Romance Bubble

Wow, it's been days since we've talked.  And in those days, I have luxuriated in time with the boy.  Time we don't often get.  We watched movies.  We took walks in the rain.  We ate enough food that even Biggs got a snack.  We held hands while we were in bed - you'll get nothing else from me!

It's so easy for us to get lost and comfortable and...kinda free.  There's nothing better for me than curling up next to him.  We are touchers - even on opposite sides of the couch, we hold hands.

I know I sound like a dope but I had such a good time with him, and I look forward to many more.

As long as he remembers to use a coaster.

Let's Talk About Wax, Baby

Yesterday, Momma and I went for mani/pedi/waxes.  Well, let's be honest - Momma went for a pedi, and I went for the total package.

A chair or so down from me was a girl about ten years old.  She looked over when one of the ladies brought the wax to my table and worked my brows back into submission.  (Fellas?)  Her mom laughed, in a way that only ladies who have been waxed can laughed, and asked her daughter, "Do you want your brows done?"  The girl hesitated and watched.

This reminded me of the very first time I got my brows done.  They're not bad naturally (fellas?) but a little but of sculpting goes a long way.  Thankfully I had armrests the first time.  The wax doesn't feel bad when it's applied, but once the ripping strip is on, you know this isn't going to be fun enjoyable sexual pleasant. 

I'll tell you, the rip made me almost jump out of the chair.  That shit HURTS, people!  And then I had to endure more.  Once the lady ripped out the hair from the eye side of my brows, I was in tears.  And then there was another eye.  Once you know true pain, you cannot believe you have to endure it on your opposite side.

But I got through it, again and again, and then went back and have now had this "beauty" treatment done more times that I can count.  It's not so bad now, although I think what gets to me is the anticipation.  I now longer jump, or have to hold a stress ball (although I might still when I get a blood draw).

Still, my reaction, and the subsequent pinkness around my brows which lasts for about ten minutes, made this little girl tell her mom, "No!  I do not want to be waxed!"

Godspeed, girl.  Your day is coming soon enough.

Guest Post

The other day, a friend of mine told me a story so funny, I snorted. Ugh. But I did, and then I insisted that she write it out so I could share it with you. She's feeling a little shy about this one, but she shouldn't! I can only imagine how many mommies this has happened to:

The other day I was sitting at my computer checking email when my 2 boys exclaimed that they were hungry. So as I get up from my chair I find I have a Charlie-horse-like cramp in my hip /butt area. It continues into the night when, laying in bed with my husband, I ask nicely, "Would you please massage my butt?" To which he laughed and asked why. I tell him about the pain, and while he is cackling he says alright.

Once he started massaging my backside, I of course start moaning (from pain and from relief). After around 5 minutes of me moaning, my oldest son comes running into our bedroom and starts hitting his father due to the fact that he thinks his dad is hurting me.

At this time I am laughing so hard I am crying. I try explaining this to my son, and he says, "Huh," and leaves. After a little prodding I again get my husband to continue massaging my butt, because it is helping.

Not even 5 minutes later our youngest son, who is 3, comes in and starts beating up his father, announcing, "Don't you hurt our mother, that's my mommy!!" Again I am laughing hysterically; this time at the fact that even after a day of yelling at my kids to clean their rooms and share their toys, I know that they do indeed love me no matter what.

Moms? How many times have you had this experience?

Because I'm In An Odd Place

Good things that happened today: I got to talk with Lucy's mother, with whom I've not spoken for far too long. FAR TOO LONG, Lucy's mother! We did our version of The View, laughed, reminisced, and talked about plans for me to eat the baby.

Hush. The baby is too pretty to not devour.

Next I talked with Wade, quite possibly one of the most awesome women I know. We compared conspiracy theories. What? You don't have those paranoid beliefs? Then you are a better person than we are.

Momma and I moved the cleaning date to Saturday.

The boy is probably on the ground now, and I bet his Momma is in tears, so happy to see him again. (Jealous? Me? Never!)

I have three calls to return tomorrow, two of which might be clients. Yay, clients!

I'm lost in odd thoughts today - today is one of those where I want to inflict my randomness on the world. Luckily for you, I only have this small space where I can annoy you.

And no attention span, clearly.

Tidy

Momma and I spent the last two days doing belated spring cleaning. It still counts as spring cleaning if you do it in July, right?

People, I have the bravest Momma ever. She went out on my deck in the sweltering heat armed only with a broom and destroyed the encroaching spider army. See, where I live, landscaping is the priority, and that means a turnover of all the grounds about every six weeks. The spiders get displaced and try to find a quiet place to live, which they surely did on my porch. I was getting afraid to go outside to give Biggs his water because it was getting so bad.

Now? I can go out, wander around, and know for a fact that Momma + Palmolive + water = no spider eggs. Plus, the heat! It's hotter than Hades here and has humidity to match, but Momma is tough and got it done.

The windows and glass were done with vinegar water. The shredder overheated five times in two days. (I thought I was a paper hoarder, but it turns out that I'm just lazy.) The bleach I used in the bathrooms almost melted my eyebrows off. The Pine-Sol smell is amazing. The vacuum made my carpet look almost new.

Suddenly I want to clean everything, all the time. But no, before you ask, I won't come over and fix your place.

My Timing Is Off

A few days (weeks, whatever) my friend Jamie commented on my blog and reminded me that she's about to take the bar. This made me search all over this blog to find the insane rantings I wrote before I took that muthascratchin' test. And talk to friends. And then some more friends. And then some other friends who really deserve pieces of my bar card because they didn't kill me before I took the test.

But something occured to me the other day. I discussed it with Wade. Should we tell Jamie about my thought, or should we not? We decided that I should, but because I am an awful narcisstic person, I only remembered tonight. Tonight is far too late to send Jamie a Facebook message. She's about a week away from the terror.

But if you read this, Jamie...there's a good chance that there will be a question on the Alabama essay part of the exam that deals with the oil spill. I say this because I took this bar in 2008, right after a few hurricanes affecting Mobile and its islands, and there was a question about the insurance liabilities involved.

I didn't know jack about the question, so I wrote a public policy answer. And I passed. So don't feel like you have to suddenly study maritime law, international law, corporate law, every freaking kind of law which affects the situation.

I just don't want you to go in blindsighted. And if you want me to remove your name, let me know.

You'll be awesome. I know that doesn't help right now. I know nothing helps. But you've got all of my, Wade's, and a girl you've never met, good wishes on your side.

I Hate Cleaning

It's true, folks, I really do hate to clean. I almost bankrupted myself when I lived in Cleveland for a housekeeper, and she was amazing! She could run a vacuum and talk on her cell. She taught the lazy secret of tossing toilet cleaner into the toilet, waiting, flushing, and calling it done. She had NINE, count 'em, 9 children.

Since then, all the work has had to be done myself. The irony is that I can clean the heck out of someone else's place, but getting me to take care of my own place requires cocktails, good conversations, and a Webster.

Don't get me wrong. It's not that my place is nasty or filthy, but more likely dusty and full of piles of shredding. Still. I've been talking myself into an uber-clean since about March, and am now required to get it in perfect shape.

1. The boy will be in town on the 21st.
2. I really love a tidy, gorgeous place.
3. Who knows how much longer I'll live here, and it needs to be lovely if I break the lease.

I did intend to get started on Monday, but now it's Friday and nothing has been done. (Except the dusting of the little table near my deck.) I talked to Momma the other night and she asked if she should still come over Monday to help me sort. (Please see the first sentence.) I asked her to come over on Wednesday, so tomorrow I really will, I promise, I swear, work on the master bathroom and bedroom tomorrow.

Success breeds success, right?

A Message From Biggs

Hi. Biggs here. Or as the two-legger often calls me, Nose. Please don't call me Nose. I hate it. I glare at her whenever she calls me that, but it hasn't stopped her yet. She keeps it up and I might reveal one of her nicknames. (Psst - HB.)

She left me with her parents while she went away for a week, and on Friday, I had a terrible, awful, not good, very bad day. I knew I should have hid when the V word was mentioned. But the old man who feeds me more often than my two-legger, and who scoops my box at each addition, had never done anything mean to me so I didn't worry.

Friday morning there was a car ride (I hate car rides) to the V office, where a strange woman put WATER ON ME and some kind of soap, and scrubbed and scrubbed and it hurt. I am 15 years old! Be gentle! I have sharp teeth! Then there was a brush and comb and scissors and nail clippers. Then there was a blow-dryer. I hate blow-dryers. The two-legger likes to harass me with hers - payback is hell, two-legger! Then, there was a car ride home.

My two-legger is annoying and refuses to learn Cat although I understand English pretty well, but when she came over to the old peoples' house Saturday to get me, I willingly rode with her home. In her lap. I do this because it makes it harder for her to use the pedals and the wheel.

Evil. :-)

The Problem Is Leaving

I've been promising an account about my last two plane trips, and now that I'm home, safely, here we go...

I took a 5pm flight from my hometown, through Dallas, to Seattle. Not a flight change, just a stopover. I thought. As we flew around some weather yet still made it on time to Dallas, there were changes afoot. The flight crew decided to "retire" the plane for the evening, so I was to change to another plane, one that would get me into my boy's arms.

HAH!

The flight landed, but there was no gate attendant (gate attendant? How fucking hard is it to open the door from the plane's walkway?) to let us off the plane. At the time, I still wasn't sure what was happening, but I did see a guy who was in the front of the line, looking longfully at his connecting flight (literally, watching the plane on the left) as it closed its doors and left him behind. He was on his way to a tournament, and I can only imagine how much money he lost.

Well done, American Airlines.

Yes, I'm going to call out each airline.

So, I finally realize I will be changing flights, so I get my gear and walk like an old woman in an air-conditioned mall to the tram to get to my next flight. Flight? You mean the flight that just left? With the two passangers who ruined their children's college funds to sit in business/first class to get to said new flight on time? Yeah? How late was I? Oh, American Airlines literally just closed the doors as I arrived?

AARRGGHH!!

Did I mention the other passenger who had the cojones to sit in coach way ahead of me get left behind as well? No? Well, she did, and from that minute on, we were BUDDIES.

So, as the AMERICAN AIRLINES representatives...

Lost my train of thought, but I promise to finish the story. I mean, I got interrupted by the boy telling me about how there was an altercation between his neighbor and him.