My day to day life is pretty much the same all of the time. Yes, the weekends add a little more but 90% of it is the same as a Monday or any other day. I guess it’s just the life of a mom with toddlers. I rarely know what day it is, all I know is when it’s time to eat or time for a nap. I’ve gotten pretty lost in all of it. Lost in the monotony. Last week was a little different.

We were out of beer and I didn’t want to cook. I did what we do every now and then, get a Take ‘n Bake and drop by the grocery store for some beer. While I was checking out, the cashier was gracious enough to ask for my ID. 30 and lookin’ at least 3 years younger. Hells yeah. I ain’t gonna lie, I was struttin’ it a bit when I got home.

I went to get my eyebrows done and the lady told me that I had awesome skin, very tight. Really? Sweet! And all this time I thought my previous eyebrow lady was lying to me.

A couple of days later, as I was in the locker room at the gym a lady says to me, “I was thinking about you yesterday.”

Huh? I have seen this lady a total of maybe 3 times in my life. Our only other encounter was when she complemented me on my bag. I had thanked her and told her how much it meant to me since I had designed and made it one late night. Then we told each other to have a good workout.

“Yeah,” she said, ” I was watching this show and I thought about you.” That then lead to a short conversation.

But as I was working out, I had to smile. Some random stranger noticed me and thought of something I would like. Wow. And here I’ve been feeling pretty invisible.

A few days later I went to my laser hair removal appointment at The Finer Touch. As Cori is doing her stuff, I am trying to nervously chat while she is working away with her little laser gun. Then she says, “I’m gonna miss you coming in. Some people you just don’t want to leave.” Well gosh Cori, thanks.

After those few pick me ups I felt like I could rule the world.

Then I had to get more beer. (Yea, we go through a lot in this house.) I had the same cashier. There were two people in front of me. Very obviously older, like grandparent old. She asked both of them for their ID.

First bubble shattered.

Ahhhh fuck it, I’m still gonna tell myself she asked for my ID because I look so young.

I’m off to be deposed today!

At least this time it’s not for assault charges.

Have a fascinating Tuesday all.

Jim, Jim’s Bride, Fudge, Champ, Smiley, Baby Smiley, Captain Sunshine, Sam, Beethoven, and Mozart met for a little romp at the Dog Park in The Village at Allen.  After the dogs got to the point where they wouldn’t run after the balls anymore, Jim and Captain Sunshine could uncross their legs, and the group adjourned to Dodie’s for supper.

There was also a very nice lady, whose name I don’t recall but my bride thinks it might have been Laurie, whose poodle that was a little traumatized by all of the other activity and hid under the table.  It was kind of funny when Jim’s Bride’s dog, Champ, got chased by another dog and jumped in the nice lady’s lap.

At Dodie’s, wait service initially kind of redefined “wait” but once we got started having service, it was good, as was the meal itself, not great, but good, even Baby Smiley seemed to enjoy his bottle.

And the evening’s worth of fellowship was fun too.  Jim and Jim’s Bride just celebrated their 16th wedding anniversary, and Smiley’s birthday was recent enough, so Captain was kind enough to foot the bill, of course obligating a return engagement at some future date so Jim can pick up the tab. 

After Baby Smiley dropped a couple of hints that it might be time for a good nap, the little klatsch broke up, with Captain heading back to the dog park with Sam, Mozart and Beethoven, and Jim and Jim’s Bride, with Fudge and Champ off to home to watch football (Jim’s Bride’s idea) while Jim writes up the minutes.

BTW, for the edification and amusement of all, Fudge’s registed name is: Plano Chocolate Fudge No Nuts.  I’ll bet you can’t guess what gender she is.

Respectfully submitted.

Jim

I’ve said over and over again that I can’t stand reviewing other people’s blogs.  It’s your art.  It’s exactly the way you want it.  It really doesn’t matter what we say about it, if you’re happy then keep on keeping on.

My review for The Good Stuff Rocks is simple.  Too many words, typed HUGE.  I don’t know how you got the google ads to be black and pink, but that’s really distracting from what you’re talking about.  It’s a rough read for sure.

Sabrina gives it zippo Countini’s.  Check back in with us when you’ve figured out how to make your font not look like it’s screaming.

Oh my gosh, I can’t even concentrate to review this.  What?  is all I can really say about this.

Can that be my review: What?

Elanah gives it one Collin Countini for her effort.  I just really can’t follow this.

Dude, I can’t.  Words… Heavy Cream, Don Draper, Google Ads… 

I tried to read, too many words. My brain hurts. I’m sure she has something in there but I. Just. Can’t…

Sorry. Off to take some Motrin.

Twila gives The Good Stuff Rocks 1 out of 5 Collin Countini’s. (Can I give Chick Talk Dallas one more Countini after reading this?)

Yes, I’ve admitted that I’ve been there.  Sometimes I wish I wasn’t dealing with the bullshit that’s called marriage.  However, when I get to hear the stories that my single friends tell me, I guess I have to admit that I’m very relieved to be in the situation I’m in.

Here’s one of my recent favorites.  My friend meets this guy, and it turns out that he lost his wife two and a half years ago.  He has a couple of children from the marriage, and the relationship is going great.  She doesn’t meet the children, but finally a few weeks into it, he invites her to his home to cook her dinner.  As she walks through the house, she notices that pictures are still up of his wife with the kids.  He tells her he can’t bear to bring himself to put away the pictures as he doesn’t want his kids to think he wants them to forget her.

My friend is totally cool with it and has a great dinner with him.  I don’t exactly know why, but a few days later, she ends up landing on one of his friend’s Facebook pages.  It’s open to all, so of course she pokes around it, just to take a peek at the page.  When she goes into photos, she spots a picture of the guy she’s dating.  The photo was taken a few months back, and he wasn’t alone in it.  No, his wife happened to be standing next to him, alive and well.  Yeah, his wife wasn’t dead at all.  Well, I guess in his mind she was.

My friend sent the wife an IM over Facebook, letting her know what was going on, and how her husband had told her she was dead.  ’No’, the woman replied back, ‘I’m alive and well’.  This flowed into a 20 minute conversation.  The woman didn’t seem too shocked.  When my friend asked her why she put up with it, her only response was that they had been married for almost 20 years.

Of course my friend ended it.  The guy kept trying to call her, begging her to let him explain.  She didn’t even let him talk, and we laughed about what he could possibly explain to her.  I mean it’s not a ‘I told you we were divorced, when we were really separated thing’.  He had killed his wife off!  Oh yeah, and then cooked dinner for a woman in her own home, and totally lied about the pictures.

So as much as I’m not 100% thrilled with my situation, I’m so happy I’m not dealing with this bullshit.  Of course, my husband, I guess could be telling people that I’m dead…………

The other month I got a phone call from a friend. “OMG, Twila, I have some major news to tell you when you come over. It’s big, like, REALLY big”

Of course, I hopped my ass in the car and got over there so that I could partake in the sinful gossip.

We grabbed a beer and sat down. (First thought, Friend grabbed a beer…. so a pregnancy is not the announcement.)

Friend proceeds to tell me her news. Last night she received a phone call from one of her college friends that she still hangs out with but hasn’t seen as recently since she had a kid. After a lot of small talk, he just comes out with it. He’s gay.

My response, “Yeah, didn’t we know that?”

Friend – “NO! We did not know that! I mean he has tendencies but he told me he loved me and tried to convince me not to marry my husband. What gay guy does that?!”

Me – “Well, a gay guy who is in denial and thinks he can marry his best friend who hates sex to cover up the fact that he is gay.”

Friend – “No, Twila. He said he loved me.”

Me – “Ok, let me get this straight. First, you are MARRIED! Second, this is guy who screams flamboyant the second anyone meets him, has to go to the doctor to get over the many infections he has gotten from too many pedicures, and who we have never seen with a girlfriend. You really didn’t think he was gay? I know that he never actually said that he was gay, but I still knew he was. Why didn’t you?”

Friend – “I just didn’t.”

Flash forward to this week. I’m checking out a few blogs and on one of my favorites they had posted a video. This is the first time that I have seen this man talk. Yet again, automatic gaydar. This man is no doubt, gay. What I don’t get is how his wife does not see it? Her husbands wrist is flapping all over the place. And his decorating sense rivals Nate Burkus. And there’s his wife, lovingly looking at him like a gay man’s best girlfriend.

What is with some women? Do they go for the gay-like men because it is less intimidating? Or maybe they know deep down and don’t care because they have a permanent shopping friend. The wives give them babies and in return they have the best live in roommate.

I guess my question is a lot like Elanah’s and ugly babies. Do you see that your husband is gay and just ignore it? Or do you really not know?

I had a hysterectomy in April, 2004. It completely sucked ass. I came down with an infection and ended up having a PICC line put in for Husband to handle antibiotic delivery at home. Nothing says, “I trust you with my life” like giving a syringe of medicine to your husband to put into an IV that goes straight to your heart. I also had to go through several abdominal drain procedures which required CT scans. All of this ended up being a big ole “Whoops!”. See, the dildos in the lab made a mistake and the infection they diagnosed me with had never been seen in humans, only in horses, but no one caught that. Initially I was offended, did I look like a horse? Did I weigh as much as a horse? Did my breath smell like carrots and flies? I didn’t blame any of my doctors. I had a wonderful infectious disease doctor that, in my opinion, did exactly what I would’ve wanted him to do , TREAT ME. And, he did. So, no hard feelings or big money settlements. It’s not like I burned myself with a cup of coffee at McDonald’s.

Now, 5 years after my hysterectomy I know what everyone meant when they told me I would be OK. I am OK. In fact, I’m better than ever, which means that I’m bitchier and reclusive and exactly who I am , just without a uterus.

After the hysterectomy and the IV poles and the rented hospital bed were removed from the house I realized I had enough maxi-pads to furnish all the women in China with a maxi-pad a week. The good kind, too! With wings! So, I popped the top off my bottle of Patron and began pondering and contemplating what to do with all of these cotton’y lovelies. A beer, an Ambien, and a bottle of wine later, I came up with the following ideas:

Screw the Swiffer! I’ve got Stayfree Swiffer WITH WINGS!

Don’t you hate it when your sheets pop up? Just strap a maxi-pad to all 4 corners and never have to worry about it again.

The kids can have Rainy Day Fun with Maxine, the Pad Puppet.

The perfect solution for beer condensation – the Pad Koozie!

For more formal gatherings, when the Pad Koozie is too “casual”, pull out the Pad Coaster. Impress your husband’s boss at the next company dinner.

Still working on the extra tampons as possible wine corks, or nose plugs to soak up runny noses. And, it’s possible a couple of tampons tied together could replace the fuzzy dice hanging from rear view mirrors all over the world.

Last Thursday I was given a gift. My mother-in-law was taking vacation and offered to watch the kids for the day. Of course, I jumped at the chance. This was the first time that I could remember having a day all to myself and no day long errands to run.

Most women would get a massage or manicure. Maybe call up a friend and have lunch. Not me. I decided it was high time I drove my ass down to our southern neighboring county to go fabric shopping. Exciting. I know.

So after getting my car inspected and having a short rondevu with Hubby at Starbucks, I drove down to the town so very few of us go to anymore… Dallas. Now, I am no stranger to Dallas or the many different areas, so heading down to Harry Hines ain’t no thang.

Once I got down there I found the random warehouse I was looking for and headed inside. Jackpot! A huge place filled from top to bottom. If I can’t find what I am looking for here, I won’t find it anywhere. There’s just one problem… After drinking a shit load of coffee and being stuck in shitty Dallas County traffic, I really have to pee.

I politely ask where they restroom is, and head on over there. The ladies restroom is occupied. I patiently wait for a minute or two and then decide that this person is never coming out. Because I have little shame, I just go to the men’s side.

Lock the door, put down the seat with my foot and prepare to squat. Just before I squat, I grab some toilet paper. Then look at the sign printed just above the roll of paper stating, “NOTHING can go down the toilet! Not even toilet paper! Please use trash can.”

WHAT! Thank god all I have to do it pee and I’m in the men’s restroom so I don’t have to look at used tampons and pads while throwing away my pee drenched wad. (Yes, I know, flush it anyways. But I was afraid it would stop up, start overflowing and then some lady who saw me come out of the bathroom would rat me out and start cussing at me in a language I don’t know.)

So throw away I did. While trying not to look at the trash can. But, something happened, and my eye wandered. They wandered over a trash can full of tissue paper skid marks. I couldn’t believe it, someone actually took a dump here? And threw the evidence away in the trash? YUCK!!! I freaked, and jetted out of there trying not to touch a damn thing. I didn’t even wash my hands. (That’s what Handi Wipes are for.)

After that, I couldn’t concentrate. Everytime I saw a male employee I wondered it if was his skid marks left in the bathroom. And that’s not a vision that I wanted. Because of it, I cut my adventure short and headed back north, to cleaner bathrooms never to return again.

Oh my goodness dear Internet people of the world!  I don’t know if you’ve noticed our new advertiser or not, Bake Rejoice.  The cake in the ad was one Joyce made specifically for the Housewives, martini’s and olives, it was perfect.

Well, my youngest had her 7 year birthday party last weekend.  And, being the Diva that she is (and we continually rack our brains trying to figure out where she got that from) she insisted on three themes for her party.  Pink Poodle in Paris, Princess, and Sleepover all had to be part of this cake.  So I figured I’d hand that over to Bake Rejoice and see if she could handle it.  I’m very particular about my cakes.  I consider them the centerpieces to the party.  I’m a very tough customer when it comes to my birthday cakes.  However, after cruising her gallery on her website, I felt very comfortable that Joyce could pull it off.

After agreeing with the Diva that chocolate raspberry would just be the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted, we sent our request in and the finished product was nothing less that spectacular!!  And everything was edible.  Truly takes a patient hand and some serious talent to pull this off:

I am now a huge Bake Rejoice fan!  I can’t wait until December for my other daughter’s birthday.  Do check them out , the gallery shows some awesome stuff!

Sabrina gives Bake Rejoice 5 out of 5 Countinis.

No, I’m not blond, I’m a brunette.  To all you blonds out there, please don’t take offense to this, but sometimes I just have my insane blond moments.  I consider myself a pretty smart person, but without thinking, words fly out.  If I maybe had only thought about it just five more seconds, the questions wouldn’t have needed to be asked. 

When in Vegas a few weeks ago, I was in the elevator, trying to decide which floor to go to, when I pegged the question,  ‘what does ‘c’ stand for’.  My friend looked at me like I was an idiot, with a simple answer of ‘casino’.

Another time in Vegas, I was at an after hours club.  I would love to tell  you I had too much to drink, but unfortunately I was pretty sober.  I met this guy, was digging him, and when he told me he lived in N. California, I got so excited and said ‘Oh wow, so have you been to the Sherwood forest?’  He looked at me strangely, and I said ‘You know the Sherwood Forest, with the tall trees’.  ‘You mean Redwood?’  This was the same guy that I asked ‘What kind of cattle that was’.  When he told me he was a rice farmer.  Why he asked me for my number later that night is still beyond me. 

Or then the moment when I met hubby and came for my first visit to Dallas.  I’ll be honest, I had never been to Texas, with never a real desire to ever come to Texas.  I knew where the state was, and understood, Houston, etc, but I didn’t know the location of every major city.  So as we stood in the Native section of the Fort Worth Zoo, I looked at a regional map of the Texas that showed where each animal lived.  I stared at it, cocked my head, and blurted ‘Where’s Dallas on the map?’  The guy standing next to me gave me the strangest look.  However, my hubby was kind enough to point to the general area for me.  I just looked over to the other guy and said ‘It’s always good to know where you’re visiting, isn’t it?’

Four years after 9/11, I called my friend all freaked out, and told her I just realized 9/11 was in fact spelled out to 9-1-1.  Just recently I told my tenant who is a police officer that his neighbor smokes weed.  It fit in the story that I was telling, but then quickly threw my hands over my mouth when I realized what I said.  ‘Oh my gosh, I so shouldn’t have told you that,’ I said, kind of laughing, yet feeling a little nervous.

I guess I’m glad that I can just laugh about it, and it makes for funny stories.  God gave me the book smarts, but managed to bless me with only about 95% of the common sense that I should have!