Thursday, June 30, 2011

I wear my fabulous on the outside.

I know that I come across as the sort of woman who has it all together. You probably believe that if you could be anyone in the world, you would be me. I have a fancy job where I have a desk of my own and some walls (one has a calendar and a cork board). And sure... I have my very own bedazzled cup for pens and markers. When I go back to Iowa all of the drivers I meet on the highway wave at me. It's obvious that I am a bit of a celebrity. I live in a house that automatically shuts down important heating and cooling units as soon as the weather indicates I would really want to use them (energy conservation). Yeah, my life is all glam and flash....NOW. It wasn't always this way.

The fact is, things weren't easy for me. I didn't just slip out of the womb FABULOUS. No, I was actually a bit of a whiner. Nothing could make me happy. I was nervous and awkward. There was very little you could say to me that I wouldn't take the wrong way, get my feelers hurt, and then cry some more. I was fat, and not in the cute way that some people are. I was tall and fat, and tall and fat is harder than short and fat. I don't care what you say, you can't change my mind. If you were short and pudgy....I had it harder than you.

Let's stop competing okay? This isn't about you. It's about me. So where was I? Right, I was fatter than you and unattractive and my self-esteem was low. I still struggle. For the most part I wear my fabulous on the outside. The inside is still a little questionable.

Most of the time I try to put those days out of my mind, but today I received an email from my friend letting me know that she and another friend of ours are going to be reviewing a book. The book is called Get Out of Your Own Way: Overcoming Self-Defeating Behavior. Needless to say, I was intrigued. Current fabulous status aside, I am in my own way all the damn time! I lose my focus, eat the wrong foods, drink more than I should, and make the most God awful choices.

I asked the girls, "Do you ever think that you hold yourself back from success because you’re afraid what the changes would be if life got better? Who you might have to leave behind… who you might become? Maybe it’s just me?" 

WHAT IF... da da dahhhhhhhh. ******* was the first to shoot back, "No, it is funny I was talking to my trainer about the same exact thing yesterday.  She was asking me about my biggest fear in losing the weight…I told her “what if I get skinny and realize that it was not my weight that was making me unhappy?”"

I thought about it, and came to the conclusion that I'm most worried that I am just a miserable person who does hurtful things and is really just selfish, narcissistic, and quite possibly an asshole. As it turns out, my friends said they can deal with that.  They did ask if there was a pill for it though. I informed them that I'm pretty sure it's only helped by them drinking. I'm funnier when they are drinking. Alcohol might actually turn out to be the cure after all!

I believe ******* came to the best conclusion. "…that is solid hard evidence to continue with alcohol consumption and re-frame thoughts about it. Alcohol consumption is not evil, it is a necessary tool to maintain and build relationships."

I have advised her that we should not tell any therapists that I gave advice on the matter. I'm not licensed and frankly, I don't need a law suit (again)!

I hope somehow I have managed to keep you all from being super jealous of my rock star lifestyle. Don't beat yourselves up. Stick with me and one day you could get your own bedazzled pen cup. I promise.

Feelin' hot hot hot! Really.

Right around mile 4 on the treadmill I realized I was sweating like a whore in church. The central air felt like it was running when I came in the house so I just assumed that my body had reached maximum lardage and had decided to push it out through my pores. UNTRUE. 

Not only will your body not push lard out of your pores (I looked it up), but the central air was NOT working. Obviously this comes at a bit of an awkward time for me. Apple may be contacting me tomorrow about my free iPod Touch. There's also that chance that Gerard Butler may decide that it's time to take me up on my offer to practice making a baby with him. I am an extremely busy woman. There's work, and working out, and this... okay, so not EXTREMELY busy. 

Anyway, long story short... I called American Home Shield and they are sending someone out as soon as uh... tomorrow. I think I made a real connection with the lady in the call center. She was all nice and efficient and good and wholesome and probably bakes cookies and does nice things for her neighbors. I have decided to put her on my list of people I might marry if things don't workout with the male species. And yes, Amy. I might just send her a Christmas card. I just might. 

If I had testicles I would be sweating them off. Oh, and I guess I would be a man. Soooooo a big thanks to AHS, and bigger thanks to Jason for helping me figure out the problem... OVER THE PHONE no less. Seriously, handier than a shirt pocket! 

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Sucking up to Apple... HARD.

We all know how mother friggin expensive the iPod Touch is. I don't care what gig size you're looking at, they are almost as expensive as my last business laptop. I would like to think that since my kids each have one (which should indicate my willingness to spend some money) that the Apple folks would be like, "Oh, Angie. We love you so much for turning your children on to us. You deserve an iPod Touch of your very own. No one really takes care of you and it's not fair. Please let us give you this as a token of our appreciation."

Then I would go around and show EVERYONE. I would brag. I would talk about how amazing they are. I would use the wireless connectivity to access all the things I can't get to on my work station.Then I would tweet some pretty awesome Applganda. Maybe about how Zune gives you herpes, or how iPod Touch cures leprosy. Something really cool, ya know?

1. The Black Keys - Your Touch "At least I died doing what I love. Lip syncing. I love that shit." That's funny stuff. Can you imagine how funny it would be if... ~sigh~
2. Benjamin Taylor - Wicked Way He's naughty. I like that in a man. Just sayin...
3. Florence and the Machine - You Got The Love She is mother freaking fabulous.
4. Florence and the Machine - Dog Days Are Over Have you SEEN the video? Have you HEARD the song? You'll know why. I would totally watch this on the iPod Touch because it's got awesome picture quality. It does! I've seen it on the two I already bought for my kids. Hint Hint.
5. One Republic - Good Life I'm not sure why. It's catchy, I suppose. I like to sing along. Loudly. Having it on an iPod Touch would mean that I could sing along loudly ANYTIME. We all want that, right?
6. The Real  Tuesday Weld - Last Words Just because, okay? I don't need to explain myself. I usually do but I guess what I'm saying is I don't need to. I said that already. Sorry.
7. Sister Hazel - Your Mistake I just like it. What? It's true. I'm not right. I'm not fine.
8. The Afghan Whigs - Something Hot Because someone sent me a YouTube link for it, and I feel obligated to own the song now and I'm not a THIEF (since the one place I was using stopped working). I bet I could find it on iTunes.
9. LMFAO - La La La Mostly because he says Zach Galifianakis and that's got to be a bitch to work into a song. Seriously, try it.
10. Maroon 5 - Never Gonna Leave This Bed Because I like to pretend Adam is singing to me. Shut up!
11. Rupert Holmes - Escape Because I like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain almost as much as I like the iPod Touch

What I am trying to say is... I'd rather have a new iPod than sex today. Unless I can have both. Then I want both. Or if the sex is with Gerard Butler and I have to choose between the iPod and Gerard... then TOTALLY Gerard. But let's be realistic, Gerard wouldn't make me choose.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Are YOU Embarrassing Your Children? Try harder!

As you advance through the various stages of your parenting life, you will find it is not only important but critical that you learn to properly embarrass your children. Teenage children are in special need of this sort of treatment. Why? Well, it's simple. Your teenager will most likely do everything in their power to keep you on edge for a minimum of 4 years. If you don't start embarrassing them now, they will never quite understand what they've done to you. I also find that it gives my kids a little something to look back on as an example of what they will NEVER do to their children.

If you're wondering how to go about this, I am going to give you a few ideas. Feel free to try these at home or maybe even in public. Spice them up and make them your own!

1. A few weeks ago, prior to leaving for an outing with my friends, I spotted my daughter sitting on the neighbor's deck. The neighbors are all approximately 19-21 years of age. I don't want to be a grandmother any time soon. I felt it best to go ahead and let her know before I left. Strutting over to the deck rail, I smiled my best 'Mommy Loves You' smile and said... "Don't have unprotected sex in the back yard... or anywhere else... either of you". See how I did that? I embarrassed her... and her 19 y/o friend. I would tell his mother "You're welcome" if I knew her.

2. Wear costumes around the house. This is particularly amusing if your child brings friends over from time to time. If you have young children, this just makes you cool. You will want to wait until your children learn that other people judge them based on your actions. What 5 year old doesn't want a mom that's a super hero right? Inversely, 17 year old kids don't think it's neato. Use this to your advantage. I will remind you though that your naughty time costumes are not appropriate for this exercise. Stick to things that are R rated at worst. Perhaps a nice ghoul costume no where near the Halloween season?

3. Remind your children (in front of others) of things they should know to do. My favorite is, " Don't forget to wipe."

4. Yell things from another room. Remember when your precious child was a tot and would yell things from the bathroom like, "I POOPED"? This would be a fun time to pull that gem out of the memory bank, right? I also think simple things like shouting down the aisle at the grocery store, "How many rolls of toilet paper did you say you go through in a week?!" will get the job done.

5. Beg your child to hold you. This one I managed to accomplish without even trying. A few years ago when my company was going through some major cut backs I found out some staff cuts were made while I was on vacation. The impression that I got was that I was also cut and just hadn't been notified yet. With the help of some dear friends, much alcohol was consumed. A few hours later, as I lay on the sofa suffering the worst Captain and Coke reaction EVER, I began to cry softly and beg my daughter to "come hold me. I'm so cold. Turn up the heat. I'm sooooo colllllllld." Her boyfriend at the time found it amusing. She did not. Looking back on various descriptions of that nights events I find it amusing too. She still does not. WINNING!

Does anyone have any fun ideas to share?

What Makes a Good Dating Profile?

Let's start with not being a D-Bag!

Here's a little tidbit that few people know about me. I did a brief stint where I was paid by men to write their online dating profiles. The pay wasn't that great and I didn't do it for very long. Sure, there were good decent men who asked for help because they wanted to create something that would catch a girl's eye. They were just not good with words and needed that little bit of help to get noticed. Unfortunately, the majority of the men I wrote for were complete jackasses.

In the beginning I would ask them to provide answers to the main questions of the profile at their chosen dating site. These questions tend to be pretty standard so that was the easy part. My biggest hurdle generally started with the sections where the dater is required to "write a little something about yourself". This is typically where the jackass sets himself apart from the decent guy.

The decent guy would give me a brief 3 sentence "About Me", and I would do my best to work a bit of humor and sincerity into his words, throwing in mentions of the information from the standard questions. The decent guy realized that his answers in the physical categories were enough to set the initial bar for his profile and didn't ask me to expound on what he wanted lady love to look like. He supplied me with multiple pictures to choose from and I chose the ones that showed he had a life outside of his office/job/computer, and if possible one with a good shot of his eyes. Chicks dig that. He appreciated the help in verbiage and he got out of his own way long enough to get a few dates.

Now, let's talk about the Jackasses. These guys come in two categories of "About Me". The first group writes so much about their likes and dislikes that you can't begin to think about what to pare out, what to leave in, and what planet the guy comes from. (Everyone knows if you want to talk about yourself that much you should get a freaking blog).  The other group can't think of anything about themselves to say and spends their paragraph talking about what the want the lady to look like, how much she should weigh, how tall she should be, etc. I tried to be as polite as I could and not come across as a pig. In most cases, after several revisions by request of my customer, we would agree on something that still made me cringe. The pictures were of no consequence because it didn't matter how pretty the picture was visually, the fact that the guy was a douche by choice, painted a picture no woman would want to look at.

One of my last customers fell into the latter category. Let me briefly describe our 'hero' for you. Let's call him Scott. Scott is about 5'9", 230 pounds, a bit of a beer gut, sort of unkempt, and in a dead end job. His hobbies included hunting, watching football and racing, and fishing (doesn't own a boat). Scott likes metal music and misses Head Banger's Ball and Beavis and Butthead. Now, these things are not horrible or insurmountable in and of themselves. Even if you put all of these things together, and Scott does, they are not the worst case scenario. Scott's downfall was his personality.

I'd been divorced, cheated on, left penniless, and was raising two kids alone and I STILL hadn't been as angry as I was when I read the response I got regarding my write up. It caused me to question getting back into the dating scene, my faith in men, and hunting Scott down to slash his tires, egg his house, and possibly break his fingers to the point where he would never use a computer again. I am going to paraphrase the conversation because although I long ago deleted the correspondence, most of it is burned in my memory and Scott's inability to spell makes my skin crawl.

Angie, I don't know who you wrote this for but it's not me. I told you I want the girls to be around 5 5 and thin. You did not put that in there. I don't want emails from big fat chicks. Just add NO FATTIES. Also, can you put blonde in there? I don't care what color her eyes are, but put blonde. I don't care if she's athletic. I don't run or anything. Your stuff isn't very funny either. Where is my picture? 

I read it many times, trying to find a way to answer without losing my cool. I ended up sending the following:

Scott, You should be receiving an email from PayPal with the return of your $50. I have not taken any fees and you have my permission to use anything I have provided you thus far. I wish you the best of luck in your search. 

I was rather surprised to receive a response.

Angie, I just want you to write it the way I sound about what I want. I still want the profile. I just don't want to go out with fat chicks and you made me sound stupid too. Can you just change it to what I said? Also put my picture on. Thanks. 

The more I read "fat chicks", the more my blood boiled. Finally I decided to respond.

Scott, By now you have received your refund. I did not write the way you sound because you sound like an idiot. Your demand to have any form of "no fatties" in your profile proves that. You have no clue how many very suitable women you would offend. If no one dated "fatties", you may find that you could have a difficult time getting a date as well. Obviously this is the case, as you are asking for my help. 
I did not make you sound stupid. I made you sound interesting. I apologize if I couldn't work in a dick joke for you. Also, your pictures were not used because they were unattractive. Put a shirt on. Wear shorts that are not cut-offs. Better yet, wear pants. No one wants to see that. No one. Comb your hair. This is the last correspondence you will receive from me. Best of luck to you. 

I never heard back from Scott. He did accept the refund. I checked multiple dating sites over the next month to see if Scott posted the profile on his own. Since I was unable to find him, I can only assume he found the woman of his dreams, probably at some dirt track stock car racing event, where she couldn't help but appreciate the way the mustard stain on the front of his "I guess we're somewhere behind Mt. Rushmore" t-shirt brought out the blood shot in his eyes.

So, what makes a good dating profile? Realistic expectations of those reading your profile is a good start. A realistic view of who you are is also helpful. I haven't written a paid profile in years, though I will write some for friends from time to time (free of charge). As a matter of fact, sometimes I am so damn helpful I write dating profiles for people who didn't even ASK for them. I wonder if my friend Joe in Florida is getting any play from his new Yahoo Dating profile. Hey Joe? Who loves ya most?! ;)

Monday, June 27, 2011

That's not a third nipple. It's my sexual peak. Nothing to be scared of.

When I sat down to write this post I decided first to do a little research on the topic before spouting off and giving you my thoughts. By research, I mean that I Googled Female Sexual Peak, which led to Sexual Peek-a-boo, which took me to panties and bras with missing material. So I bought some and decided, "Screw that nonsense. I'll just do what I normally would and preach it like it's gospel and go from there!"

In a cruel twist of fate, I hit my "peak" and there's no one to take it out on. We've covered this before. I could go to the bar, check Craigslist,, or a variety of other sexual sources. I could also just cut out the middle man and poke myself in the vagina with a searing hot poker or go straight to the clinic downtown and rub myself on someone with unidentified pustules. 

The problem isn't so much the lack of potential partners. No, for me it's about sleep. If I don't feel comfortable enough to lay next to you when it's all said and done and go to sleep, there's absolutely no chance that I'm going to put any part of you inside any part of me. I don't require cuddling or sweet nothings and loving romantic touches. Hey those would be nice, but it's the soothing feeling of a warm body and the steady sound of breathing that does it for me. I know what you're thinking... "Does she usually have a cold, dead, non-breathing body next to her?" Listen here Judgey McJudgerson, I don't need your approval 'kay?

It's supposed to mean something isn't it? Although, I've had entire relationships that meant something to me and a hell of a lot less to him (you know who you are). Still, I don't make it a habit to play Russian Roulette with random guns. I don't let just anyone use the old Slip N'Slide. Ya feel me? 

Anyway, I found a blog out there today that talked about the "Myth" of the female sexual peak. While I might agree with the poster that the hormonal fluctuation people assume accompanies this magical age is inconclusive, I have to tell ya boys and girls.... the blogger seemed bitter and angry. Angry at women maybe? Angry at society, and in this particular post angry at the sector of the female society that dares to enjoy sex after the age of 35. I had no idea anyone else was having as much of an issue with my burgeoning filthy mind as I am! I don't feel so alone now. Ha! 

To the men who feel the "myth" of the female sexual peak is a joke or a lame excuse, please consider that it's not necessarily a hormonal peak. The 35 years plus group of women are coming into their own. Our children are less dependent on us. We have the time and energy to participate in sex. In many cases we are done bearing children, and our focus shifts to a place where men's has been for years... sensation.We are more comfortable with our bodies, and we've finally found our outside voices that allow us to say, "To the left, lower, YES!" We thought you liked that sort of thing. 

Now I just need to figure out how long this is going to last. 

Sunday, June 26, 2011

We're probably not allowed back at Olive Garden

Olive Garden's slogan, "When you're here, you're family", got a bit of a test last night. They don't know my family, obviously. We're a bit inappropriate at times and to this day as adults, we still get the occasional disapproving look from Mom when we all make it home and attend Sunday church service. It's always in good fun and rarely does anyone get hurt (except during group golfing events).

Last night's dinner was no exception. I put down my fork. The meal in front of me looked, smelled, and tasted amazing. I'd managed to finish one and a half ravioli and part of a chicken breast smothered in Parmesan sauce, tomatoes, and spinach. Delightful.

Me- I'm going to need a box.
Sister- Don't you already have your own box?
Me- Well, yeah. I don't normally stuff it with ravioli, though.
Mom- (this part is silent because she was laughing so hard that you could only hear a slight gasp of breath here and there)
Sister- Can you imagine if you did? Honey, would you like to eat my box? It's your favorite. Ravioli.
Me- (looking around to see how many God fearing, respectable, Olive Garden patrons we've offended) You can take it home for your husband and the boys.
Sister- I will give him permission to eat your box.
Me- Oh, God.
Waiter- Is everything okay ladies? Is anyone going to need a box?
Us- (hysterical laughter) Yes, please.
Waiter- (look of confusion) One or two boxes?

At this point, my sister is trying to speak while laughing uncontrollably which always sounds like chipmunks on speed. My mother is laughing so hard that she can't speak at all and wiping tears from her eyes. I am laughing nervously while giving apologetic smiles to the tables I can see with small children or elderly people. The wait staff is wishing we would just pay the bill and leave.

In our defense, it was Saturday night, we'd had a couple drinks, and were already punch drunk from shopping a major closeout sale at Dillards. Besides, we were far more entertaining than the couple who seemed to not notice that their two children (about 3 and 5) were playing the screaming game every 5 minutes. We needed those drinks, dammit!

In order to make it clear that I am not a complete spoil sport, this morning I sent my brother in law a text with the following:
"Did you eat my box last night? It's okay if you did. I don't mind."

His response:
"I just found out it was an option. Oh hell yes, I'm gonna make that my bitch."

These are the people I go home for. God love 'em.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

How much is that going to cost me... in sex figures please?

Growing up, my granny used to fill my head full of all sorts of useless knowledge. I LOVED it. She taught me words that most kids wouldn't learn until high school or college, showed me how to find information when I didn't have the answer, taught me an appreciation for public television, and instilled in me the importance of knowing a little bit about everything. Though my grandma never struck me as the debutante type, I believe she was raised to believe that a proper woman would be able to keep up with conversation, even if it were not her place to speak up. When you open your mouth, you should be able to answer intelligently, if only briefly. She's a great lady, sort of elfish like my daughter, smart as a whip, and boy oh boy is she opinionated.

Sorry, I was waxing emotional there. None of that has much to do with the information I am about to share. Let me get the tie in out of the way and move on. Like Grandma, I like to know at least a little bit about most things. If something strikes my fancy, I will go out of my way to learn more until I can speak intelligently at length about the subject. This has yet to happen to me with auto mechanics.

I've learned a few of the basics. I can change a tire. I know where the oil goes. I understand that batteries sometimes need water (WTF you say?! But it's true). I know that you don't have blinker fluid. I don't appreciate being told I should rotate the air in my tires. I even know which weight oil to use and when. I do NOT know about fixing things. I had no idea about ball joints until a little over a month ago. I know where they are now, but that's pretty much the extent of my knowledge.

The last time I was at the mechanic, it was suggested that I replace a worn ball joint on my 2007 G6. My first reaction? "No way, seriously? It's only a 2007! What the hell is a ball joint?" Well, the price was a bit more than I could afford at the time so I put it off. Now, the mechanic said it's often caused by improper driving, hitting pot holes at a high rate of speed, sharp high speed turns, etc. so I started to behave myself. I drove a bit slower. I was very careful to avoid potholes if at all possible. I slowed down  when driving over train tracks. I'd done everything to extend the life of my poor worn ball joint, so you can imagine my sadness when a few days ago I began to hear a rattling noise when I'd hit the smallest bump in the road.

Since I'm not really all that mechanically inclined, I wasn't sure what it would sound like when a ball joint dies. I hadn't prepared myself for noise at all, frankly. My heart broke a little bit with the first rattle. As it continued I started to worry. Yesterday afternoon, while driving home from the grocery store the rattling happened again. My mind raced. I have to drive back to Iowa this weekend, so you can imagine I was a bit panicked about the cost and the time frame.

I was going to have to whore myself out to get it fixed. I quickly ran through a list in my head of men I felt would be capable of fixing the ball joint. I cross referenced it with a list of men I would willingly have sex with. I came up blank. Fear set in. I might have to whore myself out to someone I don't want to have sex with to get this fixed! In 37 years (unless you count being married) I have never had sex in exchange for anything. A ball joint would be my downfall.

Turning toward home (careful not to turn too sharply), the sunlight broke free of the clouds and poured through the driver's side window of the car. As I reached up to turn the sun visor, I encountered a small pot hole. My hand hovered in midair as I watched the sun visor bounce lightly from the impact and rattle against it's clip.

For the record:
1. It's difficult to gauge where a sound is coming from in a car.
2. The visor IS in fact in front of me so I had the general direction down.
3. What normal person says, "I bet the rattling noise is coming from the sun visor"?
4. The Red Cross doesn't ask, "In the last 10 years have you had sex with anyone in exchange for mechanical work?"
5. I almost had sex for nothing! Do I lose integrity points just for considering it an option?

Friday, June 24, 2011

Raising a glass to strong women

At this point in my life I can see two generations behind me, one generation in front, and another on the edge of emerging. Looking at the oldest generation of women in my family, my grandmothers, I can see that even in our recent history there has been a change in traditional gender roles.

My paternal grandmother falls into the Rosie the Riveter group. While some women were flocking to the nursing profession to help with the war efforts, my grandmother left her small town in North Dakota with her younger sister in tow, and set off for the San Francisco Bay area. The offer was hard to turn down; Go to California, learn a trade, help the country, and wire a ship. She was Ellie the Electrician.  

My mother's Mom was slightly more traditional. The only child of a business man, she married young, kept house, and though she married a farmer and raised children, she also had a mind for business. Whether she was selling her now famous Angel Food cakes, broilers, or eggs to the local produce, she squirreled away money for the family and kept her portion of the finances very well ordered. She was well educated in her own right, though not through formal schooling, but she could tell you a little bit about most things and if she couldn't she would look it up in the encyclopedia and be ready to talk about it the next time. 

In a time, especially in the Midwest, when most women were content (maybe) to clean the house, raise the children, and be active in the church; these two women were the strength of their families. It's been said that while the husband may be the head of the home, the wife is the neck. Without the neck, the head falls over and doesn't know which way to turn. My grandmothers epitomize this sentiment. 

My mother is cut from this same cloth. She's truly my hero, my role model, and my inspiration to make a better life for my family. My mother, like many of her generation, tried to embrace the life they were raised to believe was meant for them. Having a career was acceptable as long as it didn't interfere with your primary concerns; Church, marriage, and children. She married her high school sweetheart, a soldier she'd promised her heart and future to simply because she'd promised and that was what you did. Though things were rough at the start they pushed on and had 3 children. As things grew steadily worse she  began to work outside the home and soon became the primary breadwinner. When my parents finally divorced, she became well versed in juggling multiple jobs, multiple babysitters, and what was left of her sanity. 

My mother remarried a couple of years later and as the women before her, she became the "neck" of the household. I am proud to say that my mother and step father recently celebrated their 30th anniversary. While there were times that I'm sure both of them thought of packing it in, their marriage was saved by the sheer expense of divorce attorneys, a stubborn determination, and love. 

She is a traditional wife in many senses, but she was also an integral part of their business. She worked right along side her husband, learning the aspects of farming many farm wives didn't know. I'm sure that there are many women who know how to drive a tractor with a wagon attached, but she is the only one I knew of that could hold steady next to the combine as it moved through the field and "load on the go". Even her husband can tell you that her skills as a farmer rival that of many men in the field, and that's not just because she's sleeping with him. 

Farming isn't an easy life for a single person, but add the responsibility of parenting to that and you have an equation that equals pure and unadulterated exhaustion. She never forgot her "primary role" though. She always provided healthy home cooked meals, played taxi to our events, managed the laundry, managed the discipline, and made sure that her wifely duties were up to par. We know this because sometimes they can't keep these things to themselves and we're not fast enough to smack our hands over our ears and yell, "La La La. I can't HEAR YOUUUU". 

Raising 6 kids between the two of them and managing not to let anyone starve had to be a chore. We gardened, raised livestock, and as children we worked from an early age to earn the money we needed for the extras they couldn't afford. Yeah, I bitch about it now when I am 37 years old and have been working at least part time since I was (hmmm I believe we started working in the fields at) 7, but if I'm being honest it gave me sense of security that has kept me from going insane when I felt like I was ready to give up. They could do it and so can I. I know how to work. I know that if required I can even do the physically taxing work that many of us educated ourselves to get out of doing. If my world fell apart tomorrow I would be shaken, but I wouldn't be broken. I won't lie. I'll wallow in self pity for a week, and then I'll put on my big girl panties and a smile and start over again. 

A guy friend of mine said, "Take off the tool belt, Angie." He encouraged me to be a "girl" and let someone take care of me. That sounds like a lovely idea most days, and then I realize that I might not be genetically capable. I'm still willing to try. The last 2 months have left me wishing for a change that I wasn't in charge. Some days I just want someone to step in and say, "Not this time. Let me mow the grass, Let me put a paver path in the back yard. I will take your car to get fixed and don't worry about the cost. Please give me a chance to talk to the kids about the importance of an education. You've done enough. Go take a nap." 

I would happily slip into the traditional female role and make a fancy meal, put on something pretty, and wait for my hero to return. But this ain't Disney and I'm sure as hell not Sleeping Beauty (I drool when I am really tired). After that meal was eaten and the dishes were cleared I'd probably be wondering what else needed to be done. The hero would look at me, probably roll his eyes, and turn on the game while I went to the basement to plan the electrical upgrade for my ancient fuse box. If my Dad's mom were a little younger, I'd probably call her and ask how to do it myself. Then I'd probably call my Mom and tell her what I'm up to. That's how I roll.  

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Message from the Universe...

I want this to be very clear before you read any further, Dove Chocolate and I are NOT besties. Sure we hang out sometimes when there are others around, but I would never have Dove over to my house for dinner. Maybe like for a big party where there would be a lot of people who know Dove... but not one on one. We're not that tight. Alright, now that I got that out of the way...

Lately, I've struggled with exactly what direction I want my life to go. Every single day is a struggle to go to work. I'm unhappy with my situation and the reasons are really easy to figure out. What I do is completely devoid of fulfillment. Regardless of the day's outcome I wind up driving home wondering why I got out of bed to begin with. I force myself to workout because my current career path is causing some "secretary spread". I go to bed earlier than usual and wake up in the middle of the night scared to death that yet another day is going to go by and my life will be wasted. Yeah, sometimes I dream that I shot someone and rolled their body in a tarp and hid it in a closet. Who doesn't? But it doesn't explain the other stuff so stop judging me.

Sure there's that pesky money question that has to be addressed, but it doesn't stop me from contemplating the moment I get up the balls to walk into my boss' office to say, "It's not you. It's me. You deserve more than I have to offer. My heart isn't in this. You will find someone better. Someone who can sell things they way you wish I could. I'm going to go now and pack my things. Please don't try to stop me. We both know this is for the best."

Today was a little different.  I began the day by saying to the convenience store clerk, "I'd quit my job and start a new life if I won $100K." while she ran my Powerball ticket. This isn't different I'm just layin' it out for you. So I come to work right... I do what I do, take a break, shop online with Sue at Matalan, break for lunch, do a little more work, then it was break time again. Out of the corner of my eye I spot chocolate on Sarah's desk. She allows me to get a lil sumtin out of the jar and go back to my desk.

I thought to myself, "Angie, what the f*ck are you doing here? What in the hell are you going to do? When are you going to make a change?" Slowly I peeled the wrapper of my little chocolate treat. I almost cried. What I found was like seeing the Virgin Mary in a piece of toast, or Jesus' face on the Shroud of Turin. It was a message from the Universe itself, grabbing me by the shoulders and turning me in the right direction.
If Dove, who I don't even know that well, would tell me to quit my job... I think I almost have to. Now if only I could get a stranger to approach me with a message to drink more wine life would be f*cking perfect! 

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

So you want to snag a man...

Oh, Dusty... WTF?!

Show him that you care just for him, 
Do the things that he likes to do, 
Wear your hair just for him, 
Cause you won't get him, thinking and praying 
Wishing and hoping

This song explains a lot of those divorces in the 80's doesn't it? I'm not sure that those lyrics can explain the hairstyles. "Billy says he loves it when I tease my hair into a giant bump then flip it up and spray it until it resembles a strange helmet." Yeah, I don't think so. 

Being a woman of the times (ha ha freakin ha), I like to look at mistakes from the past and utilize the technology of today to right the wrongs of relationships. Or maybe I'm just trying to figure shit out. I was told once by a gentleman I was "relating with", that my life would be better if I lived in a religious community like the Amish or the Hutterites. His reasoning was simple. I get stressed out when I am bombarded by a lot of stuff for months or years on end. If I lived in one of those communities I would only need to decide which long dress pattern to make my dresses from, and which small flowered or plain broadcloth from which to make them. Oh, and what meal to make for my man and passel of kids. "See, Angie? That would be easier for you. Two decisions, no hassle." 

Needless to say, I don't think the Amish or the Hutterites want me moving in to their communities. I would organize a hen night, sneak in some booze, and finally ask the tough questions. "How often do you want to slit your husband's throats when you're giving them a shave?" and "Doesn't it just frost your cookies when Jonah tells you what to wear?" or, "So... how far away is the nearest wifi signal?"  I would probably dig a secret bunker and stock it with naughty toys, junk food, techie gadgets, and Haldol for when I had to come back out. No, I don't think I'd fit in. 

So what is the answer? I signed up for this free newsletter that tells me all the things I'm doing wrong when it comes to men. Apparently, you're not allowed to ever make the first contact. You are never to tell him that you love him unless he says it first. You are allowed to express your emotions, but they can't ever be related to him. I guess Grandma was right. Speak when you're spoken to. You are to be seen, but not heard. I also received one tidbit of advice that if you make sure he can see you being noticed by other men while paying no attention to him, he will come running. Note to everyone, if any of the men who flirt with you are of any interest you have to cross them off the list of people you can speak to because obviously that ruins everything in the original advice of "ignore him". What does that leave us? I'll tell you... you only get to flirt with men you have absolutely no interest in. 

Cosmo reader contributions recommend tilting your head slightly chin down and looking up at him. This is also known as blow-job logic. The magazine infers (yes, if your magazine prints a reader suggestion, it's as good as supporting it) that it stimulates some instinctual impression that you are fertile. He might not know that he wants you to be fertile, but he sure as hell does. All this time I thought they just got off on seeing a woman looking up while pleasuring them. "Am I doing it right baby? How do you like it? See me submit? Please don't mess up my hair." So when he finally deems you worthy of approach ladies remember... chin down, big eyes, submit, don't dribble too much (but dribble a little because for some reason it makes them feel like old faithful... go figure). 

I am also guessing that telling him you're just going to step away so he can figure out how much he misses you is also off the list of things you're allowed to do. TBH, I think I will have to start completely over in a new town, new state, new country, and possibly a new universe. I freaking flirt with EVERYONE. I am NEVER going to get anywhere at this rate. I call when I shouldn't. I text first. I actually give a damn and tell it like I feel it. There's a possibility that I might need some sort of intervention. 

These aren't the only things I learned today. I also learned that xia xue is Chinese for snowing. Thank you HyVee Chinese fortune cookie. Right, that's all I have. And now back to your regularly scheduled internet usage. 

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

I get to be selfish. Fact. That's not even disputable.

Being single for me means that I spend my free time with other women. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around. Either way, I seem to get myself into a lot of conversations with women who have relationship questions. Am I the only one who finds it completely absurd that anyone would ask ME for advice?

I've started using the following disclaimer:

"Please understand that I am exactly the wrong person to ask. I am divorced and can't keep a relationship going to save my life with exception of my kids who I guarantee you would divorce me if they could afford the right lawyers. If you plan on using this information for anything I would recommend you make me your example of What Not To Do."

Sometimes though, even a relationship disaster like myself finds the perfect match. As it turns out, I am my perfect match. I jokingly (not really) mentioned this to one of my people the other day and was met with, "Right, well you get to be selfish. You don't worry about anyone except yourself. You don't know what it means to find that one person you would put before yourself and know that making them happy would make you happy."

I would like to set a few things straight.

1. I get to be selfish. Fact. That's not even disputable. You can be selfish too. You aren't. Not my fault.

2. I don't worry about anyone except myself.  I assume that you're a complete spineless twit that focuses on everyone EXCEPT yourself so that you can play the role of martyr by giving and giving and givinggggggg until you can't squeeze in time to give yourself a freaking pedicure. Fair enough, moving on.

3. I don't know what it means to find that one person I would put before myself and know that making them happy would make me happy. It's true. The reason for my failure to produce another husband over the course of the last 11 years is due to my complete lack of desire to make others happy. I've never once considered how it would feel to bring happiness to another's life. Ask my kids. They are down trodden, mostly naked on any given day, and have threadbare sheets on their beds. I also get the wrong Ramen Noodle cups just because I enjoy causing them pain.

So all of that being said, please understand that I am exactly the wrong person to blah blah freaking blah. Ladies, get yourself a pedicure. It's okay at the end of a busy day to say, "I need 20 minutes to myself that doesn't involve wiping a face, an ass, a table, or the dishes before I scream." Life isn't always about doing things for others that will make them happy or fill their void or address their needs. Sometimes it's about giving yourself a little bit of attention so that you aren't that raging homicidal/depressed/bawling mess that walks out on their family from sheer frustration. Chances are, if you found that special person who you would put before yourself and know that making them happy will make YOU happy... they would rather have you stick around awhile. Hell, they might even like YOU enough to pay for the pedicure or God forbid, wipe the table.

Monday, June 20, 2011

The human emotional understanding center is located in the vagina...

***** says (1:00 PM):
i wish i knew what all the lyrics to Old Man by Neil Young mean. what do you think it is

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:00 PM):

***** says (1:00 PM):
did he run off with a girl when he was young then dropped them all and went home?

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:02 PM):
I think it means he's living the life his father lived and deep down he wishes that his father could see him and love him and accept him

***** says (1:02 PM):
i bet women dont appreciate this song

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:02 PM):
I bet you're wrong. We feel the same about our mother's. He's lost his connection to his dad. Maybe dad thinks hes wasting his life away. He's trying to say, "Dude, don't judge."

***** says (1:04 PM):
but he goes home alone

***** says (1:05 PM):
 k what about heart of gold ...

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:05 PM):
He dreams of finding that woman who can be his partner in paradise to fill the void. He won't find her because what he's really looking for is approval from his old man. Heart of gold is self explanatory. Next.

***** says (1:05 PM):
live alone in a paradise ....he's beat down and going home.

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:07 PM):
I think you're not understanding NY, because deep down NY is a woman

***** says (1:09 PM):
what? NY is not a woman!

***** says (1:10 PM):
 i just really wonder if it's his dad

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:10 PM):
I think it's his dad AND emotionally.. NY is a woman. He's got more estrogen and emotion rolling through his songs that a pack of menstruating hyenas

***** says (1:10 PM):
oh stop. you are so bogus

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:10 PM):
Bogus? Good word, Roget. You're mad because I'm right.

***** says (1:11 PM):

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:11 PM):

***** says (1:11 PM):
you put a gay spin on it. you should be on ILC. men on music. but i think the "two" you refer to are two separate women.

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:13 PM):
you think that he wants a 3some?

***** says (1:13 PM):
by 24 he went through two long and deep relationships

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:13 PM):
Now you're just making the song about you. Your first wife Whoever and now ****.

***** says (1:13 PM):
well i did not roll home

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:14 PM):
No, but you look at your father and how he's maintains that marriage with your mother and how you stay in yours.

***** says (1:14 PM):
First wife was christy

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:14 PM):
And you're a lot like him. Ah yes. Christy, like it matters. You stay married... a lot like him and just ignore the things you don't like then go find your joy elsewhere. There's never a confrontation. You'll stay married and miserable forever. It's your destiny! You are the super hero of sadness!

***** says (1:15 PM):
i am playing this because it's a great fathers day song and you ruined it.

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:15 PM):
Old Man is you and your dad. Sorry, you asked who the old man is and the old man is YOUR dad.

***** says (1:16 PM):

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:16 PM):
That's pretty f*cking Father's Day
***** says (1:16 PM):
 im talking about his frame of mind when he was writing it
 what he thinks about when he sings it

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:16 PM):
He thinks about your dad. They musta been friends

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:17 PM):
You are mad because I am right.. and funny.

***** says (1:20 PM):
anyways, you dont get it cuz you're a girl

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:21 PM):
No, you have trouble getting the meaning because you are a boy and you don't understand emotions. If you did, you'd have a vagina,but you don't. Everyone knows the emotional understanding center is located in the vagina the logic center is located in the prostate. Fair is fair. You can't have logic and emotion unless you're a hermaphrodite

***** says (1:22 PM):
pffffft. i have both

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:24 PM):
So you admit you're a hermaphrodite? It's still about you and your dad right?

***** says (1:25 PM):
Not completely.

Angie 2.0v3B *komen says (1:27 PM):
You're never going to grow a vagina at this rate.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Keeping Up With the Exes

Listen, I'm not a stalker. I have said it before and I'll say it again, I cannot afford to stalk you unless you live next door. Have you seen the price of gas these days? Plane tickets? Good photography equipment? Magazines to cut fun letters out of to make really awesome secret stalker admirer notes? Frankly, I don't have time to stalk anyone even if I could afford it. I work and write this blog dammit.

Now that we've got that out of the way, I am ready to admit that I do keep up with my exes. I've remained friends with most of the men I've even had so much as a crush on. I'm not going to be mean. They are suffering enough not having me in their lives... or that's what I like to pretend. Today during weekly girl time, the subject came up of looking at exes on the internet. Whether its Google search, MySpace, Facebook, etc., the question was why? Why would anyone search for someone online that they no longer have a relationship with? What can you possibly want to know about someone who broke your heart? 

The truth is that I've wished them all well. One of the girls laughed when I said that, but it's true. In any relationship that doesn't work out I am always the first to offer the best to the man who is walking away with a big ass piece of my heart, most of my trust, and a good portion of my self esteem. I hope you find what you're looking for. I want you to be happy. I want you to know that I loved you and part of me always will. You deserve the very best that life has to offer, (and when you get all of those things....I hope your life sucks). 

I'm not a mean person at heart. Its not like I want you to suffer a debilitating illness and I certainly don't want bad things to happen to your children. However, I hope that your life sucks at least a little because we aren't together. I want you to fall in love. Love is an amazing feeling and everyone should have that. Once you fall in love again, I hope that the hurt I felt is somehow returned to you. Maybe it could be in the form of the woman you love giving you a blazing red rash on your genitals. That would be great. If it burns when you pee I hope you think to yourself, "Angie Whatevermylastnameis wouldn't have given me the clap."

Of course these things are silly and immature. I never claimed to be perfect. I have feelings too. I don't retaliate, but I reserve the right to be really hurt. We agreed today that although we outwardly say nice things or throw out the occasional "oh well" or "whatever" with regard to the lost love.. inside most of us are the same. It sucks. Sometimes that sucking feeling comes out in the form of an understanding smile, a few kind words, and a secret desire to find out via Facebook that they tragically lost their testicles in a bizarre hedge clipper accident. 

But mostly I'm nice. 

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Would you go out in public with these people?

I often joke that my daughter dresses like she fell naked into the reject bin at the Goodwill and came out with an ensemble. The above picture was taken after I said, "You dress like a lazy grandma. You would wear a muumuu if you could find one."

Her response, "Oh, whatever! What's a muumuu?" Then she pulled out her iPod to do a search. "Oh, okay. That would look cute with a belt!" Later that night, she disappeared with one of her friends to go to Walmart. This is what happens at 1 AM at the local fine clothing establishments.

To be fair, she does normally put some of the strangest articles of clothing together. Most of the time she comes out looking like a cross between a hippy and a homeless person, but she's rockin' some serious untamed (she can't be bothered) natural curl so its almost like it's meant to be. At 5'3" though... it's got a Mary-Kate and Ashley vibe that comes off as cute or elf-like.

My son has asked me not to comment on his pictures or post anything without his approval on my blog. In order to do that I've been given only a couple of pictures I am allowed to use because there is no way in hell I'm going to let him view this page. Here is how he would like to be known across the internet.
Jacob likes long rides on his Terminator motorcycle. During these rides he picks up chicks in their late 20's or early 30's. Age is just a number to him. He likes 90's house music and the ladies.... oh and pizza. Now for any of you out there that are printing out this picture to use it as a paper doll for dress up, I would recommend you make a blue or yellow hoodie out of construction paper because I've not seen him without one or the other in over a year. Also Paper Doll Jacob would like you to have paper Dr. Pepper on hand too. 

They wonder why I don't take them anywhere. I swear it's 45 minutes for me to get ready for a nice dinner (start to finish), but then it's 20 minutes after I say that I'm ready to go before we leave the house. Generally because I am saying... "Are you going to do something with your hair?" or "Navy blue and cream plaid shorts do NOT go with that Iowa State T shirt, and if I see you wear that shirt again I'm going to burn it." or "Seriously, are those black socks? We're not farmers on vacation. Go change." 

Friday, June 17, 2011

Much like Derek Zoolander... I can't go left

Belly dancing is sexy as hell. True story. Tonight, the girls and I made our way to The Butterfly Rainbow Center to meet Ahva Halma, the belly dancing instructor. I hadn't even made it to the front desk to pay when my eye caught the sparkly halter tops and hip skirts. I admit, I have a set at home, but I'm not one to pass up something shiny so I grabbed the black and silver halter and moved to the desk, not even bothering to hide my smile.

As we moved into the studio, I noticed that 3 of the girls already had scarves and hip skirts on. I will admit to being just a little jealous. Ms. Halma offered to let me go change into my new top, but without some sort of support for the twins I felt it would be best left for another day. Chit chat ensued... they are performing at a new restaurant in town, at the multicultural center, for other events in town, and in September they are heading to Las Vegas to perform. At this point I start to feel I am in a little deeper than I planned. Regardless... my girls and I smiled nervously at each other and went to the wall with the big mirrors.

The section of the room with the full mirrors is for beginners. The goal I'm told is to make it easier for us to see how we're moving and better correct our form. In truth, the mirror made me giggle and I found it easier to watch the instructor in the mirror and mimic her actions. I'm sure there are proper names for the things we learned, but for the sake of my first night lets just say I learned to shimmy, shimmy some more, roll my hips, etc. I was totally thinking I had it down until I realized I was channeling Zoolander, and as good as I was at rolling my hips in one direction, I could not get it to look the same going the other direction.

So, in addition to the yard work I have planned for tomorrow... I am going to find a cheap belly dance DVD and practice my stuff before I go back in 2 weeks. If you happen to hear coins jingling in the meantime, that's just me. I'm sort of stoked! Can I still say stoked?

Office Smut- Words of wisdom from the younger generation

Every couple of weeks our office is blessed with new reading materials. Though most of us don't subscribe to any of the magazines we read, we always have some to share. We call this "office smut". For the most part, these periodicals consist of gossip or entertainment mags, with a issues of Cosmo thrown in for good measure. I don't know if they are stealing these from the doctor's office and frankly, I don't give a damn! Bring on the smut!

These handy little bibles of femininity have proven to be very helpful in my quest to become the woman of every man's dreams. I especially like the parts where I get tips and tricks from 20 something year old readers. Who doesn't want to turn on a 20 year old guy? I think the better question is, "What doesn't turn on a 20 year old guy?"

Below are some of my favorites and the exact things that crossed my mind when reading them:

1. My girl and I were going at it hot and heavy and she just kept saying, "Harder! Harder!" That was so hot we we both exhausted when it was done. (guy - 23)
Me-  I'm so adding "Harder! Harder!" to my repertoire. Normally, I would just stay mute because I was told by an ex-boyfriend that it was best if I just laid perfectly still with my eyes fixed to the ceiling and didn't speak or try to breathe. It's reassuring to know that speaking out during sex is okay. Thanks guy. 

2. To get my man hot I wash my tiniest underwear and put them around the apartment to dry. He gets hot just looking at them. (gal - 22)
Me- If your guy gets hot just looking at the underwear, you might want to make other plans for about 5 minutes later. 

3. I hid a finger vibrator in the bottom of my man's cereal bowl for him to discover. (gal - 23)
Me- SHUT.THE.FRONT.DOOR! Holy balls, that's nasty. I don't care if it's new. If I find a sex toy and it's not mine in my food... Ewwww (just for the record, I can't imagine a scenario when I would find a sex toy that belongs to me in my food either)

4. My boyfriend likes this thong I have and sometimes I wear low-rider pants and let it show. (gal - 21)
Me- Quit lying! You don't own a single pair of non low-rider pants. 

I've come to the conclusion that perhaps I am now in a different phase in my life. Is there a Cosmo for grown ups? I really don't feel I'm ready to give up the fashion mags for Better Homes and Gardens. Help!

Thursday, June 16, 2011

You can't make Mother Nature your bitch

As is often the case, it started with a challenge; Mother Nature and my Lawn versus me in the World Championship of Yard Care. I could practically hear the taunting in my head as I checked out the weekend forecast. In the Midwest we live by the seat of our pants when it comes to any sort of outdoor activity. If you don't like the weather just wait a few minutes and it will change. FACT.

The weather man can promise you 7 days of sunshine, but I guarantee that if you plan an outdoor activity during that time-frame, it will get rained on, snowed on, hailed on, blown away by a tornado, or the mercury will rise so high that you have to put all the oldsters and babies inside so they don't expire. There is nothing worse than spoiled old people on the front lawn... the smell alone will send you running.

I know what some of you are thinking, "Oh, I planned an outdoor wedding, and it turned out beautiful just like the forecast said it would." You seem to forget that every time something good happens to you, someone else gets screwed. Remember that next time you are happy about ANYTHING. Might not want to brag too loud on that one, huh? Your beautiful day of sunshine with a light breeze and not-too-hot temperatures stole a day of work from a storm chaser who sells his storm footage to television stations to feed his family.

Anyway, what was I getting at? Let's backtrack here: You suck, old people, bad weather, lawn... Got it!

Like a piece of straw in a tornado can be driven into a piece of wood like a nail, anything that flies out from under a lawn mower can be driven into your skin. Judging by the two dark blue and green spots on my shins, and the scratches in the center of those bruises... I believe I may have accidentally hit a mythical stone kitten. Invisible to the naked eye, hard as stone, with the ability to tear at your flesh, they are fierce creatures of destruction. OR it might have been rocks. Either way, Mother Nature did not like being dominated.

Two ice packs and a little Neosporin later, I'm well on my way to recovery. And this was supposed to be the week when my legs stopped looking like I'd been playing rugby with the IRFU. Fail.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

So you want to write a book...

During a recent writing exercise, I was instructed to imagine writing the story of my life.While the majority of the group sat there looking thoughtful, I was in the group with the big ass smiles plastered across our faces. I have no idea what those goofy bastards were smiling about. I was thinking about something else entirely and when I came out of my daze I noticed most people were jotting notes and a few were whispering.

What the hell have I missed, I wondered. I leaned over to a particularly concerned looking gentleman next to me and asked what the assignment was. "He wants us to write the story of our lives." he said. My smile officially covered my entire face. HOO-FREAKIN-RAY! I've not participated in a writing workshop that didn't tell it's students at least once to "write what you know". I KNOW ME! I KNOW ME! There is not another human being on the planet who knows the story of Angie Whatevermylastnameis better than I do. SCORE! I couldn't fathom why some of these people weren't getting into the spirit of the assignment. 

I borrowed notes from one of the ladies I had sat next to in the past. There wasn't time to really absorb what I was copying down and I couldn't have even if I'd tried. Giddy doesn't even begin to describe how excited I was to get started. Driving home I ran a few scenarios over in my head. The most prevalent being the one where I am approached by an agent to publish my life story. One week into my whirlwind book tour, I receive a call from my agent telling me that a Hollywood Producer wants to buy my story and make it into a movie. Of course I accept and I'm brought on board to choose the actress who will play the role of Angie Whatevermylastnameis. (Kate Beckinsale). 

As soon as I arrived home I sat down on my bed and turned the laptop on. Waiting for the boot up, I pulled out the notes I'd copied and the smile slowly started to fade. 
1. Just write. It doesn't matter if you make mistakes. Write like you'd speak. CHECK
2. Be honest. You'll do better if you're not struggling to create or hide anything. CHECK
3. Be yourself. This is your life story. Not the life story you wish you lived. Um.. Okay. 
4. Do a timeline. Do you see trends or themes? Explore those. Er.. Hey I don't.
5. Humor. The ability to laugh at yourself will come through in your writing if you can share funny stories, anecdotes, etc. I don't want to do this anymore. 

I did my little timeline and the scenario turned ugly. What I ended up with was a shitty Lifetime TV movie of the week. Nancy McKeon would play me. (Love you Nancy, but ~sigh~) The producers would say, "Do you mind if we make your daughter a crack whore? Also, we're just going to make your son gay. Not in real life you understand... it's just artistic licence. You already signed the paper." 

I still haven't started, but I have some notes in my sharing journal about the process.. wonder if the instructor will be able to read past the naughty words and tear stains.  My life didn't even get remotely entertaining or fit for public consumption until I was 35. Once I take out the crap that makes me cry, the things I would hate for anyone to ever know, and the boring stuff I have approximately 3 pages of text (if I use tons of adjectives and a thesaurus choosing only the biggest words). Anyone up for a short story spanning 10 days over the course of 2 years? Okay... 8 days. My Mom shouldn't see 2 of those days. 

From now on I'll need your "gifts" in the form of cash. Blame Citibank.

I set aside a day each month to question our government's decision to lend me money. To be fair, I looked ambitious, bright-eyed, and willing to pay them back. It looked like a pretty good deal at the time.. for all of us Stafford, for all of us. You wanted me as much as I wanted you, so let's stop pretending.

Things were beautiful for awhile. I broadened my horizons and expanded my mind, and tried my best to become what you wanted. Yes, what YOU wanted Stafford. I simply wanted to take a few psych classes, learn how to make the most of my God given talents, and make cool slogans and pictures to make people buy stuff. You are the one who wanted me to focus. Focusing costs money. I told you that and what did you say? You said, "Oh, no problem. I'll help you out." You got me all emotionally wound up and then you gave me papers to sign. I was too caught up in the excitement of it all to know what I was doing!  


Citibank is the proud owner of my student loans now. I decided today would be the day that I let them make me their bitch and I logged into the website to make my payment. Correction; I TRIED to log in. After a few failed attempts and errors on the page, I decided to give the 800# a try. Surely they could help me. So, dial I did. Apparently Citi tracks every phone number you've ever dialed from, and then when you key in the requested information it will tell you you're wrong because it doesn't match the phone number you're calling from. After failing to find a way to get it to recognize me, I repeatedly hit "0".

It wasn't long before a chipper voice came on the line. SUCCESS! Almost.  Apparently in order to give Citibank money they must know every intimate detail of your life. I would give information, they would request more. Finally, frustrated and ready to violate the poor representative with my dirty words, I said, "Listen, before we continue I want you to make a note on my account. If ANYONE calls to put money on my loan you LET THEM. I don't need to know who they are. If they know who I am and want to pay the bill you had best take the money."

It may surprise you to know that I work a regular job. In this regular job I play a technology nerd. I'm aware of security issues and understand the need for PCI and PII regulations. All rules and regulations aside, if there is a band of pranksters out there that gets their kicks off of paying people's bills and improving their credit scores, I welcome the attack. Right now I just feel Citibank is screwing me out of the opportunity to solicit "donations" from aged men who wanna be my daddy.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Because you really care what I'm listening to...

1. Deni Hines- I'm Not In Love
    Excellent choice for a new taste of some old music.

2. Barry White- First, the Last, My Everything
    I'm singing out loud right now. I'll spare you. This time. ;)

3. Kasabian- Club Foot
    This would be good for..  :-)
4. Counting Crows- Black and Blue
    For no particular reason except it showed up and I can't ever skip it.

5. John Mayer- My Stupid Mouth
    Well now this seems fitting. ha! 

6. Gorillaz- Clint Eastwood
    Again, I'm taking them as they come it seems. "Feelings, sensations that you thought were dead. No squealing. Remember that it's all in your head." TRUTH

7. Jann Arden- Wishing That
    Couldn't shuffle past it and I'm starting to see a theme. WTF?

8. Trey Songz- Bottoms Up
    Feelin' a little rowdy now.

9. Amy Winehouse w/ Mark Ronson- Valerie
    Seriously, I wanna go to work tomorrow dressed like one of the Winettes.

10. Toby Lightman- My Sweet Song
      Perfect way to wrap up the play list. She's got something I can't put my finger on. Love it. Worth the purchase, this one is. How Yoda am I?!

Night kids. Remember, if you wake up and I'm just sitting there watching you sleep, it's not creepy it's just... Okay, yeah it's creepy. Send me home.

To My Future Husband

If everything were fair, if I really cared enough to be completely honest with my future husband, whomever he may be, there are things I would tell him before it got too involved so that he could make an educated decision about his choice to be with me. In the event that Mr. Right comes around and I'm so swept up with emotion that I forget to put stuff out there, I'm going to go ahead and put a few things here. This way I will have some way of saying, "I tried to tell you, but you obviously don't read my blog, and honestly babe... that hurts."

Here we go.

Dear Future Husband,

First, I can go no further without telling you that you are amazing. I've never met a man more witty and kind. You're also intelligent, which is evident in your choice of bride. (oh that's good) I trust that we will have a life of happiness, laughter, adventure, and passion.  I feel it only fair to warn you though, that I do have faults and quirks you might not yet be aware of.

1. When you are not around I plug in speakers, turn the music up loud, and dance like I'm in the music video. Realizing that you've no way to know what this looks like, I will describe it for you. I.LOOK.AMAZING. I'm everything you pretend I am when you close your eyes. I'm just really modest and won't ever do this in front of you. I just felt you should know.

2. I make amazing fudgie brownies. By now I'm sure you've had them. This is not my secret. The secret is that when cutting any pan of brownies, all pieces are not equal. If I volunteer to go get each of us a brownie, you and I will have the same size brownie when I bring it to you. They did not start this way. I gave myself a bigger brownie and evened it out with a fork and my mouth... count on it.

3. I'm more screwed up than you will ever know.  I have more baggage than samsonite. I generally joke about it, but it's baggage none the less. If you're well adjusted and from a good family, this is a little tidbit we might need to just keep to ourselves mmmkay?

4. There's at least one person in your family I don't like. I think this is a fair assumption. I don't even know them yet and already your brother/sister/mother/father/aunt/cousin pisses me off. I am only nice because you love them. I will probably expect something of you for attending your family events.. like you going to mine and not whining. ~hugs~

5. When I tell you I wear a size 8 it really means its a 10. Same thing goes for shoes. My size 7 feet fit best in a size 8.5. It's probably best that you don't buy me clothes. I hate when other people lie about this very issue, but for you I do it so you feel like you're getting something bett... oh screw it.

Please feel free to reach out to me with any questions or concerns you might have. My shrink is willing to give testimony to my acceptable level of insanity if neededto ease your fears.


Your loving if not completely stable bride to be.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Save a life, you naughty sausages!

Straight from a tweet by The Bloggess... 

It can't hurt to register. Here's the info from the site. 

Become a Bone Marrow Donor

Registering online is easy:
  • Read all the information carefully and follow any instructions.
  • Fill out the registration and declaration of consent form.
  • When you receive your Do-It-Yourself cheek swab kit in the mail, collect your sample and send it to the lab for tissue typing.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

And now a word from my inner whiner...

Letting go of someone is never easy. Even in a divorce you've initiated yourself is like a small death. There is security in even the worst relationship, and that in itself can be enough to make a person stay when they should run like hell. That being said, walking away from someone you love is absolute agony.

In the last month I have had to let go of more than I ever imagined I could. As one child graduated high school the other child moved to live with his father. In the same time frame, the one person I felt I could always talk to pulled away. In each case I've had to adapt accordingly and I wish like hell there was some sort of manual for coping.

With my daughter it's something I expected, but watching her fumble breaks my heart. I'm trying to step back and let her do it her way. She will have to make her own mistakes and I try so hard not to nag her. This could result in hair loss. She's planning to dye her hair red, which is all good and fine... except she's planning to do it herself. I advised her to spend the extra $15 and go to the beauty college to get it done. She rolled her eyes at me and told me she wasn't worried about it. It seems she does not care that I am worried about it. I've seen her hair when she's done it herself. God, please if you can hear me... make it impossible for her to find bad red box hair color.

In my son's case what can I say? I feel like I got ripped off. I was supposed to have four more years! Not being able to see him every day is starting to hurt. It was easier when he would go for the summer and I knew he was coming home. Now, being unable to know what his day was like is like a knife to the heart. The kid who used to text, email, and call, constantly when he wasn't around now sends one line messages. He's toughening up, which is good. I just didn't realize how much a part of my identity my parenting was until suddenly I'm not needed.

Letting go of a friend is not any easier. Perhaps it's because that was the part of myself that I felt existed outside of my role of mother. It's not that I wanted to step back. I just didn't know what else to do. Maybe one day things will change, but right now I had to ban myself from trying. Sucks. Hurts. Blows. Did I mention it makes me sad?

Alright, got that off my chest. Tomorrow will be better.

Body Sculpting Day Spa - Review Body Sculpting Day Spa

SPActactular. Go ahead and groan, but it was AWESOME!

Today was spa day for the Swiffer (she's little and fits into small spaces and she's ok) and I. We booked our massage appointments early in the week and waited patiently for the day to arrive. It's been a year since my last proper rub down and Alex has never had one so it seemed like the perfect 18th birthday wrap up.

Body Sculpting Day Spa was the destination. We were greeted by a very sweet receptionist and shown to the relaxation room (where we did). The girl child filled out her very first official form without having to hand it over for a parent's signature. I think that made her more giddy than the massage. Anywayyyyyyyyy, we were early and they made room for us to start ahead of schedule. (love).

BIG props going out to Angela and Jessica for the incredible massages we received. The atmosphere was perfect. The pressure was exactly as needed. I couldn't have asked for more! I plan on booking myself for some bio-genie appointments soon. Lord knows my bukasana (yes, I know that's not what it means... save yourself the correcting) could use a little toning! ~ smile ~

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Real Housewives of SoDak

In honor of our favorite Bravo ladies, the girls and I like to do a Real Housewives themed night each summer. The last big blow out was definitely an OC-centric event, but they are all pretty much the same at heart. We dress our best with our sexy on the outside. The heels are high and so are the hemlines, which is as opposite of the necklines as you can get. There is more jewelry than a Silpada party, and at least one of us (me) has donned the false eyelashes.

We choose a restaurant we cannot usually afford, drink the cocktails we would normally avoid, eat the foods we've been dying to try, and then head for the club. Dancing follows and sometimes it's sexy. Any of you who have ever had one too many drinks and went dancing will know what I mean by "sometimes it's sexy". There is a fine line between dancing queen and whore on the floor. Been there, crossed that, kicked my own ass the next day.

The latter part of the evening is typically spent with one of us (me) saying very Un-Real Housewife like things such as:

**actual conversations**

- "Honey, stay away from him. It's a club and he's in a pin striped suit and an ascot. He's wearing wingtips for love of... Jesus, I think he just sparkled. He's not one of us. I'm pretty sure he's a vampire. End of. Let's go. No, don't give him your number!"

- "Yes, we'll go as soon as you throw up. You are not riding with me like this. Go."

- "Get a picture. She's never going to remember this."

- "If you put that picture on Facebook I will kill you. I live close enough that it could be the last thing you ever do."

- "I don't know where she went. I told her to go throw up, but she's not in there now. I don't know how she slipped past me. Oh, I think I see her feet. Sweetie? Get off the floor. You're not napping here."

- "Oh good, the creepy guy is gone. Sh*t, where is _____. Someone find her before she's bitten or invites him in."

I will say this much, we always have fun and even in our chemically altered states manage to be friends the next day. I wish we could do it more often and that it didn't always have to be a Saturday, but like Vicki would say, "I work, people."

Happy Ending

My friends are the best. Consider the following:

Angie says (8:28 AM)
I'm getting a 1 hour massage today  
the naked under a sheet kind

D**** says (8:28 AM)
Oh nice
By who?

Angie says (8:28 AM)
a spa in town

D**** says (8:28 AM)
With or without ( thats my way of saying with cock or without)

Angie says (8:28 AM)
it's my treat to Alex

D****  says (8:28 AM)

Angie says (8:28 AM)

D**** says (8:28 AM)
Probably without then

Angie says (8:28 AM)
oh God
1. without
2. can you get it with?

My Zimbio
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