Whew…glad that’s over.

 

Whiskey Girl

Whatcha got under there?

While drinking my first cup of coffee a couple of days ago I flipped on the TV to catch a bit of news. The news it would seem at the moment was a makeover on the Today show. They grab someone from the crowd and make their day with new hair, makeup, clothes…you get the picture. The woman they picked had recently lost 60 pounds. One of her concerns was that after she lost the weight she no longer had a butt. So to fix this they put her in some special jeans made by Victoria’s Secret which they called “Booty Jeans”. Somehow I found this interesting and yet scary at the same time. This lead me to do a little research…here are my findings.

They do indeed make jeans that have extra padding and are cut in a way as to lift your butt so that you appear to have the perfect bubble butt. I also discovered something called “Shapers”. Shapers change the shape of a body part that you would like to look smaller and smoother. If you want to change your hips they have it, your waist…got that too, your butt…it’s covered, if you want to change from your thighs to your bust no problem a full body shaper is available. You would think this would be enough for a mere mortal but no….there is more.

They have things called “Adhesives and Enhancers”. These are the little extras you can stuff, tape, stick and hide in anything to make that little adjustment you want. Don’t want to wear a bra but still look perky? They have a lift that you can stick on your skin around your breast to do just that. Just in case you don’t want anyone to know you have nipples they make a flower shaped band-aid for this affliction. They have something that upon first glance looks like a raw chicken breast. This appetizing enhancer is extra padding to put in your bra to make your breast look bigger. They also have a new bra that is to change breasts everywhere.

This bra boast to have the power to make your breast increase firmness by 18% within 4 weeks. Yes you read that right. If you wear this bra for at least 8 hours a day for 4 weeks your breasts will be firmer and increase their ability to retain moisture. I don’t know about any of you but the thought of wearing something 8 hours a day to have sweaty breasts doesn’t really do it for me. If you are not willing to go in for the sweaty breast firming bra there are always push-up bra’s for you.

Push-up bra’s now come in 5 different increments. Subtle…if you just need that little lift, Moderate…if you are feeling droopy but aren’t wanting to be a distraction, Dramatic….if you are wanting the attention of not just your lover but their friends, Extreme….if you are wanting to be a distraction, gain the attention of your lover, their friends and on coming traffic and last but not least Ultimate if you want to be able to carry around your drink without using your hands.

With all of this body shaping, enhancing, lifting, padding, covering, smoothing and firming going on with these undergarments how do you know what you are really getting? Let’s just say you go out and meet a girl. She is cute, nice, looks perky in all of the right places and you manage to play your cards right and get her to come home with you. Potentially she could take off all of her clothes and be a completely different person! For all you know she could be a man!

I posed this question to one of my dearest friends…his response “Court this is why you always check for an adams apple”….and these ladies and gentlemen are words to live by.

25 Random Things….posted as a hostile witness

So a few of my friends tagged me out there in the nether worlds of cyber space to post 25 random things about myself. There are rules that apply so of course I had to change them for myself because…well…I don’t always do rules well. Here is the outcome.

Rules: Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you.

(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)

The rules above are the “Their” rules….mine are a little different. 

If I tag you it means….you tagged me and I feel I should warn you of your impending doom or I am choosing to share with you a few of my quirks, issues, ramblings without the need for you to write your own list. I would also like to add to the list things that really get on my nerves because again…..you might need to be warned of your impending doom.

I may not be PC so if you are easily offended then you might want to move along to somewhere else

1. The next time I see the people who tagged me I am going to pummel them. You better pray that I have on a corset because my lack of not being able to breath is the only thing that will save you.

2. I had a babysitter for years that forced us to eat peanut butter and mayo sandwiches. I think there is a special place in purgatory for her.

3. I used to have a dog named Hallelujah….the neighbors thought we were nuts.

4. I know every song in “Fiddler on the Roof”. I also know every song in “Hair” which seemed to be very embarrassing for my parents at Christmas parties.

5. Trendy fringed scarves….if it is cold outside and you need one great….if it is summer and you are wearing a scarf you just look silly.

6. The song Wildfire makes me nauseous.

7. An Areolatte is my favorite gadget of the moment.

8. I think Martha Stewart is really Ardate-Lile (a demon who weds human beings and wreaks havoc in the dwelling of men). This is why she is so successful in “Home living” and yet still manages to give me that creepy feeling every time I see her.

9. You know those people who can be very sweet and charming to someone’s face even if they don’t like them?….well I am not one of those people. Polite always…fake never.

10. I’m not good at setting goals….I think at this point being on time is enough.

11. I am a die hard romantic. If you ever repeat this to me I will deny it to the death.

12. Without coffee in the morning I am useless.

13. George and John are my favorite Beatles…you can keep your Paul and Ringo.

14. I took belly-dancing…..I look like a stick in motion.

15. I love the smell of leather…fyi they make leather candles now so I’m not the only one.

16. Don’t ever complain to me that your feet hurt if you are wearing a wedged heel….this will force me to laugh out loud and make fun of you for the rest of the night because…wedged heels are for wussies.

17. If need be I will break in a new pair of stilettos while cleaning house…this leads me to wonder if men here want “a french maids outfit”….what do french men want?

18. I rarely if ever say “I love you”…if these words ever escape my lips in your direction then I mean it.

19. If every time a bell rings an angel gets it’s wings then every time someone brings a cell phone to the dinner table and it rings their mother should get slapped.

20. If something is out of tune I find it painful….so here is my official thank you to those of you who take the time to tune your instrument of choice…even if someone is bitching at you for doing it.

21. I like children more than adults….deal with it.

22. I didn’t start drinking until I was 30.

23. I can rig, bait, cast and take my own fish of the hook….the cleaning I leave to someone else.

24. I admire chivalry in a man and I admire a woman who is smart enough to accept it.

25. I knew someone once who kept their dead family pets in the freezer….ah come on it was only a cat and a chicken. Um who wants to go get the frozen pizza?

My success in mortification of the flesh

A couple of nights ago I met up with a few friends to eat dinner at a great little place close to my house. They have a tomato appetizer that I love. It’s simple to make, sliced grape tomato’s, garlic, fresh basil and olive oil heated up in a pan for a few minutes…delicious. Anyway…when I got in my car to leave I couldn’t remember if I had dropped my phone in my purse or not so of course I start digging through my bag looking for it. In case you didn’t know this already a staple laying in the bottom of your purse looking harmless is far from it. In my mad search I managed to stab it underneath my fingernail causing a sharp sever pain and not very lady like adjectives to spew from my mouth. This was to be the first of several self damaging incidents over the last few days.

I was also successful in….

Cutting open my thumb while getting into a package of batteries.

Burning my fingers because I forgot that I couldn’t hold onto the side of a pan just out of the oven while removing it’s contents.

Stubbing my toe on the coffee table because I wasn’t awake yet and forgot that I left a pair of stilettos laying in the floor from the night before.

Of course after stubbing my toe I stepped back right onto the heel of the stiletto and jammed it into the arch of my foot.

Biting down on a corn chip in such a way that I jammed it into my gums…this was shortly after discovering that my lip was split because…well….salt on the chip reminded me that salt hurts on an open wound.

Washing my eyes with the soap instead of my hair.

Being too close to the cat when she had a “I must murder my own tail” seizure which lead to my having two puncture wounds on my hand from her teeth and last but not least.

Getting my hair caught in the zipper on my coat therefore ripping some of it out.

I am now sitting on the couch safety zone praying that I will make it through the rest of the night injury free…..oh wait….here comes the cat.

The Sweet Dreams of Diana Ross

Out of sheer self-defense I had to leave the house last night for a drink. It was either that or get caught up in the cat murdering her tail and add several more scratches to the ones that already adorn my arms. One of my best friends called and said “Hey it’s karaoke night you wanna come”…anything can be better than home at this point. So I put on my favorite stiletto boots, slapped on the red lips and sashay out the door.

I arrive with bells on just in time to hear the last few bars of a Whitney Houston song done by the bartender while he is still pouring drinks and taking orders….he puts the excuse of “I am a man so I can’t multitask” to bed. I wave to my friends and head toward the bar to order a drink…a tall whiskey to be exact. Let it be stated here that I am a whiskey drinker through and through. Send me a fruity drink and chances are I will graciously thank you and hand it off to a stranger. Before I can leave the bar I am stopped by a guy behind me so he can pet my coat. Now in a straight bar I might have not agreed but here I know the only thing anyone is interested in petting is my coat.

I sit down with my friends; catch up on the latest and the greatest and then the next singer makes his way to the stage. The DJ tells us that we are to be blessed by God with a rendition of  ”I’m looking for a city in the sky”. Before the singer can start he is met with whoops and claps and everyone takes the little white napkins out from under their drinks and starts to wave them. I have a flash back of revivals in tents during the summer, church camp…being forced to wear jeans in 100 degree weather because God can’t see our knees and my grandfather leading the choir from behind a pulpit. 

For all of the humor I found in the moment it also struck me that right here, right now might be the only time that some of these sweet folks were allowed to sing their praises. Being raised in the Bible belt most of us grew up in Baptist churches singing these old songs but for some of these people their youth was the last time they were welcomed in a church. God forbid a homosexual walk through the doors….the church might have to live up to “love thy neighbor as thy self” and most of them just aren’t evolved enough for it. When the song was over we passed the offering plate and the next singer was ushered on….and not alone.

This one had backup singers. I mean you can’t sing the Supremes without backup singers! Gay karaoke night has more Broadway belting and jazz hands than you can imagine. If you haven’t seen three gay men sing “Ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no river low enough, ain’t now valley wide enough to keep me from you babe” with synchronized moves and snaps then you don’t know how to spend a Tuesday night. After the Diana Ross tribute band left the stage most everything faded into the distance until I heard “Is this the real life, is this just fantasy”.

Queen, one of my all time favorite bands….yeah I said it. There are a few things I believe to be true…. if you are a woman and you don’t own one pair of really sexy boots then there is a man/woman in your life who is horribly deprived, Jimmy Buffet is a blight on the face of music and to butcher “Bohemian Rhapsody” is sacrilegious….. especially in a gay bar.

If Freddie would have been there he would have slapped them all, taken away their microphones and threatened them with an hour of forced listening to “Fat Bottom Girls” with visuals. I’m not sure how this motley crew got through the song without being dragged out by their perfectly groomed hair but they did it and this was my sign that it was time to go. I kissed my friends goodnight and thought to myself well at least Diana Ross is probably having good dreams right now and doesn’t even know why.

 

This house is clean

Believe it or not I have been keeping a blog for a while for only a few friends to read. It only took three years for one of my best friends to talk me into a more public forum. Because I this I have a back log of worthwhile ditties that I am going to insert every now and again. Call me lazy if you like but you will laugh all the same and realize that I too have a family just like yours.

We are now far enough away from Thanksgiving that it is safe to talk about. There must always be a certain amount of distance from such events. Food must digest, ruffled feathers must be put back in place and of course there must be a few days to get over the hangover. Just like all of you I have a family that I love very much….this is also the same family that makes me shake my head and wonder if it is possible that I was switched at birth and really belong in some redheaded tribe up north.

I had planned on not doing much for Thanksgiving this year but my mother wouldn’t hear of it. Instead she spent a month inviting herself, my stepfather, my great aunt, uncle and cousin over to my house for dinner. I finally give in on the condition that I order food for Thanksgiving instead of having to cook it all. She agreed, the plans were made and I was left to ponder the gravity of the situation I had put myself in.

A week before the big event my great aunt calls to see what she should bring. I tell her rolls and wine. She asks how much wine…my response “lots”. My game plan is even if all hell does break loose for a moment maybe they will be drunk enough to gloss over it just like every good dysfunctional all American family should. My mother then calls to inform me that she will be bringing green bean casserole, salad and maybe or maybe not my stepfather. It seems that they had a big argument and therefore if he wasn’t being a “jackass” he might come. This wouldn’t be the first time my stepfather didn’t show up for a holiday because of an argument. Last Easter my mother came to church without him and proceed to tell me all about the fight. This wouldn’t have been so bad except for her need to take the language to Defcon 1 loud enough for anyone sitting close to us to hear. I just kept thinking at any moment the priest was going to hurl the sensor in our direction like a mortal combat character and then go back to blessing the icons….but I digress.

The big day finally arrived and I was ready for it….clean house…check….food….check….whiskey and vodka for emergencies…check. Of course my family being who they are my mother was early but did manage to bring the casserole and my stepfather. My great aunt, per normal, was late partly because she and my uncle decided to take separate cars so that he could escape early…smart man if you ask me. Once everyone said their hellos we broke open the wine and settled in to visit while waiting on the stuffing to bake. 

The day after Thanksgiving my father was to have open-heart surgery this lead to a great discussion amongst them about all of their ailments. Why is it that when people get old they want to talk about their hernia surgery, having to take laxatives, their bladder control or anything else that I would never want to talk about and delight in doing so? It is almost as if they want to one up each other on who has the most doctors or ailments! After listening to this appetizing discussion the food was finally ready and I shuffled them all to the table.

My cousin sits next to me on my left and I am thankful for this. You see my cousin is a doctor in a mental hospital in Arkansas which means he has had lots of experience in dealing with crazy people so I feel some what calm that should there be an incident he would know how to handle it. Of course the only draw back is that he is legally blind so if utensils should be thrown he doesn’t stand a snowballs chance in hell of survival. The meal goes along with out many bumps until my great aunt decides she will talk over my uncle who is trying to visit with me across the table. (My uncle, ex prison warden who says things to me like “ya know my favorite sister in catholic school was Sister Mary Margaret…she beat us with a wooden rod but she was always fair about it”) It was touch and go for a moment but we got through it…due to a refill on the wine and some quick small talk…me “Oh dear look at that I still haven’t changed the clock in here to daylight savings time”….my cousin “Really? Doesn’t matter I can’t see it anyway”.

The next casualty was entirely my fault. (Mental note…don’t bring up scarring incidents from childhood at the dinner table to your parents…even if you now think it’s funny.) We moved on to how great the food was and I commented that the green bean casserole was very good. I also made the mistake of saying how happy I was that I could now enjoy this dish as an adult after not being able to eat it for years as a child due to the “green bean casserole incident” at my mother’s work. My mother had some how blocked this from her memory and asked what I was talking about.

As a kid….well even an adult green bean casserole looks disgusting. It is like looking at a combination of something gone horribly wrong in the refrigerator and vomit. No matter how you try to dress it up it will never be any attractive dish. Therefore when my mother asked me at their annual Christmas Party Potluck Extravaganza at work if I wanted any my response was “YUCK NO”. How was I supposed to know that the lady who made it was standing right next to us? This of course lead to me being drug out to our blue pinto where I got a spanking and then lead back in to tell the lady how sorry I was for saying “YUCK NO”. I was then force fed green bean casserole just to show the lady how yummy it really was and from that day forward I was to look at green bean casserole as something to be avoided at all costs.

After telling the story at the Thanksgiving table my great aunt decided that now was a good time to talk to my mother about her parenting skills and my mother defended herself to the death saying that I never said “Yuck No” again to anything which made me much more polite and likeable as a child. We are very big on manners in my family….so much so that we can survive almost any horrific moment by just putting on our party manners and moving on. I put this family skill to good use, busted out the pie and everyone went back to playing nice.

We made it through the rest of the day rather calmly with me only having to ask my stepfather once if he could bring down the cussing and volume a few notches because even though my cousin was blind he wasn’t deaf. I scooted them out of the house hours later….closed the door behind them, pushed back my hair just like that little lady in Poltergeist and announced “This house is clean”.

Happy Holidays!

Things We Are Given

 

Oh look...It's Rosemary and her baby.

I think we are given things in our life to teach us lessons. Lessons about life, lessons about love, lessons about responsibilities and even lessons of which we are not even privy. It is this last lesson which has come to me in the form of my cat Kiki.

 

When I rescued her she was but a wee thing that fit in the palm of my hand and had to be fed with a bottle. She was fuzzy and cute, as all young things are, but this was not meant to last. She is now 2 years old beautiful to look at but lurking underneath the surface is something more sinister than you could imagine.

My first clue that there was something drastically wrong with this cat should have been the night I came home late, put my purse on the coffee table, walked out of the room and came back moments later to find her peeing in my purse. She had managed to get it open just enough to squat in it and leave me a lovely present. A few days later I picked up my house phone to make a call and discovered that she had peed in the phone holder….on nothing else mind you just the phone holder itself…now that takes talent. I also watched her balance on the trash can while going number one and number two without every tipping it over. She almost met her doom when I caught her urinating on my guitar case. Eventually this passed and then we moved onto the next phase of Kiki….I like to call it the Kato phase.

If you have ever watched a Pink Panther movie then you know exactly to whom I am referring Inspector Clouseau’s butler Kato. Just like Kato Kiki would hide in a dark place and wait for me to walk into the room. When I wasn’t looking she would shoot out from where ever she was and attack me…and not in a “we are just playing” kind of way. Full teeth, full claws and lightning fast reflexes which allowed her to escape without being touched. Until I was the age of 6 I thought my grandmother’s name was Odessa Fern Damnit…no lie. Why? Because when she and my grandfather would fight he would yell at her “Odessa Fern Damnit”. It wasn’t until I asked my mother why my grandmother’s last name was different than my grandfathers that I learned the truth. All of that to say after the Kato phase in Kiki’s life I think I could yell “Kiki” or “Damnit” and she would still respond. 

The next phase is the gift giving phase of Kiki. Some people like to think that when a cat brings you something or leaves something for you it is a gift….not me. Knowing my cat I think her gift giving is more of a death threat. “See this mouse that’s dead and missing one foot…that’s what I am going to do to you lady. I know where you sleep.” Her favorite places to leave dead mice are to fling them under my bedroom door so that when I wake up and walk across the room in the morning I am met with a juicy squish under my bare foot or it is left at the front door so that when I enter I am met with a resounding crunch under my boot. I have an odd feeling that she lives for that sound.

We are now still in the phase called “THE SHINING”. There is one room in my house that I would like to keep fur free…my bedroom. This means this door stays closed at all times. Kiki knows very well that she is not allowed in this room but this doesn’t stop her from making every attempt to get in….especially at 3 in the morning when I am sound asleep. It starts with a few meows to get my attention. Then possibly a toy or dead mouse is thrown under the door. If that doesn’t get a response the meows get louder. If I still won’t come to the door she begins to throw herself at it repeatedly. If I still won’t concede she takes her claws, curls them up under the door and shakes it with all of her might screaming….”Here’s Kiki”. If you haven’t lived through this it is very terrifying…she’s lucky she hasn’t been shot.

Our final and last phase is “Death to all tails”. It started innocently enough on Sunday with Kiki playing with her tail. She attacked it a few times as cats will do and then moved on. By Monday a simple act of playing had turned into a death match between Kiki and her tail. First she sees it, obviously it is following her, then she stops to see if it will stop…it does. After a few moments of waiting her tail starts to twitch which of course is seen as a sheer sign of aggression. She starts to growl to let the tail know she means business and then if it doesn’t stop twitching it must be dealt with. Kiki pounces on her own tail claws at the ready hissing and spitting and screaming and then of course her tail gets bitten which sends her tearing through the house to get away from whatever it was that bit her tail but of course….it’s still following her. It is now Friday and the tail killing is still happening every hour on the hour and in between. She is now on cat sedatives and is forced to sleep in a crate at night because…again…she’s lucky she hasn’t been shot.

I expect at the end of my journey with this cat to have increased my tolerance for pain, not flinch at the crushing of bones under my feet, learn to sleep like the dead and or not at all and learn that the only thing chasing my own tail will get me is a hangover and a crate to sleep in. Anyone need a cat?