didn’t really understand how it all worked but I was curious and they were serving alcohol. We sat in a big circle and you could ask Dixie one question that she would answer in detail. You could also give her the name of one person and she would tell you all about them.

Dave and I were coming up on our first wedding anniversary and were starting to think about having kids. I have always had a hard time not knowing what is in store for me and having kids was one of the biggest unknowns I had ever faced. We wanted them but would we be able to have them? Would we be able to get pregnant easily? How many would we have? When?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask Dixie such an important question, especially in front of everyone. I was a little scared about what I’d find out but I asked her anyway.

The first thing Dixie wanted to know was whether or not twins ran in my family. Everyone, including me, got a little freaked out since they all knew I had a twin sister. Dixie told me she saw a vision of me in late summer and I was bigger than I should have been for the number of months pregnant I was. I was floored. I knew that there was a possibility I could have twins but I thought it usually skipped a generation.

I got pregnant a month later and gave birth to just one baby in the middle of July. Turns out if you gain slightly more than the doctor recommended amount of weight (like double) and you give birth 14 days PAST your due date, and the baby weighs 9 lbs. 7 oz., every single person you know will say, “hey are you sure you’re not having twins?” for the entire last month of your pregnancy.

Dixie also read my palm and told me the following: I would have a long life and would live to be 75-90 years old. When I am 45-50 years old I will completely change the way I look at things. I have a strong talent line but she didn’t say what the talent was. I have two deep emotional attachment lines. She said I was bossy, had a little bit of a temper, and wanted to control life by compartmentalizing everything in neat little boxes. She said I was unable to relax and was always looking for the next task to complete. She also said I was compassionate, highly suspicious of others, a seeker of knowledge, and philosophical.

I saw Dixie two more times after that and each time I learned a few more interesting things. Supposedly I will be running my dad’s motorcycle shop someday and Dave and I are going to buy a big old house. Neither of those things seem likely to me now but I guess I’ll have to wait and see what happens.

Meanwhile, I need to be thinking about what to ask Dixie. I never ask anything I don’t want to know the answer to and I don’t want to talk to any dead people because a psychic party is supposed to be fun. I’ll let you know what I find out.

Happy New Year!!!

I'd like to dedicate this post to all my wonderful friends, especially the ones that called and/or texted me last night when they were totally shitfaced. Here are a few of my favorites.



Happy New Year Trish and Kristi! I received your completely incoherent gibberish filled voice mail when I finally checked my messages this morning. Just a couple things:

1. At what time last night did the two of you lose the ability to converse in English? I have no idea what language you were speaking and couldn't hear a thing due to your screaming and maniacal laughter.

2. When you are done leaving me a message, please remember to actually hang up. Paradise by the Dashboard Light is a really long song and I had to listen to you sing for almost 2 minutes before I could delete you. And P.S.? You guys sucked!

Happy New Year Tom and Amy! I found your text quite amusing. I'm sorry that Amy broke a glass in the batch of WW brownies she was making. And I don't know what that means. Was Amy drunk baking? Was it a wine glass and was it full of White Zinfandel? Did she make another batch or were you completely brownie-less on New Year's Eve? And for the love of God, who are the Gunderson's? I can't keep all your aliases straight.

As for us, we spent the evening partying like rock stars. I'd like to play Rock Band again soon and I'm guessing if I play it when I'm sober I'll be a little quicker and won't miss every third note. Man they come up fast!

And Lisa? The somersault you did over the edge of the couch into my lap was some pretty fine gymnastics. I don't know if you remember it but you totally nailed the landing. We're both lucky I was not holding my wine glass at the time because frankly, you came out of nowhere.

Our lovely hostess Julie had the most awesome champagne ever. I can't remember what it's called (though I tried desperately to commit it to my long term memory last night) but it was red! It tasted great and it was my favorite color.

We're watching the Hawks kick some serious ass right now but I have no idea what we'll do with the rest of the day. I wish we had Rock Band at our house. I feel like jammin'.