Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Insecurity, it’s Not just For Teenagers

This evening The Teenager and I attended the first organizational meeting of a junior service club that my woman’s club is starting at the high school.

The club will allow the students in our small town the opportunity to complete the community service hours that they need in order to graduate as well as providing them glowing accolades for college and scholarship applications. It will also be a lot of fun and, I say that because I am the poor schmuck who got roped into acting as their sponsor and; I’m not doing something that isn’t fun.

You know what isn’t fun, though? Meeting a certain mother of a prospective new club member and walking away from the encounter with the distinct impression that she doesn’t like you. And, by you, I of course mean me.

I don’t know what to think, I mean; while I’m not vain enough to assume that every person I meet will instantaneously fall into deep like with my super-fantastic personality (See? Not vain at all), I never expected to feel such immediate and complete…disdain…from a new acquaintance. Truth be told, it sort of rocked my tidy little world.

For a second.

 I mean, I'm totally over it now, in fact; I think it’s her problem. If she doesn’t want to get to know me, that’s her loss. Really, I’m not going to try to win her over or anything. I’m not going to lie awake at night devising ways to draw her out, I’m not.

I’m not going to stalk her down, kill her with kindness, make her like me, I’m just not.

But, seriously? Why doesn’t she like meeee?

Monday, August 30, 2010

Wait, That Was the Whole Weekend? I Demand a Do-Over

I realize that the weekend only felt shorter because I spent a full day of it working at the store, which, really, didn’t make it feel shorter, come to think of it; it actually made it shorter. For me, anyway, not necessarily for the rest of the populace but, yes; relatively speaking, my weekend was abbreviated.

Where is my coffee mug from MENSA?

Ahem. So, yes, one day removed from the weekend makes it one day shorter, add to that the fact that the weather was kind of crummy on Sunday when we attempted to go boating and it’s no wonder that I feel kind of  ripped off.

Fortunately, we had Friday night, when we hosted the largest Porch Night, ever; twenty people, five bottles of wine, and so much good food that a homemade peach cobbler went virtually untouched. Who lets a perfectly delectable cobbler go to waste, you might ask? People who are already stuffed to the gills with every other conceivable form of treat and goody, that’s who and; I have my friends to thank for all that food.

Of course, as with any endeavour that I undertake, there had to be some element of tragedy and, this time, it came at the expense of one of my girlfriends’ sons, who managed a home-video show quality wipe-out on his scooter the minute he hit the driveway. He was fine. Well, an icepack, several Band-Aids and a Popsicle later, he was fine and; the evening went on well into the night.

So, really, I guess I can’t complain too much about the lack of time in my weekend considering that the time I did have was mostly quality time.

Also, my glass in half full because; that's how I roll.

Friday, August 27, 2010

We’re in the Big Leagues Now

Last night Hugh and I attended Back to School Night at both the Middle and High schools. Having prior experience with the ins and outs of Middle School, we were done in record time. Touring the High School took a bit longer but mainly because Hugh stopped to talk to every Tom, Dick and Harry that we passed; ironically, one of whom is actually named Tom.

After touring the school and meeting most of The Teenager’s teachers, we attended the mandatory Athletics Meeting, held by the Athletics Director for the school. There we were encouraged to join the Boosters. Rather than doing that, we purchased numerous t-shirts, sweatshirts, hats and scarves bearing the school mascot because, boosting the Boosters with cash is just as important as slaving for them. Right?


So, we do realize that one of us will have to join since that is the right thing to do, we simply weren’t ready to sign on the dotted line at that moment which, is nice-speak for, we still have to engage in a couple of rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine which of us will be responsible for the Booster duties for our household (and, since we all know that I am terrible at Rock, Paper, Scissors, I am putting off the challenge for as long as possible).

During the meeting, we learned a number of important things, such as; alcohol, tobacco and drug use by athletes is strictly prohibited which, I knew but; after watching four seasons of Friday Night Lights, had totally forgotten, thank you Tim Riggins and your twelve-pack a day habit and thank you Dillon High School for placing a greater emphasis on sports than on prohibiting underage drinking. And, ohmygawd, I just prattled on for an entire papragraph about a television show. I need a new hobby.

Anyhoo, we got the schedule for The Teenager’s volleyball games, dropped another small fortune on team shoes, booster pins and pictures and headed for home.

I’m really proud of The Teenager and I will do my level best to be a supportive sports mom. I will bake volleyball-shaped cookies for the bake sales, I will carpool with other parents to away games, I will stay up late to wash The Teenager’s uniform on Friday night so that she can wear it again first thing Saturday morning and I will cheer from the stands like nobody’s business…shit.

Apparently I just found my new hobby.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Irony, It’s What’s For Dinner

Since we returned from Disney World, I have made a concerted effort to really watch what I am eating. This includes adding more lean proteins, fruits and vegetables to my diet. Unfortunately, while we were away, my garden decided that life was simply not worth living and I am thus suffering from a lack of home-grown veggies.

While I am relatively confident that the Sevin dust, judiciously applied to the squash bugs before our departure, is not to blame for the massive die-off, I’m stymied by what is responsible for the large swathes of dead and dying vegetation, Plague, perhaps. Who knows?

On the bright side, I am seeing some improvement thanks to a little natural fertilizer, near constant watering, and hours spent talking to the plants in a tone that will encourage growth and prosperity and, by that, I mean; expletives tossed in their general direction whilst I pull weeds which, despite the condition of the vegetable plants, have managed to thrive quite nicely, thankyouverymuch.

While on the bright side, I should also mention that my compost is doing ridiculously well. So, I may not be able to grow living things with the greatest of ease but I am super-good at making things rot and, everyone needs a talent.

Speaking of talent (or, at least of coordination), along with my determination to eat better, I have once again taken up with Exercise; we are currently in the Honeymoon Phase of our relationship.

I give it a week before we seek intervention by a licenced therapist and six weeks before the divorce, the odds in these kinds of relationships being not so great and all.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

The Verdict Is In

The Teenager made the volleyball team. Her coaches made a point of letting her know that it was a close call-they want to see her step up her game and sharpen her skills but, she made it. We are proud of her and know that she will do her level best to do well on the court.

Of course, if she hadn’t made it, we would still be just as proud; it really does take guts to try out for a team and the mere fact that she-and her friends-did it speaks volumes about their courage. I’m proud of all of the girls.

In other news, the Man-Cub has recently developed an unhealthy preoccupation with his muscles or, more accurately, his lack of them. He came home from school yesterday and insisted on using my hand weights to “work out”. I assume this new-found hobby has something to do with the imminent onset of puberty and I am afraid.

I am very afraid.

Monday, August 23, 2010

My Babies Started High School and Middle School Today. Queue Hysterical Crying in Three, Two, One…

Actually, I didn’t cry at all; there were tears but, none were mine, I KNOW, I find it hard to believe, myself.

Anyway, I took the Man-Cub to school where he was assigned a locker and given a combination lock which not only he and I failed to open but which stymied the Middle School shop teacher for good measure. Following a quick trip to the office for a replacement lock, we managed to get the Cub situated in his locker with time to spare before the first bell. As I left the school, he was joined by a group of his friends which is when I realized that, despite my initial impression that he was so, so tiny, like far too small to be starting Middle School he was, in fact, the same size as all his friends. Um, all his male friends; sixth grade girls appear to be Amazons compared to sixth grade boys, thank you very much, puberty.

So, yes, he was fine. When questioned about his day this afternoon he expressed enthusiasm for his classes and teachers. His enthusiasm was tempered somewhat by his dismay at the quality of the food served in the cafeteria but, a boy can’t have everything.

As for The Teenager, because she is a freshman now and therefore far too cool to be seen with her mother, she walked to school with Kaz. Her nerves had been on edge for the past couple of days and, prior to leaving, she confessed to having butterflies in her stomach. I kissed her forehead and told her that she would be fine then crossed my fingers that it would Be So.

My only indication that her day was going well was a text message assuring me that she had managed to find all of her classrooms.

When I got home from work, however, she met me in the garage in a state of utter desolation; final cuts for the volleyball team were determined at today’s practice and she is terrified that she didn’t make the grade.

I said all of the things that parents say in these situations, that we know she gave it her best when a lot of people never even get up the courage to try. I told her that, no matter what, she is talented and that there would be other opportunities for her. I told her that her dad and I love her whether she makes the team or not and I assured her that we think she is the most awesome kid, ever; none of which mattered the least to her in her current state of course.

So, I suggested that she dry her tears, eat a bowl of ice cream and take a hot bath. Then, I told her to try not to think about the volleyball team until tomorrow, which is when the cuts will be announced.

I’m hopeful, I really am. I also realize that there are twelve positions available on the team and seventeen girls who tried out. In addition, I realize that The Teenager missed a number of practices due to our vacation and that coaches tend to look at that kind of thing and I hope we didn’t jeopardize her chances because I wanted one last chance to watch my children hug an animated character before they are too old to agree to humor me by doing it because; if I am responsible for her not making the team I will require therapy for the rest of my life.

Seriously, though, I am almost as nervous about these cuts as my daughter is. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight and I’m going to have a knot in my stomach all day long tomorrow until I get the word from The Teenager, one way or another which suuuucks and, all I can think is, this is why I didn’t go out for sports in High School Dad.

Anyway, if you are the praying type, please put in a good word for The Teenager; I know it seems like a silly thing to pray for given the general condition of our world and the bigger issues at hand but, I’m a mom and I have to ask.

It’s what we do, after all.

Friday, August 20, 2010

This Will Be the Last Post about How Awesome Our Vacation Was, I Promise

Our last day in Orlando was spent shopping at Downtown Disney. We had specifically put off going there until the last day for a number of reasons, not the very least of which being that Downtown Disney is all about shopping and, we figured that, by the last day, we would be totally broke and unable to purchase more items that would have to be packed into our already stuffed suitcases.

Also, Downtown Disney is home to The Lego Store and we thought it would be realllly fun to torture the Man-Cub with a long wait. Unfortunately, the joke was on us because the steady stream of “How many more days until the Lego store? When are we going to The Lego Store? So, we’re going to The Lego Store, right?” just about drove us all batty so; score one for the Cub.

Once we finally entered the hallowed halls of Lego, it was as though the mother ship had landed and ET was finally going home…

On the bright side, the engineering behind some of the displays gives us hope for an actual career for the Cub; who knew Lego building could be a marketable skill?

Maybe we will end up in a nice nursing home after all.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Our Flight Home Was Uneventful, Sparing the Delicate Ears of Nuns Everywhere

We left Orlando at 6:00 last night and arrived in Denver by 7:30 which was the longest hour and a half in the Man-Cub’s life, like, seriously; he told anyone who would listen, and then he painstakingly explained about the time change like we didn’t get it. He’s so special.

So, our vacation, while starting off on a rather sour note, was awesome. We really enjoyed every amenity that Disney had to offer, including the services of my very own cabana boy! Yes, after a mere 41 years on this planet, I finally managed to obtain both a private cabana and a servant to go with it, never mind that the cabana was actually more of a patio or that it was at Disney’s Blizzard Beach water park and my cabana boy was more a cabana man named Joe; I had a cabana and it was awesome.

Joe, the Cabana Man

No mingling with the general public, no jockeying for position on one of the plastic lounge chairs that were jammed side by side around the wave pool or running for shelter when it rained, dragging our soaking wet towels through the gritty sand (all of which happened several days previously at Typhoon Lagoon, Disney’s other water park). Instead, we had our own patio nestled in a quiet cul de sac, out of the flow of traffic. The patio came complete with cushioned chairs, our own private locker, six fluffy towels that Joe was quick to replace when they became the slightest bit damp, a cooler full of ice-cold bottled water, lunch delivery and four refillable mugs, the bottom of which I never saw, thanks to repeated trips to the drink station located mere steps from our own personal paradise. Y’all? I was in heaven. It was probably my favorite day on the Disney property which, considering how much fun we had and all of the cool things that we did (scuba diving in the aquarium at Epcot ringing any bells?), is saying a lot.

I felt totally spoiled and, special and shit. The fact that our neighbors in the cabana to our left were an oil magnate from Dubai and his trophy wife was the cherry on top of my Spoil Sundae, speaking of which, this was Joe’s final parting gift to us

A sand bucket sundae, every bit of which we devoured like victims of perpetual starvation which? We so were not, the Disney dining plan being a thing of great beauty.

Speaking of great beauties, our final night of vacation was spent at Disney’s Hollywood Studios where Hugh finally got a chance to see the Voyage of the Little Mermaid, indulging his not-so-secret crush on Princess Ariel which, I probably shouldn’t have told you all considering that I would like to take another awesome vacation sometime in the future so; let’s just keep that little gem between us, m’kay?


Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Contrary to Popular Belief, a Teenager's Fingers Will Not Shrivel Up and Fall Off Following 24 Hours of Texting Deprivation

However, instances of dramatic sighing and eyerolling will increase exponentially. Distraction from the malady can be found in the following:

Furry animals...

 Hammock time...


And, if all else fails,

 A stern lecture from Mary Poppins doesn't hurt.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

You Can Lead a Horse to Water but, If You Drown Him, You'll Have to Dig a Really Big Hole

Likewise, you can drag a teenager to Disney World but you can't make her smile. Luckily, we aren't really having that problem which is a good thing because there aren't a whole lot of places that Disney will let you dig.

The Man-Cub is also having a pretty good time but, he's a much easier audience and far less likely to cause the need for a shovel, which, by the way, is also hard to find in Disney.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Our Luck Has Turned, We Went Diving With Sharks and No One Lost a Limb

If you are ever in Disney World and are looking for something awesome to do for a few hours, try the Aqua Seas Tour at Epcot. It involves scuba diving in the main aquarium and includes an in-depth backstage tour of the aquarium, dolphin training area and filtration systems plus the opportunity to swim among the aquarium's numerous variety of fish, sea turtles, rays and sharks.

Yes, sharks.

And, yes, given our luck so far on this trip, I did think twice about placing my offspring in a tank full of one of nature's greatest killers but, hey; you only live once, right? And, if we're going out, I decided that we were going out in style, I mean, just think of the headlines.

Monday, August 09, 2010

It’s Entirely Possible That I Have Become My Mother

When I was a senior in High School, my parents took my younger sister and me to Hawaii for Spring Break. It was the first time that either my sister or I had ever been on an airplane and it was the first time that either of us had ever missed a flight.

Yes, we missed the first flight we were ever scheduled for, yet we eventually made it to Honolulu and had a vacation to remember. Given that experience, you would think that I would have handled today’s missed flight with just a tad more grace, alas, no. Just…no.

On that trip to Hawaii, my mother did a couple of things that have gone down in our family history, things like allowing her knee-high stockings to slide down her calves, where they settled into flesh-colored puddles around her ankles, effecting a pair of very wrinkled cankles. My sister and I found that unfortunate happenstance hilariously funny, my Dad found it somewhat embarrassing and my Mother found it annoying and not nearly as hysterical as the rest of us did.

Later, she would become the butt of a number of additional jokes; one because she managed a wicked clothes-lining of a tiny Asian woman when she threw her arms wide to hold open an elevator door because my sister had accidentally exited the elevator on the wrong floor and another because she compared a foul odor emanating from the trunk of our rental car with the scent of limburger cheese that had been placed on the engine block and, I mean, really? Who had ever heard of such a thing?

Suffice it to say; my sister and I laughed a lot at my mother’s expense on that trip.

Today, when my daughter laughed herself into hiccups because I had fallen on my face while attempting to run up the down escalator at the airport, resulting in a profanity-laced temper tantrum, a tantrum to rival that of any cranky four-year old; I thought about my mom and of that trip to Hawaii. The memory of the grace exhibited by a woman completely unfazed by the criticism of her ungrateful daughters shamed me into not killing my children later in the day when re-enactments of the now notorious temper-tantrum played out at the dinner table.

I hope my children know that they have their grandmother to thank for their continuing existence on this earth. Also, I hope my grandchildren enjoy stories about that one time, when grandma failed to drag her fat ass up the down escalator and ended up bloody, battered and bruised, cursing at nuns because, like my mother, I am now legendary.

In other news, we are now safely arrived at Disney. I’m looking forward to a better day tomorrow and, with any luck, no additional ammunition for my children to use against me in the future.

I realize that the odds are not in my favor, in case you are the betting type.

Greetings From Denver International Airport Where I have Missed My Flight, Cracked My Kneecap and Dropped an F-Bomb...In Front of NUNS

So, yeah, we missed our flight to Orlando. See, when a woman tells a man that they need to be at the airport two hours before their flight is scheduled to depart and the man makes annoying tsk, tsk noises and proceeds to get you to the airport an hour before said departure because "you've already checking in online and your bags have been checked in online as well and security? Pshaw, how long can that line be?, you tend to miss your plane.

Of course, you won't know that you've missed your plane for sure until you run through the terminal, stupidly following said man up the down escalator which works about as well as you would expect, hence the cracked kneecap, bleeding wound and ruined capri pants.

Also, there will be cussing in front of inappropriate audiences, including your children and a group of nuns who are using the escalators correctly.

We are currently on stand-by for the next flight out. It's a full flight so I don't hold out much hope but, on the bright side, the wait gives me plenty of time to elevate my leg while pressing an ice bag to my rapidly swelling kneecap.


Sunday, August 08, 2010

This Feels Kind of Like in the Movies, When the Main Characters Flee the Zombie Hoard by Any Means Necessary, Including Throwing Grandma Out of the Car as Bait

Hugh, the kids and I are leaving town in just a few minutes to begin our vacation. While we are gone, Emily has graciously agreed to house-sit which means stroking the cat’s fur as well as his ego in an attempt to avoid his inevitable habit of revenge-puking; hacking up hairballs all over the carpet when we leave him alone for any amount of time over, oh, two or three days.

Emily has also volunteered to man my garden which, despite this morning’s dusting with Sevin powder (it was like Nuclear Winter out there), will probably turn into a bloodbath wherein the now-mutant squash bugs pour forth from the garden in a steady mass of murderous insecticidal rage, hunt her down and feast on her braaaiiinns…

While I feel somewhat guilty for not having shared these fears with Emily, I do realize that she’s really quite spry and could, quite possibly, be the last man standing in a Grandma vs. Mutant Squash Bug show down and, admit it; you would pay good money to see that movie.

Saturday, August 07, 2010

If I Never See Another Twenty Dollar Bill, an Ear of Corn or a Rain Drop, It Will Be Too Soon

Today’s Sweet Corn Festival was hot, muggy, crowded and exhausting although; not nearly as crowded or as hot as in years past. As far as miserable weather conditions go however, a steady, pouring rain more than made up for the lack of 100 degree temperatures, and, by the end of the night, the crowds were drenched, muddy, cranky and impatient to be out of the park which made for some interesting chatter over the police band radios as cars became snarled in traffic jams resulting from over-eager drivers pulling out into traffic illegally and, you know, stupidly.

I lucked out, I had a parking permit for the one area of the field that did not become bogged down in mud and from which the traffic flowed quite freely so, when I was finally done counting the receipts from the admission registers, parking attendants and corn sales, I was able to make it home in time to watch the fireworks from the comfort of The Teenager’s bedroom window (ordinarily, I would have watched from the back porch but there was all that rain to consider).

Overall, I would say that the event went as well as could be expected given the weather but, there is no way that it will break even, indeed, it will probably show a major loss considering the ridiculous amount of money spent on the headlining entertainer, Wynona Judd.

Yes, Wynona Judd,  apparently, she is still touring; who knew?

Anyway, my civic duty is done for the year. Next year, I’m planning to dodge the chief of police for the entire month leading up to the festival in the hopes that he won’t be able to volunteer me for yet another tour of duty in the money tent.

In the meantime, I’m going to have to try to recover from the trauma caused by having to count all that cash; I think spending a good deal of money while on vacation might be just the remedy.

I’ll let you know.

Friday, August 06, 2010

They. Will. Not. Die.

I checked the garden this morning and, not only did the insecticidal soap not kill the rest of the squash bugs but, I’m, pretty sure they absorbed it like radiation and are now bigger, faster, and stronger than ever before which beats them rising from the dead in search of braaaiiinnss but, not by much.

In conclusion, the organic approach isn’t working and it is now time to go nuclear on their asses by way of Sevin Dust; let’ s hear it for the scorched earth policy!

In other news, tomorrow is the annual Sweet Corn Festival and, as I’ve mentioned, I will be attending as a volunteer accountant. Yesterday, the chief of police dropped off my official parking pass, all-access pass and the t-shirt that I will be required to wear and, it is, yellow. Very, very yellow. For the record? Yellow is not in my color pallet.

The things we do in the name of charity.

On another note, my Dad got some good news today; his medication and the recent adoption of a healthy diet have combined to effect a twenty pound weight loss, resulting in the cancellation of the surgery he was scheduled to have on Monday. No new stents for at least three months and, assuming he keeps up the good work, no new stents, ever.

I’m proud of him, and not just because he has embraced turkey bacon. Ok, that’s a lie, he will never embrace turkey bacon but, he’s trying, he’s really trying.

Speaking of trying, I’m still in the process of packing for our trip to Florida. We leave Sunday morning; I’m estimating my packing to be complete by Monday. I realize that doesn’t exactly align accordingly but, what can I say?

Also, have I mentioned that I hate my wardrobe?

Or, that the squash bugs in my garden will. Not. Die?

Well, good; we’re clear then.

On the other hand, it could be worse...
Boy, do I feel sorry for the garbage man who has to wrestle the can away fom that bastard. I mean, what the hell is that? What if that's what I have to look forward to following my attempts at the scorched earth policy?
Google Images scares the living shit out of me.

Thursday, August 05, 2010

The Things We Kill For

I’m a pacifist by nature, I cried when a hunter killed Bambi’s mother, abhor violence against women and children and, I’m the last person who would find entertainment in ultimate fighting or anything of that ilk.  While I do admit that I would totally kill a chainsaw-wielding maniac threatening my life or the lives of my children; I’m really quite docile, normally.

So, when I went all hari-kari on a small nation of mostly innocent creatures this evening, I surprised even myself.

Perhaps I should explain; as many of you reading this know, I am a nut for butternut squash soup and I have been trying for the past two years to grow enough of the gourd to keep me in the golden, delicious nectar for the entire winter. Last year, my efforts were thwarted by a mislabeled plant; causing me to unwittingly plant a spaghetti squash in place of a butternut and, although one lone butternut resulted from the two (one) that I planted, it was hardly big enough to cook into a soup.

This year, I was extra diligent in ascertaining the botanical specimens planted in my garden, which is why I am 100% positive that I am, indeed, growing butternuts. And, growing them I am; six at last count.

Unfortunately, my efforts are again in jeopardy due to a sudden infestation of these little bastards...

Squash Bugs.

I noticed the infestation yesterday, courtesy of a number of dying leaves on the previously healthy plants. Upon closer observation, I discovered a plethora of bronze eggs on the underside of most of the leaves on one plant and many more on another. Wondering what the eggs were, I leaned in for an even closer look and came face-to-face with this

Not only are the little bastards squatting in my garden but they are fornicating. Like, a lot. And, the fruits of their labors are too numerous to count, in fact, I think the little fuckers are even more prolific than the Duggars, you know, relatively speaking.

So, this evening I attacked the garden with gloves and a bucket of soapy water, pinching as many of the little bastards as I could catch between my fingers before drowning them. Then, I stripped the egg-ridden leaves from the plants and tossed them in the compost bin where, in all likelihood, the eggs will steam to a nice hard boiled stage.

As I was doing this, I witnessed a mass evacuation of juvenile bugs; we are talking gazillions of the little bastards fleeing my presence like kids escaping the fuzz at a rave. Unfortunately, this indicates that a vast majority of eggs have already hatched and confirms my worst fear; that my butternuts may very well be fucked.

On the other hand, I doused that entire area of the garden with insecticidal soap with as much enthusiasm as a psycho killer wielding a flamethrower and, maybe, just maybe, the assholes will all die. Die, I say, die!

Of course, with my luck, they will then rise from the dead, zombie-bug style and murder me in my sleep for revenge.

I just cannot win.

Wednesday, August 04, 2010

But It Looked So Good On the Dummy!

I am having a packing dilemma…I hate my wardrobe. I keep picturing myself frolicking about the Kingdom of The Mouse in the cutest outfits, things like madras shorts and crocheted peasant tops and, I actually own those things, in fact, I just bought them recently but…they look like shit on me which, blows my ever-loving mind because they looked so flipping cute on the store mannequin!

What is up with that?

I mean, it couldn’t possibly be the fact that store mannequins are traditionally a size 0 or, that the clothing is pinned onto them in a way that accentuates the line of the mannequin regardless of the way the actual garment is cut. It could be the fact that human flesh has a nasty tendency to, like, pucker and bulge and roll- I don’t care how skinny you are-and a mannequin’s flesh is about as malleable as marble because; everything looks better when stretched tautly over marble, just ask the Greeks and Romans.

Anywaaay…I am struggling to find items in my closet that:

A) Fit over my fat ass.

B) Look decent when stretched tautly over the hail damage that currently defines my thighs.

C) Are comfortable and seasonally appropriate.

D) Aren’t black.

Seriously, what is it with me and black? It really isn’t nearly as slimming as the fashion designers would have you believe and it absorbs the sun’s rays like my fat cells absorb Krispie Kremes; I need to embrace some color, methinks.

I've got it; I need to purchase a tropical patterned muumuu.

That would totally address all the items on the above list and I would have the satisfaction of knowing that not even a mannequin could make it look good.

Set and match.

Tuesday, August 03, 2010

Porch Night, the Impromptu Version

Hugh’s brother, sister-in-law and nephews head back to Maine tomorrow so, this evening, we hosted them for a BBQ that ended up being more like a Porch Night than a standard BBQ.

Like the usual Porch Night, while the adults visited on the porch, the kids, including twin fourteen year old boys and a six year old, played in the yard and on the driveway. Unlike a regular Porch Night, the adult conversation revolved less around celebrity crushes and more on the state of the economy but; it was a relaxing evening nonetheless.

Tomorrow we head into the home stretch as far as preparations for our trip to Orlando go; I plan to work my way through the mountain of laundry that has accumulated over the past week, to finish up a few projects at work and to start making lists of items to pack.

On Saturday, our little town hosts its’ annual Sweet Corn Festival and I was volunteered to count the admission, concession and parking receipts. Ordinarily I would pass on such a chore but, it was the chief of police who volunteered me and I kind of like having the head of our law enforcement agency owe me, like, big time. So, Saturday will be a bust as far as accomplishing anything remotely vacation-oriented goes, meaning that I need to step up my game earlier.

Also, I need to start mentally preparing the cat and the dog for our absence; the cat because I really don’t want to return to a minefield of hairballs and the dog because it takes an unnatural amount of time for him to recover from the neurosis brought on by a trip to the kennel. How, exactly, I will accomplish the preparation is still up for debate but, a girl must try.

Or, I could return to the porch with a glass of wine and my Kindle and let everything fall into place as it is wont to do.

Nah, that would cause me an unnatural amount of my own neurosis.

Monday, August 02, 2010

The Weekend Exhausted Me. Good Thing I Am Going On Vacation to Recover

In case you didn’t notice, one of the best things about my weekend was spending time with a couple of The Girls and, while I wish we could have been joined by the other three, I suppose that beggars can’t be choosers.

On the bright side, the next time we are all together (and there will be a next time, oh yes there will be), we get to fill them in on what they missed, things like the fact that we got Phoebe so drunk, she couldn’t keep her eyes straight and that she snorted beer through her nose, narrowly avoiding giving Hugh a Bud Light shower. Also, the fact that, at the dance on Saturday night, Reese pretended to go in for a kiss with Phoebe, causing at least three men in the immediate vicinity to whip out their cell phones for a picture (my husband being one of those men) because men are inherently perverted and think that just because a group of women lived together in college, slow-motion pillow fights broke out every night, followed closely by girl-on-girl action which, for the record? Not so much.

The closest we came to tongue all night long

We might also tell them about how badly we wanted a greasy burger from Sonic after the dance and how we were well and truly denied, the lights at the restaurant going dark mere seconds before Hugh’s finger touched the intercom button to place our drive-up order. And, we weren’t alone; the collective wail of  “noooooo!” generated from several other cars in the parking lot was impressive.

In addition, we might explain that the phrase “yep,yep” came to be used a lot when answering a question in the affirmative and that the phrase“oh, Mylanta” became a substitute for more profane phrases on occasions too often to mention and for reasons that we cannot remember but that seemed perfectly reasonable at the time.

Also, our children may or may not be completely warped from listening to stories about our Glory Days so, if nothing else, I guess we can say that their children dodged that particular bullet which really isn’t any consolation for not getting to spend some time together but, as I said, next time.

In the meanwhile, I need to recover from my weekend enough to prepare for our trip to Orlando. I won’t be taking along The Girls but, I’m pretty sure I’ll have a good time, anyway and, it’s a pretty good bet that Hugh won’t have to employ any fancy footwork to avoid a beverage shower while we are gone.

So, um, yeah…who wants to take that bet?