Friday, October 29, 2010

In the Aftermath of an Egg Salad Sandwich

My step-daughter had her first pimple this morning. She walked into my bathroom with a confused look on her face and said, “There’s this weird pump on my nose that’s bothering me”.

Pulling her by her shirt sleeve into the light of the mirror, sure enough right smack dap in the middle of her cute, button nose was her very first zit. Upon my initial discovery, it became my mission in life to pop it and announce victory over the clogged pore. Ignoring her moans and “ouches” I poked and prodded at the thing until I realized it just wasn’t ready to pop. I drew back and recognized that I was only making the thing worse. Not only did she have a zit but now she had a red nose and her step-mom’s finger indentions on the side of her face. She was going to have to go to school with a zit on her nose and there was nothing I could do about it.

I tapped her on the butt and sent her on her way. I felt guilty but not really because when I was in 6th grade I got caught stuffing my bra and was on the 3rd string of the B-team basketball team.—it doesn’t get more pitiable and uneasy than that. And did I mention I didn’t start my period until high school??? Yep, I was a looser.

I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. It’s funny I have a tendency to “over share” to you guys about bowel movements, sex and when my last bikini wax was, but often I find myself less inclined to share the hard truths of I’m sad or stressed or sometimes how I feel life isn’t fair.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am fully aware of the blessings in my life. But honestly a lot of things that have been out of my hands have given me a recent spell of restlessness and lack of peace. I feel like the zit on my step-daughter’s nose—like I’m ready to pop any minute but I can’t so I just stay put like a giant eye-sore.

Because of this I haven’t been sleeping well and I think I’ve developed a stomach ulcer. When I do sleep, I have these crazy weird dreams—and unfortunately not the good kind where people are frolicking around naked.

I like to give you guys the impression that I know all the answers. That I’m so wise beyond my years and you run to my blog for astute guidance and incisive advice. Kind of like the Dali Lama in heels….holding a glass of wine…..sitting on the toilet…..reading US Weekly…..whilst writing a blog.

But, I’ve got to be honest; I don’t really know what to do next. Cling to my family during this personal trial in my life. Appreciate my husband and my blessings. Pray. Try and get over it.

I’m sure some of you are cackling in delight thinking, “Finally, she understands that she’s crazy!” and you think I need to be locked in a padded cell and playing ring around the rosey with myself all day long.

Sigh. There’s really no sum up or conclusion to this blog. And who knows maybe this is all stemming from the Egg Salad sandwich.

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Monday, October 25, 2010

Poor Choices

I just bought an egg salad sandwich from 7-eleven for lunch. There was nothing heavenly about that sandwich. Egg salad will be coming out of me in some form or fashion within the next hour.

Egg Salad was a bad choice.

I got the great idea to shave my arms. Not sure why I decided this should be a new part of my grooming regimen, but ce la' vie I shaved the arm hair right off to go along with the rest of my hairless body. My arms feel like they are covered in hay needles and now I'm cold. I miss my fur.

Shaving my arms was a bad choice.

I told my husband that if the Texas Rangers made it to the World Series, he should get tickets regardless of cost. They hadn't made it in 39 years thus I assumed this year wouldn't be any different. Don't get me wrong, I root for the Rangers, but my heart belongs to the Astros. Needless to say, the Rangers are going to the World Series. Bye, Bye, new Frye boots and groceries for the month--Hello, World Series Tickets.

Doubting the Rangers was a bad choice.

Now, I must cut this short. My first poor choice is rearing its ugly head-- no pun intended.

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Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Home Tour- The Master Bedroom

oooooohhhhhh yeahhhhh. This is where all the magic happens.

That's right. In this week's home tour, I'm going to invite you into the sacred land of my bedroom. The place that holds the key to some of my most precious and intimate moments; the place where things classified as "adult only" are allowed and I'm free to enjoy the thrill. I find all of this and more in my bedroom which TIVO.

In my bedroom is where I'm allowed to record my guiltiest of pleasures such as The Real Housewives of anything, Sister Wives, Tori and Dean, Jersey Shore and Tosh.O. Our home holds two TIVOs. One in the living room, which is kid friendly and filled with Disney crap and then there's MY TIVO. The TIVO that Buckethead takes one look at, rolls his eyes and sighs.

And that's not all thats great about this room. I also have sex in it.

Yep, I just said that.

Okay, come on. I'm MARRIED. It's not that big of a deal.

So, I hope you enjoy the pictures. I big puffy pink heart my bedding. I had to sell a kidney to afford it, so you better comment on how freaking amazing you think it is!

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Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Halloween and Hookers

Today's blog is brought to you by the letter H.

It’s that time of year again. The time when closet hoochie momma’s across the planet start preparing for their favorite holiday of the year: Halloween. The night where sluts can be sluts and no one can say a damn thing about it.

This concept has always cracked me up. Every woman has the word “sexy” as the descriptive in her costume. Someone is either a sexy cop, or a sexy fairy or a sexy Strawberry Shortcake. Ahem, Strawberry Shortcake was NOT sexy. She was stubby, wore a terrible looking hat and had cankles.

One time I saw an acquaintance of mine walk into a party in see-thru lingerie with a tag hanging off of her that said “$5 Hooker”. Casually I walked up to her and asked why she decided not to dress up that year.


True story.

I digress.

So, in searching for my Halloween costume this year I’m kind of at a loss for whom to be. Every costume in the store was of two extremes. One, so cute it made me throw up in my mouth and the other were costumes designed for Hugh Hefner’s girlfriends. And I don't look like Hugh Hefner's girlfriends. Cellulite is Cellulite....even on Halloween ladies.

Mind you, I don’t think I’m at the stage where I want to dress up as a giant M&M and convince Buckethead that we should be “twinkies”. Nor, do I think it wouldn’t be nice to find something to wear that makes me feel good about my self and a little sexy. However, there’s nothing a little sexy about these costumes. It’s down right whore wear.

Side note: I once misspelled on my blog the word whore as hoar and my pastor brother (God loves him….No seriously, God like REALLY loves him. They are BFF. He can wear the Jesus is my Homeboy shirt and make it legitimate) wrote me an email saying: “You need to learn how to spell-check. You can’t even get your curse words right.”

Anyways, back to the story.

I’m stumped. My psyche won’t allow me to be anything that is unoriginal therefore my costume should emanate my creative dominance over all my peers. Yet, somehow despite my awesomeness, I have a feeling my costume is going to be one of mundane facade.

So, whose it going to be? Snookie, Lady Gaga, Where's Waldo, Little Wayne, an illegal immigrant?

Who knows, maybe I'll give in and find the fulfillment I so desperately seek in the form of a Naughty Nurse costume.

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Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Random Ramblings

I just ran three miles.

Impressive, I know.

Somehow three miles justify me drinking wine....alone.

They say, alcoholics are the one's who drink alone. What do "they" know anyways? And who is "they"? I'm guessing "they" are the PTA, Willy Wonka's Umpa Lumpas or the Southern Baptist Convention of Texas. Just a guess.

Anyway, I think Florence Henderson is awesome on Dancing With the Stars. I mean, did she really dry hump like a pubescent teenage boy on the dance floor in last night's show? It was hot. I'm 40 years her junior and my knees hurt.

Like, I think I need some Icy-Hot rub or a margarita.....anything to ease the pain.

We went to the State Fair over the weekend. I ate Fried Frito Pie, Fried Oreos and a Corn Dog. This year I managed to not throw up in the bushes (yes, this happend last year). My guess it because I gracefully passed on the chicken fried bacon.

I don't feel bad about it indulging but my ass is saying a different story.

Speaking of my ass, it's gotten larger. That's why I went running.

I really need a bikini wax.

I bet that last confession made my mom really uncomfortable. Sometimes I feel guilty for being a little more vocal than my southern momma raised me. But, I figure I'll just pay off her house when my slightly crude words make me a HUGE STAR (it will happen, right?) At least I didn't say vagina.

Last year I managed a winning sports team. It was a fantasty football team, but I won, never the less. And then I gloated in my victory and yelled, "nana-nana boo-boo, stick your head in doo-doo" to my co-workers; sent out a company wide email thanking everyone for their support and told them I would be collecting the $50 owed from each of them by the end of the day.

I wasn't invited back this year to participate.....It kind of hurt my feelings.

Oh, and I have a very expensive purse. It broke. This proves materialism is alive and well. They really aren't "better quality", they just have a logo all over it.

When I was little, I use to paint my nails with liquid paper. I also told my second grade class that "Sex was a beautiful thing for our mommy's and daddy's".

I still don't like my second grade teacher.

I should go make dinner now.

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Monday, October 11, 2010

Home Tour: Dining Room

I've decided to jump on the band wagon and feature a room in my home each week for my blog-viewers. Technically, if I were to show you my favorite spot in my home, where JPO finds her "me" time, it would be a picture of the toilet. However, since there is really nothing special about our toilet, I wont waste your time.

We are starting in the Dining Room for the Home Tour. Why, do you ask? Since we've only used this room ONCE since we've been together, it's definitely not one of the most used rooms in our home. But, the dining room set was the first piece of furniture we bought together. And BH and I have also used the dining room table for "other" recreational activities if ya know what I'm sayin...... kidding (kind of).

Though this room is rarely used, I love it. I forget about it sometimes, but when I go to check for dog poop under the table, I always think, "Man, we should really use this room more often". Then I am reminded that it is a dining room and in order to dine one must cook. And after much contemplation, I decide it may be a pretty room but it ain't that pretty.

So, I hope you enjoy. You can pretend I am having you over for a dinner party, serving escargot for an appetizer and a nice fillet of fish for the main entree. You better dream it because the reality in our home is Hamburger Helper with a side of canned green beans. Man, I'm glad my husband loves me anyways...

(Side note: Although, I am no cooking extraordinaire , I am on a mission to change this. I baked a pie--from scratch...I plan to share my experience later in the week)

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Friday, October 8, 2010

Guest Blogger, Buckethead: What I Know about Women

What I know about Women….

I used to joke that I was going to write a book, a large coffee table book, entitled, “What I Know About Women.” It was going to be a big, thick, beautifully bound book. But, on the inside, there were only blank pages. Page after page of blankness. Nothing. Except for the middle page – there’d be a drawing of….uhem….uhh….a lady’s mysterious body parts. That’s it. Nothing more.

Yep, that sums up what I know about women. 200 pages of nothing – except a hoo-hah. Nothing more. That’s all I know about women.

Hold on a second -- I need to set the stage. Most of you on here only know a little about me from the excerpts of my guest-blogging or from JPo’s random comments. You don’t have the full picture, so here are some things about me you should know:

  • I’m well-rounded. I play guitar, piano, basketball, mountain climb, read those book thingy’s, and can win most games of “Scene-it!” (except the “New Moon” edition).
  • I’m rather educated – as demonstrated by the fact I just used “rather” in a sentence.
  • I’m accomplished – I’ve managed to succeed in the business world for 17 years now despite the fact that no one seems to question me on my claim that I invented the semi-colon.
  • I have a mom, sister, daughter, ex-wife, ex-girlfriends, and one incredible woman of a wife à therefore I do have a context of women. Plus, I’ve seen Beaches, Steel Magnolias, She’s Having a Baby, My Best Friend’s Wedding, The Notebook, and several movies with Hugh Grant. I’m qualified.

Yet despite all my qualification, you gals are such a mystery. A quandary. A cornucopia of constant confusion, chaos, change, emotions, estrogen, contradiction of terms, and complexity. There is nothing in the world more fragile than an unbreakable woman; they are born able to read minds and in all of it women are all so glorious and beautiful and we can’t stop (why we wouldn’t ever want to stop) falling in love with them.

I’ve been married to JPo for 9 months now, and with her a total of 26 months (when you hit 2 & ½ years, you no longer count in months…). So, I’m starting to learn a great deal about women. For instance, I now know:

(1.) Temporary insanity is real. Really REAL!! From what I’ve seen, women seriously could be acquitted of any crime if it’s that time of the month. Do you know why they call it PMS? Because Mad Cow Disease was taken. I feel sorry for what you women go through – I truly do. Bloating, cycle, roller coaster emotions, pain, cramping, discomfort – and that’s just when you miss a shoe sale at Nordstrom’s!! But menstruation? Terrible. I think God invented the monthly thing with women so we men don’t get too comfortable and complacent with our women, thinking we’ve got this ‘relationship’ thing figured out. Because just when you think, “oh man, she digs me – I’ve got this relationship on cruise control, “ BAM!!! She stabs you in the throat with a table lamp because your tone was off when you asked her, “Hey, what’s for dinner?” It keeps us on our toes, sleeping with one eye open.
(2.) You deal with stress differently than us men. Take this for example: I’ve had a really hard week at work, my car is in the shop, and I’m feeling blue. I call up my guy friends and say, “Rick, Jeff, Chris – look, it’s been a hard week and tonight I want it to be just us guys and I need to dance. I just need me and my boys, no girls, and I just want to dance everything out of my system and let my cares be swept away to the rhythm of the night and some cosmopolitans. Rick, what are you going to wear? Can I borrow that Dickies pant-suit? No, the hunter green one you wore last week at the deer lease. Let me take a soak in the tub and I’ll meet you at the club at 9pm.” Yeah. That will never happen. No, I would go on the patio, drink a beer, and stare at the fountain in the pool. Or maybe I’d play a violent fighting game on the Wii. Or go for a run, lift some weights, or punch a kitten. But the difference is this: women vent in packs à men most often vent solo, if at all. But, I will say this – man’s failure to properly vent more often than not results in us taking it out on you women. You are much better at this than we are – maybe you are on to something…where are my Dickies???
(3.) Girls are like nun chucks: they are awesome! But when u mess up it hurts ...a lot. You girls are smart. Men can be mean – up-front, full head-on, nothing surprising or hidden in our attack. Blunt, rude, un-thoughtful, and cruel. Ruthless and terrible in our ‘shock-and-awe’ way in which we attack our women. We wound with our words like a dull instrument. But women? You are like Navy Seals or Special Forces – you can sneak up, lay down a line of nuclear bombs, and be gone before we can even utter, “Did you hear something??” If more men would realize that a woman can say more in a sigh than a man can say in a sermon, then we’d be on our best behavior a lot more often. Men are not wise to pick fights with women. Women get the last word in every argument. Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument. I have an idea that the phrase "weaker sex" was coined by some woman to disarm some man she was preparing to overwhelm. A woman is like a tea bag - she only knows her strength when put in hot water.

Those are just some of my thoughts. To generalize on women is dangerous. To specialize on them is infinitely worse. But in conclusion I always come back to this: I love my woman. All of her. She is complex, passionate, crazy at times, funny, a hot mess, frustrating, and intoxicating. Life would be so boring without her. I think God knew what he was doing when He made women – especially my woman. I think that man is not a perfect picture of God. Neither is woman. Together, the unique attributes of both man AND woman combined represents the best picture of who our God is. Wild, but logical. Passionate, but constrained. Fierce, but gentle. Loyal, yet jealous. Just, but forgiving. This is how God intended it to be – and why He wanted Adam and Eve together in the first place – so we would know a little bit more about His love for us. Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men. Whatever women do they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good -- luckily, this is not too difficult (for women). So, I don’t know if I’ll ever figure out women, or even my woman, but I have figured out this: I love my woman and for any short-coming or complexity or challenge or craziness I’ve articulated, I’m beyond certain it’s all due, in part, to something I’ve done. It’s all man’s fault. See? I guess I really have figured out women!!

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Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Guest Post

Good morning!

I guest blogged for Aly over at her super cute blog, Analyze This. Check it out. I promise to be back on the blog circuit soon; you know I can't go too long without talking about myself.

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