Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Plastic Surgery Without the Scalpel

What’s that? Something looks different about me? Can’t quite put your finger on it? Well, let me help you. I GOT SEXIFIED!

Whose my stylist? The one and only “Miss Thang” herself, Mary “Rock”wood-Crabtree. You have got to check her out! Just click on the “Blog Rock” link on the bottom left of my site to pay her a visit.

I have to give a BIG shout out to Mary for all the time she put into designing my new blog site. She is one talented lady and very easy to work with. She was so very patient with me, and believe me, I was no easy client. It seemed that no matter what I asked her to do, she was willing and able. She even designed from scratch, that sassy looking lady up there in the heading. Yes, that was designed after me, and what fun it is to see yourself as a cartoon! It was like undergoing plastic surgery without the scalpel.

And check out my "Menstrual Cycle." Isn't it cool?

Mary loves what she does and as you can see, she is AWESOME! So make sure to pay her a visit at “Blog Rock” to find out what she can do for your blog. Her rates are very affordable and her talent is endless.

Thank you, Mary, for the sassy new look and for being the wonderful lady you are. You ROCK!

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Monday, September 21, 2009

What Does Your Nightstand Say About You?

Have you ever taken a look at what's on your nightstand?  I did, and I found the discheveled mess quite interesting to say the least. It definitely reveals a lot about me.  And I am sure yours does too.

So here's what's sitting on my nightstand right now (and what it all means):

1.  Three used wadded up tissues (I have allergies and I am obviously a slob).
2.  An empty tissue box (I need more tissues).
3.  Eyedrops (Again, allergies and dry eyes).
4.  Seven pens (perhaps a fettish of some sort?  One for each of my personalities to write with?)
5.  Two issues of Psychology Today (always trying to find out what is wrong with me).
6.  A small notebook (so I can take notes on what I learn when it comes to what is wrong with me).
7.  Antacids (I'm getting old).
8.  Reading glasses (Really OLD!).
9. Fitness books (my attempt to stay healthy and keep from looking OLD!).
10.  A bottle of at least 4-day-old water (not going to stay healthy if I drink that crap).
11. Phone with the ringer turned off (the beast does not like to be awoken from her sleep).
12.  A plastic ring of caps to my son's cap gun (Heck if I know...I told you there is something wrong with me!)

So what does all of that as a whole say about me?  Everything I try to hide from the world, which would be that I'm a neurotic, aging slob with a drippy nose and too many pens!  Oh yeah, and that I NEED TO CLEAN MY NIGHTSTAND! 

I would love to hear what's on your nightstand. If anything, it might make me feel better about the huge slob I am.  I'll still think there is something wrong with me, but at least it would be nice to know that I have company.

Now I'm talking strictly what's on TOP of your nightstand, ladies, not IN it.  That's an ENTIRELY different jar of K-Y jelly right there.  We can go into the batteries and little pink "rabbits" some other time (mine's a plug-in, by the way...ensures I have power whenever I need it).  I can see my mom reading this right now and wondering, "Why does she think we keep pink rabbits in our nightstands?  There's something wrong with her!"....IT'S OKAY, MOM...I'LL EXPLAIN IT TO YOU LATER!

So tell me, ladies...what is on your nightstand and what does it tell the world about you?

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Thursday, September 17, 2009

Happy Anniversary While Going Pee

I know some of you are looking at that title and saying, “Huh?” But if you read my previous blog on September 15th, you know exactly what I am talking about and are probably saying, “No! Tell me he didn’t!”

Yes…he did.

The note was stuck to the toilet seat in one of our bathrooms.  In addition to that one, my husband also left one on the cabinet that contains the cat foot that said, “Happy Anniversary while feeding the cats,” and another on top of the lid of the oatmeal that said, “Happy Anniversary while you eat oatmeal.”

Now, I imagine some of you are probably thinking my husband is somewhat of a dork (and you would be correct in that assessment), but I live with the man and have somehow adjusted to that quirky side of him, so to me it’s just him being him.

Despite the raging PMS side of me that wanted to write him a note of my own that read “Happy Anniversary while you fish this out of your ass,” I wasn’t so far gone yet to where I was not able to realize that all these yellow sticky notes were his way of trying to be romantic, and there was probably more to come.

That is when panic set in.

Several days prior, during an argument, I had told my husband that I did not want to do anything for our anniversary. I did not want to go to dinner, no gifts, nothing. And I meant it. But all those sticky notes made me realize that he was probably going to ignore my desire for “nothing” on our anniversary, which meant I was the only one on board with that grand idea, meaning I had no card, no gift, no nothing!

Knowing I had to act fast, I did a quick Google search to find out what the traditional gift was for a second-year anniversary. Answer—cotton. My next search was cotton gifts for men. Answer—t-shirt or some other type of cotton clothing. So with very little time, off I went to the closest store with clothes in it...Target.

Upon my arrival at Target, I headed straight to the greeting card isle. It was then that I remembered I was PMSing, because I was physically unable to finish reading the mushy love cards. Instead, I found myself hoping to find a card that said something like, “I love you even though I hate you” or “Another year….yeah me.” But there was nothing like that. Somehow the sane part of me was able to choke down my cold PMS heart long enough to select a card that actually talked about being thankful to have him in my life, blah, blah, blah.

Next, it was off to the men’s clothing department. My thought was to get him a shirt or two. They are made of cotton, right? WRONG! Every shirt that appealed to my eye and my husband’s taste was made of either polyester, spandex, nylon, or a combination thereof. When I finally did find some t-shirts made partly of cotton, they were $4.99 a shirt, made in Vietnam, and looked like they would not make it through one round in the washing machine.

I rattled my brain for ideas. A tie? No. Socks? No. Underwear? No. Something not made of cotton? Maybe. But then I backed up to the underwear idea. Underwear…yes, but sexy underwear…and not for him, for me. What man did not like his wife to dress up in sexy underwear for him? BINGO! I had it.  If I was going to be a bitch, I mine as well be a sexy one.

As I marched over to the ladies apparel, I saw on display a matching black bra and panty set complete with a garter belt. As I discretely found my size in each of the garments, I checked the tags to see what they were made of. Turned out the only cotton in the entire outfit was the lining in the crotch (I kid you not!). I was not pleased, but I figured since that was the part he was going to be most interested in anyway, it would do just fine, so off to the register I went.

On the way home, I had an entire plan worked out in my head on how things were going to go down that evening. I had what I figured was 1-2 hours before my husband would get home, but I was not sure. So when I got home, I quickly threw a pork roast in the oven then sent my husband a text to inform him that I was making dinner and asked him to pick up some wine and something chocolate on his way home because I was PMSing. Not only would this tell me if he had left work yet, which is an hour drive for him, it would also buy me some time.

As I stood there waiting for his response, in less than a minute from sending my text, our dogs’ ears suddenly perked up and they went scurrying to the front door. The door opens and there is my husband. My sane side said, “DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!” My PMS side said, “CAN’T HE DO ANYTHING RIGHT?!”

He walks in and tells me he just got my text. I see he’s carrying a bag of goodies and he tells me he had already gotten a bottle of wine but would be happy to go out and get me something chocolate. That gave me time to devise plan B, which was to change into my sexy outfit while he was at the store and to be standing in the kitchen waiting for him when he got home.

So a few minutes later he leaves for the store. I run to the bedroom and start fixing myself up, touching up my hair and makeup. I then take out the outfit I bought and start ripping the price tags off. It was then that I remembered I had a cute little pink apron that said, “Put your big girl panties on and deal with it!” So I grabbed that out of the closet as well.

Like Wonder Woman, I begin changing from my average everyday clothes into my sexy outfit. First the panties, then the bra, then the stockings, then the garter…then the garter….then the…damn it…CRAP! HOW DO YOU GET THIS STUPID THING ON?!

As I fidgeted with the garter belt, I heard doggie feet scurrying across the floor downstairs along with the sound of the door open and close. He's home again.  With plan B foiled, I quickly think up plan C, which is to get my ass into the bathroom as fast as I can so he doesn’t see me yet, because I’m not ready!

So I shuffled into the bathroom. There I must have spent 15 minutes wrestling with the fasteners on the damn garter belt, trying to get them to stay attached to the stockings. Where was my duct tape when I needed it? Finally, I got the little bastards fastened. But just as I am about to put my apron on, I hear my husband turn on the shower, which is right outside the bathroom I am in. WTF!

At that point, I had ran out of plans. I knew the only thing I could do was to just wait until he got out of the shower and then walk out of the bathroom and let him see his surprise. So there I sat, on the toilet, in my sexy black outfit, complete with little pink apron and stiletto heels, waiting.

After a few minutes of sitting there talking myself out of  tearing everything off and flushing it down the commode, I heard the shower turn off and the glass door open. That was my cue.

I opened the bathroom door, took a quick look in the mirror across from me to make sure I had everything on right, and walked out. When my husband saw me, his mouth dropped open and all he could say was “OH, YEAH!” I gave him a smile, handed him my card, then strut my fancy ass down to the kitchen, where I poured myself a well-needed glass of wine.

With the PMS beast within me nice and tipsy, the rest of the evening went great, and my husband and I had a very fun night together. Little did he know that it was all due to his stupid little yellow sticky notes. Of course, I couldn’t let the day end without writing him a note of my own. He found it stuck to my tummy after I took my little pink apron off. It said, “Happy Anniversary while….” (I'll let you fill in the rest!)

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

DUNT DUNT...DUNT DUNT...

It's coming (Jaws music playing)...dunt dunt...I can sense it...dunt dunt...all the warning signs are there...dunt dunt, dunt dunt....dunt dunt, dunt dunt...yes, folks...DUNT DUNT DUNT DUNT DUNT DUNT DUNT DUNT...it's, it's...PMS!!!! AAAHHHHHHH! Run for your lives! Men and children first!

I sensed that something was off last night when my husband and I were laying in bed watching TV and he kept talking to me and I wanted nothing more than for him to shut up. The next clue was when I woke up this morning to a yellow sticky note stuck to my bathroom mirror. It was from my husband and it said, "Happy Anniversary! I love you," and I said, "Whatever." Then, when I made my way to my desk, I found another sticky note stuck to my computer screen. It said, "Happy Anniversary again! Smooch - Smooch - Smooch - Smooch - and a quick feel," and all I could do was roll my eyes and grumble.

Next, I saw that my cell phone was turned over on my desk. So I picked it up to see if there were any messages for me. Stuck to the front of it was another sticky note that said, "Happy Anniversary while talking on your phone," and there was also a text message from him that said, "Happy Anniversary, my love." That is when visions of Godzilla trampling the villagers began to enter my mind, with Will Robinson's robot in the back ground yelling, "DANGER, DANGER!"

Yes, today is our anniversary. Two years. Now, I know that some of you women out there are saying, "Awweee...how sweet of him." Ahhhhh, yes...how frickin' sweet of him. Although a tiny part of my brain knows that his gesture is sweet and thoughtful, the rest of me can't help to hate him anyway. Now is not the time to be sweet to me!

The fact that I am even PMSing today is a cruel trick. That's because my period is really not due for another 2 weeks. So the only explanation is that I am going to start early this month. And guess whose fault that is? My daughter's! Yes, my daughter recently joined the ranks of true womanhood, and this is actually her week of PMS. GOD HELP US ALL! It is a known fact that women who live together tend to cycle together. Well, I'm on the back of my cycle right now and am ready to run over anyone who gets in my way (okay, even the innocent bystanders).

I'm sure that once my husband catches on that its going to be PMS in stereo this month, he will probably put on his cammies and pitch a tent in the backyard for the week (if he has any sense at all). And I'm sure it won't be long before our two boys join him.

Regardless of my foul mood, I know I will have to put on my best "Happy Anniversary" face and do what I can to let my husband know that I love and appreciate him. Because I do love him... right? Yes, it says right here in my journal under "Things To Remember During PMS" that I do , in fact, love my husband very much and he is a wonderful man (huh...imagine that). Well, I will do my best. Perhaps I can find one of those plastic Princess Halloween masks with the big, white, toothy smile plastered across it to wear to dinner this evening. It's the gesture that counts, right?

I just went to the fridge to get my stash of chocolate. Guess what I found stuck to the milk carton? Yes, another sticky note. SOMEBODY SHOOT ME...OR HIM! Either will put us both out of our misery! DUNT DUNT DUNT DUNT DUNT DUNT....