Just Like Chicken

My brother Curl is a teacher. He has been for almost ten years now.

Every year at Christmas he gets an "interesting" assortment of gifts from his students. This year, his school's Assistant Principal got a gift that tops the american flag clutching ceramic bald eagle that my brother got a few years ago.

Curl is kicking back in the teacher's lounge when his AP walk in with a bottle of perfume.

She smiles and says to him, "I got perfume this year! Check it out!" And, she holds up a bottle that looks like this:



(I don't know about you, but most of my fine perfumes come in a Roller Bottle!)

My brother, wrinkling up his nose says, "Oh. Well, I'm sure it smells nice."

The AP, still smiling, "Read the label."

The scent?

Wet Pussy.

(Santa, thank you for the lovely jewelry but where's MY bottle of Wet Pussy!)

But wait, it gets better . . .

One of the Teacher's Aides walks into the lounge and says, "Oooh, perfume," snatches the bottle from my brother's hand, and without reading the label, opens it up and smears it on her wrist and proclaims, "Hmm, this smells familiar, but I can't quite place it."

Just Say No

When to walk away from a proposal.

My ex and I were leaving campus for the summer and he was helping me pack my car.

We hugged good-bye and he said, "I hate that we can't be together."

Me, "Yeah, it sucks but your parents are only 20 minutes away."

Him, "Let's not do it anymore."

Me, "Well, I don't think my dad would keep paying tuition if I move in with a guy."

Him, "It's not just the holidays. I want to always be with you. Marry me."

Me, "Uh, uh, uh . . . are you serious?"

Right here it still sounds all sweet and a little clumsy.

Then he busts up with: "If you don't say yes now, I might never get the nerve to ask again."

Right at that last line I should have hopped in my car and PEELED. THE. FUCK. OUT.

But, because I was 20 and didn't know any better I thought it was romantic and said yes.

I didn't even get a bended knee or a ring.

Not that it's all about the ring, but COME ON!!!!

Next time, I'm not accepting any proposal unless it involves a pretty ring and the gentleman assumes the position.

Funny side story.

New guy and I were hanging out at recently and he busted out with some chocolate covered strawberries.

I'm sitting at the edge of a recliner, waiting for him to come back from the fridge and he drops down on one knee in front of me.

Ya'll, things are going great and I still get all weak-kneed and butterfly stomachy when I think about him or when I talk to him (and since it's long distance ya'll, I treasure those talks).

I mean, I literally feel 16 here!

So when he dropped down on one knee* like that I panicked and got that whole "deer in headlights" look and went pale.

I actually slid off the recliner and ended up sitting next to him on the floor.

He was all, "Are you okay?"

Me, "Yeah, yeah, don't worry about me . . . "

DUDES IN THE READING AUDIENCE... if you're dating a woman, NEVER EVER drop down on one knee in front of her.

Even if it's to tie your shoes.

*By the way, he dropped down on one knee to feed me the strawberries. Which, was incredibly sweet, but STILL!

I Don't Want No Scrubs . . .

You know how I was saying I never get hit on.

Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration.

I do get hit on quite frequently by Black men. Which, you know would be all fine and dandy if it was like TAYE DIGGS.

Oh, but now sweetie, I get hit on the Germain Dupree's of this world.

The ones that are on the corner going, "Say, say baby giiirrrl . . ."

Take for instance my latest suitor at Stupid-Mart.

I walked in to pick up a few items and I was in a pretty good mood. I was finally back in town, which meant sleeping in my own bed, and in a few days S would be up for the weekend.

I walk in and there's your Stupid-Mart employee restocking the lettuce. I walk in and grab some apples when he leans over and says to me, "Good evening! How are you tonight?"

Me, smiling "Great, thank you!"

Doo, doo, doo I'm wandering around and realize I need lettuce and he's still standing in front of it. So, I walk up behind him and start looking at expiration dates and stuff.

He goes, "Oh, oh, I'm sorry I'm in you're way . . . let me move so you can see ALL the lettuce."

Me, smirking uncomfortably, waving my little bag of lettuce, "Oh no, it's okay. I found what I was looking for."

I go to walk away and he says, "Say, you come here often?"

BWAH, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Aside from being the sorriest line I've ever heard, I'm at a grocery store!!!

Yeah, I go there often. You know, to BUY GROCERIES!

Me, "Not lately, no."

I push off and wander over to tomatoes. Where I start picking up little plastic packs of grape tomatoes and he leans into my aisle again and says, "What's wrong with those?"

I, now a bit annoyed that this weird ass won't leave me alone, pick up a pack of tomatoes and loudly ask, "What's wrong with them?!? They look fine on top but when you flip the packs over they're rotten! LOOK!"

And, one by one, I pick up each pack and show him the nasty white goo oozing out of the tomatoes.

Him, "Aw man, I'm sorry. Say, I've got some in the back if you want to come with me and pick one out."

Riiiiight!

. . . A scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me . . .

Cutest Baby Evah!

Look at those big blue eyes!

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock - BULLSHIT!

The other day I was driving home from work and it hit me: I'm 29.

Clearly, I've known this since March 18, 2004, but it didn't really click.

See, the thing is, my mom had my brother when she was 29.

She was always my "marker."

When I got married at 20 I said to myself, "Mom had Curl at 29: I've got loads of time."

Only, here I am at 29 with no husband and no intentions of remarrying.

So, what now?

I know a lot of women who proudly say, "I've known my whole life the one thing I want most is to be married and have children," I can honestly say that was never me.

I was dating a "younger" guy when I was 18 (he was 16) and his sister (14) asked me how I'd planned out my future. I went on about finishing school, working and becoming successful.

And she says, "Okay, but what about getting married, having kids . . . " I just looked at her a bit stunned and said, "Hmm, I guess I just figure that will fall into place when the time is right."

And then, two years later I was married.

I know that at first I didn't want kids. I wanted time with my husband, time to finish school and time to start a career.

But then, I started to realize that I wanted kids, just not with J.

So, I started snarling at other people's children. Really putting on a good act because everyone thought I hated kids when the truth is I love kids.

I used to work as a party hostess for little kids' birthdays, I volunteered at the Children's Museum, I even volunteered as a Teacher's Aide for a Kindergarten teacher, and I loved every minute of it.

On some level, I must have known that things weren't right between J and I. I think we all have that nagging little voice that pipes up when things aren't right, but you choose not to listen to it because then you might have to do something about it.

A few months ago I visited with an old friend and I got to hold her 7-month-old and there was a part of me that wanted to cry.

Mind you, this is one of the most beautiful babies I've ever seen: red hair, milky white skin, rosy cheeks and huge (I mean HUGE, like the Campbell's Soup kids HUGE, but not as creepy) blue eyes.

Right at the second when she was handed over to me, she looked up at me and just broke out into this huge toothless grin: the steel restraints I'd put on my ovaries finally gave way, and for the first time in years I thought:

"Fuck! I want children."

I don't think it was my biological clock ticking.

I don't think it's because I'm one year away from 30.

I think it's that I'm finally allowing myself to admit it's okay to want children.

But, I'm not going to rush things.

When I meet the right man: the one that makes me feel safe, cared for and protected, I'll know.

I'll know it when I realize I want my future children to have his eyes or his dimples.

Until then, I'm not sweating it.

Anyway, mom was 34 when she had me.

Before the Haircut

After

The Raspberry - Understood in Any Language

My Super-Cute New Haircut or The Look On My Face After working with "Adults" All Day?

Is that Allen Funt?

I don't get hit on very often.

It just doesn't happen with any great frequency, so imagine my surprise when it actually does.

Recently, I was on a business trip and had just wrapped up a particulary hellish day. Now, any of you who travel for work are familiar with the blessed corporate expense account.

So, I'd been fantasizing about good food, wine and cheesecake and I made a date with myself to go to The Cheesecake Factory. I realize it's not the most inspired choice, but mmmmmmmmmmmmm cheesecake. Besides, I wasn't paying for it so why the hell not.

I walk in, and just as I'm being walked to my table I started thinking about a conversation I'd recently had with J.

I'd recently convinced him to buy a pink button down. He was a little nervous because, as you know, it takes a real man to wear pink.

So, he starts punking out on me saying, "Trixie, I'm gay and all, but none of the guys at work now."

Me, "Wearing pink doesn't mean you're gay. Besides, lots of men are wearing pink. It's the new black!"

Him, "Okay, but what am I supposed to do when they give me a hard time about wearing pink?"

Me, "Just tell them pink is the new black"

Then he gave me that, "Ohhhhhh. OKAY - that'll make it better," sarcastic face of his and we both started laughing.

So, I walked into the restaurant smiling and started glancing at the menu.

When, out of nowhere this good looking gentleman comes over to my table and says, "I was sitting at the bar and I saw you come in. I'm up here on business and I was wondering if you knew of any places that might be cool to hang out?"

Me, smiling and putting on my Chamber of Commerce voice, "Oh, there's lots of things to do in Birmingham. You should check out Five Points, that's a cool little area. And, if you've got time during the day the State Park has some nice hikes. Or, you know, there's always shopping (and I gestured out the window at the sprawling mall). I'm sorry, I'm up here on business, too, andI don't really know much of Birmingham either."

Him, "Well, I don't get much time during the day since I'm at a conference. I'm on business, too, I'm staying at the Marriott nearby."

Now, right about here was when I realized he was waiting for me to say, "Oh, I'm staying at The ______________," but I've seen too many episodes of A&E's Crime Files to know this is when shit starts to go awry.

So, I said, "I'm sure that's a nice hotel and I'll be the people at the front desk could give you tons of information on local attractions."

Then he says, "I'm only here for one more night anyway. Are you going to be back up this way for dinner tomorrow night."

Me, "I'm not really sure just yet what I'm doing for dinner."

Him, "Because, I was thinking maybe we could get together for dinner."

Me, inside my head, "Wah!!!!! ARE YOU HITTING ON ME!"

I was thisclose to leaning out of the booth to find a camera crew moving in my direction to tell me that I was on Candid Camera.

Instead, I played it cool, "Oh no, I'm busy tomorrow night. Yes, yes, I'm very busy. Very busy. I'll probably have dinner with one of the instructors even. Nope, nope, sorry, busy."

Him, "Oh."

Then I did that goofy thing that girls do: shrugged my shoulders, crinkled my nose, smiled and said, "Sorry."

After he'd walked away I sat there with a smirk on my face thinking, "Holy shit! I was just hit on! Someone hit on ME!"

And, truth be told, he wasn't bad looking.

I retold my brother this story and he asked me, "Why didn't you tell him, 'I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend."

You know, I'd thought about it, it was right there at the tip of my tongue when I realized this guy was hitting on me and then I realized his response might have been, "Hey, I'm just talking about dinner."

You see, I read Cosmo and watch tv so I know these things.

Later on, I asked myself, "If I wasn't dating S, would I have said yes?"

Fuck no, I watch CSI, Crime Stories, Forensic Files, The Deliberate Stranger:

I know what happens to the young girl who accepts an invitation from a good looking stranger!

Dude, wherever you are out there, it's not like I'm saying I thought you were a serial killer or anything, but I'm already taken.

Taken, yes, very, very taken.

Drunkity, Drunk, Drunk, Drunk

Last weekend I was in New Orleans.

Last Saturday I was in the Quarter.

J was in town and I met up with him so that we could hang out.

Quite honestly, I think a large part of why we got together was because he needed to escape his immediate family for a few hours.

Sure, we missed each other (it's probably been years since we didn't see each other on a semi-daily basis), but I've spent time with his nieces so believe you me - he was needing a good excuse to get away.

So, we were kicking back, checking out the cute boys and knocking back drinks (you know, the usual things ex-husbands and wives do together) when I spotted a sign for Handgrenades.

You see, this is the honest truth, I'd never had a Handgrenade and what kind of New Orleanian would I be without ever having had one.

Something about the lime green half-yard with the handgrenade base and the toy handgrenade floating on top just seemed so fun.

So, I looked at J and said, "How 'bout it?" He smirked and said, "If we get one of those we'll get drunk."

I looked at him and said, "Uhm, hmm: and?"

He said, "It's only 2 in the afternoon!"

I said, "So, it's perfectly acceptable."

We sidled up to the "walk-through" window (where I'm certain I saw a sign that said, "You must be at least this tall to buy drinks here.") and each ordered one.

I don't really remember finishing my drink, but I do remember finishing J's.

We'd stumbed into a t-shirt store and J found a neon orange New Orleans Correctional Facility T that he just had to have.

But, the place was lacking dressing rooms and I said, "Just take your shirt off right here and try it on."

Well, maybe I slurred that just a little.

Now people, J doesn't need very much encouragement to take off his shirt in public. So, just like that, there he was: shirtless.

And God help me, it was a case of you don't know what you got 'til it's gone, because dude is smokin'! (Yeah, it may have been the copious amounts of liquor I had just imbibed, but he did look pretty good.)

The shirt didn't fit, but at least he got to take off his shirt in a public place.

After this we wandered over to some benches in front of The Market Cafe.

I don't remember very much of our conversation, but I think it was pretty deep.

Then Curl, my brother, called me because we were going to meet him and S to see Kinsey at Canal Place.

And the second my brother heard my voice he sneered, "You're drunk!"

I quickly passed the phone to J.

Shortly after hanging up with Curl, I called S. S was also acutely aware that sobriety had left the building.

If I recall correctly, his response was an amused, "You sound like you're having a good time."

In my haze, we arranged for him to meet us for the movie as well.

Hours later (okay, maybe like 30 minutes), I called him and said, "Where are you?"

To which he responded, "Can you see me yet?"

I looked up and he was on his cell walking towards me with a huge grin on his face.

I faught the urge to run to him all cheesy-movie-like and grinned back.

Poor guy, I think I sort of jumped on him and started macking on him right there, in front of my ex.

Then the rest is all a blur.

There was a 12 oz draft involved and then a few martinis.

I seem to remember a Venti Soy Pumpkin Spice Latte and me giggling as I walked into the already darkened theater.

I heard my brother hiss, "You're drunk."

And then, I lost it.

Perhaps it was the frightening sight of Peter Saarsgard's flacid penis, or maybe it was the pencil drawings of an aroused vagina, all I know is before I got there, Canal Place had impeccably clean bathrooms.

That's right folks, I threw up.

Tossed my cookies, ralphed, vomitted, puked, worshipped the porcelain god: whatever you want to call it, there was your's truly.

This was round one.

I managed to puke one more time before the movie ended (I think it may have been shortly after witnessing the gentleman who could become erect and climax in a ten second span, and really, wouldn't that make any woman sick?)

That was round two.

With J on one side and S on the other, we made it back to the car without any further incidents.

Somehow, I thought I was out of the woods, but it is clear to me now that God is evil.

I was merely experiencing an intermission.

S , also quite experienced in the art of copious imbibing, took this brief break to take care of his girl.

He popped into a corner drugstore and purchased a bottle of aspirin and a Sprite.

He offered to get water, but I insisted on Sprite.

And really, what wise man argues with his drunken girlfriend.

I thought I was okay. I really did, and then: round three.

On the way home, J and I were following S in my car (J was driving!) and I looked at J and said, "Pull over. PULL OVER NOW!" Mere seconds after he stopped the car, I flung the door open and lost all of the Sprite and the two aspirin I had just taken.

(Thanks J for rubbing my back and not making fun of me.)

In the process of throwing up, the entire bottle of aspirin that S had just bought managed to fall out of the car and straight smack into my river of vomit.

I thought to myself, "Dammit!"

So, I leaned out, gingerly picked up the bottle and shook it clean.

J asked, "You're not actually going to keep those are you?"

I looked at him and said, "Dude, he bought these in the Quarter, do you KNOW what they cost?"

Ya'll we were on the way to my house to drop off my car and myself and for some asinine reason I convinced the boys to take me with them to drop off J.

DUDES!!!!

WHY DO YOU LISTEN TO ME!!!!

I think, I think, I went another five rounds with this whole "STOP THE CAR" nonsense and most of those were with S driving.

And ya'll, he was great. What with the rubbing my back as I leaned over to vomit and holding my hair back.

HE HELD MY HAIR BACK - he totally loves me!

In all, I threw up eight rounds and I learned a few things:

Handgrenades are evil.

I'm just as much of a lightweight as I was at 19 (the last time I got this sick).

My reflexes are just as good as they were when I was 19 (not a speck of vomit hit me or my car).

S is an amazing, patient boyfriend.

J is an amazing, patient friend.

Pumpkin Spice Latte is just as tasty the second time around.

Change

I thrive on change.

I think that's part of the reason I start job hunting after a year at any position.

If you read my posts, you'll know that I was a military wife. That was great for me because every three years you are guaranteed change.

A few weeks ago my roommate came home and told me we were getting kicked out.

You see, our landlord is a judge who ran for the State Supreme Court and lost. He has friends all throughout the state and a lady friend of his lost her race in her county. She is now jobless and must move to the city I am in to gain employment.

Given that she is a friend of the landlord's, the landlord feels that she needs our place more than we do.

So, we have to move.

I was pretty pissed when I found out, but then I realized that wherever we go it will feel like "our" place.

My roommate have a platonic relationship (as he is a gay male and I am not) so it's not "our" place in the romantic sense.

When I moved in with him I had decided to leave my spouse. Fortunately for me, my roomie needed help making rent so we each found a situation that suited our needs.

But, I have always felt that I moved into "his" space.

So, I like the idea of moving into a neutral space that is neither his nor mine.

It's ours.

Anyway, I learned about the move about a month ago and my roomie still hadn't found a place. So, last night I spent about five hours riding around the city and calling up the numbers on for rent signs.

And, I finally found a place.

I got home and told my roomie, "I have something to tell you and I hope you don't get mad. I found a place. I can afford it on my own, but if you still want to live together I'd like to."

He was a bit stunned and I can't say that I blame him. But, he knows I've been looking and there isn't much out there so he's in.

This is the way I do things from time to time.

I make a decision, make it happen and then go from there.

Like I said, I like change and I'm not afraid to make it happen.

Hold Up, Wait a Minute . . .

I got this email the other day from an old friend of mine. See, he reads the blog and he was castigating me for being down on myself lately.

I got kind of annoyed. Mainly because that's just the nature of a blog I think. I mean, some days you're down.

Sometimes those days last for a while.

Get over it!

Right now I'm up.

I am currently typing from the comfort of my bed.

Yes folks, this here baby is now wireless.

Which, seems sort of dangerous really.

I'm also up because my laptop is not the only thing occupying my bed these days.

S is here.

He is currently working away on my roomate's computer as it's had a lot of issues lately.

So, life is good.

Really good when you consider that right at this very second his head is on my shoulder.

So, why the hell am I still typing!

Night folks!

Miss America, Soy Yo (I Am Miss America)

"I am not pretty."

Those are the words I used to say to my reflection in my mother's vanity. I would sit with my chin on my hand and stare at my face from all angles. I'd look at my profile and push the tip of my nose up with my finger. "If only I could have a Morgan Fairchild nose," I would moan in my head.

I remember the first time I saw Whoopi Goldberg's standup act on HBO.

I don't remember it because it was funny (although I'm sure it was), but I remember it because of this one particular bit that she does.

She affects the tone of a little girl while placing a long-sleeved yellow shirt on over her dreadlocks. She flings the long sleeves and tail over her shoulder and tells the audience to look at her beautiful "long blonde hair."

I was stunned into silence.

I thought I was the only one that did that.

My "long blonde hair" was a golden bath towel wrapped Turban style around my 10-year-old head. I’d stand in front of our bathroom mirror and fling that towel around with all the vivacity of the most talented shampoo model.

Let me make one thing clear: I don't blame my childhood insecurities on Barbie.

I blame them on Christie Brinkley.

She was all the rave when I was growing up.

Her "All American" looks stared back at me from the racks at the grocery store. I coveted her naturally rosy cheeks and that shining cap of golden hair that tumbled over her shoulders.

I was not that lucky.

I am of Honduran descent so there is absolutely no escaping my dark looks.

As hard as I tried to fight them, they were the first things that people saw when they looked at me.

My closest childhood friend had blond hair and blue eyes. We did everything together and eventually came to think of each other as sisters. This delusion was swiftly shattered when I overheard her mother refer to us as Salt and Pepper. I, of course, was Pepper.

In fact, most of my friends were blonde-haired, blue-eyed.

I didn't purposely surround myself with Caucasian friends.

It just worked out that way.

It wasn't until I got to high school that I had Hispanic friends, and they were just as messed up as I was. Our parents spoke to us in Spanish and we responded to them in English, and we all struggled in the quest to find the right foundation that didn't make us look orange or ghostly. Some of them told me that I was lucky and had a name like Melissa, not Marietta or Margarita.

I was always secretly grateful that my parents had given me such an Anglo sounding name.

But, that was high school.

I'll never forget the first time a man said to me, "Your eyes are so dark and mysterious." It made me take another look at my reflection.

I learned to make peace with my dark, curly hair. My first day as a curly headed woman, someone asked where I got my fabulous perm, I smiled shyly and said, "Oh, my hair is naturally curly." I still engage in the occasional fight to iron out those curls, but I’ve learned to like my "wild woman" look.

I've even come to accept the fact that Kate Moss and I will never have the same figure.

Hispanic women, no matter how thin, always have hips. I can look at the women in my family, big and small, and see that genetics are something I can only fight to a certain point. So, now when I look at my body I don't just see "big" hips, I see the soft curves that made Marilyn Monroe such a sexy woman.

I’ve also realized that as much as I tried to deny my background, my parents never let me forget where I came from. They shipped me off to Honduras every summer where only one of my cousins spoke English. I never lost the ability to speak "their" language, and for that I am eternally grateful.

So, you know what, I'm not white, but I'm as American as the next person; I get misty when I hear the Star Spangled Banner and the United States is what I refer to when I say home.

I've been accused of not being "Hispanic enough," but what does that mean?

Does that mean that I should have an accent when I speak or that I should look like Hollywood's interpretation of a Hispanic woman.

You know the one, the one with the really bad dye job wearing tight jeans and red high heels and ruffled ankle socks.

Maybe I'm not Hispanic enough, and I know I'm not white. just don't define me by my race because that was always my biggest mistake.

I know what I am: Miss America, soy yo.

Revenge of the Nerds

Because Janis Ian is a genius who still gives the ugly duckling in me hope!

AT SEVENTEEN (Janis Ian)

I LEARNED THE TRUTH AT SEVENTEEN
THAT LOVE WAS MEANT FOR BEAUTY QUEENS
AND HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS WITH CLEAR SKINNED SMILES
WHO MARRIED YOUNG AND THEN RETIRED
THE VALENTINES I NEVER KNEW
THE FRIDAY NIGHT CHARADES OF YOUTH
WERE SPENT ON ONE MORE BEAUTIFUL

AT SEVENTEEN I LEARNED THE TRUTH
AND THOSE OF US WITH RAVAGED FACES
LACKING IN THE SOCIAL GRACES
DESPERATELY REMAINED AT HOME
INVENTING LOVERS ON THE PHONE
WHO CALLED TO SAY - COME DANCE WITH ME
AND MURMURED VAGUE OBSCENITIES

IT ISN'T ALL IT SEEMS AT SEVENTEEN

A BROWN EYED GIRL IN HAND ME DOWNS
WHOSE NAME I NEVER COULD PRONOUNCE
SAID - PITY PLEASE THE ONES WHO SERVE
THEY ONLY GET WHAT THEY DESERVE
THE RICH RELATIONED HOMETOWN QUEEN
MARRIES INTO WHAT SHE NEEDS
WITH A GUARANTEE OF COMPANY
AND HAVEN FOR THE ELDERLY

SO REMEMBER THOSE WHO WIN THE GAME
LOSE THE LOVE THEY SOUGHT TO GAIN
IN DEBENTURES OF QUALITY AND DUBIOUS INTEGRITY
THEIR SMALL-TOWN EYES WILL GAPE AT YOU
IN DULL SURPRISE WHEN PAYMENT DUE
EXCEEDS ACCOUNTS RECEIVED AT SEVENTEEN

(INSTRUMENTAL)

TO THOSE OF US WHO KNEW THE PAIN
OF VALENTINES THAT NEVER CAME
AND THOSE WHOSE NAMES WERE NEVER CALLED
WHEN CHOOSING SIDES FOR BASKETBALL
IT WAS LONG AGO AND FAR AWAY
THE WORLD WAS YOUNGER THAN TODAY
WHEN DREAMS WERE ALL THEY GAVE FOR FREE
TO UGLY DUCKLING GIRLS LIKE ME

WE ALL PLAY THE GAME, AND WHEN WE DARE
WE CHEAT OURSELVES AT SOLITAIRE
INVENTING LOVERS ON THE PHONE
REPENTING OTHER LIVES UNKNOWN
THAT CALL AND SAY - COME ON, DANCE WITH ME
AND MURMUR VAGUE OBSCENITIES
AT UGLY GIRLS LIKE ME, AT SEVENTEEN

Dirrrrrrrrrrrrrrty

It was quiet this morning.

My hand moving in steady rhythm.

Hips undulating beneath it.

Until my breath came in short, quick gasps.

And then, bliss.

The only thing missing was you.

Deer in Headlights

Yes, it's true, I used to be a military wife.

The truth is, I didn't really mind it.

I was never forced to join the cult of Officer's Wives or perform any other "required" wifely duties and birth control was free, free, FREE!

But, there was always a little part of me that felt bitter about the fact that I was a "professional" and was never "taken care of" in the way of work.

I had to learn what it was like to move to a new city without any contacts and restart my career.
I've become quite good at it actually and it is only in hindsight that I am grateful for the sink or swim job hunting skills I acquired.

I didn't realize HOW thankful until I watched my spouse approach his "date of separation" (or, last day as an officer) with an approach that resembled a deer in headlights.

Think about it: J graduated college with his plans for the future mapped out. The military says, "You graduate and we'll send you to XY City and State where you'll begin your first job. While the rest of your classmates are scrambling to find work (or apply to grad school because they can't find work), we'll take care of you."

Which is all fine and great I suppose since you're willing to die for your country and everything, but I've seen what happens to "career military" who have never had to look for a job and are suddenly on the market.

J wasn't even career military and he was practically paralyzed with fear.

When I was in college, there was a major who was "retiring." I put that in quotes because what really happened was that he didn't get his next promotion and that's pretty much the military's way of saying, "Uh, uh, the bus stops here for you pal!"

So, this major had some community contacts and was trying to secure a job with The Red Cross.

Every day he walked into the secretary's office in the ROTC building asking, "Did I get any mail or calls from TRC?" And, it was always with the slightest hint of a tremor in his voice.

This man was panicked.

He was the breadwinner in his family and here he was about to face unemployment.

He did finally get the job, but it was right before his terminal leave ran out. (I have a friend who's military that reads this and if he could post on here a good definition of Terminal Leave, I'd appreciate it! BC, I'm looking at you!!!!)

It was the same thing with J. He had saved up 3 months of time off and his last day of work he was all, "Well, my plan is to find a job right away so that I can collect two paychecks."

Which is all well and good in theory, but anyone that's had to find a "real" job can tell you it can take months from finding the job posting to actually getting hired on.

I've had seven jobs since I graduated college and with the exception of one of those, it's taken me anywhere from three weeks to three months before I was hired on.

If you're getting out, here's what I recommend:

1. Figure out what you want to do. If you have to, get something like "What Color is My Parachute" and work through it.

2. Start your resumes now. Yes, that's plural because you'll need a unique resume for each job you respond to. Not all job postings are the same and your resume should be customized for each job.

3. Start your cover letters now. At least do a generic cover letter so that you have the guts of it and can customize it when the time comes.

4. Check the newspaper and online job postings.

Here's an interesting little story: I found the job that J had when he first got out of the military.

I did a Google search with the job title (xxx developer), the city and state (xxx, MS) and the word "Employment."

The first link on the list was for a small company website in my city and state. They hadn't posted on any of the big name job boards and if you weren't looking for that company specifically, there's no way you could have found it.

But, with a creative search engine request there it was.

5. It's never too soon to start applying!!!!! Some places receive resumes and take weeks before they start making call backs.

6. Start practicing your cold call speech.

Cold calls suck. But, I was desperate to get out of a job situation.

So, I sat back and thought to myself, "What can I do and what field can I do this in? What field am I qualified to work in?"

I came up with advertising.

So, I looked it up in the yellow pages and started calling the ad agencies in my office. My speech went something like this:

"Hi, my name is ________ and I live in the ______ area. I have had four and a half years of professional experience as a copywriter and editor for catalogs, magazines and a nonprofit agency. I was wondering if you might have any positions available for someone with my qualifications."

It sucked at first (because I felt like a telemarketer and was afraid they were going to hang up on me), but once I got into a rhythm I started to enjoy it. You just have to barrel on because if you pause or hesitate they might say, "Sorry, we're not interested."

Most of the time I got a receptionist who would say, "I'm not really sure but I can transfer you to our HR Dept."

Also, one agency was nice enough to say, "Well, we aren't currently looking for anyone, but such and such agency is."

That was helpful because I could call such and such agency and say, "Hi, my name is ____ and a gentleman at _______ mentioned that you had an opening for a copywriter."

The people you talk to are really nice because most everyone understands looking for a job.

Whatever field it is you're looking to get into don't forget to use your yellow pages.

7. Join professional associations and don't be afraid to talk to people. I'm at my current job because my ex mentioned to a friend of his that I was looking for work.

Friend of ex said, "You know, my wife's company is looking for someone that can do this, this and that. Does that sound like something your wife would be interested in?" Turns out my skills were a perfect match for what I'm doing now.

Also, finding a job may be your first priority but placing you is not the first priority of the company you interviewed with.

Follow-up that interview with a thank you note and call in two weeks if you haven't heard anything.

I interviewed for a job in N.O. on October 1 and sent a note a week later.

Around November 1 I called the place and asked about the position and the hiring guy's secretary informed me that he'd hired someone and was sending out thank you letters to those that had applied.

I still haven't gotten that letter.

If I'd sat around and waited to hear back I still wouldn't know anything.

And ya'll, I kicked ass on that interview and left genuinely feeling like I had the job.

Which, boys and girls, leads me to my next piece of advice: NEVER stop applying and interviewing for jobs.

Even if you are certain you have the job.

You may have knocked their socks off, but the person after you may have knocked their panties off.

It's never a sure thing until you have a printed and signed offer letter in front of you.

Don't even think you've got it until you're sitting in your office on your first day.

Here's what I've learned in searching for work: jobs don't fall into your lap. You have to get out there and hustle.

And, at the risk of sounding like a pinko commie, this is just one of the reasons I hate the military.

They are great when you are in their fold, but once you get out they kick you out of that nest and you'd better be ready to fly on your own because there's no safety net and those bastards have done you a huge injustice by handing you every job you've had on a platter.

If J-Lo Can Handle This, Then So Can I!

Ya'll, I'm a bit of a geek. So it should come as no surprise to you that I enjoy watching Inside the Actors Studio on Bravo. I enjoy watching actors discuss their process. And, as pretentious as this is going to sound, I consider myself a "creative" so when I get the chance to look into someone else's "process" I find it fascinating.

I used to really like this show, but it's credibility has been shot for me because just recently they had J-LO on.

COME ON!!!!

This is the same show that's had Meryl Streep, Stockard Channing, Paul Newman, Stephen Speilberg . . . and now, J-LO!!!!

It feels like an all-time low, but then I realize he's also hosted: Sylvester Stallone (although, he did write, direct and act in Rocky so I'll let that slide), Roseanne and he's soon to host Marky Mark, so it's not like J-LO is an abberation.

But, help me understand the decision to humor J-LO and her ego Mr. Lipton because I've seen The Cell, The Wedding Planner and Enough.

Okay, with that rant over: part of the reason I've enjoyed Inside the Actors Studio so much is also the last segment that James Lipton does as part of his interview.

Lipton asks his guest questions from the Bernard Pivot Questionnaire (and it's great to watch just to hear how snottily Lipton can say Bernard Pivot).

And I'm thinking if J-LO can answer these questions then so can I. So, here goes:

What is your favorite word?
Possibility

What is your least favorite word?
Can't

What turns you on?
Dry Humor

What turns you off?
Dishonesty

What is the sound or noise that you love?
Laughter

What sound or noise do you hate?
Whistling

What is your favorite curse word?
Jesus Titty-Fucking Christ

What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?
Architect

What profession would you not like to participate in?
Dentist

If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
Here's a glass of wine and let me assure you, we have some interesting people here as well, I swear!

Sad

I'm in on a Saturday night.

It's really pathetic isn't it?

I feel like I should be out: dancing, drinking, kissing boys.

Except that if I really felt that I needed to do that then I suppose that is what I would be doing.

I kind of like staying in though. Besides, I had a really busy day and I'm wiped out.

I actually had a fairly busy Saturday.

I spent the morning fixing the perfect bowl of oatmeal (the right consistence, the right amount of brown sugar . . . ), I moved some things around in my boudoir and then my roomie and I spent three hours at a big craft fair.

So far, it sound like the perfect morning doesn't it?

If I was 70!!!!!!!!!

I did pick up some really cute things at this fair. I even picked up a Christmas present for my friend Melissa.

It's quite cool and fashionable (at a CRAFT fair? I KNOW!!). Melissa reads this blog so I can't go into detail about what it is, but I think she's REALLY gonna like it!

Anyway, we were on the way home and we decided to make a few more stops. We went to Home Depot (Which I hate with the fire of a 1,000 suns!) and I picked up some picture hanging materials as well as some velcro (Gotta work on those tear-away pants!).

Then, we headed to the Dixie for some groceries.

I made panfried oysters for dinner. I think I'm going to leave fried oysters up to the professionals from now on.

Then I showered, hung up some clothes and snuggled into bed. Where, thanks to this chilly weather, I'm enjoying the hell out of my down comforter and flannel pj bottoms!

That's it folks.

Another exciting Saturday night for me.

Oh, and you know my whole thing about "no romantic gestures" from last time?

Yeah, it's nice to know nothing's changed.

You know the worst part?

I've pretty much screwed myself because S read this and if he did show up on my doorstep I'd think it was forced.

But hey, nothing like a little guilt to stir up some inspiration, motivation, manipulation.

Which, you know, is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO romantic.

If you missed the sarcasm in that last little bit, then we're so not friends anymore.

Give up, already!

Okay, so I'm feeling a little down about myself.

Fridays tend to do that to me.

Which, I know doesn't make any sense but here's the thing: every Friday a teeny, tiny little part of me holds out hope that S will surprise me and just show up.

But, he never does.

You'd think I'd just let that go already and realize: It ain't gonna happen.

It kind of makes me feel like a big, dumb girl.

And it gets me down because a few weeks ago a woman I work with said to me:

"Oh yeah, when E lived in FW he drove up to see me every weekend. I know how it is . . . "

FW being approximately the same distance as S is from me.

And I think to myself, "Well, of course he did!"

I mean look at E!

She's beautiful: blonde hair, blue eyes . . . a real knockout in the truest sense . . . which, clearly, I am not.

Men just do not do that for girls that look like . . . me.

I know, I know, this is all very "Poooooor ME!" but I'm serious.

Never in my life has a man made any sort of grande, sweeping romantic gestures.

Maybe I'm just lowering my standards.

What I should do is hold out for the man that I inspire to be romantic.

Whatever loser, wake up and realize that it's just not in the cards for you.

It's not like I don't make an effort.

I used to leave little surprise romantic notes for my ex.

In his lunch bag, in his car . . . one time I came home from work and thought my efforts had finally paid off!

I found rose petals strewn down the hall leading to the closed door of our bedroom.

I thought, "Now this is more like it!"

You know what had happened?

I'd left the bedroom window open and a gust of wind had blown the potpourri out of the glass bowl on my nightstand, down the hall and then slammed the door shut.

Now that is more like it.

I've even surprised my current guy with last minute, impulsive decisions to go see him.

But, to no avail, I have yet to receive a surprise visit in return.

It's really quite depressing.

Don't we regular, average looking girls deserve to feel special, too?

Dammit, where's my copy of Lucinda's "Lonely Girls" when I need it!

I Love You, Goodbye

I had a therapist tell my former spouse and I that sometimes the hardest words to say are, "I love you, goodbye."

I understood what he was telling me, but I don't think I really wanted to hear it. So, my ex and I used to joke around and say to each other, "I love you, DON'T LEAVE!" We'd say it in this crazed voice and reach for each other's hands. Then we'd laugh at how pathetic we were.

In hindsight, we were a spectacularly co-dependent couple.

I gave him a safe place where I ignored things that seemed "off" to me. The weird class schedule, the angry reaction to me skipping a class and being home unexpectedly and too many nights out with one particular "friend."

You see, on some level I think I always knew he was cheating.

But, rather than confront him (or myself), I chose to stick my head in the sand. I tried to turn myself more and more into the perfect wife. I tried to be around more, to schedule more activities together; I really tried to control his time so that I'd know where he was at all times. I just never took the time to say to myself, "You know what, I'm not really happy with this." And, if I did think that I just kept trying to change him, not the stituation I was in.

And quite honestly, why would I? Getting out of that marriage would have meant standing on my own - being a grown-up even.

And even though J was cheating, he kept trying to make me happy.

Oh god, there were so many women that I knew (and still know) who think that J was the perfect husband. He helped around the house, he cooked, he cleaned . . . but all that time he was trying to seem perfect he wasn't happy. He wasn't happy with denying who he was.

I think we stayed in it thinking, "If I can just make this LOOK really good, then it will be really good," regardless of our individual needs.

It took me years to say to myself, "You know what, being on my own is going to be scary. I might not be able to pay all of my bills some months, but I'm not happy here and I need to sack up and find a way to be happy because I deserve it."

And so I left.

But then, so did he.

I haven't really had extensive conversations with J about "us" because there is no us anymore. In the last few months, I knew he was looking for work in other states and I encouraged him wholeheartedly.

Then one day he admitted to me that he simply couldn't be around me. That seeing me happy and healthy made him ache. It hurt too much to see me grow and flourish and know that he had lost me. That no matter how much he loves me, he knows deep down that he's gay and can't be my husband. Losing me is the hardest thing he's ever been through.

I was floored. I mean, I really had no idea that what "we" had meant so much to him. I know that sounds crazy, but when your partner cheats you figure the relationship probably wasn't a first priority.

Anyway, J did finally find a job he was happy with and this past weekend I drove him to the airport so that he could catch a flight to California.

I think I'd been in denial all week about it because when I woke up that morning I started crying.

This was it, he was leaving.

We drove to the airport and kidded around, but every few minutes I'd feel my eyes filling up with tears.

I was a mess at the airport and so was he and after he gave me one final squeeze, he bent down, picked up his bags and walked into the airport.

And I finally got it!

I love you, goodbye.

On the Road

Right now, I'm out of town. I'm not far away from home (maybe 1.5 hrs), but not sleeping in your own bed starts to really wear on you.

But, I'm trying to make the best of it.

I'm the Director of Education for a non-profit professional association. A large part of my job is acting as the administrator for the classes that we offer. Essentially, I travel to the classes, handout paper work and act as a proctor while the instructor bestows his/her vast knowledge on our members.

I have no complaints about our instructors or our members. The are always professional and are great at keeping classes interactive and exciting.

But, there's an awful lot of dead time for me.

So, sometimes I make sure that everything is running smoothly and I cut out.

Take yesterday for example: I'm in a different city this week until Thursday and I'm at a facility I've never been to before. It's conveniently located next to a ton of little shops, so for my lunch I popped over to a popular hot dog place. Okay, the dog was delicious. I had something called the "Junkyard Dog." It had everything on it and was filled with delicious badness.

Then, I walked over to a local bookseller and purchased some presents for a friend of mine and then I sat down with a delicious soy mocha to read the book I'd brought with me on my trip.

It was really nice to take two hours of my day for lunch, coffee and some reading. Definitely the kind of me time that I've been needing. I think maybe I even fell in love with my life a little.

Just when I think I can't do this anymore, I find a little place to carve out some "me" time.

Yesterday was my mom's birthday. I feel kind of bad because I didn't write anything for her. I actually sat in front of my computer for hours trying to come up with something, but nothing was happening. I kept writing stuff and then deleting it.

What do you write about Esme?

My mom and I have had a relationship filled with ups and downs.

During my pre-teen years I sort of relished that I was daddy's favorite (yes, I realize how incredible fucked up that is) and sort of lorded it over her.

I remember one night after dinner we were having ice cream sundaes. I had opened up a brand new can of whipped cream and was aiming it at the top of my sundae. There must have been a clog or something because this shit shot all over the place and got my mom right in the face.

She was furious.

I was trying not to laugh and she could tell, so she yells, "Choong (my dad's nickname), she did that on purpose."

Dad was standing there in semi-shock, also trying not to convulse from holding in his laughter, and he says to her, "No, that couldn't have been on purpose. It went everywhere. She wasn't aiming it at you."

I just kept saying, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry . . . " but the tears in my eyes from the suppressed laughter were obvious.

Mom actually got up from her chair and lunged at me. I took off for my bedroom and slammed the door behind me. I was kind of in shock, but laughing my ass off because really - it was fucking funny!

Then later on in high school, mom accused me of being a slut.

Not exactly in those words, what she said was, "I always talked about your aunt's daughters, never did I think MY DAUGHTER would turn out to be like one of them."

Mom has a penchant for the dramatic.

I don't really rember when my mom and I chilled out with each other.

But, I think it had a lot to do with me going away to college.

I was away from home so we weren't in each other's space as much and that whole bizarre little Electra Complex that I had developed was finally, FINALLY whithering away.

Anway, I left for school, got married and started my own family.

Then I moved out of state.

Which, was fantastic as it really allowed me to create a life for myself that wasn't hindered by someone else's expectations of me.

Then, then I got the call that no child should ever get.

It was mom on the phone barely whispering out, "I have breast cancer."

I don't really remember what I was thinking about right before she said it. Maybe something about work or my day.

I do remember that J and I were driving home from somewhere because I was looking out the windshield watching the snow fall and everthing started moving at super slow-mo.

Mom's cancer was caught super, super early. So early that they did a lumpectomy (sort of, as the cancer was still in the early stages and there really wasn't much of a lump) and a few months of radiation. No chemo.

Her cancer was caught by a routine mammogram.

That mammogram saved her life.

And, I will be eternally grateful for the fact that mom has always been a believer in preventive medicine.

We didn't come close to losing her, but for the first time the reality of losing her was there and it scared me.

So, even though she drives me crazy still and sometimes when we talk on the phone I roll my eyes so much I practically sprain my eyeballs - I'm glad she's still around to drive me crazy.

I wouldn't trade her for anyone.

I love you, mom.

Why You?

Because

... you don't just laugh at my jokes, you make them better.

... when I'm getting ready for work in the morning you bring me a glass of orange juice.

... you remember our first kiss and don't give me a hard time for forgetting it.

... first thing in the morning you say "Hey beautiful," to me without a trace of sarcasm.

... your kisses make me lightheaded.

... your inspired me to take a four-hour road trip to see you.

... even now, 10 years later, the sight of you makes me weak-kneed and gives me butterflies.

... you always make sure that I "win."

... when we make love you look directly into my eyes.

... you always do your best not to wake me up when you get up in the middle of the night.

... if you do have to wake me up, you do it by slowly kissing my finger tips.

... you always offer me the last oyster first, even when you know it's yours.

... you make me laugh.

On My Own

I left home at 18. Okay, so I was still on mom and dad's payroll, but I was out of the house and living away from them at 18.

I left for college and never looked back!

It was quite possibly the best thing I could have done for myself, it's probably the best thing anyone can do.

Because, see, the thing is, when you live with mom and dad you never really grow up. And by growing up I don't mean paying the bills and rent. You can live at home and pay bills and rent, so I don't mean growing up as much as I mean growing into your own.

Loosely, I think mom and dad think of me as messy, afraid to speak Spanish, lazy, quiet . . . whatever.

But, when I left home I got to be whomever I wanted to be.

I got to keep my stuff neat and organized, I got to be brave and try new things without someone's voice in my ear saying, "you shouldn't try that, that if you fail . . . " I'm in the middle of interviewing for a job in my home town. When I saw the posting, I decided I'd go for it. Even though, mom thinks I should stay at my current job for a while. Her reasoning is that moving from job to job will only harm me. Well, the truth is, moving around has actually made me a desireable candidate for this position. I have experience in a variety of related industries that would make me kick ass in this job. But, maybe if I'd stayed at home I never would have tried for more because there would have been a compelling force affecting my decisions. I might have listened to her saying, "You have a good job right now with good benefits. Why go for something else?"

Moving out was the beginning of my road to becoming a "whole, fully viable entity . . . " and making decisions without considering what mom and dad thought, thus allowing me to develop into half of a successful relationship. I got derailed by marrying too young. I really wasn't a "whole, fully viablel entity at 19." I should have waited.

And having learned that lesson, I have certain criteria that gentleman must meet before I take the next step in a relationship (i.e., living together).

I can't live with someone who's going from mom and dad's to my place.

Why?

Because I need to know that you've been on your own and discovered who you are without any interference.

Moving out means you're not afraid to take things on, to be by yourself, to choose for yourself what you want to do. It means that if you choose to be lazy then you make yourself feel guilty or you decide that being lazy today felt good and was exactly what you wanted to do. But, you don't have to apologize for taking it easy.

So, my "stipulation" that you live on your own isn't arbitrary.

Living on your own is a part of the natural evolution towards adulthood and if you haven't done it, then how can you live with someone else? You know what I think happens when you move in with someone else before living on your own?

I think you set yourself up for being co-dependent. It's too easy to rely on someone else to tell you what you like and what you don't like. It's too easy to let someone else prioritize your life.

I worry that I haven't explained my reasoning well enough. But I do know this, living with mom and dad is a dealbreaker for me.

If you're reading this blog, share with me the importance of living on one's own.

Classic

A few months ago I called my mom to tell her that my divorce had been finalized. She said to me, "Well that was quick! I'll bet you were more eager than J to get that going."

Me, "Actually, it was J that got us the lawyer and set up the appointments."

Mom, a moment of silence, then, "Well, It's not like your looking to get married any time soon are you?"

Me, incredulously, "To WHOM?"

Mom, "Well, Stanley!"

Alright, the thing is, I know she knows S's name and I know she know's it's NOT Stanley.

And because I'm a mean daughter I decided to have a little fun with her.

Me, "Who's STANLEY?!?"

Mom, frustrated, "Oh, you know - S----!"

Me, laughing, "Mom! Who do you think I am J-Lo?"

**************************************************************************

Over Labor Day weekend I went in to NO on Thursday night. I took Friday off and stayed through Monday. This is the longest I've been home in a while. On Sunday, mom and dad decided to go to Pontchatoula. They like going to the farmer's market out there as well as this antique store they've just found. My Aunt Toya joined us as well.

I had maybe 10 pages left to read of To Kill A Mockingbird and when you're that close you just don't want to stop. So, I took it in the car with me and kind of half-listened to the conversation on the way to Pontchatoula.

My Aunt was talking about McD and how he'd gone out the night before.

She said, "No se. I don't know where he went - he just said there was music all night long y bailo, he danced."

Me, "He went to the House of Blues."

Everyone, "Huh? How do you know?"

Me, "He told me last night. Said it was Latin night."

Toya, "Si, si, he said they played salsa music, merengue and punta."

Me, "Right, Latin night."

Dad, "Can Donald dance that?"

Mom, "Ah, he just does like on the MTV. In the videos. Asi, like dees . . . "

And Mom busts out the pimp haaaands!

Hands all waving in the air like she just don't care.

(Pimp hands. Like you’re in your hooptie, and it’s got the mad hydraulics, and you’re just like, unh! TM Chiara Pimp Haaaands should not be confused with Raising the Roof Hands - which require one to turn palms upwards and push up).

My aunt, "Ah, si si, like dees."

And then SHE busts out with the pimp hands.

But, not only is she waving the hands like she just don't care - she's also rocking her body back and forth to this silent rhythm that she and my mom are big pimpin' to!

For that brief moment, it was as if dad's Toyota Camry had been turned into that scene in 8 Mile where Eminem's rockin' the mike and all the people in the club have the single-handed pimp hand going.

I love my family!

Everybody Poops - LUCKY BASTARDS!

(I posted this on a bulletin board a few weeks ago. I'm posting it here because I'm only 29 and have poop problems. I'm too young for this. I also posted it because I'm a big advocate of preventative healthcare. Get your checkups people - and look at your poop.)

I had some issues a few years ago and my bowel movements were on this weird cycle.

For a few days I'd have nothing, just gas and bloating.

Then when I finally went to the bathroom I'd only produce what I referred to as rabbit poop because it just looked like little pellets and I'd be in there for ages for just 10-15 pellets. Then, I'd have diarrhea.

This cycle went on and on for months until I saw blood. (FYI, bright red blood should be looked at but it's probably not cancer or anything. It's probably from a hemorrhoid or something. Dark red blood though is a problem as it could be from your colon.)

Anyway, I had a colonoscopy and everything checked out okay except for a few internal hemorrhoids.

In conversations with my doctor though we talked about a typical day for me regarding diet and came to the conclusions that 1.) I'm lactose intolerant, 2.) I need more fiber and 3.) I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

I love cheese and ice cream so I tend to avoid those things now. But, I give in and I know I'm in trouble when I eat pizza, lasagna, a burger with cheese.

If I really, really want it I give in to the craving but I know I'll pay for it later.

I have to have Lactaid milk and those Lactaid pills never did anything for me.

I also get plenty of fiber now.

I have a salad with lunch and dinner or at least snack on some fruit during the day.

But, I really upped my fiber intake with these fancy little Bran Flakes I buy at The Fresh Market. It's something like 22% of my daily fiber and not only does it keep me ridiculously regular, but a small bowl of that stuff really sticks with me and normally I'm not hungry until lunch.

I have to stay away from greasy foods (hamburgers, tacos, fried chicken) as I know that will send me running towards the bathroom before the end of the evening and forget popcorn. It just makes me gassy.

I'm a Louisiana girl, but even overly spicy foods sends me like running like Flo Jo to the restroom.

Turns out my dad's the same way: Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

It's all been a pain in the ass to deal with (both literally and figuratively), but once you figure out what you can and can't eat then you can go from there.

There are also medications for IBS.

I'm not currently on any, but I know there are some things I JUST SHOULDN'T EAT.

I love broccoli and cauliflower but I just can't do it.

I had some Mashed Cauliflower (supposed to be potatoes) and I loved it, but a few hours later I was in the bathroom with the worst stomach cramps and explosive diarrhea EVAH!!!

I don't currently journal my food intake (which maybe I should just to see what triggers an upset stomach), but when I'm on the pot bent over with cramps, chills and the hair standing up on my arms I take a moment and think, "What did I eat? What did I eat?"

That's at least the first step to figuring out your trigger foods.

And, you know, look at your poop.

It's gross but you have to know what's going on in your body to be your best advocate.

I Am Not An Animal

I'm having kind of a shitty day today.

I woke up at 5:30 a.m. feeling fairly well-rested.

Did I get out of bed and try to make it to the gym for that 5:45 a.m. Spin class I keep wanting to attend?

Fuck no.

I laid in bed, pulled Jack (my grey tabby) in for a snuggle and went back to sleep.

I kept going in and out of sleep until I finally decided to get up for work, and of course, I was late.

I walked into the bathroom, looked in the mirror and my mouth fell open at my reflection.

Now, I'm not exactly at my most beautiful right when I wake up in the morning, but this morning I was hideous.

My left eyelid is swollen.

Noticeably swollen.

Like Jack sucker punched me in my sleep kind of swollen.

So, right now I look like I'm wearing the prosthetic makeup Eric Stoltz wore to play Rocky in that movie Mask. (You know, that one with Cher and Chris Christopherson.)

I think something bit me.

See, last night there was a big cockroach in my room, (Not that I think that's what bit me, because . . . ewwwwww) and my room is a mess right now (stacks of boxes and papers that I keep meaning to get to since I moved in) so finding the roach so I could kill it took forever.

While looking for it, I decided to go through two boxes of beauty products that had been sitting in a corner of my room. I put the boxes on my bed and sifted through them.

Throwing away a small fortune in expired and practically new bottles of Neutrogena and other assorted products.

I think maybe there was a little spider or ant or something in one of those boxes.

See, I remember waking up in the middle of the night to scratch my forehead.

I figured it was just a mosquito because I could feel the swelling and the itching.

But the motherfucker must have gotten my eye, too!!!!

I'm very much a live and let live kind of person.

I don't even mind spiders all that much because they eat other small bugs that bite.

But when you start biting me on the eyelid - that means war.

I don't care if your a long-lost relative of Charlotte and her infamous web - your days are numbered.

Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue

I've been to a couple of weddings in my life.

The best wedding I ever went to was my friend Nose's wedding.

Nose is really laid back. So laid back that when I saw her eight months before her wedding she said to me:

"My mom really wants to have the reception at The Pavillion of Two Sisters (http://www.neworleanscitypark.com/pavillion.php) at City Park. I figure, 'Hey, since she's paying for it then whatever she wants is fine with me."

I smiled and said to Nose, "Honey, if that's your attitude then you're going to have an awesome time at your wedding."

And I meant that, Nose has never been a stressy, control freak so the fact that she was letting someone else take the reins saved her from turning into Bridezilla.

I've never seen a more beautiful bride than Nose.

She looked so beautiful and so serene.

At the reception she and D danced to Van Halen's "Dance the Night Away."

A bold choice for a first dance. But, if I know D she picked it because it was a song she and D BOTH wanted. It was sung by a live band so it was slowed down in tempo a bit and at the end, D picked her up and they both sort of spun around the dance floor.

The surprise on Nose's face was delightful. This was definitely something she wasn't expecting. After he set her down, she looked up at him, smiling and laughing.

And, when I saw the look on her face tears sprang to my eyes.

I got sad.

Sad because I knew I'd never be able to look up at my spouse with that look of wonder and amazement. With that undeniable "I'm the luckiest girl in the world" look.

I think I also got so emotional because I was so moved to see Nose so happy.

I know that brides always look radiant, but Nose was more than just radiant.

She was beaming, as if a ball of sunshine had filled her soul and she was feeling it from the very top of her head to the tips of her toes.

And so, while I've seen several brides, Nose is the first I've ever seen so happy, so relaxed, so natural.

On that day, I looked at her and realized that I want to be that happy.

That I deserve to be that happy.

We all do.

Summer Nights

I was wearing a skirt because I know how much you like it when I wear one.

We had just gotten back from a late night movie.

You asked if I didn't mind waiting a while before we went inside.

I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Okay."

I put my foot against my car's rear bumper and lifted myself up to sit on my trunk.

You were standing in front of me, taking one last drag and I said, "Come here."

You smiled, walked over to stand in between my legs and I took your face in my hands and kissed you.

You pulled away and my eyes remained closed for a few seconds afterward. My face may have had what you call my "drunk" look.

You whispered, "You want to be bad?"

I smiled, bit my lip and nodded.

You got closer to me and I jumped when I felt your hand slide up my thigh. I gasped when your fingers pushed my panties aside.

It wasn't long before you were making me tremble, kissing me, drowning out my cries in the quiet night.

Swoonworthy

I am a bulletin board nerd.

I admit fully that I visit www.mathplusone.com and love it! I even think of the women there as my friends. Which, I guess is what tips me over into nerd/loser territory. I mean, can you really be friends with a group of women that you've never met?

I don't know.

But I do know that anytime I'm having a crisis or want to share good news, MATH is the first place I think to go.

Plus, the women on there kick all kinds of ass. They are smart, witty and totally willing to wallow in their girliness. It's tough to find women like that.

Anyway, I'm pimping MATH because right now there's a Breakup Songs thread getting a lot of action. I made my contribution, but it got me to thinking.

What about love songs?

And that made me think about songs that "just melt my butter." (And if you know what that quote is from than you and I might be destined to be friends for life.

Here are just a handful of songs that would totally make me drop my panties:

1. Peter Gabriel "In Your Eyes"
2. Modern English "Melt With You"
3. Bob Marley "Is This Love?"
4. Paul McCartney "Maybe I'm Amazed"
5. Christine McVeigh "Songbird"
6. Billy Joel "She's Got a Way"
7. Momma Cass "Dream a Little Dream"
8. The Association "Never My Love"
9. Etta James "At Last"
10. John Mayer "Back To You"
11. Harry Connick Jr. "It Had to Be You"
12. John Mayer "Wonderland"
13. Eric Clapton "Wonderful Tonight"
14. Barry White "You're The First, The Last, My Everything"
15. Marvin Gaye "Let's Get It On"
16. Frank Sinatra "You Look Wonderful Tonight"
17. Marvin Gay "Sexual Healing"
18. Faith Hill "Breathe"
19. George Strait "Cross My Heart"
20. John Michael Montgomery "I Love The Way You Love Me"
21. Faith Hill "This Kiss"
22. Dave Matthews Band "Crash" (I know, I know - DMB)
23. Shania Twain "You're Still the One"
24. Tim McGraw "Watch the Wind Blow By"
25. Trisha Yearwood "How Can I Live Without You"
26. Garth Brooks "Shameless"
27. Shania Twain "Forever and Always"
28. Dido "Thank You"

So, I don't know who's reading this but I'd love to hear from anyone that is.

What are YOUR "Off Like a Prom Dress" songs?

Why Breakfast for Dinner?

Because I like it.

I went to a party a while ago and the theme was Breakfast for Dinner.

It was awesome!

It started at 6:30 p.m. and everyone was assigned to bring his/her favorite food.

I brought Mimosas.

WHAT?

I was on a liquid diet.

Anyway, people brought cinnamon rolls, made waffles and scrambled eggs. This was all up my alley as I love breakfast foods at any time of the day.

So, that's the first time I heard the phrase "Breakfast for Dinner."

But, that's not really why I named my blog that.

I named it that because "Breakfast for Dinner" makes me think of my mom.

When I was a kid and she didn't feel like making a meat-and-three type dinner she'd make omelets. Great big ass omelets with tomatoes, onions, green peppers and cheese. We'd have a slice of toast or whatever on the side and that was that.

Mayn! That's all it took to make me happy because I love me some eggs!

Even now, when I don't feel like cooking dinner, I'll make scrambled eggs, drizzle some ketchup on them and have a side of toast with grape jelly. Something about the sweet and salty combo makes my mouth very happy.

"Breakfast for Dinner" also makes me happy because it takes what would be a normal meal in the a.m. and makes it special.

But, I really like the idea of Breakfast for Dinner because I can knock back the Mimosas and/or Bloody Mary's with breakfast and not be thought to have a "problem."

Which, I totally don't!

I'm just . . . from New Orleans.

21

21 years ago today I was lucky enough to meet a boy that would change my life forever.

McD was beautiful.

He had great big brown eyes and that great baby smell.

I was eight and I was convinced that this beautiful baby boy was mine. That he was my baby to take care of. It's funny because if you look at pictures of us from back then I'm toting him around everywhere.

I was raised in a unique household. It was my mom, dad, brother and myself. My Aunt Toya also lived with us. See, I'm from Honduras and as most Latin Americans will tell you, family stays close.

In the same house kind of close.

The story goes that when my mom, dad, brother and I moved to N.O. we were on the plane and C and I looked around and started looking around for Toya. It wasn't long before we were both crying because she was not with us.

See, when my mom got married, the only one of her sisters to marry, Toya went to live with her. With us. I don't know a single day without Toya in my life. She's a second mother to me in so many ways.

She is also McD's mom.

McD is like my little brother. I used to hear him playing with his friends and he'd always refer to me as his sister.

And we were close, maybe it was the eight year age difference that helped us get along.


Maybe it's just that McD is a terrific kid.


When I got my license I hated driving anywhere alone. When I was 17 and he was nine, we drove around all over New Orleans together.


He was my co-pilot.


Everywhere I went he was with me. The time we spent together is time I'll never get back and man am I glad I had it.


He was just such a cool little kid.


Today he's funny as hell.


A trait that I like to think he inherited from me because he can match me point for point on smart ass comments and looks.

McD hasn't had it easy.

But he's still trying and still dreaming.

He's taking his time and coming into his own.


Sometimes I look at him and I can't believe he's becoming a man.


A man that I am proud to know and honored to be called his sister.


Happy birthday, McD.


I love you.

Road Trip

Oh, the last 24 hours have truly sucked.

I was on my way to the gym last night when a gentleman on the interstate gestured that I should roll down my window.

So you know I did right?

He yells at me, "You have no brake lights."

Me, "Huh? Oh SHIT!"

Because you know this is Labor Day weekend and I'm heading to N.O. on Thursday night and a 4.5 hour trip on any interstate, AT NIGHT, just isn't safe.

So, I got off interstate and wound my way back home. Where I proceeded to get at least 12 silipillion mosquito bites while testing my fuses.

Which, in a way, was kind of cool.

I know it sounds silly, but I like the fact that I'm not afraid to just start messing around with my car. After eliminating a fuse problem, I started checking my bulbs.

Now, I didn't figure they had all gone out at once. I mean, it was possible (infinitesimaly) but unlikely. It turns out I did have one blown bulb. Which, I changed because, you know - it's easy.

To which my dad said, "Maybe it's like Christmas lights. If one goes out then they all go out."

I had about ten minutes on dad on that one as it was the first thing that I had thought, too (Great minds and all that we are.) So I said to him, "You know, I thought the same thing only I realized there's no way an automobile engineer would design a car that way. It would be too dangerous. They'd just be waiting on the lawsuits to start pouring in."

He said, "Yeah, you've got a good point."



So, I called in late this morning and drove my car to Broadway's Automotive in Montgomery, AL (Yeah, that is such a shameless plug but these dudes know what they are doing.)

I walked in and said, "I have no brake lights."

The guy behind the counter asked me, "Is your shift locking up on you? Are you having to release it in order to take it out of park?"

Me, "Funny you should ask. I've had to use my key in the Shift Lock Release for few days now."

Guy, "Sounds like your Brake Light Switch. Now, that's just an armchair diagnosis but that's what I'm thinking."

An hour and a half later that was exactly what was wrong with it to the tune of $130.

Which, is great because this means I can leave as scheduled! Only, I'm still a little screwed since I slept a total of three hours last night because I kept worrying over this whole thing with the car. I didn't even pack (which, in hindsight was dumb, dumb, dumb) because I didn't figure I'd be able to leave on Thursday night.

How to have fun with your mechanic:

I sat there for quite a while and at one point, just before I got my bill actually, two of the guys in the office started singing along, and rocking out, to some old classic rock song. Then a third guy walks in, gives them the, "Ya'll are crazy!" look and they all laugh.

Singer 1 says, "Come on, we have a lady in here who was about to pull out her lighter and bandana . . . "

Me, looking up slowly from the Time magazine in my lap, "I was thisclose to taking off my bra and throwing it up on the counter actually."

All three guys stare at me in open-mouthed silence.

I went back to reading my magazine and slowly each one of them started to laugh.

Then, I'm called up to pay and I ask the guy (Singer 2), "Seriously, if I DO take my bra off will you consider lowering the price."

Today, I made my mechanic blush.

UPDATE:
I got a call from the guys at Broadway's and they were calling to let me know that when they totalled my bill they accidentally overcharged me for labor.

I'm totally going in there braless next time!

Momma

What is it about my mother that drives me crazy?

I know my mother loves me. In fact, I'm fairly certain she'd lay down in front of a speeding bus if it meant my life or hers.

But mayn! She can drive me nuts sometimes.

When I was married, at around year four she started gunning for grandkids.

It was subtle.

Little comments about how her friends were wondering when she'd hear the pitter patter of little feet. She of course, would turn to me with big sad eyes and say, "I have no answer."

The thing you need to know, is that my mom has this way of turning on those big sad eyes when she needs to.

A long time ago she tried to cry me into doing something.

I was tired and wouldn't budge.

I looked at her and said, "I'm not dad or C (my brother). This crying thing you do is not going to work on me."

It was the first time anyone had ever called her on this and she did not like it.

But, she did dry up those tears faster than I could say, "Manipulate."

Since then, mom and I have had a very different relationship. Things are just the way they are and neither one of us tries to hide behind pretense.

So, when the grandbabies campaign started it was pretty brutal.

Finally, I said to her, "If you don't stop - for every time you ask about babies, I'm going to add on another year of waiting."

And I did.

And then she realized I wasn't kidding so she quit.

But then I got divorced.

On the cusp of year nine of my marriage we ended it.

The promise of grandchildren is just about gone, for now.

See, when I was married I insisted that I just didn't want children.

The truth is, I did and I do.

It's not that my biological clock has started ticking.

It's more that I've finally allowed myself to admit, "Yes, I want children."

You think I don't love the promise of one day looking at a man and thinking, "I want my children to have your eyes." The thought of loving someone so much that I want to see that love and that man reflected on the faces of our children is enough to make me swoon.

But, right now I don't have a husband.

This, of course, is what mom's been bugging me about lately.

Lately, she's been assuring me that I will find love. That it's out there.

I think maybe she sees me as a little lost because I don't have J. Because I don't have a spouse or partner.

The truth is, I'm not looking for it right now.

I mean, yeah, if it comes along then great. But I don't feel incomplete because there's no man in my life.

If anything, I feel like I found myself again. (I know that sounds completely hokey, but that's really how I feel.) You know that line in Amazing Grace:

I once was lost, but now am found;

Was blind, but now I see.

That's what the last six months have been for me - for the first time in a long time I can see again.

I am dating someone, but that's just a thing - you know?

There's no pressure, no serious commitment and no talk about tomorrow or forever.

It's all about today and the fact that he makes me happy today and I make him happy today. Maybe he's not Mr. Right, but he's definitely Mr. Right Now.

I'm perfectly content with that.

So, when mom throws out the stuff about the fact that I'll find love it bugs me because the implication is that I won't be really, truly happy until there's a man in my life again.

And that, as my father would say,

"Is bullshit."

You're Still the One

There's always been something about you that just levels me.

Even when we were kids and flirting mercilessly, I'd touch you on the forearm or whatever just to touch you. I'd bite my lip and get a little breathless, but I'd just goof off with you so that you didn't know your nearness made my breath catch.

Every time you walked by I'd watch you move and wish you were moving toward me.

We had one perfect day together.

Ten years later I called you and you called me back.

And the first time I saw you all those old feelings came rushing back.

I got out of my car and there you were, standing in front of me with that smirk on your face.

That smirk that always meant trouble.

It took you two steps to stand in front of me, slide your hand up my neck and into my hair. You pulled me in for a kiss that made me weak in the knees and took my breath away.

We pulled away and I smiled and whispered, "Hey . . . "

It didn't take us long before we were both in the car.

You were good.

You started talking about how you were and you're night and what you were up to.

I heard my voice in my head saying, "You walked away from him the first time. Quit wasting time, slide over and grab him!"

So, I did.

You looked a little surprised, but then you smiled.

And the next 20 minutes were an embarrassing gropefest that I hadn't experienced since high school.

Our hands and lips went everywhere.

It was as if we were trying to consume each other.

My heart was racing.

I pulled your shirt out and slid my hands up your back.

Then, just as quickly as we'd started we stopped.

That was it.

Just 20 minutes of behaving like high school kids in the back of a car.

Before I drove off that night I put my face in my hands and I could still feel the warmth of your skin.

I took a shuddering breath and I could smell you on my hands - cedar and pine.

The next morning I thought it had all been a dream.

A really great dream.

And now, when you give me that look my breathing still hitches and when we're together you still make me feel like I'm the only woman in the world.

Boys

I went out on Saturday night.

I don't normally go out.

I have a tendency to get bored really easily and I've got a healthy stash of many books or movies waiting for me at home that I'd rather just stay in.

Whether or not that makes me a total loser I don't really care.

I really like my own company (on occasion I prefer it), so staying in suits me just fine.

But, this past weekend I went to see Saved and then went to a new bar in town.

A new martini bar.

I am the Appletini's bitch!

If you like sour apple Jolly Ranchers then you and the Appletini should meet.

I met a cute boy.

A really cute boy and while I wasn't interested I got the feeling he was really interested in me.

You know, sat really close to me, accidentally/on purpose brushed my arm or hand while he sat next to me.

I felt him touching me and kind of thought, "Hmm, this is interesting . . . " But, you know what was missing?

That spark.

I've had that happen before even with someone I barely know. When the accidental brush of a hand kind of takes your breath away. When the heat of their skin on your skin makes you jump.

Yeah, I need that.

Anyway, as it happens with most cute boys - he got less and less cute the longer he talked to me.

The conversation started to get tedious.

He's at that stage where he's just beginning to question some big issues (death, morality, happiness . . . ). So, of course, he thinks his opinions are compelling and fill him with the need to share his "new" thoughts with people.

I know, this smacks of condescension, but I really just don't feel like having to listen politely to this boy's ruminations.

He needs a girl his own age who thinks he's a genius for having these thoughts.

A girl who looks at him with big eyes of admiration, as if he were the smartest boy she's ever met.

He doesn't need my squinty-eyed, pursed lip look of impatience.

I need more than just a pretty face and pseudointellectual conversation.

Crazy

I don't handle stress very well.

On the surface I look like I have my shit together, but deep down I'm a mass of twitchy nerves.

I can handle a crisis.

Mostly because a crisis will just present itself and all I have to do is react. I don't have to worry it to death.

But deadlines and that sort of thing have caused me serious stress since I was about sixteen.

I went to a fairly competitive high school where although I wasn't one of the top students (not even close), my friends and I still compared grades. So, 11th grade rolls around and on top of grades, I'm worrying about test scores and college. I was also performing in five numbers at my dancing school and forgetting half of the steps for each dance. Then, I added to that by being in my first "serious" relationship. All of that made for a very stressful year.

One night, I was playing with my hair and felt a really coarse strand. Curious, I plucked it. It stung a little but it also felt kind of good. That hair also happened to be growing through a teeny, tiny zit on my head.

So, I pulled another hair near the same spot.

And another and another . . . until eventually I had a silver dollar-size bald spot on my head.

I don't remember setting out to do this, I just know that it felt good and while I was rooting around in my hair I couldn't think about anything else other than plucking another hair. It was a brief moment of peace in my stressed-out life.

I let that bald spot get pretty big before stopping myself. Then I moved on to the other side of my head. Pretty soon I had two perfectly round bald spots. If you can imagine a person growing horns on their head, the spot where a horn would sprout from is about where I created the bald spot. I have thick, dark hair and I part it to the right so hiding the bald spot wasn't every difficult. I never told anyone what I was up to an no one ever found out.

I did however live in fear of strong winds.

Now I know that I had [URL=http://www.nmha.org/infoctr/factsheets/92.cfm]trichotillomania*[/URL]. I didn't know what this was back then, I didn't have a name for it. I just thought I was crazy.

I don't quite remember what triggered it back then, but the next time in my life that it got bad was when I had Hepatitis B. I was already depressed about a lot of shit and laying around in bed while my liver recovered left me with too much time on my hands.

My hands immediately went to the place that I'd pulled so many years ago and started up again. It got soo bad that I even took the tweezers to it. When the hair had grown back in, anywhere from 1/8 - 1/4" I'd pluck it out with the tweezer. Sometimes I'd gauge my scalp a little and pull a little of it, too. I even started saving the tiny hairs in an envelope.

Why?

I don't know.

But, it did give me a twisted sense of accomplishment to see how much hair I had pulled.

Eventually, I calmed down and let it scab over. I'd run my finger over the tender bald spot and itch for the hair to grow back in so I could pull it some more. Have you ever pulled a hair through a scab? It stings a little and you can feel the root of the hair get hung up on the scab, but it feels a little good, too.

The trickiest part about trich? Going to see your hairdresser. It takes careful planning. You have to let the hair grow out enough that he/she won't see the bald spot and think you have mange. I had a hair dresser ask me once why this swatch of hair was only three inches long. I shrugged and said, "Too much abuse from the blow dryer and curling iron I guess."

I don't allow myself to give myself bald spots anymore. But, I have one little hair on the left side that grows out all course and tight, like a little slinky hair and I'll search for it every three months or so and pluck it out with my fingers.

Usually, I'm aware of the urge to pull my hair and it tends to occur when I'm in a stressful period in my life. Sometimes it's when I'm facing a deadline for work or just when I feel overwhelmed in general. My scalp tingles and my fingers itch to root through my hair.

Sometimes I stop myself.

Sometimes I don't.

I have learned what I shouldn't do when I get that urge. I shouldn't read or talk on the phone. I have to find an activity that keeps both of my hands busy. Otherwise, my hand will just wander into my hair and the next thing I know - I'm plucking.

It's been a long time since I've pulled my hair out excessively. Yeah, there are moments when I slip and I try to check myself when that happens.

But, even now that my hair is pretty much all the same length I can reach up there, instinctively find the area I always pull from and give my hair a little tug.

It stills give me the most delicious little thrill to feel that little sting at the root.

*(Sidenote: I scrolled down that page and saw something of interest. Trich is thought of as an OCD disorder. The site goes on to say, "Such as compulsive counting . . . " Hello!!! I totally do that and always thought it odd but never equated it with OCD. Sometimes I count the alphabet on my fingers, making sure Z always lands on the same finger, the number of words in the last sentence I just said . . . random stuff.)