Now Serving...Celebrating 11 Years!

Because my husband unknowingly willingly takes center stage in so many of my blog ramblings, I thought it would be nice to lay out our little love story… blog style.

Picture it: Mid 1980’s; Hair holding high with Stiff Stuff

About fifteen hairs short of a unibrow and both arms weighed down by seventeen-villion black Madonna rubber bracelets...

But enough about what my husband looked like….

Stop it.

You know it was me.

And unfortunately, so do I.

Pictures don’t lie even if I wanted to.

Be that as it may, he dated me any ‘ole way….for about a minute.

No sex. Nothing hot. Nothing heavy.

Damn it.

But it couldn’t be helped. Because in that brief moment, I remember my inner-self-protection-light blinking contstantly on red alert.

Warning me. Cautioning me …

Do not fall for him…don’t do it…don’t do it ….don’t do it….don’t do it…..

And so….

I didn’t.

Why the caution? Why the alarm? Who knows? But when fate chimes in your ear, it usually works best to listen to it.

Minute over.

Fast forward fifteen or so years later; through the head’s-up of a mutual friend, we meet again.

Happy to see each other with the true warm feeling you get when running into an old friend, we enthusiastically caught up on the decade plus missed.

And why not?

We just drifted apart after that minute and continued on.

Perhaps if sex was involved back then, it might not have been that friendly of a reunion.

Sex screws you sometimes.

But there was never a hard feeling between us.

Damn it.

Our future-moment began as friendly and lighthearted.

A few emails, a couple of games of pool until one day…

It all became more.

Magic comes when you least expect it. And can last as long as you believe.

It came on hard and fast with the power and sizzle of an electrical storm that seared my heart in a way that would make me want to willingly and uncharacteristically give up on my own wholeness and happily become but half of a whole from that point on.

And throughout the years, that magic has held strong with an emotional-glue that I still can’t explain and keeps clinging despite all the deep and unplanned crevices of marriage.

And it has lasted longer than I’d ever dreamed it would.

Over time, sizzling storms lovingly and softly melded into dream sharing and supportive hand holding accompanied by an ongoing celebration of a beautiful child created out of that love.

And now, a revised kind magic has slowly settled its’ way on back to us.

Not as electrically charged or shockingly bright as in the beginning, but a warm safe and secure buzz to be sure.

I could never explain the mystery of fate or the wise old magic that brought us together so many years ago and chose to reunite us again, but it has kept us spell- and determinedly- bound ever since.

uh...hello?

Is anyone still there?.......

What? I can do sappy

I Am Not My Lipstick

“Hello. Can I help you find something specific today?” The very young and beautiful cosmetic salesgirl asked while quickly storing away her half eaten bag of potato chips under the counter.

Yes, which way to the miracle aisle?

“Um, I’m not really sure. Just looking for now.”

“I can show you some great new skin care products.”

You think my skin looks like crap. Don’t you?

“Uh... Okay thanks.”

“How about a new chemical peel? It does wonders for age spots and wrinkles.”

You’re gonna get older one day too sister and I hope I’m still alive to revel in your misery.

“Yeah, uh, I guess that would be great. Thanks”

“Have you ever thought of trying some bolder colors of lip gloss and eye shadow?”

Why? To accentuate my wrinkles and age spots?

“Um. No. Not really.”

“Let me show you some shades that would look good with your coloring.”

Note that your ass will fall too.

“Okay.”

“Oh yes, these are much better colors for you”

With any luck, you will sprout chin hair

“Yes, I see what you mean”

“There. I think you did great. You are going to love your new makeup look.”

I will now live for the day when those potato chips catch up to your perky helpful ass.

“I’m sure I will. Thanks so much for your help.”

Aerial View of Insanity

I have some pretty cool peeps up in heaven.

And I can’t help but envision that whenever I press the publish post button on my blog, my long-gone grandfather elbowing my also-gone grandmother and demanding once again to know what the hell is going on down here.

And every so often or after drinking heavily, I fancy myself overhearing a little grandparents-after-death-dialogue going on up there and it goes a little something like this:

“What the hell is she doing now?” My grandfather demands.

My grandmother rolls over (but only half way) and says “It’s a douche post dear”

“A douche post?” Whatever is left of his bushy bushy eyebrows crinkle together in confusion

“What the hell is a douche post I don’t remember any newspaper by that name?”

“Oh go back to your dirt nap dear. Leave her alone. She’s having fun”

My grandmother rocks the grave yo.

A disgruntled harrumph sound escapes from my grandfather's remains “She wasn’t raised like this. This has to be your side of the family”

“OMG, you are such a bone in the mud” (Is my EZ Pass to hell ready for pick up?) “Now for The Big Guy’s sake, please stop rolling, you’re disturbing my peace”

“That husband of hers needs to take her in hand. Is this the kind of thing she is teaching her son to read about…..douches?”

“Please stop saying douches dear. It doesn’t look good on you”

“I’m a damned corpse for chrissake! Nothing looks good on me! Can’t He do something?”

Eternally patient, my grandmother explains “He’s intervened enough. Plagues, pestilence, locusts…Lady Gaga…she obviously doesn’t want to be stopped and you know how our granddaughter is when she sets her mind to something. And besides, I personally liked the douche post and I know that I saw you smirking at that cute angry turkey one.”

“Well that one was funny... and obviously from my side of the family” He pointed out “But don’t expect me to die again laughing at this one. Douches..... What’s next?”

“Yeast infections, I’d imagine” she smiled angelically “Now please lie down and be still, I’m trying to rest”

Reluctantly he crosses his arms and gives my grandmother the whatever-after life-look before going back to R.I.P. position.

Well this is how it plays in my head anyway.

It makes me smile to believe it could possibly be true.

No Talking on Mars

Part of the whole marriage fifty/fifty-give-and-take thing is listening to his bring-home-work-crap as much as he has to listen to mine.

Listening to my husband’s latest work story…I think that I do my part very well...

“So he told him ‘I’m a man of my words and I will do what I say I’m going to do’ and then you’ll never believe what…”

“It's word “

“What?”

“It’s a man of my word not man of my words”

“Okay, anyway, so he gets up and says ‘anyone who listens to these old wise tales is bound to get caught up in…”

“Wives’ tales”

“Huh?”

“It’s old wives tales not wise tales. Not surprising he hasn’t gone far in that company talking like that. You know the way you speak is just as important as how you dress. It’s all how you present yourself. Studies have shown that if you’d just take the time to….”

“word/wise who cares! Would you please just focus on what I’m saying?”

“I am focused”

It’s wives’

“So anyway, when everyone heard that he was…”

“Does his wife know that he talks like that?”

“Would you stop doing that? Pay attention to what I’m saying!”

“Sure, sure, sorry”

Should I call and tell her?

“She is married to him. I would imagine she has heard him speak. Who knows, she probably even listens when he does”

“Well I should hope so for his sake. You know the other day I saw her at the store and she looked a little…hey! Where are you going? You haven’t finished your story!”

Yeah, I know, men are really not big talkers.

What Would Lee Majors Do?

We have the technology….we can rebuild him…

We can give him a C-section or he can do natural…..

I swear these were the exact thoughts running through my head as a very young and recently announced new-mom-to-be-co-worker sat in my office to solicit my advice on which course of childbirth she should take (because apparently I double as an OBGYN in my spare time).

But excuse me…. Is there really a choice?

“The C-section is the Mercedes of childbirth” I informed her.

And why would anyone choose to do it any other way? The result is the same and you pretty much come out of it the way you went in-plus or minus a very small -under the bikini-line-scar.

Uh, we have electricity folks….let’s not be afraid to use it.

‘And what about Lamaze?’ She asked

My answer?... “If I ever had to pay someone to teach me how to breathe, come and take my baby away because I am apparently too stupid to know what to do with it”

Too harsh?

Screw that!

Did Charles Ingalls tell Caroline to remember her breathing technique when she was in labor or did he tell her to get cracking and shove out another girl so she can go make dinner, sew dresses and plow the fields?

What did the Pilgrims do when they went into labor? Where were the breathing coaches back then?

Out back humping Indians that’s where!

Oh my….How did they all get by?

Watching her go to enlist more mom-opinions, I am sure that she will be filled to the brim with gruesome labor horror stories by the end of the day. And in the end she, of course, will make up her own mind.

But nothing wrong with dishing out a little intact-vagina food for thought.

Pro C-Section Disclaimer:

These are the opinions of an unstretched and taut vaginal clearing and might not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of some newly enlarged, gaping entry ways.