The Big Flush


I have some words of advice for women who use the bathroom at their child’s preschool during menstruation.  Don’t put your tampon in the toilet.  I actually broke my own rule this day.  I usually never put a tampon in the toilet.  Even if I was at Caldor.  Or the mall.  Or a campground.  Because they are not good for the system, whether it be septic or sewer.  I know, I was very thoughtful.  Usually.

I was dropping The Kid off at her preschool when I realized I was having a problem down below.  I found a bathroom in the hall and used it.  The toilets were of the teeny tiny kind.  The kind where when you sit, your knees hit your chin.  And your ass cheeks hang over the side like a 1/4 Pounder shoved into a mini croissant.  Unless you are 4, probably not a good idea to try.  With or without your period.

I forgot my head, and suddenly realized I dropped the thing into the toilet.  I flushed.  It swirled around and around.  Like the Merry-Go-Round at the mall.  Needless to say, it didn’t go down.  Another flush.  And another ride around the rim it did.  I started to break out in a major sweat.  And felt like I had to poo (when I get really nervous, I get the sensation.  And I’m not talking about that kind you have from being on top of a cool mountain).

Now, there was a way to rectify the situation.  Stick my hand in and pull the sucker out, wrap it in toilet paper and toss it into the can.  Garbage can.  I even could have just left it there.  No one would have been the wiser.  But the old Catholic guilt was eating away at me.  Instead, I proceeded to the office of the school’s Director and told her about my problem.  There is nothing more embarrassing than having a woman who you do not know watch your bloody tampon do pirouettes in a toilet made for munchkins.

I got reprimanded.  “Mrs. M., please do not use the children’s bathrooms anymore.  We have toilets for big girl’s down the hall.  And no tampons.  Please.”  I was expecting her to slap the back of my hand and send me to the corner.  It was then that the thought of going fishing occurred to me.

Whenever I see the director around town, I literally run in the opposite direction.  Or hide until she goes away.  Not that she would remember that I was the tampon lady.  But just in case.  So, if you see me cowering at the local craft store between the acrylic and latex paints, you’ll know why.

Miley Has Lost Her Mind

Only a face her mother could love.  Maybe.
Only a face a mother could love.

I know every person known to man is talking about this.  But I just can’t resist adding in my two cents.  The Kid grew up with Miley.  I completely approved of Hannah Montana.  She was innocent and clean.  What the hell happened to her?

I know she grew up.  She can’t be Hannah forever.  But come on girl.  Have some damn respect.  I did not watch the VMA’s. I do not tend to watch awards shows because it’s tiring watching celebrities pat themselves on the back.  Where’s my award?  Well, except the Oscars occasionally, and even that’s starting to get on my nerves.

The Kid showed me the clip of her at the VMA’s on Youtube.  I literally threw up in my mouth.  First of all, what’s with her tongue?  Why does she keep sticking it out in that unattractive way?  I think someone needs to tell her that that is not sexy.  Gene Simmons could get away with it in his KISS days.  Not Miley Cyrus.  Her mamma needs to rinse that tongue with a bar of soap.

I didn’t understand the bear thing.  Were those bears?  Whatever they were, that was weird.  She took a child’s toy and turned it into a sexual object.  Yuck.  I will never be able to look at a teddy bear the same again.  Maybe someone can explain their purpose if I am missing the point.

The girl was practically having sex on the stage.  Her and whatever his name is…Alan Thicke?  Oh wait, that’s his dad, right?  Geez, I suddenly feel old.  They really needed to get a room.  I mean come on, there is a time and place for that behavior.  I don’t really care if it was an act or not.  And believe me, I’m really not a prude.

When Madonna pulled stunts like that to reinvent herself and boost her career, it worked for her.  But Miley?  I will be pretty damn surprised if she has a career in 10 years.  I do have to give her kudos though.  Because I just realized as I’m finishing up here, that she wanted to stir up some controversy.  She wanted the attention.  She’s in her multi-million dollar mansion right now laughing it up.  Because she got what she wanted.  Whether it’s positive or negative, it’s attention nonetheless.  I wonder what dear old dad is thinking?  A proud moment for him?  Probably not.  I just wish she’d keep her clothes on and stop humping things.  And please for the love of God, keep that damn tongue in your mouth before it gets stuck like that.

299 Days Till Summer


School starts tomorrow.  How?  I mean, I thought I was ready.  We got The Kid her school supplies.  We went shopping at the mall and purchased some clothes she didn’t need.  I didn’t spend as much time with her over the summer as I used to be able to because I’ve been working.  But on my days off, we did things together.  So I feel like we got plenty of quality time in there nonetheless.

I didn’t have to work this weekend, so I had 2 beautiful days in a row to spend with my family.  Something I haven’t done in over 3 months.  We went kayaking, had a BBQ at a friend’s house.  Spent time on the boat.  No housework.  No stress.  Just relaxing and enjoying each other’s company.  All was good with the world.

Until we got home.  DH wanted to go to our favorite sushi restaurant for dinner.  I was just about ready to go when I noticed the “You Have a Message” light flashing on the answering machine.  It was The Kid’s principal wishing everyone a happy first day of school and blah, blah, blah.

I say “blah, blah, blah” because I didn’t hear anything else.  Those words started me blubbering like a damn baby.  I don’t know what happened.  This is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year according to Staples.  I couldn’t stop sobbing.  And when I say sob, I mean it.  Snot, snorts, hyperventilating.  The works.  The Kid thought I had completely gone mad.

I spent the last week yelling at her for one thing or another.  “You’re not responsible enough, you’re not being committed, you should have practiced more, get over the fact that I have the same running shoes as you.”  This past week was a little more stressful than usual.  So why wasn’t I thrilled that in a mere 12 hours, the school bus would be whisking her away to school?

Because in about as long as it takes to hit the play button on an answering machine, I realized that she is going off to college in 3 short years.  I realized that she will be driving in less than one year.  I realized that she may not need me as much as she did when she was 5.  I realized that the last 15 years flew by as fast as the speed of light.

So, she’s going into her second year of high school.  It’s all good.  I’m happy that she’s happy and healthy and smart.  Thinking about her flying the coop is tough.  Most of the time.  You might want to check back with me in a few days.  This time next week I’m sure I’ll be bitching about something.  Wait.  What time does the school bus come?

A Brush With Greatness


Have you ever had a brush with greatness?  I have.  But my story will have to wait.  Today I am going to tell you about The Kid’s brush with greatness.  Except she was completely unaware of it.  Why?  Because it wasn’t Katy Perry or Joe Jonas.

It was about 4 or 5 years ago and we were kayaking with good friends.  We were in a beautiful place and enjoying the beautiful weather.  It was peaceful.  Up until our daughter lost control of her boat.  And was heading straight into another boat.

I’ve seen the man in this kayak before. He looked familiar, with his baby face and trademark cap.  Wait.  That guy looks like…could it be…Opie? Richie Cunningham?  Yes.  The Kid literally rammed  head-on into no other than Ron Howard himself.  Of course, it wasn’t done gracefully.  Oar flailing, pigtails bobbing and lungs screaming.  No, not embarrassing at all.

Between giggles she managed to get out an apology.  At least she used her manners.  Mr. Howard could not have been nicer.  He very gently told her that it was okay and that she was doing a good job.  The rest of us?  We all sat with mouths gaping.  In total disbelief that Ron Howard and his wife were out on a Saturday afternoon kayaking in our local stream.  Well, his local stream too, it turns out.

People around us were whispering about the famous man in the cap.  Of course, these people were middle age.  Like us.  They all grew up with Richie and Opie.  Anyone there at that moment under the age of 35 had no idea who he was.  It was like our own little secret.

I remember thinking suddenly how proud I was of our kid.  She can’t paddle a kayak, but she sure knows how to strum up some excitement.  It was the topic of conversation for weeks.  It still comes up from time to time.  Hmmm, I suddenly realize I should probably get something else to talk about.  Or have The Kid run into someone new.

Long Live the Queen?


I was the self-proclaimed Queen of the Couch Potatoes.  Ruler of Sofa Land.  Queen Bee of the Love Seat.  The proof is in the couch that beholds my royal ass print like hieroglyphics on a cave wall. The grease marks on the remote control from potato chip fingers.  And permanent red wine stains etched on the side table.  All that was missing was my tiara.

What, pray tell, does the day in the life of a Couch Queen consist of?  Here is a sampling:

  • 6:15am – Wake up to see kid off to school.  Yes, I had been brainwashed into making her lunch everyday even though she was 14.  Teens are experts in brainwashing.  Wish they were experts in washing other things.  Like their clothes or possibly even a toilet.
  • 6:50am – Go back to bed until 10am.  A Queen needs her beauty sleep after all.
  • 10am – Fix breakfast for Queen (there are no servants in Sofa Land) which consisted of anything from cereal to pancakes.  Depending on mood.  And hunger level.
  • 10am-2pm – Plant ass on couch.  After all it’s important to watch TV while eating.  It’s like going Number 2 without a magazine.  One goes with the other.  Then lunch would happen by.  By now the queen was way too involved in Lifetime movies to walk away.
  • 2pm – Oh shit!  The Kid will be home soon. There are beds to make, laundry to start, a kitchen to clean up.
  • 2pm-5pm – Straighten up, talk to The Kid about her day, start dinner, drive The Kid to an activity.
  • Anything after 5 – have helping #1 of dinner, have helping #2, pour glass of wine #1, think about taking a shower, pour glass of wine #2.  Go back to couch because it was getting cold.  It’s very important to keep the royal subjects warm.
  • 11pm – Go to bed.

Okay, I may be exaggerating a little.  Sometimes I got the energy to clean the house, go grocery shopping, see a friend.  But I do wonder why I gained 25 pounds in ummm, I like to say 3 years, but I can’t really pinpoint when it happened.  Potatoes are high in starch, so it may have had something to do with that and the couch situation.

Anyway, no need to worry because there was a beheading recently.  The Queen is dead.  Sofa Land is a thing of the past.  (If you are new to my blog, click here to see what I mean.)  Now, I have to undo years of this behavior and poor role modeling.  The Kid is fairly active.  When she is active.  Other times, when I come home from work or a workout, sometimes this is what I find:


I have 3 years to turn that crap around.  Wish me luck.

I Got a Easy Peaceful Feeling


I spent the day with my best girlfriend yesterday.  We have been friends since high school —  almost 30 years.  We don’t get the chance to see each other as often as we would like.  Besides living about an hour away from each other, we have busy lives.  But when we do get together, it’s as if we never missed a beat.

This chick knows the good, the bad and the ugly about me.  I can say what I want and act how I wish when I am with her.  I can be 100% me, no questions asked.  There is no judging going on.  There is no weird jealous crap.  There is just pure friendship.  Do you know how refreshing that is?  Yes, you do.  Because every one of us has a friend like this.  You may even be lucky enough to have a few.  But just a few.  Because honestly, that’s all we need.

We were talking about a lot of good shit yesterday, as we do.  And the conversation soon turned to the differences between men and women.  Particularly between a man’s relationship with a good friend vs. a woman’s relationship with a good friend.  Here’s what we came up with:

  • Men will not sleep in the same bed together.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve squished my ass between some friends on a bed.  No problem.  And no funny stuff.  I just don’t swing that way.
  • How many men will share a blanket with 3 other men to watch a Meteor Shower?  I’m guessing the number is pretty low.
  • There are not too many “selfies” posted of guy friends laying in the grass.  Unless they are women men, if you catch my drift.  Nothing wrong with that, I’m just saying.
  • I’ve never seen DH laugh so hard when he is with friends that he pees his pants.  I pretty much do that almost every time I am with someone I feel comfortable with.  Of course, I may suffer from a bladder condition.  After all I’ve been peeing my pants since 1979.  “Peeing My Pants Since 1979.”  That should be my tagline.
  • Conversation between men is usually about anything with an engine, golf or weather.  Ok, so we did ponder the reason for a Meteor Shower.  But we were drunk, so that doesn’t count.  Other than that, our discussions range anywhere from sex to menstruation, the color of our poop to stupid crap our kids say.
  • They don’t share clothes.  Or lipstick.
  • Women are very affectionate. When we see each other, we kiss and hug.  Men?  Well, they don’t do that.  I’m guessing because it makes them feel gay or something.  Again, nothing wrong with that.

I love men, they are awesome and I’m sure they have great relationships.  But we women just know.  They do have to be the right person though.  Because men will argue that they don’t stab each other in the back or are catty.  And they are right.  So just choose wisely.  My BFF wouldn’t do that.  Would yours?

See a Penny, Pick It Up


See this dollar bill?  I saw it on my run this morning.  I almost ran right over it without a thought.  Actually, I did have a thought.  I thought, “what the hell can a dollar get?”  Then I had a second thought.  I remembered as a teen I saw a quarter on the sidewalk.  My dad asked me why I didn’t pick it up.  My reply was that it wasn’t enough money to buy anything with.  So, in honor of that moment with my father, I picked up the dollar bill.

When I got home, I thought of what I can buy with one dollar.  It seems there isn’t much. Well, unless you take your dollar bill to the dollar store.  But then you have to pay tax, so that doesn’t count.  It took me some time, but I came up with 10 things.

  1. 9 pieces of Bazooka gum (ten, if you didn’t have to pay tax — stupid tax)
  2. 4 paperbacks from your local library sale
  3. A song from i-tunes
  4. A tip for a pole dancer
  5. One scratch off lottery ticket
  6. Small fries from the dollar menu
  7. Pencils
  8. Raffle ticket
  9. 2 limes
  10. The Monday-Saturday local newspaper

So, you can read a book and eat some fries while watching a stripper.  Not such a bad life.  Oh wait, that would be 3 dollars.  Never mind.  So then I thought that I would have good luck today.  Even though that expression refers to picking up a penny, there is inflation after all.  I didn’t get hit by a car, I had a good day at work, I ran 4 miles without having a heart attack.  Yeah, it was a good day. Can’t wait to spend that dollar though.  What should I get?

Another One Bites the Dust

I worked a seven and a half hour shift yesterday at My Retail Job.  When I got off at 5:30 I was anxious to get home.  DH and I had plans to go out with some good friends of ours.  I still had to exercise and get ready.

I got behind a car doing 25 mph.  The speed limit was 30.  I was annoyed.  Because my elliptical, shower, margarita and more importantly, our friends were waiting for me.  I wasn’t tailgating because I don’t like tailgating.  Tailgating will get you in the ass.  Literally.  But I was cursing up a storm. Damning the driver in front of me to hell.

Suddenly, and I don’t know how, a mailbox jumped out right in front of me.  It was the darndest thing.  Well, it didn’t jump out IN front of me, it kinda stuck itself out.  And hit my side-view mirror.  I don’t really know how that happened.  All I thought was that DH is gonna kill me.  I thought I could fix it and he would never notice.  I wasn’t that lucky.

Remember this?


And the year before I did something like this to another mailbox:


I didn’t get the chance to take a pic of what I did…ahem…what the mailbox did to my rearview mirror before DH fixed it.  But pretty much the mirror part was hanging out of the thingy thing.  You know, the housing mechanism?  Whatever you call it.  You get my point.

When I got home, I ran to The Kid to tell her but I couldn’t stop laughing.  Her response?  “What did you do, mom?”  Just like the flagpole, I really didn’t find it funny funny.  But I found myself standing there trying not to pee my pants.

My conversation with The Kid after I showed her the damage:

The Kid: Maybe dad won’t notice.

Me:  (wave of relief) You think?

The Kid:  NO!  What is wrong with you?

As for DH’s response.  He was not surprised.  He asked me if I was sure it was a mailbox.  Well, yes.  I think it was.  When I looked in my rearview mirror to see what the hell that was, I saw a mailbox kinda waving a little.  But it was fine.  Still standing.  No real damage.

Besides the mailbox, I think I got hit with a good dose of Karma.  Because of the obscenities I was screaming at the driver in front of me going so slow.  I spent the rest of my drive apologizing to him and God.  I think I learned my lesson.  I just hope no slow poke gets in front of me today.  I really hate that.

Friday Night Skate Dates

Mine looked like these babies
Mine looked something like these babies.  Just not so shiny.

My sister-in-law posted pics on Facebook of my niece and nephew roller skating the other day.  Seeing those pics brought back such fond memories of my childhood.

I received my first pair of roller skates from my maternal grandmother.  They fit over your shoe and needed a key.  You know the kind.  They were metal and if you got a stone stuck in the wheel you did a header.  Forget it if you mistakenly left them out in the rain.  But they were the bomb and I was the shit.

I soon progressed to the white boot-like skates with the pom-poms and large pink wheels.  Every Friday night I would meet friends at the local roller rink for a skate.  I had my first kiss there.  “Smoked” my first and last cigarette there.  Broke up with my first boyfriend there (after my first kiss because it turned out he was more like a guppy than a boy).  Songs like Rock the Casbah, Super Freak and Do Ya Wanna Funk immediately take me back to those days.

I was super talented.  I went around and around and around.  To the left.  All the really cool kids could go backwards, go in circles, do jumps and could even turn right.  Whenever they did that switch-a-roo thing to go in the opposite direction, I would panic and most often wound up doing a face plant.  Good times.

I wonder if they have a roller skating rink around anywhere?  It would be great fun to go back and reminisce, go forward, try to turn right, fall flat on my face.  I should dig out my old skates. And old albums.  Umm, nah.  Never mind.  I think I’ll take up knitting instead.  So much safer.  Well, until I poke my eye with the end of the needle.  What’s the matter?  It could happen.

Tales of a Working Stiff

My look most day at My Retail Job
How I avoid frostbite.

I have been at My Retail Job for 3 months now.  Things are going pretty well.  It doesn’t feel like I got hit by a Mack truck anymore.  I would say it was more like a golf cart.  Maybe next month, it will feel like a 10-speed.  The month after that?  Perhaps a tricycle.

I am enjoying My Retail Job.  It’s fun.  It’s stress free.  I’m feeling more comfortable in my role there.  But I am discovering and seeing things that I don’t usually see in a normal day.

  • The elderly will go to great lengths to save 20 cents on a loaf of bread.  Even if it means spending $4 in gas to do so.
  • I have a bazillion cuts and bruises on my body.  Most days it looks like I got into a fight with a rooster.  But there are no roosters at work.  I swear.
  • By the end of my shift my hands look like that of a Grave Digger.  You don’t want to know.
  • I still don’t like using the walkie talkie, but I’m getting used to it.  Although I still get that little butt pucker when I hear someone ask me a question over it.
  • A man decked out in a dress, high heels and makeup looks like a man decked out in a dress, high heels and makeup.
  • Your extremities can go into frostbite mode when you are in the freezer after about 3 minutes.  Even with a coat, hat and gloves.  Very glamorous.  You wish you were me.
  • Children who surround you like crows on a carcass is not creepy at all.  Especially when they are staring you down.  Having mother there to call them off is of no comfort.  I think I’d rather be chased by a bear.
  • Some parents think the isles of the store is for playing Chase.  Go entertain the kiddies in the parking lot so I can get some work done.  Please.
  • I’m pretty sure I will slice off part of my finger with a box cutter before this gig is up.
  • I cannot for the life of me, fold the top of a box so that it closes.  Folding the top of a box makes the Rubik’s Cube seem like a walk in the park.
  • I can’t figure out how I got this job since it seems that the prerequisite is to smoke.  Oh wait.  I inhaled once when I was 14.  That must count.

The hours are long and I take home enough bacon to feed a hermit crab.  But having my own thing, feeling like I’m contributing and boosting my confidence?  Priceless.  I highly recommend it.  Frostbite, creepy children and all.