Two

There are so many great things that come in two…

Burgers on a Big Mac, eyes, hands, elbows, boobies (since we’re on body parts), balls (unless you’re Lance Armstrong), twins, high heels…

… and my kid. There are not two of him, but he is now two.

Like, seriously, where the fuck did those two years go?!

I suppose they were lost in the melee of diapers, animal flashcards, and Playdoh. As much as I’d like to admit that I’m mostly the same person that I was before him, I really am not. I talk to other mothers about their kids now, (sporadically) and get a ridiculous thrill out of the fact that my boy mimics every word that comes out of my mouth. (I still retain my sailor’s vocabulary, but at least only I realize it when my kid is yelling “FUCK”. )

In other ways, I am still me. I don’t like to cook still, and very closely resemble Cher’s character in the movie Mermaids when it comes to preparing meals. (Finger foods, finger foods.) I still enjoy whiskey at times, and other assorted adult beverages, and sometimes wonder if, as he gets older, my kid will recognize the tell-tale signs of my tipsiness.

I am glad that I now have a little person to drag around to fun things like the zoo and the science museum, as I did not exactly enjoy coming off as a creeper/pedophile when frequenting such places before motherhood. Too, I like this having a young one to throw themed birthday parties for. (We just had a Dr. Seuss one.)

Clearly, I have lost my edge when it comes to writing, because it seems that I am rambling now, and have written a post of little or no interest, so I think it’s time to say goodbye for the night.

So farewell for now, dear readers. I just wanted to let you know I’m still around.

XOXO

 

Thirty-Fucking-Four

Damn, I’m old.

Yes, yes, I realize that a good many people out there are much older than I, but having celebrated my birthday just yesterday and realizing I’ve accomplished not all that much has made me feel incredibly aged.

It is true, I’m much wiser than my 33-year-old self was, having experienced child-birth and having lived with an almost step-child every day for the past year. For this I suppose I am grateful. However, there are some downfalls to growing older….

I have less patience for mankind as the years go by- my theory that most people are assholes has been proven again and again over the past year. While I was willing to overlook such trivialities in the past, as the years go by, I more frequently find myself daydreaming of a time when  I can walk through a parking lot without having a farmer hanky blown in my direction, and the imbeciles on the roads are restricted from operating motor vehicles.

I realize how non-existant my will power has become- I am not my perfect goal weight. I have not finished writing my best-seller. I haven’t learned any languages, or trained the dog to quit barking, or finished painting the mural in my basement bathroom. Boo on me.

I feel like I’m eighty most of the time- this may have something to do with the fact that I am not at my goal weight. And that my diet consists of Caribou Coffee and French fries. And that my chosen form of working out is walking out to the mailbox daily to see if a million dollar check has arrived yet.

Whatever. At least I still look good.

Welcome To My Box

It was my birthday on Saturday.

I am now at a terrible age.

It’s not necessarily because I’m over 29 and have yet to give Chris Meloni a booby-squishing hug, (although that certainly doesn’t help), or the fact that because of my candy-and-French-fry eating habits over the last 30-some years has made my body decide to rebel against me, but the main reason I am upset it because I am now stuck at an even number for the next 12 months.

I realize that any OCD readers out there may be appalled at the thought of someone actually WANTING to be an odd age instead of an even age, but hey, I’ve spent my years trying desperately to have attention on me. Anyhoo, I received a mailer that was meant to be filled out this week, and on it, there was an area that asked you to check a box for your age range. Instead of the usual 30-35 (which is disturbing enough that I fit into), I had to check the box that said 32-37. I know I shouldn’t say anything, because I’ll be there soon enough, but 37?! How did this happen? When did I end up being categorized with old farts?

Instead of dwelling on it, I decided to steal a line from Samantha in Sex and the City- “Welcome to my box.”

It’s a great place to visit, My Box is. It is filled with people who are (it is hoped) mature and won’t be caught dead in a Justin Bieber shirt. We are usually seasoned enough to know that not all marriages work out, and that rushing into things is not always a good idea. Sure, there are a few of us who are happily married, and even a few more who are romantic (?) enough to keep getting married again. (and again). Still, there are a couple of us that grow completely ill at the thought of ever again binding themselves to another human being for all of eternity.

In My Box, we are not ashamed to admit that we once listened to New Kids on the Block while playing Miami Vice in our basements as children. Some of us were absolutely enthralled with David Bowie as the Goblin King in The Labrynth, and will forever be looking for that perfect man who can pull off a spiky mullet while wearing leather junk-promoting leggings and a ruffly shirt. Here in My Box, we occasionally bebop to Backstreet Boys, and the GooGoo Dolls, or if in a fighting mood, Brandy and Monica’s The Boy is Mine. But to prove we don’t have completely hideous musical taste, we will admit that as children, we just wanted to grow up and grab our junk while singing “Heehoo!” in a funky falsetto exactly like our idol, Michael Jackson.

We were the ones who wore the massively baggy jeans that looked like jean skirts, unashamedly. The ones in My Box know about the clunky heels that were my first pair of grown-up shoes, and platform boots that were in every mall store that sold shoes- now only sold in Hot Topic.

We are the ones who are now populating the earth with new tiny beings who will grow up with the iphones and ipods fused to their hands, the ones who are giving way to the children who only have friends on Facebook, who are clearly evolving into birds that Tweet, and as we once said to our parents “what’s that?” when we found an old 8-track, our children will be confused and astounded when they find our old and antiquated VHS tapes buried in the back of some closet somewhere.

It’s not such a bad place, My Box, and I certainly don’t want to go on to the next Box.

Edward Hotspur and the Best Birthday Present Ever

So sorry this is late! I blame it on the aliens that abducted my brain a few days ago. It is hoped my story makes up for it. This was supposed to be a choose your own adventure post with links to other amazing writers, but I’m afraid that ship has sailed without me. Just go to H.E.’s blog and you will find a birthday trail for Hotspur. So! Ed, I give you the gift of fantasy fiction…

“Happy birthday, Honey!” The incredibly attractive woman known as Mrs. Hotspur greeted her birthday boy- a less attractive (but only slightly) Edward. She planted a passionate kiss on her hubby’s lips.

“Thanks, baby. So what’d you get me?” Ed hated to admit it, but he was all about the presents. His ego was big enough that he believed everyone should give him at least one.

The Mrs. bit her lip nervously. This was a little bit out of her comfort zone, but she knew it was something he wouldn’t soon forget. She grabbed his hand and led him down the hallway to the bedroom.

“Ok, so I know I should have asked first, but I didn’t think you’d mind.  I got you a pet.”

When he heard “pet”, Ed expected to see a precocious puppy or one of those massive ragdoll cats that are completely useless, but when his wife stepped aside, he was absolutely speechless. Kneeling in front of him was a curvy redhead. She wore only a corset, a dog collar, and a pair of red patent leather stilettos. His pants felt a little bit tighter as he admired her naked breasts; her nipples were pointing directly at him, it seemed. Her head was down in a submissive position, but when he gasped in surprised, the woman looked up at him, and he was shocked when one of her eyelids dipped down over one of her dark brown eyes in a flirtatious wink.

“Holy shit! What is Sparklebumps doing here?!” Ed’s voice sounded about three octaves higher than he was used to.

Mrs. Ed shrugged. “Well, I wanted to get Salma Hayak, but she’s famous and  well, you know, not super horny. But Sparkles is exactly the same height, and her tits are just a little bit bigger. She’s agreed to let you be her master for the night. I know you always wanted to try being dominant, so…” She leaned close and whispered seductively into her hubby’s ear, “She’ll do whatever you want her to… including me.” Before she stepped back, Ed felt her nip his ear in such a way that shivers flew down his spine.

Ed ran his hand through his hair as he looked first at his wife, and then down at his birthday present. She hadn’t moved a muscle; she awaited his command. Well, fuck. He thought. What the hell?

He stepped forward, and Sparkle looked up at him.

“Happy birthday, Master. Not how you expected to meet me, is it?” She grinned.

Ed cleared his throat. “I’m not complaining.”

“What would you have of me, Master?” As she asked, Sparkle raised her hands to undo Ed’s pants. He put his hands over hers to stop her.

“Stand up.” The authoritative tone in his voiced surprised him.

“Ah.” Sparkle lowered her head and rose, and as she did so, Ed admired the nicely muscled legs she had gotten from years of wearing heels. He looked over at his wife, expecting daggers to be shooting from her eyes at the fact that he was eyeing another woman, but instead, she only smiled, and nudged him forward.

Ed took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Go over to the bed and bend over.” Nice ass,  he thought, as Sparkle did what she was told. He stepped forward and grabbed her by the hair.

“Shame on you for not thinking of the lady first. I’m going to spank you now, and then you will pleasure my wife.” Sparkle made a slight noise in her throat that seemed to affect Ed’s already hard manhood. He lifted his hand and brought it down perfectly on the meat of her rear with a delicious slap. Sparkle gasped, and moved her hips against the edge of the bed, while Ed watched the pale skin of her ass turn a lovely pink color. He heard a moan behind him, and was surprised to look into his wife’s face and see her blooming desire. He gave Sparkle one final swat before releasing her hair and stepping back.

“Now take care of my wife.” Who was this bossy, domineering man? He didn’t realize he had it in him. He was so used to being light-hearted and blogging about pissing unicorns and other bizarre things.

Sparkle slid off the edge of the bed and crawled over to where the Mrs. was leaning against the wall lazily. She looked up for confirmation, and must have found it, because she ever so slowly slid the Mrs. pants down, leaned forward, and laid a soft kiss on the lacy panties underneath. Sparkle then slid the panties off, and Ed watched in fascination as Sparkle’s tongue slid out and delicately tasted his wife.

The Mrs. moaned quietly, and that was all Sparkle needed. She proceeded to go down on the Mrs., and Ed was amazed at how erotic it was to look in to his wife’s eyes as another woman pleasured her. More erotic still it was when he watched the pleasure rise and the eye contact was broken when she closed her eyes and came.

“That’s enough.” He stood up expectantly. “I want you to stay over there, Little Bitch, and watch now while I make love to my wife.”

Disclaimer: I meant no disrespect in the story up above, Ed. H. E. told me to write something for your bday that was about a semi-biographical blog like mine, and since I live in Fantasyland, this is the only thing I could think of. It helps that your wife is gorgeous, but tell her not to be mad, ok? It’s just for fun. If you desire, I can finish it, but I didn’t want to go overboard. Happy Birthday! XOXO

“Look What I Bought For Us.”

In the past history of this blog, there have been many confused and irrational ramblings by some girl closely resembling me. If you recall, she wanted her Rockstar to propose; but wait! She wanted to have babies and was quite certain she was willing to give up her Rockstar if he didn’t give up his sperm. For the record, you are now entering the life of a Libra. Please keep your hands inside the cart for the duration of the ride, and hang on for dear life.

It’s funny to think how different things were even a year ago. I was happily employed at a bookstore where every day was like Christmas, and would nightly go home to my Rockstar who would or would not greet me with a bear hug and a boner, depending on his mood. I spent a good deal of time waiting for him to say those three little words (I love you), or even four little words (Will you marry me?), growing increasingly preturbed by his refusal to verbally commit to me. After this weekend, I realized that all that time, I should have been dreaming bigger, and expecting even MORE words. Maybe even six whole ones. I didn’t even know I wanted to hear them until after they were said:

“Look what I bought for us.”

For those who may not have known, (or may have forgotten), it was my birthday last Friday. I cannot say I celebrated it, as I spent the entire day in a hellacious prison acting as a Pizza Slut. Luckily, my Rockstar missed me enough this week that he brought me to work at 9 AM, and came back to pick me up at 1:30 AM just so he could see me for a few extra minutes.

While I have never expected birthday presents from the man I’m in a relationship with (other than birthday sex), I cannot say that I would refuse or deny any gifts that were purchased with my day of birth in mind. My Rockstar in the last weeks purchased yellow shocks to replace the ones in my very yellow truck, and while not necessarily meant as a birthday gift, I appreciate the gesture greatly. That being said, the fact that my Rockstar took me out for breakfast at Perkins on Saturday so I could eat lunch food was more than enough of a birthday present.

When I arrived home Saturday night, my Rockstar’s Daughter wished to show me the new fuzzy blanky her daddy had bought her. After tucking her in and raining kisses upon her, I went into my own bedroom intent on plastering myself to my mattress for the next 5-7 hours. My Rockstar rudely (or so I thought at first) turned the bedroom light on and said those few words I’ve waited to hear all my life.

“Look what I bought for us.”

Without knowing my Rockstar, it may be hard for you to understand the great depth of his meaning in these words. He is forever talking about going to this race, or taking this weekend to go dirt-biking, or looking online to purchase guitar gear instead of a house. While it is unspoken yet known that I am invited to participate in these activities, there has been few or no times when he has referred in conversations (at least with me) to he and I as “us”. Him being a man of few words, (unless it has to do with Mitt Romney) I could not have been more shocked or delighted if he had said, “Here’s a castle for you and a pair of swarovski-encrusted stillettos for you to marry me in.”

If he would have put a pile of cow shit on the floor and said, “Look what I bought for us”, I would have thrown my arms around him and covered him in kisses for saying it in such a way, nevermind the dung. Luckily, he bought for us sheets, which perhaps seems quite insignificant to an outsider, except for one little detail- they were purple. Which means he bought them specifically with me in mind. Who needs a ring and a proposal when there are purple sheets to dirty? 😉

 

30

Happy Birthday to me! I suppose I am a little bit sad that I can no longer say that I’m in my 20’s. And in reflection, it is a tad disheartening how little I’ve accomplished in my 30 years. But let’s not dwell on that, shall we? I plan to have a perfect day, sitting on my ass and not doing anything while wearing my very beautiful prom dress and looking fabulous. I actually DID plan to start drinking at 9AM, as I have never done that before, but sadly, I have a job interview this afternoon. While I have no doubt my interviewer would be highly entertained by a drunken me, the chances of getting hired would be minimal, me thinks. As I was reflecting on  my very lengthy life, I thought of a few things. So here is a list of 30 things I’ve learned in my 30 years. I do not claim that this is great wisdom, but they ARE things that are kind of beneficial to know, all the same.

1.Smiling does NOT always make you feel better, but if you do it anyway, it may make someone ELSE feel better.

2.Getting married doesn’t magically make everything better.

3.Getting divorced doesn’t magically make everything better either, but sometimes it helps a little.

4.Jesus will always be there for you, but He doesn’t talk alot and He says no alot when you ask Him for stuff.

5.Peach Schnapps in water is the only alcoholic beverage one can drink in excessive quantities at accelerated rates that won’t make you hurl.

6. Great sex is NOT a good enough reason for two people to get married, but the lack of it in a marriage is detrimental.

7.Money won’t buy you happiness, but life’s a bitch when you don’t have any, and so is the IRS.

8.The more you read, the less stupid you are.

9.An awesome pair of heels will ALWAYS get you noticed by someone. Not necessarily the someone you wanted.

10.Sleep is the best pasttime- but also a complete WASTE of time.

11.Women are prettier naked than men.

12. “If you give a mouse a cookie, he’s probably going to want a glass of milk to go with it.” (Thank you, Laura Numeroff.)

13.It’s not worth it to be anorexic, because people will just say you’re too skinny, and you’ll miss out on French fries.

14.Always go when you see a bathroom, because you will never be sorry that you DIDN’T pee your pants.

15.Cooking on medium heat is safest, because when you burn it on high, it doesn’t take as long, but it doesn’t taste as good either.

16.I will always love grilled cheeses.

17.There will always be time to wash the dishes later, but if you wait that long, the job is much ickier.

18.Being a waitress sucks, but having to wait 2 weeks between paychecks sucks worse.

19.Over-dressed is better that under-dressed. Unless you are on a farm or camping.

20.There IS such a thing as love at first sight.

21.My hair will not fall out if I bleach and dye it 3 or 4 times within a week.

22.A cheater isn’t always a cheater.

23.Going commando is sometimes a necessity.

24. Men will not generally say no to a blow job.

25.Always say yes. (except for when someone offers you a concrete mixer or a stranger asks you to get in his car.)

26. Don’t forget to swing at the playgroung once in a while.

27.Taylor Swift’s lyrics may improve in time, but her voice won’t.

28.When a cop tries to pull you over for speeding, going faster isn’t a good idea, but it’s DAMN fun.

29. Alone Time is a good thing, just not ALL the time.

30.There is always time for hugs.

 

P.S. I had 31, but I put it in a p.s. so it doesn’t throw off my whole theme.

“When I keep my eyes open, I can read with much more speed. You have to be a speedy reader, ’cause there’s just so, so much to read!” (Dr. Seuss knows his stuff.)

How Brett Favre Ruined My Marriage

Since it is a Holy Day, that Day of St. Pigskin, I shall entertain you with a short tale of why I shall ever narrow my eyes at the mention or sight of  the celebrated Brett Favre.

When I was dating my not-yet ex-Husband, I felt relieved to find myself as one of the Elite Few Women Who Aren’t Ignored During Football Season. My guy, though quite manly in all other areas, lacked the gene most men are born with- that of hunkering down in front of the tube every Sunday afternoon and Monday night to bellow and squall at the little men running around, while swigging beer and snarfing down finger foods. There was an occasional lapse in attention toward me when Green Bay played the Vikes, but overall, Sundays were spent in less asinine ways.

A few years ago, Minnesota picked up a new quarterback. You may have heard of this player, though at the time, the only thing I really knew about him was that he had made a cameo appearance in the movie There’s Something About Mary, before he looked like a rotting corpse. His name was Brett Favre. Immediately, there was embroilment among fans.

Being from Minnesota, I have, from adolescence, been aware of the rivalry between the Green Bay Packers and the Minnesota Vikings. When Brett got picked up by the Vikes, Green Bay fans were enraged. How could he do that?! Is there so little honor in the sport of football, that a star quarterback could play for a rival team?! I suppose a giant paycheck and another chance at glory may have had something to do with it/My not-yet ex was thrilled. “I guess now I might be into football, since our team won’t suck so bad,” he announced. I guess that should have given me a clue….

It seemed, then that Brett Favre was EVERYWHERE. TV started airing Wrangler jean ads, thinking that “Yes, of course men will believe their asses will look like Brett’s if they buy our crapper jeans.” and JC Penney couldn’t keep in enough #4 jerseys. Perhaps I was over-reacting at that point, but I began to resent being told, “Just wait ’til the game is done, honey.” I believe it had more to do with the fact that while my hubby was recovering from back surgery, I was working 70+ to pay the bills, and Sunday was the only day I was home. Yes, I am very selfish.

The beginning of the end was when my birthday fell on a Monday. What the hell was I thinking, being born exactly 28 years before the game to end all games- the Vikes (with Brett Favre) vs. the Packers? My hubby informed me that I had a choice. I could celebrate my birthday the next day, (even though I had taken my birthday off from work and would be working 17 hrs the next day) or I could go with and watch the “super game” at my brother-in-law’s. Now, I have since been told that men are completely oblivious at times, but this was pretty much the most dim-witted thing a significant other could say to an over-worked histrionic. When the ultimatum was made to me, I still had hope in my heart that I wasn’t married to a complete nincompoop.

Sadly, my birthday came around, and I spent the entire day alone. Not to say that there were no chums that were breaking down my door to celebrate with me, but the fact that my hubby was so retarded as to go off and do whatever on MY day, when I wanted to spend it with him, had me moping on the couch, chowing down on Hardee’s, watching Sex and the City in my undies. It just so happened that he got plastered at his bro’s house during the game, so didn’t even come home that night. His reasoning was, “I told you I wouldn’t be around on your birthday.”

There were other reasons why I got divorced as well, but that night I realized that if I didn’t come first over a middle-aged Mississippian in a purple shirt, things were very sub-standard. In this day and age of VCRs and Tivos, (we had both) I never should have been left alone on my birthday. Yes, I need attention, and I do not apologize for it. I like to think that if Brett Favre had known that his one of his last losing seasons would have disassembled my marriage, he woulda just stayed home grilling gators.