The Pin Drop Effect



I know it's gross but I'm sure every one of you out there has had this happen; you're shopping or you're out on your daily walk or you're at work and your stomach starts to cramp up. You need to use the bathroom and you know that it's going to get ugly in there but you have no choice - you must go. Things would be so much better if you were in the privacy of your own bathroom at home. But you aren't and you have no choice but to use the facilities that are nearest to you.

I myself don't want to "corrupt the environment" when others are present if you get my drift. Herein lies the problem. If you're in a restroom with multiple stalls, you know that unfortunately someone is going to hear you.

I usually wait a while, hoping that the other people in the restroom leave so I can avoid embarrassment but what happens when there are more than one of you in there with the same dilemma? Each person is trying to wait out the other and more often than not, it's so dang quiet you can hear a pin drop. This makes things even worse.

You're sitting there, trying to be quiet and you're trying to hold in any noises that might naturally occur. The other person apparently isn't leaving any time soon and your stomach is continually building up pressure because you're not taking care of business. Sometimes, you get a save. What's a save you ask? It's when more people enter the restroom who are talking and making noise and you have the chance to quickly release what's ailing you without knocking out the other person who is also  struggling to wait.

Of course, there's always the tried and true "courtesy flush" but it isn't very subtle. It's obvious that you can't wait and you finally had to just give in and let go. And what if the flushing sound stops before you're through making noises? That's embarrassing! Especially if you're dealing with this problem in a place where you know the people going in and out of the bathroom. I work in an office building with about 1500 people which means that each restroom is pretty busy. I'm going to see someone I know in there. The only consolation is that if they're having the pin drop standoff with me, they're in the same boat. They don't want me to know that it was them causing the rafters to shake. It doesn't make it any easier, but they get it.

I'd love to have a solution to this problem but for now I don't. I guess I'll have to just wait it out and be quiet so if a straight pin does fall, it'll be the only thing that's audible.

Big Night Out

 

After feasting on Thanksgiving goodies up here in the wicked city, I decided to retreat to our little cabin in the woods for some R&R. It was wonderfully quiet and peaceful. So peaceful in fact, I started jonesing for a little action so Mr. Wonderful and I decided to head into the nearest town to a club to hear some music.

The town is small - only about 30,000 people or so which means there aren't really too many entertainment options available. There is a new place which regularly has live music so the scene has improved greatly. We entered the venue and were pleasantly surprised to see that it was a packed house. The people watching was fantastic and this is what this little tale is all about.

When I think about guys in camo, I either think of my Manchild (when he goes hunting) or hunky soldiers like this guy...isn't he pretty? Camo is used to disguise a person so they won't be seen easily. It's pretty effective, too. I've seen my beloved when he was all painted up, wearing his camo pants and shirt and jacket and hat and boots (do you get the drift? He gets doodied all the way up!) and when he walks into the trees, I can't see him.

The place we went out to wasn't woodsy or full of soldiers ready for battle. It was a club with a stage and tables and chairs, and a full service bar. But there were enough people dressed in camo, we thought that maybe we had missed the memo to dress up like hunters or soldiers. It was crazy!

 
 

These weren't the actual people in the club, but many of them looked like the people in these pictures! I didn't realize that camo clothes were the popular stepping out attire!

The ladies that didn't have camo on were either wearing sweats/track suits or they were blinged out head to toe in jeans that had more rhinestones than I ever imagined possible, rhinestone belts, rhinestone shirts and artfully decorated boots.

Again, I obviously didn't get the memo. That, and I don't have rhinestone clothes. Or camo clothes for that matter. If you look at the lovely wedding couple in the picture above you'll notice that they have a camo limo. I might get me one of those...I could go party all night then slip through the woods to the deer blind and never be seen. But that's as far as I think I'm willing to take things.

I guess that the next time Mr. Man and I decide to go paint the town red, I'll need to wear something with a little bling to it so I won't stand out like a sore thumb.

I don't think I'd stand out too much in one of these getups. Maybe the country girls will like my outfit and we'll trade secrets about where to get garments with the most beads possible per square inch.

Kitchen Disasters

I found a wonderful recipe from one of my fave sites -
 http://chef-n-training.blogspot.com/ for a heavenly dish called Chicken Pillows.

This picture doesn't do it justice!

Unfortunately, I'm the kind of cook that starts thawing out stuff and begins a recipe before I'm sure that I have all of the ingredients - that should be a warning right there.

I thawed out my chicken and was letting the cream cheese and butter soften when I started to wonder if I had croissant rolls that were called for. Luckily, there was a can in the way way nether regions of my fridge. I started to open the can and was having a hard time getting the seal to pop so I tapped the can against the edge of the counter. All of a sudden there was a very loud 'pop' and the metal end of the can shot across the room, dough exploded everywhere and it smelled like a brewery in my kitchen! I guess those rolls had been in the fridge way past their due date.

I tried to salvage things by making my own crust but frankly, I stink at pastries. I poured out all of the ingredients and when I got to the part about adding shortening, I realized I didn't have any. I got my kidlet to look on the internet to see if there was a substitute for it and she found out you could use vegetable oil. Bingo! Except that I didn't have veggie oil, I only had olive oil. I used that and when I started mixing it in with the flour I thought it looked like the recipe called for too much oil so I only used 1/2 of the oil. I fought with that dang batter for about 1/2 hour to get it rolled out all nice and thin and the batter won. I finally ended up grabbing chunks of it and smashing it flat and cramming in the chicken mixture, then wadding the whole mess up till it was closed for the most part.

Long story short, it turned out fairly well. The crust was extremely flaky (and very flour-ey and dry) and the chicken mixture was great. It even stayed within the crust rather than seeping out all over my oven. The lesson here is that I should never ever try to make crust. And people should take cover whenever a can of crescent rolls is being popped open, and for those of you who are organized...make sure you have all of your ingredients when you plan on cooking something.

My dang Spanx are kicking my a$$

So I was shopping the other day - see my cool blue scooter? You can't because you're digging on my pink outfit right? Uh oh, my sweat stains are showing...that's so embarrassing.

OK, I wasn't really shopping while riding my scooter, nor were my sweat stains showing. I wanted you to see an example of how I'm feeling right about now. I've mentioned that because of marital bliss (see, it's Mr. Man's fault!!!) my waistline has been...ahem um...rebelling. It's those elaborate dinners I've been cooking for him every night that are making me crush the scales. I can't NOT eat when he is - perish the thought! So I've been blossoming.

To combat this issue, I've been eating less but this story isn't about starving myself, it's about things that can be done against the battle of the bulge. I invested in a "structured" undergarment because my tummy was making the front of all of my clothes look bad. It's amazing how much you can shift fat!!! Man oh man! I'm only disappointed that I couldn't make my tummy fat reach all the way up to my boobs. They would have looked really perky if they had a fat shelf to sit on! Instead, the fat moved around as easily as a water weenie does when you try to hold it. Remember those? Water weenies? The little suckers were slippery! That's how my fat is. I shimmied into my Wanks (they aren't real Spanx so I can't call them that) and as I pulled up one side, the fat slid in the opposite direction. As I pulled up the other side, the fat ran away to another part of my body. I think most of it went here:

Ugh! I just can't keep up with the stuff!!! Now usually I'm a pretty easy going person (my Mom is probably choking over that statement) and can take things in stride (now I'm choking). Ok, let me start over and tell the truth...I think I can be easy going and can let some things slide but this fat issue is about to drive me insane.

Today when I was getting dressed for work, I looked through my closet at stuff that was way too tight to wear. I finally decided on a chic dress with an empire waist. I just found out today what empire waist means! It's like the old mom jeans syndrome...the waist line is right under your boobs! Anyhooooo, I knew I could probably rock the dress if I wore my Wanks. Since it's getting cooler here I also decided to wear some tights which I put on under my Wanks. Immediately there was trouble.

I had a roll that could not be ignored! What the heck??? Isn't that why I stuffed myself into my Wanks so there wouldn't be any unsightly bulges? It's like my Lleggs were at war with my Wanks. Both were fighting for space and neither was giving up. I finally just stuffed the hose into the Wanks but there was still a bulge at the top of the Wanks and below my boobies. So I wore a sweater and held my arms in front of my torso whenever I got up from my desk. Sheesh...

If I don't get smaller soon I'm going to have to wear a "structured" garment from the base of my neck to the tips of my toes! Or I could start working out. I'm going to have to check that out one of these days. I bet the Wanks company has probably already come up with one. Well, I've gotta go...I need to make Mr. Wonderful dinner.

Choosing Appropriate Punishments

My kids are pretty darn good and I rarely have to get them into trouble but sometimes...I think they do things just to test me. My oldest did just that last night. I allowed her to go do something that would put her final arrival time back home one hour later than usual. I thought that was being pretty nice, don't you? Apparently, she didn't think so because at three and a half hours past her normal curfew, she still had not returned. The kid is going to give me a heart attack, I swear.

We have a rule at my house that even if I'm sound asleep, when my kidlet gets home, she's supposed to talk to me and let me know she's there as opposed to being sprawled out dead in the road somewhere. You can imagine my worry when my internal clock woke me up at 3:30 am and I noticed that she was not home. The first thing I did was to text her about 17,000 times in a row asking where the he#$@ she was. Then I called and left a voicemail threatening to murder her in cold blood if she didn't contact me right away. Minutes later she did phone me to let me know she was alive. I employed a tactic that my mom taught me (and that scares me still to this day). I put on my iciest, deadliest calm voice and told her to get her hiney home immediately.She knew she was majorly busted.

Once I knew she was OK, I could begin the process of deciding an appropriate punishment. Here are a few of the things I thought of:

Jail? In house maybe.

Beheading? Nah, too messy.

Electrocution? Nah, burning hair stinks.

Hanging? I'm not strong enough to hoist her up into a tree.

Spanking? Quite possibly.

Beating with a stick? Sounding better.

Shackles and public stoning? It's the city people, there just aren't enough stones lying about.

Chinese torture rack? Sorry, I'm not Chinese. I don't have a torture rack (unless you count my sit-up chair thingy).



So what's a Mom to do? I wore a groove 6" deep in my living room from pacing so much. 326 gray hairs popped out on my head. My stomach churned for a good hour after she got home. And do you want to hear the icing on the cake? The following morning she missed her first period class because she "just couldn't wake up." Can you believe the gall that kid has? If I had done the same thing to my Mom, she'd be grabbing me by my ear, yanking my kiester out of bed and dragged me naked to school.

I have to choose her punishment wisely because for however long she's grounded, so am I. I'm going to have to check my empty extremely busy social calendar and see how many fun things I'm going to have to cancel or move around. And that just sucks! She screwed up, she will get in trouble and yet I'm being punished, too.

I have joked to her her whole life that I can't wait till she turns 18 so if she's bad, I can kick her out of the house. Well..........she's 18 now. Does that mean I can toss all of her stuff out into the front yard and change the locks on the house? If it weren't so hard to do, I'd do it just to freak her out when she gets home from school. She'd mess her drawers to think the I kicked her out! Ooh, that's a good one. Maybe I'll drag out all of the suitcases and put them in the front yard along with her stuffed animals and hamster cage and tell her to take a hike. I've got a telephoto lens on my camera so I could hide inside and take a picture to capture the look on her face when she pulls up. I might just have to do this.

I'm still undecided as to what to do. It's been hours since she got home and I've pondered about it till my head hurts. I hope her head hurts from worrying about what I'm going to do to her. She needs to worry. I hope I keep to my guns and not let her off the hook - that's what I do sometimes. But NO...I will prevail! I will ground my girl and make her life miserable for a little while. And I'll probably use her for slave labor so I can get my house clean since she's not going anywhere. I might just try to get a yard mowing out of her. Hmmm the possibilities are endless..... 

OMG My legs look like sausages in these pants!!

Ya know, marital bliss can sometimes make you gain weight. So can drinking beer and eating cheese and french fries. Some of my clothes have miraculously been shrinking in my closet! Pants especially. I went to put on my fave pair of brown slacks today and....HOLEY CRIKEY!!!!! What the hell happened????? My legs look like sausages in those pants!!! HOW RUDE!

One of my gal pals has been rather OCD about her "getting fit" phase so now she looks totally awesome. She's tall, thin, as fit as a brick sh*#t house, tan, and I feel like Fat Bastard next to her when we step out together. See? Look at my picture! Told ya so. By the way...I was trying out for amateur topless night at the government assisted topless bar when that picture was taken. I usually wear shirts when I have my picture taken.

I've been planning on going to the gym for about a month now but somehow something always seems to come up. Mr. Wonderful doesn't complain about the way that I look and I appreciate that but dad gummit, I don't want my belly to stick out farther than his!

I posted earlier about how everyone loves bacon and how I could be the poster child for the stuff, but I might have to change my way of thinking. The hardest thing I'm going to have to give up to return to my svelte self (which was about 35 years ago) is my favorite oatmeal special. I make plain old oatmeal, add a little bit of Splenda to sweeten it up, then add about 3 strips of crumbled up bacon. It's so heavenly good I almost want to slap yo' mama. But I'm going to try and be strong and not add the bacon. Wish me luck. I'm going to need it. Now about the beer and cheese and french fries...that's going to be a little tougher to let go of. Maybe I can say goodbye to cheese and french fries and keep the beer. I mean heck, if I say adios to all of my vices I'll have to start using something healthier and less caloric like, say...heroin. Hmmmmm, I'm going to have to think about this a little while longer.

Like I said, wish me luck because I'm going to need it. Oh, I'll make sure to post and let all of you know how my topless dancing tryout went. And I'll even find you a link to the site where you can purchase some of the awesome shoes like I'm wearing in my picture above.

Cross yer fingers because I'm supposed to look like this in my tight pants!

Bad Boyfriends

Why is it that girls usually have to have at least one bad boyfriend before they meet someone nice? I get it that you have to experience something bad to truly appreciate something good but come on! My oldest kidlet as well as a "grown up" friend of mine are both dealing with guys who are just...stupid. But then again, I guess we're stupid for putting up with their stupidity!

A fabulous example comes to mind with my first and greatest love, "Pierre". We dated for quite a few years. We were the type of couple who were madly in love one minute and completely at each others throats the next. Even though we fought a lot I never once cheated on him. He on the other hand, had at least one dalliance that I know of because the "other girl" called me and told me so. Of course, that prompted one of the final breakups we had.

College got in the way of our love affair and eventually we went our separate ways but I never forgot Pierre. Many many years later, thanks to Facebook, I got enough leads to help me locate him once again. As soon as he received my letter we were off and running again. I knew better than to think that we would be instantly in love but I admit, I was curious to find out where things would lead. We lived on opposite sides of the country so reuniting was difficult but we managed to visit one anothers respective towns. I visited him first and that weekend was great with a capital "G". But there was a teeny tiny niggling in the back of my mind that I couldn't quite ignore.

A few months later, he visited me and that particular weekend was definitely...off. I knew things were off when I visited him but I didn't want to trust my gut feelings. Shortly after he arrived I knew that something was wrong even though he tried to deny it. We had a nice day but the second day was terrible. I kept needling him that I knew something was amiss but I couldn't put my finger on it. He did what any guy would do - deny, deny, deny. Finally, he came clean to the fact that he was heavily involved with someone in his hometown. The dirty, low down, yellow bellied, cheating RAT!!! I KNEW it!!! Oh sure, he looked sweet and innocent but he was really a RAT. Ted Bundy looked sweet and innocent, too and look what he did! Needless to say, I sent Pierre packing so fast his head was probably spinning.

Some guys look like trouble and you can't deny your gut... 

The bad boy

The rebel

The sorta scary guy

What the HE$!@#%&*???

Sneaky dude

And some aren't so obvious. They just come across as being...sensitive.

But let me tell ya...you've got to trust your instincts. If you feel something is off - it probably is. If you think he's trying to pull a fast one over on you, he probably is.

One of my kidlets had a boyfriend who appeared to be very caring and gentle and respective when he was around the parental units. When the two of them were alone, he was abusive - verbally and physically, had a horrible temper, put my kidlet in danger and was basically a giant SCHMUCK. It took the poor girl a while to realize what so many people around her already knew, and boy, did it take a toll on her. Never again!

I'd like to think that you don't have too many bad boyfriends before a good keeper shows up but it has been known to drag on and on and on. Girls, keep your chins up and don't fall for some stupid line a stupid guy is trying to pass off on you. Follow your gut feelings. If you don't, your stupid bad boyfriend might just punch you in the gut. And then I'd get in trouble because I'd have to defend you by meeting him in a dark alley one night and introduce him to my baseball bat - KILLER.

What The.........?????

A while ago I had some huge horrible back surgery and I was on LOTS of paid meds. I......mean......LOTS. My days were spent either lounging on the sofa or lounging on the bed. And taking pain pills. Some days I lounged on the bed then the sofa (and took pain pills). Other days I lounged on the sofa then the bed (and took pain pills). I did a lot of lounging (and taking pain pills). To be honest, it was about 3 months of pure misery. And I don't think I could be a pill popping addict. Swallowing so many pills gets pretty old, pretty fast.

During my recovery period, my oldest offspring had to go the the dentist and have her wisdom teeth removed. She went, they drugged her and yanked those suckers out then sent her wobbling home.

So picture this; two really drugged up girls, feeling like poopy, lounging on the sofa, trying to keep their eyes from rolling out of their heads. It wasn't a pretty sight. Lucky for us, my Mom - aka Nonnie took care of us. She's the best person to ever take care of us. EVER!

Apparently, my kidlet and I were in the throes of a drugged pity party when I decided to write down our thoughts. Here's how I wrote them:


A day in the life of kidlet and Elizabeth
Wake up
take pills
sleep a bit
more pills
take sips of water
pretend to read
nap
have Nonnie shove food down our throats
more pills
sleep
pet cats
watch old re-runs
sleep
hallucinate
cry a little
kneel at Nonnie's feet & vow undying love
take 40 minutes to take a stinkin' shower because I can't bend over
cry for Nonnie to come save us for an hour or so


How sad is that? I remember my Mom keeping track of our medicine intake which I'm grateful for, because in our state, we might have just swallowed the entire bottle all at once!

At the time it was really sad and I thought it'd never end but looking back on it, and having read my "journal" it's pretty funny. I love the entry where I wrote "hallucinate." That was fairly true. The unfair part was that my kidlet recovered in about 3 days from her ordeal. It's been a little over a year and I'm still recovering. It comes in handy sometimes because if I want to get out of something (housework) I can say it's too painful. If I'm particularly bubble headed one day, I can blame it on pain pills. It's a win-win situation. I wonder if people will still believe me in 7 or 8 years. Hope so.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

I accidentally flashed my boobie at a co-worker!

I work with a super great group of people at a very conservative company. I also work in the creative department which means we're a little looser than some of the people in this building. But boobie flashing is not usually going on any where in this building. Ever.

In the mornings I make the rounds around my floor, distributing mail, unlocking various workrooms and saying good morning to everyone. One particular morning I was wearing a demure pink cami, under a highlighter pink hounds tooth checkered coat and slacks. Sounds presentable, right? Right!

The problem started when a
co-worker commented on my jacket. He asked me if it was heavy and I was in the process of telling him 'no' when I pulled the jacket away from my body to show him how thin it was. Normally I wear a bra under my cami even if it has a built in bra because I tend to be a bit "sensitive" to the temperature and I don't want to put any one's eye out. (My friends don't call me "Radar" for nothing!) For some crazy reason I neglected to wear my usual iron lined bra so the twins were a bit "perky". Before I realized what I was doing, I basically flashed my "perky" boobie right into my co-workers face!

Talk about embarrassed...I wanted a hole to open up and swallow me! Usually when something embarrassing happens to me I point it out and laugh about it but this time I just made my departure happen as quickly as possible. My friend was nice enough not to say a word. He didn't gape or throw up or laugh. He acted like nothing ever happened but I can guarantee...my girl practically put his dang eye out.

And now for your entertainment...a wonderful ditty by Bette Midler

"Otto Titsling"

"This next story is a true story.
It concerns two of my favorite subjects:
industrial theft . . . and-a tatas!
Mmm, what a combo! This is the story . . .
The inventor of the modern foundation garment
that we women wear today was a German scientist
and opera lover by the name of Otto Titsling!
This is a true story.
His name was Otto Titsling.
What happened to Otto Titsling shouldn't happen to a schnauzer.
It's a very sad story. I feel I have to share it with you."

Otto Titsling, inventor and kraut,
had nothing to get very worked up about.
His inventions were failures, his future seemed bleak.
He fled to the opera at least twice a week.

One night at the opera he saw an Aida
who's tatas were so big they would often impede her.
Bug-eyed he watched her fall into the pit,
done in by the weight of those terrible tits.

Oh, my god! There she blows!
Aerodynamically this bitch was a mess.
Otto eyeballed the diva lying comatose amongst the reeds,
and he suddenly felt the fire of inspiration
flood his soul. He knew what he had to do!
He ran back to his workshop
where he futzed and futzed and futzed.

For Otto Titsling had found his quest:
to lift and mold the female breast;
to point the small ones to the sky;
to keep the big ones high and dry!

Every night he'd sweat and snort
searching for the right support.
He tried some string and paper clips.
Hey! He even tried his own two lips!

Well, he stitched and he slaved
and he slaved and he stitched
until finally one night, in the wee hours of morning,
Otto arose from his workbench triumphant.
Yes! He had invented the worlds first
over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder. Hooray!

Exhausted but ecstatic he ran
down the street to the diva's house
bearing the prototype in his hot little hand.
Now, the diva did not want to try the darn thing on.
But, after many initial misgivings,
she finally did.
And the sigh of relief that issued forth
from the diva's mouth
was so loud that it was mistaken by some
to be the early onset of the Siroccan Winds
which would often roll through the Schwarzwald
with a vengeance!
Ahhhhh-i!

But little did Otto know,
at the moment of his greatest triumph,
lurking under the diva's bed
was none other than the very worst
of the French patent thieves,
Philippe De Brassiere.
And Phil was watching the scene
with a great deal of interest!

Later that night, while our Brun Hilda slept,
into the wardrobe Philippe softly crept.
He fumbled through knickers and corsets galore,
'til he found Otto's titsling and he ran out the door.

Crying, "Oh, my god! What joy! What bliss!
I'm gonna make me a million from this!
Every woman in the world will wanna buy one.
I can have all the goods manufactured in Taiwan."

"Oh, thank you!"

The result of this swindle is pointedly clear:
Do you buy a titsling or do you buy a brassiere?

"Ohhh! Thank you!"
So, how do you wrap a story like this? You don't. I hope you had a good laugh over my idiocy. I know I did. Amen and good bye.