I usually have more guy friends than I do girl friends.  It’s always been that way.  I like to drink at the bar.  I like to be loud.  I just get along with guys better.  Nothing sexual about it, I’ve just always had best guy friends.  So many things go along with having girl friends , the drama, the moodiness, the drama, the catty bullshit, drama.  When it comes to drama I’m like a guy, I want it bottom lined, let me figure out why you’re freaking out, then I’ll get back with ya.  Mostly I understand the guy mentality and I like their standards.  Wha?  Yeah.  I “get” guys.

So, you would think my 17 year old son would be something I would understand.  I’ll say it outloud right now , I do not get my 14 year old daughter.  But, recently, I don’t get my son either.

Here’s the thing about him:  He’s a good kid.  He has a good job.  He has an overly kind heart.  He sucks at school and somedays we’re just glad he functions.  But, now he’s thrown me for a parenting loop.  He likes setting shit on fire.  Initially I thought it was a phase, oh, back when he was 10.  And, honestly, when the housekeeper found 2 lighters in his bedroom, as a parent you would think GAH! DRUGS! but not with him.  First of all, I would so know.  And secondly, he is just not the type.

He likes to set shit on fire.  Like his hand apparently.  He came home from work the other evening and I had lit every single candle in the house with his lighter.  So in he comes and I’m all ready for him.  “See all these candles lit boy?  Guess how I lit them!”  After a million, I dunno’s, I pulled out his lighter.

“Oh.”

So, whatcha doing with a lighter?  Then he says the stupidest thing I’ve heard in 37 years (and I’ve heard some pretty stupid shit hanging out with guys), he says, “I put the flame in my palm and let it go.”

I almost had to excuse myself and go smoke a doob just to try and understand this.  And, how handy , I had a lighter!

So he showed his father and I what he was talking about.  And, yep, there sat my 17 year old son putting flame in his hand then putting it out.  The obvious question, WHY?  Yeah.  That’s what I don’t get.  And there was no real explanation.  So I decided he had too much time on his hands.  He’s been doing all sorts of shitty chores to take up his extra time now.

But today!  Oh, today.  A new thing was handed to me from my housekeeper.  A fully burned Xbox 360 controller that came along with the explanation, “That’s Ted’s.”  Ted?  Are there children namd Ted out there?

*I’M EDITING TO ADD THAT THIS IS A PARTY TRICK OF HIS.  Thank you, but he doesn’t need psychiatric help.  He’s not into self mutilation.  Don’t make this a heavier topic than what it is.  He is a very happy, well rounded kid – I should’ve made that clear.  Thank you for your concern and all!!  But read what Ninja Mom wrote – that’s my kid.*

I’ll give someone a prize if you can come up with the best/most creative reason WHY he is doing this.

So like a lot of you, I feel the economic pinch, but am still trying to keep up all that I can. This means I’ve had to succumb to my early days when a splurge was the corner nail salon.  To anyone that tries to believe that there’s a difference between any of the 10,000 we have at our fingertips, you’re crazy.  It’s like someone who thinks ‘Rainbow Donuts’ tastes better than ‘Hot Donuts’.   In the big picture of a manis and pedis, you’ll get the same experience at ‘Nail Place’ and ‘Fancy Nails’.

So I really needed to clean up the fingers and toes, and talked myself into going just the other day.  Of course I got the typical experience of being greeted like it’s a problem that I’m there.  I’m then told just to pick out a polish as they go on and get my chair ready.

After grabbing just a neutral color, I’m walked over where they fill up the tub.  One girl starts on the hands, one starts on the toes.

Now the girl speaks, ‘You want deluxe or just regular manicure/pedicure?’

‘No, I want just the regular’.

‘Oh, for $5 more we do hot wax’.  You want hot wax?’

‘No, just the regular, please.’

‘Okay, you know we do facials now?  You want to clean up that face a little?’  She said this as she does a twirling motion with her finger, pointed at my face.

‘No, thank you, my face is very clean.’

‘Okay, you want your eyebrows done?  Get rid of that extra hair?’

By this time I’m furious.  I want to just read my magazine without the insults and fifty up-sells.  I truly believe the one criteria of working at these places is to be able to kindly insult people in order to get them to buy more.  I also want to scream at her, ‘No, I don’t want my fucking eyebrows done.  If you would know any better, you would notice they’re perfect and just done yesterday!’

I calmly looked at her, though ‘no, my eyebrows are fine.’

Then they do a ’speak and giggle’, as they look at me, then each other.  I’m regretting not picking up that Rosetta Stone last week.  One day, I swear, just because I think the revenge would be far too sweet. 

I tried to enjoy my magazine since I was already in the middle of the experience, when they had to come up with the damn flower.  ‘You want me to paint flower on your toe?’

Just a regular, FUCKING PEDICURE!

No, I didn’t say that, and I didn’t scream, but I was so ready to leave.  When I finally left, with my clean toes and fingers, but dirty face and hairy eyebrows, I told myself that was enough.  There are just some things that are worth the splurge: direct flights, 5-star hotels, and a good haircut/color.  You just can’t skimp on the mani/pedi either. 

Luckily someone just informed me of a great place in good old Collin County where they don’t talk to you, they don’t speak to each other, and they don’t try to sell you other services by insulting you.  And best of it, it’s clean, it’s a decent price, and they do a fabulous job.  Just like the direct flight, soooooo worth the extra money.  I guess the budget’s not getting cut after all.

About 13 years ago a movie came out named “A Time to Kill”.  I don’t know if anyone remembers this movie but it starred Matthew McConaughey.  Sweet, hot, lick-ably delicious Matthew McConaughey. I remember this because it was the first time that I realized how much the sight of a man wearing his pants just right could turn me on.  Just loose enough to sit on top of the hips and kinda sag just slightly lower in the front, yet still be tight enough that you can’t miss how rock hard their ass is.  I guess you could call the look laid-back preppy.  

After that movie, I was on a quest to experience the love of a man that wore his pants the same way.  Of course just a few weeks after that movie, I met my husband.  He didn’t wear his pants like Matthew McConaughey.  At the time I didn’t think much of it, because who would have thought that I would marry the same guy I dated in high school?  

Flash forward to this Christmas. In keeping with tradition, I bought him clothes from his favorite clothing store, Old Navy.  Yes, I know I should splurge and buy him the nice stuff, but truthfully, he would probably get pissed and return them.  So instead I wow him with my unbelievable ability to bargain shop. Among the plethora of clothing were a pair of jeans.  The same type that I always get him, just a little darker.  Of course he thanked me and set the jeans aside for another day.

Three weeks later, the jeans reemerged.  

As we are getting ready for a family outing he steps out of the bedroom and I immediately just start staring.  Within a couple of seconds I realize that hubby is calling my name and my lips feel a bit wet. Oh my god, I’m drooling and no matter what I do I can’t take my eyes off my hubby’s ASS!

This is awkward, I’m holding a kid, he’s holding a kid and yet all I want to do is tell the kids it time for an early nap and rip into those pants.  Control Twila, control. 

I went all day in a daze.  Is this really happening? Could my husband be wearing his pants the way that I had always fantasied about?  My goodness, so this is what it’s like when men think about sex all day long. 

Finally, as the evening neared, I hurried the little ones to bed and had my way with my fantasy.   Now my hubby seems to wear those jeans an awful lot and I still catch myself drooling.   It is by far the best Christmas present I have ever given myself.  Thank you Matthew McConaughey for starting my fantasy, thank you Old Navy for providing the props, and thank you to my hubby for bringing my fantasy to life.

Twila

I have yet to share my most magnificent news with you, my dear reader.

I’M GOING TO FIJI IN APRIL!!

Fiji! The F to the iji , Awwww Fiji. 

So now you’re either sitting back going, “cool for her!  Wish I could go there.  Can’t wait to read the blogs from Fiji.  Maybe she’ll even post pics!”  Or you’re sitting back going, “Bitch.  Why does this bitch have to rub it in our faces.  That’s IT I’m done reading her and her sex talking bullshit.”  OR you’re sitting back saying “Been there done that.  She’s going to have a wonderful time.”

Regardless, I’m going to Fiji.  I have a teeny weeny yellow bikini from Jules-Jewels I’d like very much to fit into, so I’m doing my Pilates with Angie (she’s awesome and I’m already down four sizes) I probably don’t need a top so I just need my butt to get back up to where it’s supposed to be.

We’re staying in an over the water bungalow that has a glass floor so we can see the fishies.  I figure half the vaca will be spent with me lying on the floor watching the fish in what I can only imagine would be a completely relaxed state.  This time will be spent with my Husband off snorkeling or piddling about like he does.  The other half of the vaca will be spent with me trying to find a comfortable position to lay in after the worst sunburn I’ve ever stupidly done to myself.  I’m generally not a good vacationer if there’s no gift shop.  So this, while being wonderful to get away, will be very trying on my patience.

Then we’ll fly home in what can only be described as the suckiest flight ever.  You know if you have a lay over in Hawaii, well, that’s one long ass flight!  

Still going though!  And it all is thanks to my Aunt and Uncle.  They gave us their miles and it was exactly enough for two first class tickets to somewhere good.  When Husband opened the letter giving us the miles at Christmas we immediately knew we weren’t wasting them on a trip to Denver.  We knew we wanted to go some place exotic and where we would never go on our own money.  So thank you so much to The Aunt.  Oh, and a huge shout out to The Brother and The Sister In Law, because, God save them, they’ll be staying at our house taking care of my kids and all my creatures, and I’m not sure which will be more difficult.

My favorite year ever was 1984.  Eighth grade.  We were the IT class and my football boyfriend and I were the IT couple , destined to be married and fulfill the American dream together.

We went to bonfires, we drank beer.  I peed in the woods without a worry at all that a snake might come up and bite my ass.  I wore mini skirts with legwarmers and I used an entire can of Aqua Net on my bangs alone while blowing them straight up in the air.  HAWT!  But I still couldn’t get them big enough.

I wished I had braces.

I had my own phone line, which was a big deal back then.  But my parents refused to spend the money and buy me an answering machine.  Just imagine the phone calls I missed!

I had a stereo with turntable and dual cassette players so I could dub music.

I wrote my boyfriend’s name in bubble letters and wrote him notes that talked about how much I loved him and how I couldn’t wait to go to college together , and, of course, make out.  I kept all the notes from him in an old personalized popcorn tin.  He wrote things like, “Sabrina is Fine!” and, “Robbie and Sabrina 4ever!”

He broke my heart.

So I listened to Hall and Oates, Out of Touch.  And 99 Luftballoons , I actually called the radio station and dedicated that one to him and got through!  He hated that song.

So tell me, what was your favorite year and why!

*READ COMMENT #9 – THEY ARE OFFERING A REAL HOUSEWIFE SPECIAL DISCOUNT*

I must say I had never taken much interest in flying.  My only experience was dating a Greek pilot for a year (which was quite an adventure), but I just thought I was never really cut out for the task.  I was excited for the Fly A Sim, just to try something different. 

All I have to say was that it was so much fun.  It’s an activity I never even really knew existed, and honestly, one I would never think to spend money on myself and my husband to do.  However, it was well worth it.

You literally step into a flight simulator, which is used for training real pilots.  After an hour prep, we actually stepped into the simulator to do take-offs, turns, and landings.  Due to the fact I had worn some major heels, I stepped back and let Twila take the Captain’s seat. However, my role of co-pilot was important, as I had to worry about landing gear, and flaps.  Plus I was the one who controlled all the power (a role I love)!  I also had the opportunity to do a take off and a couple of landings.  We had to do two landings for me since I royally crashed on the first one. 

I would highly recommend this event for anyone who wants to do something completely out of the ordinary.  It’s honestly for the young and old.  I can totally see a boy who is into flying thinking this is the best thing ever!  We asked and they said typically the children start at about 12, but seven year olds have participated.  I give it 5 collintinis, just for the mere fact that it’s something so original, that I know most of the readers have never done something like this before.  I can’t wait to bring hubby back because I think he will love it too.  Maybe next time, I will through on the flats and take over as pilot!

Elanah gives Fly-A-Sim 5 out of 5 Countini’s.

When Sabrina told us that we were going to get to fly in a simulator I was having a hard time holding in my excitement. I had actually done it once before for like 10 minutes when I was in the 5th grade and it was the best memory from my whole year. To top it off, my hubby was starting to turn greener and greener with envy the closer we got to the event. (Sorry hon, my purse just wasn’t big enough to stow you away in it.)

The event was held all the way out at DFW airport where Flight Safety has 16 different flight simulators.  These are the actual simulators that all of the pilots train on.  Our instructor Charley was great in answering all of our questions and giving us the ins and outs of what we were about to do.  

The first hour is spent in a training room where Elanah and I were briefed on each of our duties.  Since we were doing the Captain’s Flight, one of us got to be the captain the entire time while the other was the co-pilot.  I lucked out on getting to be the captain since I was wearing flats. (I knew it would pay off one day.) Now I ain’t gonna lie… it was a lot to take in and I did do my share of day dreaming, but I seemed to get the gist of it. After we were briefed on our jobs, off we went to fly a Gulf Stream II.

Woah, that cockpit is tiny. Not so good for claustrophobics. Charley let me take off and land a few times at DFW airport and of course the whole time he is just gushing about what a great pilot I am. Hehe, thanks Charley, I needed that. Then suddenly it hit me… oh shit, I’m getting sick.  This thing feels so fucking real that I can barely see straight. As I am realizing that I am starting to get sick, Charley lets Elanah do a take off and landing. Hmmmm, still don’t feel so hot.  The cockpit is spinning a bit, but no problem, I’m not going to let a little motion sickness get in the way.

After pointing some air at me, Charley let me take off and land a few more times in different situations like nighttime and on a foggy day. I did crash and burn a few times and had a few rough landings but overall I’d say I did alright. I had a great time and will always remember it.  I have also told hubby that one day I would take him back to try it out himself.

This is definitely a great gift for any guy or gal. Just make sure to give a packet of Dramamine with the gift certificate.  It’s been 6 hours since I flew and my head is still spinning. 

Twila gives Fly a Sim 4 out of 5 Collin Countinis.

As I’ve mentioned several times now, I am childless.  Now, I know there are some of you who think my life must be horrible; to never have the opportunity to enjoy the happiness and joy a child brings to your life.  I’ve heard it all before.  I also know you’re the same people screaming at your children while you’re on the phone trying to have a nice conversation with a girlfriend.  Believe me; keep the screaming up because to us it’s the greatest birth control ever!

Now there are also the people who might have just the slightest bit of jealousy.  You remember the days before kids, the happiness, the carefree lifestyle, and the sex, oh the sex.  Wait, wait, please come back.  Yes, I mentioned sex, but I promise I won’t be going in to details that will offend anyone!!!!

But my dear friends, you are remembering all wrong.  See, we childfree people have some of the same problems you do.   Okay so maybe we share only one problem, but it’s a big one: no sex.  I truly believe that when we say those ‘I do’s’ there has got to be another line in there that states ‘I promise to never want to have sex with you again.’  At least then we’ll know and agree to exactly what we’re getting ourselves into. 

So after three years, hubby and I have hit a bit of a dry spell.  Body paint, lingerie, toys, and every type of KY imaginable have all been brought into the bedroom. Hell, it’s been all over the house, but nothing is bringing back the lust that was once there.  Call me Bitter Betty, but this freaking sucks.  You know it’s bad when a night of drunkenness leads to passing out, rather than mad, drunken sex.  Please don’t think of me as a prude because I love sex.  At one time in my single life I uttered these words to my now husband: ‘How do married people ever stop having sex?  I love sex!’   My therapist once told me that I look at him like a child instead of an equal, and that could be part of my problem.  Who knows!

I know there are those on their high horse, thinking poor thing, I have the greatest sex life ever.  To that I say, ’shut-up and go take your temperature.’  I know you’re only having sex because there’s hopefully a baby in your future. 

How in the hell does anyone keep it going?  I think sex has to be the number one reason for divorce, and the finance thing is just a cover up.  People don’t have sex because they’re poor and then they get divorced.   Anyway, no matter who you are, we all just want that crazy, non committal sex.  The kind where we know we don’t have to clean up their dirty underwear when it’s all said and done.  Unfortunately, that whole adultery thing is a sin!

All about Elanah

I’m the housewife without a care, aka, I don’t have children.  It’s not because God is telling me he doesn’t want children, it’s because I don’t want them, and my husband doesn’t want them.  I don’t like them, and I’m selfish. 

I’m a sports fan.  It was a fabulous way I used to pick up men.

I need to get my ass going and get back in shape, and although I’m a housewife (cook, clean, grocery shop, you name it), I also work my ass off to bring the money home.  Work hard, play hard!

Let’s see, things about Twila…

- I’m a food snob. There are very few restaurants around here that I think are worth all the buzz.

- I’m a Bravo maniac. Top Chef, Project Runway, Flipped Out… love them all.

- Watching Martha Stewart is a guilty pleasure. I get really giddy when I am already knowledgeable on what she is trying to “teach” for the day.

- I hate crowds. I grocery shop at 8 in the morning so I don’t have to worry about moving the cart around other people’s cart.

- I quote movies all the time.  “I’m….kind of a big deal.”    Anyone want to guess?  Hint: The character also talks about a whales vagina later in the movie.

- And lastly, my head is about to explode because I am listening to Stevie on American Idol and she is sucking it up.

Ask away.

Twila and Elanah

Wow, what a rush a week can be.  There’s been speculation on what happened to me, but I’ll just go on record and claim to be Lindsay Lohan.  Placed in the hospital for exhaustion and much needed rest.  Because do you really want to hear about how my esophagus surgery kinda ruptured and I kinda threw up blood for a week and kinda had a fever and it all ended with me happily losing 10 pounds?

While in the hospital I’ve had about a million coming to God moments.  Kinda like when I drink too much Patron on ice.  I found myself saying, God, please no more vomit.  God please let them get the IV going because this nurse obviously is the new kid and didn’t pass the IV insertion her first time.  Oh, and God, please keep me from killing my doctor and just one more thing, please strike him with erectile dysfunction , because seriously, what’s funnier than ED?  And if you let me survive this, I promise to be a better Valentine next year to my overly deserving family.  AND, if you let me live through, I’ll talk freely on my blog again.

So, here I am to talk freely on my blog.  I have two passions outside of the obvious, family and friends.  I love to write and I love to photograph.  You all know about the writing.  If you come to my house you’d see the love of photography.  But you’re not coming here because you all need a spanking! 

Our two new writers have written brilliant posts that are HOT, but they decided to hold them back because the blog was oversexed.  Too that I say, bullshit (yeah, I know what I said before, but to myself I give an official Housewife SUCK IT).  From now on we will write whatever the fuck we please because that’s how we got the 30,000(ish) readers we have.  Sure we lost some regulars, we gained some funny ones, then lost , that’s the life of a blog, welcome aboard.  And we’ll gain and lose throughout the life of this blog.  Even when we only had one reader, Lulu was blogging about vibrating herself with a showerhead.  Sex has always been in the undercurrent of this blog.

What I will not do is be on eggshells on my own blog, get ulcers, bleed through my esophagus and beg God to spare me one more time.  I need those spares for when I drink too much and I’m pretty sure God only allows me so many spares.  And, people, this is a blog.  We write our opinions, we write our thoughts, and we will once again write without regard to your feelings.  Because that’s who we are and who you fell in this love/hate relationship with.

Holly and Lulu and I have come together, made up, are friends and they are happy with everything.  Well, except that Naomi pissed Lulu off the other day and good for the both of them to stand up to each other and stick their mouths on this blog and breath heavily into it and give it some life.  Because, seriously, I’d rather talk about them in a mud fight than my kid’s handmade Valentine’s.

We welcome Newbies with official Housewife SUCK IT’s and only the funny Newbies get the much desired term.  It’s like the Oscar of this blog.

Once again, readers, release your Inner Badass that I know you have.  And I raise my IV cord and toast you with a Potassium/Sodium filled SUCK IT!  We’re back!

Ciao!/Sabrina

*SABRINA UPDATE:  She’s still in the hospital, but feeling better now that she’s rehydrated and will likely be coming home. This entry was prewritten prior to her recent hospital visit.  She says, “enjoy”.*

I can’t go without talking about Michael Phelps and how he got bonged.  People are talking about putting him on trial.  The owner of the home has already been charged with possession.  And I just want to bong everyone that has their panties in a wad over this.

First of all, Phelps was NOT using marijuana to help him win the Gold medals.  Marijuana is not a physically enhancing drug.  If he had been smoking a bowl or two before the Olympics, couldn’t you just picture it?  Sitting on the diving board, putting on his goggles, falling ass first into the water.  Turning over to Chen or whoever was in the lane next to him and making oriental eyes at him, then doing the sign language for I Love You Man.

Plus, at least from my experience, good weed just causes you to cough.  You can’t cough your way through swimming, ever.

So the dude comes home and gets caught smoking weed from a bong.  Are we surprised?  Yes.  Is he really an American Hero?  I say no.  Is he an exceptional athlete?  I say yes.  But American Hero should be reserved for people like Abraham Lincoln, Superman, and the lady that just had 8 babies.  Now there’s something , 8 babies!  She’s bound to have a stash somewhere.

I just don’t care that Phelps smoked weed.  I don’t get why America is up in arms about it.  But, I never understood why people thought he was hot either.  Loved that body, but would have to double bag that face, lest he chew through the first bag!

So I say raise your bong if you’ve got one and get choked Olympian style!