More of me-me-me

Or, a lazy-girl's blog entry.

1. IF YOU COULD BUILD A SECOND HOUSE ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD IT BE? Maui.
2. WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLES OF CLOTHING? My sparkly shirts and any time I buy new shoes.
3. THE LAST CD YOU BOUGHT? Joss Stone and Marc Broussard for my Dad for Christmas.
4. WHAT TIME DO YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING? As late as I can. Usually around 7:30 on a school day.
5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE KITCHEN APPLIANCE? Fridge.
6. IF YOU COULD PLAY AN INSTRUMENT, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Guitar.
7. FAVORITE COLOR? Red, bright acidy green, black, purple, and this new blue I'm enamored with.
8. WHICH DO YOU PREFER, SPORTS CAR OR SUV? One that works.
9. DO YOU BELIEVE IN AFTERLIFE? Definitely.
10. FAVORITE CHILDREN'S BOOK? If You Give a Moose a Muffin and Velveteen Rabbit.
11. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON? All of them.
12. IF YOU COULD HAVE ONE SUPER POWER, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Hell, I don't know.
13. IF YOU HAVE A TATTOO, WHAT IS IT? A beautiful crown with pink light shining on it.
14. CAN YOU JUGGLE? Not even close.
15. THE ONE PERSON/PEOPLE FROM YOUR PAST YOU WISH YOU COULD GO BACK AND TALK TO? This changes all the time. Today, I'd really like to talk to my great grandfather, John D. Moss.
16. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE DAY? All of them.
17. WHAT'S IN THE TRUNK OF YOUR CAR/TRUCK: Leftovers from my last roadtrip, and, amazingly, that's all! I finally cleaned it out before the Numbers Summit.
18. WHICH DO YOU PREFER, SUSHI OR HAMBURGER? Hamburger. Or, more specifically, the pimento-cheese cheeseburger from the Vortex!
19. FROM THE PEOPLE YOU WILL EMAIL THIS TO, WHO'S MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND FIRST? Respond, people. All o' y'all.
20. WHO'S LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? I know where you live.
21. WHO DID YOU RECEIVE THIS FROM? Devilboss.
22. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FLOWER? Stargazer lillies.
23. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE MEAL? Ones that I don't cook. (I'm really looking forward to having the young man cook for me at my house!)
24. WHEN IS YOUR BIRTHDAY? August 2.
25. DESCRIBE YOUR PJS. My purty birthday suit!

So, my take on Valentine's Day, then.

Until now, I have hated this day with a superb intensity normally reserved for child molesters and rapists.

But, see, I don't anymore. And, while this post will probably wander into the slightly sappy, the outset I have in mind isn't sappy at all. I chose my position. Me. I did it. And I did a good job, this time.

My position is this:

I am single by choice.

Last year at this time I was at my Mom and Dad's in Florida. They had only just moved there, and I was helping my mother unpack boxes while my dad finished up working in Indianapolis. I was morose. I couldn't stop thinking about how really I should have been down there with my two little daughters, trying to keep track of them and laughing with their Grammy, my mom, instead of actually getting any unpacking done. I knew with my whole heart that I'd never have the girls with my former spouse (the McDonaldland Character), and I knew my marriage was coming to an end (though I couldn't admit it quiiiiiiiite yet.) When Grimace sent flowers to me at my folks' house for Valentine's Day, it was like a sad joke. I distinctly remember perking up a little bit and thinking, "Maybe there's still hope," because he was not famous for thinking of me once I had left the room.

I am exponentially less lonely this year than I was last year at this time. (Is it possible to be exponentially less something?) I wake up in a home where NOT ONE PERSON is ignoring me every day directly to my face. My bed is comfortable and warm and I've gotten a good night's sleep because I didn't have a large, hairy, snoring tornado in there with me. There is still milk and cereal and orange juice (yummm) in the house that I can eat for breakfast. (OhyesIsuredid have to hide cookies in my glove compartment just so I could have some.) Everything is where I left it. A reasonable amount of towels are used each week. The laundry is always caught up. Hmmm, it's starting to sound like I actually cared about the towels and the socks on the floor; I didn't. It's just a nice bonus.

What I do care about is that the main person in my life last year -- my husband -- is no longer in my face NOT offering love, not offering encouragement, not offering support, not offering to be proud of me for my little accomplishments, not offering to find me charming when I am. Hell, he wasn't even offering consciousness or rudimentary participation. You know, that kind of thing puts a real damper on the whole sex situation.

This year, I'm free to offer those things to myself, or to find someone else to help celebrate me. This works wonderfully. In fact, if I ever married again, (say when I was 57 or so,) I'll still depend on myself or people of my choosing to help celebrate what God and I are whipping up in my life. The bigger the party, the better!

So, party on, ye happily coupled. Good for you. I'm happy for you. And I mean that. Not only that, I predict that I'll BE one of you, one day. BUT FOR TODAY, I'LL TAKE MY CHOICE.

Having the best friends on the planet doesn't hurt my attitude, either. Numbers, queens, verybestfriends, and family: You're the force behind my being able to stay this happy. Because even the gleefully, blissfully solo still desire the love.

My Senior Year of High School

YOUR SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL*

[What year was it?]1987

[What were your three favorite bands?]I didn't have any before college except for The Eagles. Ever the timely music obsession!

[What was your favorite outfit?]Probably some kind of jeans and a very long sweater with long "pearls" or a long scarf.

[What was up with your hair?]The whole bi-level thing.

[Who were your best friends?]Beth.

[What did you do after school?]Worked on the newspaper.

[Did you take the bus?]I drove The Magic Bus. Until I totaled it.

[Who did you have a crush on?]Senior year... um, David A., probably. Perry, maybe? Eric M. for sure. I swear I do not remember this very clearly.

[Did you fight with your parents?]naw.

[Who did you have a CELEBRITY crush on?]NO idea. That was a couple three years after my Scott Baio phase.

[Did you smoke cigarettes?]Nope.

[Did you lug all of your books around in your backpack all day because you were too nervous to find your locker?]No.

[Did you have a 'clique'?]Choir and Journalism and Youth Group. Are those cliques?

[Did you have "The Max" like Zach, Kelly, and Slater?]What's a Max?

[Admit it, were you popular?]and by popular you mean tormented, right?

[Who did you want to be just like?]Beth and my brother.

[What did you want to be when you grew up?]I didn't know. And still don't, for the most part. Though, I obviously wanted to be married enough to do it twice! Heh.

[Where did you think you'd be at the age you are now?] married, kids, dogs, house. I have NONE of these, and I truly have never been happier in my adult life.

(*stolen from april's blog )

Les A-B-Cs.

Accent: Horribly Midwestern.

Bra size: 44 or 46 DDD

Chore I hate: Toilet cleaning. You know this if you've been paying attention.

Dad's name: John Michael

Essential make-up products: Mascara

Favorite perfume: Aromatics Elixir by Clinique or Coriandre by Jean Courtier

Gold or silver?: Both

Hometown: Don't have one.

Interesting fact: I sing pretty well.

Job title: Security Analyst

Kids: None that I know of.

Living arrangements: Blissfully Solo!

Mom's birthplace: San Jose, CA

Number of apples eaten in the last week: 2

Overnight hospital stays: Two.

Phobias: None

Question you ask yourself a lot: I used to ask, "What's wrong with me?" But now it's "Could I BE any cuter??"

Religious affiliation: Your basic fundamentalist Christian nightmare, except different.

Siblings: 1 younger brother.

Time I wake up: As late as possible. Around 7:45.

Unnatural hair color: Once had some HORRIBLE red. I looked like hell.

Vegetable I Refuse to Eat: brussels sprouts, lima beans. UGH. (Though, I always TRY brussels sprouts, because I keep thinking I'll like them eventually!!)

Worst habit: Eating poorly.

X-rays?: As needed.

Yummy food I make: I make a mean breakfast.

Zodiac sign: Leo

Commence with the making out!

I have to hurry and get something up here before the other numbers have it all covered and I’m just sitting around going, “Yeah, what they said!” Not that that’s all bad, ‘cause those girls just rock, you know it? Who would have guessed that five grown up women would have found their soul mates after school was all over and we were in our mid-to-late twenties, and early-to-mid thirties? [See: Hedwig.] Seems like I’d have been friends with this group as long as I’ve been friends with my Beth, which is OVER 20 YEARS. (Oh, sure, we’re not quite as young as we used to be, but we’re still damn cute.)

Anyway, so there we were, Lola and I, driving up to the summer cottage (yes, that’s what it is when you’re vacationing at Allie’s) and there’s these two hotties flashing us their bras! With the big boobs IN ‘em! Now, I ask you, what says love more than a good flashing? Nothing, that’s what! Not a damn thing.

So, of course we all kiss and hug and cry and hug and cry some more and generally giggle ourselves silly ‘cause we’re finally in one another’s presence… except for the Rock Star, who is stranded in a lil’ place called Commerce because the WonderTruck has quit working. Ugh. You know the picking-Christel-Up Story from her account of the situation; except that I have to add she’s 100% spot-on regarding the extent to which Christel and I must laugh while in one another’s presence. Talking on the phone is virtually useless, because all that happens is the big happy laugh over and over again. Do you know anyone who is like a giant, sparkly, ball of light and energy? That’s our girl. Being in the same room with her makes my life better.

So, on the way to get the Rock Star in Commerce, I lie in the back seat of my own car, (which by now I’m frankly a little weary of,) and tell the girlies about my fabulous Thursday-night date. [That’s all the details you’re getting, dear reader, except to say that he’s, seriously, the cutest man I’ve ever seen and 24 is definitely not too young.] We meet up with the Rock Star, load her luggage into my car, and Sexypants Allie drives us on home, where the Ottoman Cake is waiting. I don’t mean a cake from the Ottoman Empire, people. I mean a cake the size of an ottoman. Good night nurse, that thing could kill something if hurled with enough force. But damn, was it good! Second only to the fried chicken that my very favorite Holly Homemaker on Crack cooked up earlier that day.

So, when we’re all in one location, we hug and kiss some more and then start with the stories. What good is being together if you can’t tell the stories. My favorite part about us is that the stories are about US. And occasionally about some peripheral character. See, when I was married to Grimace, he used to think we talked constantly about HIM. Um, not so much. Mostly we stand, sit, or lie around, eating yummy foods, drinking the Maker’s, and saying stuff like, “Could we BEEEEEEE any cuter?” (No, we could not.) Then we tell a story of how cute, or clever, or darling we are, and the rest of us cheer.

Then we rest up so we can be properly thrown out of a Tattoo Parlor the next night.

More later! Promise.

Thank you!

For your comments on the new templates... I'm under construction, and I have about half of my Numbers Summit typed up. Stay tuned!

Understanding Women 101: Lesson Two

[Yes, the Numbers Summit is still on the way... I just fired this off quickly this morning, and I wanted to post it before Mr. S posts toooooo many more things on his blog so that the whole 101 thing is buried!!!!!]

On to the lesson.

I swear, you're making this too easy, Mr. Savant.

I totally agree that there is truth in sarcasm. My comments here for your personal enjoyment and especially for your edification.

1. Please learn to work the seat.

Boys need it up, girls need it down. When no one is using it, it should be completely closed, which means you nasty girls leaving it up are just as silly as the nasty boys leaving it up! Who wants to see the inside of the toilet when they aren’t using it? Anyone? Anyone? Most men probably don’t care one way or the other. Therefore, I give you this important note: If you aren’t the primary caretaker of the interior of your home and your mate is the primary caretaker, he or she gets to make the rules on how the toilet is left. Guys, if you want to clean the toilets and the surrounding floors (and do all the other interior work) you get to leave the seat up with NO PEEP from the girl!

2. Crying is blackmail.

Crying CAN BE blackmail. But for the most part, it’s an expression of emotion: mostly frustration, frequently anger, and sometimes sadness. Any woman using tears for blackmail should be shot directly in the face on behalf of those of us who are genuinely expressing an emotion.

3. Please ask for exactly what you want.

Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work! Just say it! Nothing, nothing, nothing could be truer than this! Most men are very literal creatures. Sadly, we women have this whole fairytale belief that if we have to ask for it to get it, it’s not romantic or some other bullshit. NO, NO, NO. Asking for what you want or need, in the man’s native language, is NOT unromantic. It exponentially increases the odds of us getting what we need. I ask you, girls, do you want your relationship to fit some fairytale thing you believed as a child, or do you want it to be satisfying? If you voted for satisfying, I welcome you to womanhood! Ask for exactly what you want. (Sidebar: I also recommend this approach in the sack! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!)

4. When you come to a man with a problem, expect his first reaction to be to try and solve it.

My dear girls, this is why we have each other. The sooner we learn to tell the right person for the reaction we desire, the sooner we’ll be at peace. So, if you want a solution, tell your mate; if you want sympathy, tell your girlfriends. There is NO CRIME in looking for what you need for a source other than your mate (um, except for sex). There is also no crime in asking your mate to reserve the “helping” portion of the program for a few minutes and just listen to your pain. That being said, if he’s no good at simply listening for a few minutes, get it somewhere else, and concentrate on those areas where he’s great! (Especially if it’s sex and/or toilet cleaning.)

5. Headaches that last 17 months are a problem, see a doctor.

YA THINK? Oh.my.damn. I personally had sex with the McDonald-Land Character I was married to just so I could have SOME sex. If you can go 17 months without, I need to know your secret.

6. Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument, especially if it is totally out of context!

Anything you said six months ago most certainly IS admissible if you never resolved it. If you didn’t resolve it back then, that’s the fault of both participants. If you’re both grownups, you know that nothing is ever really resolved, and what you actually do is learn to accept and love the differences. This approach requires two adult people who are highly conscious. Out-of-context arguments are for the woman who does not know how to argue. Or how to win.

7. If you think you are fat, you probably are. Don't ask for our opinion.

Once again, I must say that any woman asking the question, “Do I look fat in these pants?” deserves the answer, “YES!” Don’t ask stupid questions, girls. Please, please, dammit please love yourself enough to know how you look in your own effing clothes. (Sidebar: In my own personal case, I look fat in everything ‘cause I AM. Thankfully, I also look darling in everything, also ‘cause I AM!)

8. If you ask a question you don't expect an answer to, you will probably get an answer you don't want to hear.

I was confused by the construction of this question. (And I’m sure I’m not alone.) But, let me say this. If you’re a grown-ass woman, the following will be true: you really don’t need to know what he’s thinking at any given time. If he’s silent, he probably really isn’t thinking about anything interesting. (You really think he’s curing cancer or coming up with the next great way to give you an orgasm up there? No, he isn’t.) Leave him to his silence and you keep thinking about George Clooney or whatever makes you happy. Smile at him occasionally to reassure him that you’re fine.

9. You may ask us to do something, or tell us how you want it done, NOT BOTH!

All I know is if you have someone who will actually DO the stuff you ask him to do, then shut THE HELL UP about HOW he does it. Also, mister, get to steppin' on that project, will ya?

10. If we ask you “what's wrong?” and you say “nothing,” that's what we will go with.

This is corollary to the do-I-look-fat-in-these-pants question. If he asks and you say “nothing” he is off the hook. Period. If something is wrong but you don’t want to talk about it right then, you say, “I’d like to talk about it later. Thank you for asking.” Really.

11. Anything you pick to wear is fine, REALLY!

Awesome! I’ll be making with the green pants and purple shirt and the 4-inch earrings then. And you’ll give NO QUESTIONING LOOKS. Get me, men?

12. You have enough clothes, and you have way too many shoes.

You get to have an opinion on this topic if:

• You’re the one buying the clothes.
• You’re the one buying the shoes.
• You have one, and only one, cordless screwdriver.

Uh huh. That’s what I thought.

Soon-soon-soon with the updating.

And the lowdown on the Numbers Summit.

Until then, let it be known that I am:

Fun Sexy You're funny, quirky, cute, and sassy.Guys always have a great time with you, and that alone is sexy.You've got an upbeat, optimistic spirit that totally shines through.Any guy would be crazy to turn you down! What Kind of Sexy Are You? Take This Quiz Find the Love of Your Life (and More Love Quizzes) at Your New Romance.

Wheeeeeeeeeeee!

I'm so excited I could just pee! As you have probably noticed, the NUMBERS are getting together at the home of #3GA/Bitchcakes. I am not sure I've been this excited since my voyage to the parade in Jackson, MS where I got kissed on the cheek by Gerald MacRaney. (More on that another day.)

All I can tell you is what the others have already said: stock up on beer and vodka, because we'll be having the rest of it, that's what. [Sidenote: I will NOT be drinking margaritas this time, because I think we all know just how painful my hangover was last time. As #3SC/TX said, I was S.T.Rugglin'. Thank God #4's Big Gay Husband fed me greasy breakfast foods.] You'll also want to stock up on cheesy and fried things, because we'll be having the rest of those, too.

Also, be very, very jealous, because there will be dancing in the den, making out, and picture-taking. (Allie and I have been threatening to take a picture of us kissing to frame for our respective living rooms for about two years now.) We're gonna laugh so hard we almost throw up, then we're gonna laugh some more. Then we're gonna cry (because that's what we do.) And, you know what? We're going to just be under the influence of one another for a few days.

Seriously, I'm probably going to break into tears at the sight of my Allison who has truly been the voice of humor, acceptance, encouragement, and quasi-reason (because who wants the serious kind of reason) over the last year of my life. I truly, truly do not envy the rest of the citizens of Atlanta, because the high-pitched squeals of delight are going to set the dogs to howling, don't you know!

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As Requested: Understanding Women, 101

Actually, our dear #4 M'Ary* did weigh in on understanding women earlier, but I'll use 101 as a course number for now.

Understanding Women, 101 - Lesson One

Our dear friend Mr. Savant gave us some pointers on understanding the male of the species and his ability, desire, and flat-out need to flatulate. (Personally, that word cracks me straight up.) You're gonna need to read about that here before you proceed. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Now then, while I certainly do not mind a good fart discussion -- hell, I'm currently experiencing my second adolescence, which means that sometimes I'm a 14 year old boy who finds them hysterically funny -- I do wish to highlight the difference regarding farting, and, er, compliments. While I'm hardly offended by ye olde farts, I admit to being a touch irritated regarding the need for using them as a mating call. Please trust me when I tell you that I'm NOT disputing its natural part of food digestion. I mean, who am I to argue with universal design? I'm simply saying that a huge part of the understanding of women is found in this phrase: PERCEPTION IS REALITY.

Principally, for this discussion, if the woman next to you does not perceive the flatulence to be a compliment, it simply isn't one. Does this make sense? I am most definitely not doubting that it is intended as a compliment of sorts. In fact, I understand the intent; however, this is approximately the only area known to humans where we actually get MORE of you, rather than LESS of you once we make some type of permanent bond with you.

Allow me to elaborate, from highly personal experience.

When we're dating:

• You're charming and chatty.
• You'd never think of passing gas in front of us, because it isn't polite. (We think you're smashingly polite, as a result.)
• You worry about how you look and how you smell before you come to see us.
• You make plans for us to do things when we're together.
• You call the restaurant and the comedy club for reservations.
• You bring flowers or other small items to us to demonstrate that you were thinking of us while we were not in one another's presence. (Even if you didn't know that's what you were doing, that's what it is, because that's how we perceive it. NB: It's not about the flowers!)

Now, once we dwell in the same household:

• You really don't chat as much. This is an indication of intimacy for men, and an indication of disinterest for women. (Look it up, any random Venus and Mars book will tell you it's true.)
• You fart around us and think it's funny that you're impolite. Perception/reality, remember.
• When you come home from work, you sometimes leave your icky work uniform on, and then sit on the clean furniture. You certainly don't shower or apply cologne, 'cause "We're not going anywhere, are we?"
• You don't have any idea how to make dinner reservations, though, the phone seems to be working.
• You no longer bring flowers. NB: But, it's still not about the flowers!

So, allow me to explain something else. Not so bitterly, now. The lists above are just little reminders of what we (and by "we" I mean "I") got less of once I married Grimace. However, I'm still willing to -- someday -- consider a permanent bond with an adult male human. Please understand: well-adjusted women know that men and women demonstrate intimacy differently. Therefore, we don't need to declare "You pig!" when you pass gas if, and only if, we are both making an effort to demonstrate intimacy in the other's style. Here, Moose and Squirrel, I give you the examples.

1. Men do not usually need much of a warm-up for the sex. Women usually do. We don't mind that you don't, just REMEMBER that we are different than you are. Make an effort to come toward us on this.
2. Men don't need to relate crap from their work day, usually. Women usually do. Just remember that we are different than you are. Make an effort to come toward us on this.
3. Women don't think farts are hilarious. (Well, except for sometimes.) And men usually do. We need to remember that you are different than we are. We need to make an effort to go toward you on this.
4. Men tend to talk less as a sign of comfort within a relationship. Women talk more, almost as a rule. We need to remember that you are different than we are. We need to make an effort to go toward you on this.
5. Men tend to talk less as a sign of comfort within a relationship. Women talk more, almost as a rule. YOU need to remember that we are different than you are. Make an effort to come toward us on this.

I think you get my point, here. And that is, if you want to understand women, understand that a compliment is only a compliment if we perceive it as one. Oh, and that we're just different. And that's okay.

Eh, not as funny as I'd hoped, but informative, nonetheless.