Something You Should Not to Say to Your Author Wife...Ever

The Husband is back in school, working toward a business degree. It's been "awhile" since he matriculated, and some of his skills, and the timing in the execution of said skills, are a tad bit.....rusty. In spite of this, he's pulling a 4.0 (Yay, TH!), but he also spends a lot of time editing and revising. I do the final QA....just to be on the safe side.

He wrote a couple of short (less than two pages) essays today for a class, which I happily proofed. He did a little more revising before sending them off into cyberspace, while I did some reading. He called me back into the office/den and said.......drumroll, please.....

"Whew, Hon, writing is a lot like work."

No shit, Sherlock!

P.S.  I'm incredibly proud of TH. Truly.

Bait Him!

photo: http://bit.ly/ZCt28W

I've been MIA....house hunting in Colorado. No luck so we'll probably stay put for another year or two (there's more to that story....another post, okay?).

The Husband has been busy all day plus a much-needed trip to the chiropractor plus physical therapy for post-rotator cuff surgery, so, Stepford wife that I am, I had dinner waiting when he came home. (It was all frozen stuff....don't judge me!)

TH isn't always the neatest eater (neither am I.....but the boobs catch it all. Yay?), but tonight he was exceptionally messy. When he showed me the big spot on his shirt, I told him the dogs would be in his lap all night. To avert this mass hysteria, he changed shirts.

But he forgot about his pants.

One of the dogs noticed....and became quite.....interested.

TH (generally a brilliant man) finally realized his error when said dog slurped his......junk.

TH: Oh man, I gotta get out of these! It's bait! You can't blame a fish for taking a bite when you bait the mother fucking hook!

No dialogue on my part, just hysterical laughter.

If you want to have a good time, spritz your spouse's pants with beefy "perfume" then sit back and watch the show. Totally worth it!

I'm Not a Black Widow....Probably

Maybe this guy.....

Have you ever been curious about something and researched it? I do this all the time. I'll see something on TV or hear about something in the news and want to know more, so I look it up.

This has caused The Husband some angst. It began innocently enough. We watched a crime show about a woman who wanted to kill her husband and found a hit man on the internet. So I did my own search for a hit man, just to see what I could find. Unfortunately it freaked TH the fuck out, so I had to quit. Now he's paranoid.

He brings it on himself though. Sometimes, he acts like he's 10 (as do most men) like when we go to the doctor's office and he wants to look in my ears and nose with the light-up-ear-and-nose-thingie, or when he rolls around on the little stool the doc sits on, or when he plays with the rubber body parts in the exam room that are supposed to be educational. And that's just the doctor's office. 

And usually, after one of his 10 year old-esque episodes (of which there are MANY.....per day) he asks the perennial rhetorical question, "You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

Not until I google a good hit man......

Have you researched crazy things? Found any hit men (did you get a phone number???)?

Have you been there?

No Penis Between Us!

http://twelve-in-twelve.com/
Zeus' penis is waaaaay bigger!

So The Husband and I were ready to shut things down for the night, which meant that it was time for our Ten Second Kiss. Zeus was lying between us on his back, spread eagle. Oh so very attractive!

After brushing my teeth, I went over to TH's side of the bed.

Me: I didn't want to kiss you with Zeus' junk right below us, so I thought I'd kiss you from here.

TH: Good! No penis between us!

Me: Sounds like a wiener to me!

Ain't love grand?

Have you had complications getting in that ten second kiss each night? (If you've never tried a nightly ten second kiss, you should. It's amazing!)

Have you been there?

Remember When?

It was kinda like this.....but I was on bottom.

Remember when you were in college and got drunk and went back to some random guy's dorm room and tried to sleep on that twin bed with him and got stuck in all kinds of awkward and uncomfortable positions because he was passed out on top of you? 

Yeah, me neither.

But that was my night with Zeus last night, and I created that analogy (completely out of thin air) for illustration purposes. We have a king size bed but, with two adults plus three 50+ pound dogs (ie a-nother person), even king size seems small. And Zeus, apparently, wanted to be closer to me than skin and just sorta lounged on and around me. Like the  comatose drunk guy. Allegedly......

Have you ever shared a small bed with an animal (canine, feline or human) and found yourself trapped?

Have you been there?

Let's Play a Game!

As you know, we recently added the amazing Zeus to our pack. He is transitioning into our family quite well. He has mastered the dog door, is learning to play with us and his sisters, and is very affectionate. We are still working with him on a leash, taking slow walks around the block. One day, I hope he loves his walks as much as Lady and Duchess do.

But there is one area that still needs work. Zeus is technically a puppy for another year, and he revels in some of those puppy antics.....like chewing shit up. The new game at our house is called "What the Fuck was THAT?" Of course, whenever we find him chewing on something inappropriate, we tell him "no" and give him something he can chew on. Let's just say, we're working on it.

In the meantime, we find chomped bits and pieces around the house, and sometimes it takes awhile to figure out what those pieces used to be. Maybe you can help......

 This is pretty easy (wires, duh) but can you tell what they go (went) to?

Hmmmmm.....this looks interesting. I'll tell you that it's NOT the neck stretching torture device that I bought at the chiropractor's office. But what IS it??

I think this was the first thing we looked at and asked, "What the fuck was that??" Obviously, was is the operative word here. Any ideas?

Another tidbit we found around the house. Once I pulled out some reading glasses, I could see what it used to be. What about you?














I also wanted to mention that I've lived through my first year of blogging! I began this blog on 1/8/12. I considered doing a giveaway or something to celebrate this milestone, but it happened right before our house hunting trip, and fell further and further down my to-do list. So while you're figuring out the WTF items above, munch on this from Cake Believe:

Have you played this game before with your pets? Do you have any suggestions about how to make it stop??

Have you been there?

The Husband's Alma Mater

This is actually the logo for a Missouri State University
financial aide blog, but it fits.
TH + MSU = Real Life

Despite his last name and skin color, The Husband doesn't speak Spanish. Oh, he can cuss up a storm, but he can't carry on a normal, everyday, non-cussing conversation. I, on the other hand, can cuss AND converse in Spanish. I'm rusty, but it doesn't take long to pick it back up.

In order to be true to his roots, TH bought some language learning software for Spanish. Every now and then, like last night, he practices random phrases.

La mujer bebe.

Los ninos leen.

He was doing splendidly until he ran out of things to say....like anything beyond the two phrases above. I noticed he went on for awhile, however, and tuned in to hear what he was actually saying. After he mastered these two lines, he simply babbled...with a Spanish accent.

Duchess was in my lap and I had to tell her the truth: Dad went to MSU.

Make Shit Up.

TH thought this was hilarious and was actually pretty impressed that I came up with such an astute (and hysterical) quip. The truth is I probably read it on a t-shirt somewhere, but at my age, who the hell knows?

Have you laughed 'til your sides hurt lately?

Have you been there?

Irrational Comma Placement and Other Hilarity

How the fuck do people take these pictures??

First and foremost, you must know that the irrational comma placement is NOT my fault. I blame it on poor eyesight (yes, mine) and longish fingernails. After all, the comma on my phone is right next to the space bar. They're both TINY (and a little blurry).

So my, texts tend, to look, like this. And it's just too fucking hard to move that nano-cursor around to delete the commas (although I do make the effort about 50% of the time). If you receive one of my comma-filled texts, you must remember that I am not quite that irrational. I may misplace a comma here and there (admit it, they can be confusing), but never in the same way as my phone.

I have also had some auto-correct instances which I catch (and never remember.....see next paragraph. And I have no idea how to take those pictures.....see picture) and fix before they go out.

But if you want to see some really funny auto-correct issues, check out Damn You Auto-Correct. The Husband and I read a few the other night and laughed our asses off. 

Have you had any memorable auto-correct funnies? Any irrational comma placements (or am I the only one??)?

Have you been there?

Auto-Clench

As you know, I am, at this point, in my mid-50's, which, of course, is the Decade of the Colonoscopy. Or at least it's supposed to be; 50 is the age when doctors believe this is a prudent test to endure. And research shows that early detection is key, so at 54, I had my first colonoscopy. Hey, I didn't want to rush into anything!

The Husband is a decade younger and I, so his test looms ahead of him. TH has a real phobia around anyone doing anything to his butt. When he finally had a prostate exam (a test for men after 40), TH was certain the doctor was attempting a tonsillectomy via his anus. It traumatized him for days.

We were watching TV last night and an ad aired for ostomy supplies. Ewwww.....apologies if you need them, but eeeewwwwwww........ Anyway, this was our conversation:

Me: Ahhhhh.....colonoscopies. Yours is coming up in about five years.

TH: Yeah, but I'll be asleep through the whole thing, right? It won't bother me if I'm asleep.

Me: The procedure itself is easy; you don't feel a thing. But I figured you'd obsess over the fact that someone was sticking a foreign object up your ass for, like, days before it.

TH: Oh thanks. I hadn't thought of that. I was OK until you said that. Shit! My butt just went into auto-clench. Seriously, I can't get it to relax.

Me: Your butt went into auto-clench? 

TH: (a little panicked) I can feel the cheeks settling down, but my asshole is as tight as a fat man in speedos. 

Of course, I'm laughing hysterically which, I'm sure, isn't helping. But I can't stop laughing any easier than TH can shift his butt out of auto-clench. 

Has your butt ever gone into auto-clench? Did you have a difficult time releasing it?

Have you been there?

Sizzzzzzle

Say hello to my li'l frien'
(source: Amazon)

Remember when I told you about those fucking pantry moths? I pulled everything out, went through it allllllll, scrubbed the walls and shelves with vinegar water, set traps.....

And then I saw more of those motherfuckers flying around. It's time for the big guns.....

We bought a little sizzler of a bug zapper. It looks like a racquetball racket. The button on the size activates the juice.

And, holy crap! Sparks fly off those ex-moths. It's almost....magical. 

I may like this a little too much.......muah ha ha ha ha.......

Have you had bug issues? Try a zapper and watch those little motherfuckers sizzzzzzle! Another one bites the dust! Yeah! Another one bites the dust......

Have you been there?

My Head was on FIRE!

This is a re-enactment.
You're welcome.

The Husband is really the nice one in our relationship, but I do my best to pretend it's me. As the pretend nice one, I often bring him coffee in the morning......cream (real half and half) and sugar (fake), just the way he likes it. This morning, we had some leftover sausage rolls so I nuked 'em to bring in with the coffee. 

But, since I only have two hands, balancing the box of sausages on my head seemed like a viable option. I also thought it would bring a little hilarity to our morning. 

I got more than I bargained for.

I have no doubt I looked awesome walking down our hall with that box on my head.....very suave and sophisticated. But it got hotter.....and hotter.....and hotter. I'd hoped I could make it all the way to the bedroom, but that motherfucker was burning the shit outta my scalp.

"Shit!" was all The Husband heard. I set my cup down, snatched the box off my head, and took him his coffee and rolls, then retrieved mine.

Tonight, it seemed like a good idea to create a re-enactment, so he could get the full effect, and I could re-live the incredible sacrifice of my now-burned scalp.

Which is why I really am the nice one.

Have you been harmed in the name of love? Any other burned scalps out there?

Have you been there?

Klymaxx.....If You Know What I Mean

The Husband and I listened to a hip-hop station while running errands the other day. I noticed a band/group called Klymaxx was playing. (Yes,it was the name the caught my attention!) My first thought was, "How would you interview them without making inappropriate jokes and laughing through the whole thing?"

Now first, let me say that I knew nothing about this band, which I'm sure is awesome (the group, not my ignorance), until I Googled the name. Apparently the all-girl band had their biggest hits in the 80's: "The Men All Pause" and "Meeting in the Ladies Room." Have any of you music-savvy readers heard of them? Me neither.

 

I have no idea what played on the radio; I was too blown away by the name. But you can click the songs above and see/hear them for yourself. Prepare to get your Eighties on!

Anyway, The Husband and I came up with interview questions for the band. We simply couldn't help ourselves..... (No offense intended if any of my readers are former Klymaxx band members; this was purely hypothetical.....so don't sue the shit outta me, k?)

Q: To what do you attribute your shooting rise to stardom?

Q: Is there anything you to before a concert to heighten your performance?

Q: Do the men in your audience expect you to deliver?

Q: Apparently your ratings have dropped some; are you changing the name of the band to "Almost"?

Then I remembered a game played on "Whose Line is it Anyway?" where two people are given a scenario and end all their answers with "if you know what I mean."  Obviously, in the interest of musical science, I had to Google "questions used in band interviews." Considering the name, and the phrase at the end, the following questions provided further hilarity. Actually, these are better than ours, but we are mere amateurs. *sigh*

Q: Do the people back home support you, if you know what I mean?

Q: What are your hopes for the near future, if you know what I mean?

Q: Who are your idols and why, if you know what I mean?

Q: Do you have any other hobbies, besides making music, if you know what I mean?

Q: What's your most embarrassing moment, if you know what I mean?

Now -- anyone wanna answer these questions.....if you know what I mean. ;)

Have you ever interviewed anyone with a suggestive name? Did you laugh all the way through it or keep your cool?

Have you been there?

My Plan for the Zombie Apocalypse

There's been lots of talk lately about the zombie apocalypse. Obviously it's a fear we all take seriously. Stores and websites have popped up with survival kits and advice. Even the CDC has joined the fight with a novella promoting preparedness.

In case you didn't know, zombies are mindless corpses who have been reanimated. Their sole purpose is to eat humans and they will do whatever they can to accomplish this goal. They have no sensations or fear, so you can cut off an arm or leg and they will continue to pursue you. The only way to kill a zombie is to cut off its head. This is serious, people!

The fine folks at Deadliest Warrior did all the research I needed to make an informed decision regarding my plan for the zombie apocalypse.  They pitted vampires against zombies, testing everything from biting power to motivation. Through a variety of ratios and comparisons, they created a level playing field and ran a bazillion fight simulations. You can watch this enlightening episode here.

**spoiler alert**

Although the odds seemed unfair at the time (approximately 65 zombies per vampire), the speed, strength and slashing power of the vampires won out. In the end, one vampire remained.

Since vampires were victorious, it is clear to me that I need to find a vampire to turn me at the beginning of the apocalypse (after all, I don't want to be a vampire until I have to). Once the apocalypse starts, I'll slash my way to victory over the zombies. 

My next challenge: anybody know where I can find a vampire?

Have you made plans for the zombie apocalypse?

Have you been there?

The Adventures of Straddle and One Knight: Introductions

Straddle: Hi, y'all, I'm Straddle. My ol' man is One Knight. You know, kinda like my one knight in shining armor...which he is. *giggle* I was raised up out in West Texas, spendin' my days out on the plains with the cows and horses. You may be wonderin' how I got my name. Well, when I was little, I was always tryin' to jump on the back of animals an' ride 'em. So they called me Straddle, cuz I was always straddlin' stuff. Now, the only things I straddle are my bike -- I call her Kitten, but she roars like I lion.....rwar! *giggle* and, every now and then I straddle my ol' man. *giggle* if you know what I mean. *giggle*  I been ridin' Kitten for five years now an' we've had some mighty good times together. Tell these fine folks about yourself, One Knight.


One Knight: Aight. Like Straddle said, my name's One Knight. Me and her's been together since dirt was new, so I finally let 'er have a bike of her own. I guess that's about it.


Straddle: Naw, One Knight. Tell 'em 'bout your bike an' where you grew up an' shit.

One Knight: Aight. My bike is my baby. I had this bike fer twenty years an' I don't want no other. Hell, I'd trade in Straddle 'fore I'd trade ol' Thunderbolt here.


Straddle: Hey!


One Knight: Sorry, babe. I can't lie to these folks. Oh, I love 'er, don't get me wrong, but there's just somethin' about havin' 1800 cc's between your legs that a woman jus' can't give ya.


Straddle: That's true. *sigh* Tell 'em how we met. *giggle*


One Knight: Aight. We was at this biker rally, see, an' I seen this bitch ridin' on the back of Spider's bike, an' it was luuuuv at first sight. So, I gone over to Spider, knocked him clean out, and claimed 'er for me.


Straddle: Isn't that romantical? *giggle* We been together ever since. *giggle*


One Knight: Oh yeah, I grew up in Texas too.


Straddle: Tell 'em our new job.


One Knight: Aight. Well, this here blog lady asked us if she could write about our adventures an' pay us big bucks fer the priv'lige. Beats the hell outta dealin' drugs and runnin' guns. No cops.


Straddle: Yeah, it's gonna be fun! So keep readin' folks. You never know where we might turn up.


One Knight: Later 'taters!

May I Help You?

The Husband came home tired and frustrated. Rough day. He asked me to feed the dogs (his job, traditionally). Of course, I said I would, because that's the kind of loving, supportive, compassionate wife I am.

The Husband spoils the dogs rotten; he mixes dry and wet food in his own special way to ensure neither feels slighted. The dry food is on the floor by the dryer; the wet is in cans on top of the washer, in the back left corner. I'm a whopping 5' tall and need steps to reach almost everything in the house. I was on my tippie toes, reaching for a can of dog food, tipped over the tray they were in, spilling the only three cans we had behind the washer.

So, of course, I call The Husband, because he's 6'1" and has some looooong arms. He ooooches up onto the washer to reach behind it. He's a big guy, so this was quite a sight and I. Cracked. The. Fuck. Up. And he started laughing and sorta bobbed up and down on the washer. I lost it.

Me: Aren't you glad I helped you feed the dogs?

TH: Yeah, hon, this is great. You don't need to help anymore.

Me: Are you sure?

TH: Yeah, I'm sure.

Guess I'm off dog feeding duty!

In other news, I found a gray hair in my nether region. Never mind the circumstances. That's private. 

Have you ever been less than helpful? Was it fucking hilarious?

Have you been there?

PSA: Getting Your Car Appraised is the Kiss of Death

This is a public service announcement about getting your car appraised because THIS is what will happen:


The Husband and I got his big, beautiful F350 appraised on Thursday. We originally bought it because we thought we were moving to CO and needed lots of power to haul things in the mountains. Since we didn't move, and our area of Texas has no mountains, we wanted to explore the possibility of selling or trading the truck for something a little more economical and Texas-friendly. (By the way, because TH always gives me shit about the mountains in Texas, I'm here to tell you there ARE mountains in Texas and I have climbed the highest one -- Guadalupe Peak. So there, TH! Nanny nanny boo boo!) We went to Car Max because they'll give you that "no hassle" appraisal. It was a reasonable (wholesale) estimate and we shopped for cars within that budget. As we left the showroom, the sales woman (who is apparently an evil sorceress) told us the offer would be good for seven days.....as long as we didn't get into a wreck. It was at that precise moment that the curse was cast and we were screwed.


The Husband, The Princess and I planned a quick trip to Waco (about 1.5 hours south) to visit family. Had we known the events that were to transpire, we would have stayed home. We were trailing the motorcycles down with us so we could spend some time riding the back roads near Waco with our cousin. TH left early (the day AFTER the appraisal curse) to get the trailer for the bikes. On his way, some asshole in front of him made a quick, non-signaled U turn (un-signaled? dis-signaled? In other words, the motherfucker never considered using his turn signal.....nor did he stop afterward to see if everyone was alright), forcing TH to slam on his brakes, which caused the screaming man behind him to run into the back of our recently-cursed truck. BLAM! Big F250 hits bigger F350. Even though it looked like the damage to our truck was minimal, ANY damage was unwelcome. But it was drive-able, so we continue with our plans, load up the bikes, and head south. The truck was definitely NOT the satin smooth ride it was prior to the curse. TH thinks the frame may be bent and will take it to the Ford dealership to have their inspectors look it over.


The rest of the trip was great.....hanging with family, zipping around on the backroads.....until the drive home. First, TH left his wallet back at our relatives' home.  Luckily we had stopped on the north side of town to check the bikes and get gas, so the little return trip only added about thirty minutes to our drive. No big deal. Then there was a noticeable shimmy that grew progressively worse.....kinda like watching a drunk woman who thinks she's hot stuff on the dance floor. We pull over again and discover that one of the straps holding my bike has been shimmied in half. At least it was the outer strap, rather than the inner one, because the bike stayed on the trailer. TH uses the strap holding the back wheel and replaces the broken strap on the handlebars.


So we're driving along.....we've made it to the south side of Fort Worth.....almost home. UNTIL.....we see my bike, AGAIN, flop over like it's going to fall into oncoming highway traffic, and right itself. TH pulls over but we are on the two foot wide inside shoulder.....on IH 35.....with cars zipping by at lightening speed. TH, ever the gentleman, suggests that I stay on the inside of the shoulder and/or jump toward the wall in case a car careens into us. Oh, and while I'm at it, would I please alert him if someone tries to run into him as well? Sure....no problem. I'm rather fond of him and would like to keep him around for awhile, so I play the part of lookout. In my duties, I notice that the trailer seems to lean a little, which I mention to TH, but I figure it's because we're on a slight incline. WRONG! Apparently, the little hiccup that almost sent my bike flying into the traffic was a flat tire on the trailer. 


We pull into a little convenience store thinking air might help, but realize the tire is shredded. Trust me, no amount of air was going to get that tire moving again. By this time, we've been on the road about 2 hours (remember, it's only an hour and a half or less to Waco). We call some friends to rescue us (it's about 11 at night....in a not-so-great part of town), which they did. We left the trailer, our friend drove the truck, and we rode our bikes, finally arriving home around 11:30. Our 1.5 hour trip turned into a three hour trip with all kinds of scary shit along the way. But we made it home safe and sound.....and so did the bikes. Whew!


The moral of this story: DON'T get your car or truck appraised. It will be cursed. You have been warned.


They say bad stuff comes in three's. Have you experienced a series of "uh oh's", "oh shit's" and "oh nooooo's!" all in a row?


Have you been there?


P.S. All humor aside, we are incredibly grateful for God's grace and protection. It could have been bad....really bad. Deo gratias!

My new BFFs

I got to meet The Bloggess! It was quite the adventure. The other (major!) highlight was meeting Lauren who pens the magnificent blog, Filing Jointly Finally.

If you've read The Bloggess (aka Jenny Lawson), you know she writes some crazy shit. One of her most famous posts  is about Beyonce, the huge metal chicken (actually, it's a big metal rooster but she calls it a chicken and who am I to argue with a best selling author?). Apparently lots of people know about Beyonce because numerous chicken/roosters (or choosters, as I call them) attended the book signing. 

This is for you, BOB.
That's a tentacle on my finger -- a
gift from Lauren.

Now, there were some interesting people there (feel free to read whatever you want into that because it's probably accurate, like the lady sitting four feet in front of Jenny that yelled, "Fuck, yeah!" about every five minutes). But the most interesting person there was Lauren (and definitely the prettiest). But not just Lauren....Ryan was there too. I finally got to meet the guy who ruins all her holidays and won't give her gemstones (geeez, Ryan, wtf??). But, other than his obvious issues, he was a pretty nice guy. He bought me tea, and when anyone buys me tea, I think they're pretty nice. And so, for your viewing pleasure, Bob, here is a picture of Lauren and me. (We would have taken one with The Bloggess too, but they had us in a line and shooed us through as quickly as possible.....I think one of them had a cattle prod). 


All in all, I had a wonderful evening with my new BFFs, Jenny and Lauren. I'm not sure I'll make another book signing, but this one was awesome!


Have you ever met someone (famous [Jenny] or even semi-famous [Lauren]) that you loved and respected? Was it a joyous adventure (ours was!)?


Have you been there?

Things to Ponder at 4 a.m.

oceanmist.com

Occasionally I wake up and don't fall right back to sleep. Like last night. Crazy shit runs through my head at 4 a.m.  Read on.....if you dare:

• Artichokes. Don't get me wrong, I adore artichokes, but you gotta admit, the first person to eat an artichoke was either starving or irrationally curious. For one thing, they have spikes. They may be called thorns, but they feel like spikes. How many things do you normally eat that have spikes (not that are spiked, like punch and watermelons and rum cake because I'm pretty sure, if you read this blog, that most of what you ingest is spiked. Am I right?)? OK, so you make it past the spikes, and the bazillion leaves, but then there's all that fuzzy shit that you get before the heart. That tells me that the first person was tenacious. And maybe starving. Or crazy. And definitely my hero.
• My WordPress followers: I switched my blog from WordPress to Blogger a couple of months ago. I didn't have an issue with WordPress but it was easier for my blog designer, the amazing Amanda Oaks, to work in Blogger, so I moved everything over. Or so I thought. I had over 400 followers on WP, and I now have three. Where did the other 397+ go? Should I have created maps so they could find me again?  Did my move piss them off?  I've left a candle burning in my window in honor of them and it will stay lit until they ALL come home. Or maybe it's some grand lesson in humility that the Universe thinks I need to learn. (Note to Universe: I'm humble enough, I promise. May I have my followers back.....pretty please?) If you run into any of my former followers, please bribe....I mean, send them home. Two words: finder's fee.
• Aliens: As I've mentioned, The (evil) Husband converted me into a Trekkie, so we watch Star Trek series-es (aren't words like this hard to pluralize? Is pluralize even a word??) in their various forms, starting at the beginning of a series and watch it all the way through. We are currently watching "Deep Space Nine." Needless to say, there are lots of aliens in the series. I'm pretty sure aliens exist; after all it would be pretty arrogant to think we were the only ones in the entire universe. My thoughts drift toward other aspects of alien beings too. Like, if you get a room full of Klingons together (not the best looking race in the universe), how do you know which ones are ugly and which ones are hot? This is important, people! 
• Spirits: I love watching mediums like Theresa Caputo, John Edwards and Lisa Williams do their psychic-talking-to-dead-people thing. They say that our loved ones are always with us. Like yesterday, I was scanning some stuff into the computer and listening to Pandora. Some jazzy music was playing and I danced around the office a bit (yes, I was alone. Don't judge me.). Then I reminisced about dancing with my daddy (who passed on 4/27/11) and got the shivers. According to the mediums, that was probably Daddy.....stopping by. Which is fine. But what about those times when you're doing something you don't necessarily want your parents to see.....like that time you put on that black bustier and assorted paraphernalia and paired it with knee high silver boots so you could be all sexy for yo' man? Not me. I'm talking about you. Do you think anyone was......watching? Watching you, not me. Just to be clear.

What do you ponder at 4 a.m.? 

Have you been there?

PS: Only TWO more days until I meet The Bloggess.....and Lauren (eeeeeeeee!!!). Bob the Water Cat has issued a challenge (in the comment section) and it has been accepted. Stay tuned........

PPS: How do you like the Yo Momma widget? Is it time to change? Suggestions?

Silver and Gold Friends

I went to real summer camp when I was a kid. No air conditioning, no en suite bathrooms. I had to walk to the casita (the bath house filled with Daddy Long Legs....like, to the ceiling) in the middle of the night. With a flashlight so bears wouldn't eat me (I'm pretty sure there are still bears in the Granbury, TX area, so watch out). And, of course, I had to shake out my shoes in case a scorpion crawled into one during the night before I could even go to the casita. With spiders. Like I said, real camp.

And because it was real camp, we sang camp songs -- all the time. I still remember most of them (although, nowadays, I frequently can't remember what I originally needed when I walk into a different room; I call this Roomnesia and I'm pretty sure I should be famous for discovering it. And rich). What was I saying? Oh yeah......  Here's one I remember:

Make new friends

But keep the old.

One is silver

And the other's gold.

I've been thinking about friends lately. I have friends that I've known since kindergarten, which was, like, two hundred and fifty six years ago. Some are more recent, of course. It's not like I've been on a desert island writing fabulous blog posts and working on my tan. I do get out every now and then.

I reconnected with a semi-old friend recently (circa 1970). The circumstances of the reunion aren't great, but the visits have been wonderful. I'll admit, there was a time I (briefly) hated her guts. We were going from 8th grade into 9th (ie high school --- yikes!). I was a cheerleader in 8th grade and tried out for a spot on the high school team (certain I would make it because of all my vast experience). So did she. On crutches. All she did was yell a lot. I yelled and jumped.....at the same time. I guess you just can't account for the sympathy vote (yeah, she won). But, because I was such a gracious, magnanimous person, I forgave her and we remained friends. Then I went away to boarding school my sophomore year, where I made new friends. But we would hang out together some when I came home on vacations, and we were debutantes together (yes, really) in college. Later on, we were busy raising families and lost touch. We'd run into each other at parties or restaurants, but never actually got together. Until recently.

It's interesting to hang out with old friends you haven't seen in awhile. You have a shared history that's comfortable and familiar, but there's this whole other life you've both lived in the meantime. Some of it has been awesome, some of it kinda sucky, and you wish you had been able to help somehow. And part of you wants to share all the dirty little secrets you've been hiding the past X years because that's what you used to do X years ago, but part of you realizes that, in some ways, this person is also sort of a stranger. It's really the best of both worlds -- familiarity and discovery, laughs about antics from the past and some new ones you've yet to experience. And it's way cool to see how we've "grown up" (not so much for my friends, because, well, I just haven't grown up that much....but I think you already knew that). I've enjoyed it and look forward to more times together. Maybe get into a little mischief too. It could happen.

I found some of my new friends via the blogshere. I've only been blogging since January, so they are really new friends. And we've never, like, actually, met. I mean, IRL (in real life, for those of you who are terribly out of touch. Don't you wish you were cool like me?). But I feel like I know the bloggers I follow, ya know? I probably have more information about The Bloggess than anyone else via her new book, Let's Pretend This Never Happened. I pre-ordered so I wouldn't have to fight somebody over one at the bookstore. And I'm actually going to meet her when she comes to Dallas on her book tour. Eeeeeeeeee!! 

I've gotten to know other bloggers too and I can't wait to see what happens next in their lives. I've celebrated with Jules on her inspiring journey to the smoke-free world of smaller boobs (soooooo jealous on both counts). I've cried with courageous Lauren who has had such a difficult time lately, but always comes back with a smile....and cheese (and she's hilarious, but she really needs gemstones and babies, RYAN, to make everything OK). Lauren will also be in Dallas to meet Jenny and, if I recognize her, I truly hope that I don't scare the living shit outta her by, I dunno, maybe squealing and jumping up and down like a twelve year old at a boy band concert. Sorta undignified for a 54 year old, but not out of the realm of possibility, I'm sorry to say. Then there's RingFingerTanLine. I get vicarious dating thrills AND tempting recipes from her blog. Bob the Water Cat is hilarious; Metta Drum is deeply spiritual. I could go on, because there are some truly awesome, funny, transparent, real people  writing out there (not like there's mannequins or zombies writing the other blogs, but you get my drift, right?).

I love my friends...new and old, silver and gold. They're all priceless to me!

How do you keep in touch with old friends? Where do you find new ones?

Have you been there?

Yes, Brenda, The Fun Begins at 50

A new friend, Brenda (she's my friend because she left a comment....hint, hint), wanted reassurance recently that the 50's are great years. Not the 1950's, but the sixth decade of life. My pea brain immediately landed on the classic "Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus." So, with sincerest apologies to Virginia....and Santa Claus....and the editor of the New York Sun......and anyone else who is....uh....involved (like elves, maybe), I humbly submit to you, my version: Yes, Brenda, The Fun Begins at 50


Dear Claire -- I am 43 years old. Some of my so-called "friends" say there is no fun after 50. My hot boyfriend says, "If it's in 'I've Been There, Claire!', it's abso-fucking-lutely true." Please tell me the truth -- is there fun after 50?                                   Brenda




Brenda, those bitches are wrong! They're obviously jealous of your hot boyfriend and are trying to trash your not-too-distant, yet glorious, future (seven years, Brenda....just sayin'). They've read too many Seventeens and Glamours, and had way too much botox and silicone to fully grasp the wonders of the 50's and beyond. C'mon girls! Move on up to Oprah or Marie Claire or More! Don't buy into the bullshit perpetuated by the media that says women have to be 25 years old and weigh 12 pounds in order to live la vida loca. 


Yes, Brenda, the fun begins at 50! First and foremost, you become instantly eligible for a colonoscopy! Mine was a joyous occasion, as I'm sure you've read (because anyone with any brains [and we all know you don't really get brains 'til you're at least.....well, I adore Lauren, so I really can't go there, but you get my drift.....cuz you have a brain!] will read my blog). But wait, Brenda, that's not all! There's more!


Because you have lived so many, many full years, you have acquired a wisdom that is priceless. You know how to act at a funeral (because you're going to more of them). Opening a real bottle of wine is a cinch (no boxes or screw tops, please!). Forks are no longer a mystery. But that cool thing is that, even though you know which fork to use, you use the wrong one, just to fuck with people. Because you don't give a shit! You've lived long enough (really long) and have experienced enough to know what's important and what's not. Most stuff jus' don't matter. See? Priceless!


The wisdom and experience of the 50's and beyond, luckily, counter the naivete and gullibility of the 20's. At 54 I'm way more likely to call a spade a spade. I'm not buying the bullshit I did when I was younger -- thank God! Today, if I were single, I'd want to see proof before I dated someone: a letter from the bank, divorce papers, tax returns. No more falling for some hot guy with a smooth line and a fat wallet. That wad could all be one dollar bills with a fifty on the outside. C'mon people.....I wasn't born yesterday (and you can now say that with some real truth and sincerity behind it!).


No fun after 50? You might as well not have fun now either, because you're only going to get older...and grayer...and saggier. You're at that "so what/now what" junction. You're getting older....so what? Now...what are you going to do about it? 


I say, dear Brenda, celebrate it! Have fun. Do whatever floats your boat (I took a lovely little motorcycle ride today. Probably another one tomorrow followed by a totally tasty steak at a fabulous restaurant.....ain't life grand?). Be grateful for everything. EV. REY. THING. I believe that the more joy, love, laughter, and gratitude (especially gratitude) you have in your life, the better your life will be. It seems to come a little more naturally to those who have lived a bit longer (probably because of that I-don't-give-a-shit attitude we like to rock), but anyone can foster it!. You'll feel more comfortable in your own skin. You'll find an underlying peace, and knowledge that all is well. But stock up on chocolate....just to be safe. Couldn't hurt....might help.


A dear friend gave me a plaque that reads: Well-behaved women rarely make history. I intend to make a LOT of history. (Yes, Betty White is my role model!)


Do you need reassurance that the last half is the best half? Are you living the "so what/now what" conundrum?


Have you been there?


P.S. See what happens when you comment? I might write a whole post.....just for you. It could happen......