Tag: humor

Pretty Boy Crushes

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My first celebrity crush was Tommy Shaw from Styx.  My sister had their first album and at 12 I was transfixed by his pretty boy looks.

Then there was Jim Morrison.  Adam Ant. Prince (disturbing, but true). I had a crush on a real life person for many years, an ex-boyfriend of mine.

Bono, need I say more?  At least I actually met him.  Shook his hand, twice!  Also, met The Edge. Shook his hand too!

More recently was Johnny Depp.  That crush kept going for a couple of years.  It faded and I tossed him to the curb.

I was really feeling empty until, Adam Lambert. My newest pretty boy crush. I know, he’s gay, which sucks for him and me.  Star crossed lovers is what we are. He is so completely gorgeous and talented I can’t believe he can’t and won’t ever be in the running.  How can a straight woman have a crush on a gay man?  Don’t know.

In a life like mine a little fantasy is a harmless outlet.  Sex, drugs and alcohol have their merits, but having a harmless crush on someone can be quite therapeutic.  They don’t demand anything from you, you can deny them when you are not in the mood and when you have moved on you don’t have to break the news to them.  In fact you can be quite cruel which in itself can be freeing and satisfying.  There is no splitting of the assets, the children or the pets. It’s a perfect arrangement.

There is the little thing that they don’t know you exist.  I realize that, but in my case a handshake will do.

Christmas Dinners

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Whatever happened to “themed” Christmas dinners? That is what my family will ask after I’m gone.

“I don’t know,” Emily will say wistfully “my favorite was the BBQ.  Even though I’m a vegetarian I loved the smell of the smoked sausage, ham and ribs cooking all day in the oven.”

Tristan will reminisce, “I remember the prime rib and frozen coconut shrimp Christmas.  The prime rib was a little cold by the time it got to the table and the shrimp was almost thawed, but Mom looked great!”

Little Allison will look longingly at the dining room table, “I remember the Italian Christmas when I was 11.  The pasta stuck together like it does on any other day, but I did get to drink sparkling apple juice from a champagne glass.”

That is what I envision as a post death conversation my resistant family will be having regarding my themed Christmas dinners.  Always being a pioneer, I started the themed Christmas dinners a few years ago to expose the children to new cultures and diversity.

Yeah, that’s a load of “stuffing”.  I started it because we had already had turkey, etc. less than four weeks earlier for Thanksgiving.  I personally don’t like turkey and how often do you get to justify a $35 piece of meat?

Petite Ears

Published on by cmglife

I am sitting in bed writing at the moment.  I write listening to music with my earphones in.  I’m talking the ear buds, not the $200 customized dj headphones (I wouldn’t be caught dead in them anyway; I never wear ear muffs either).  I must have unusually small ears because ear buds are never comfortable. If I’m wearing the earphones while I’m cleaning which I always do (it keeps my mind off it) they are constantly falling out.   I am forever readjusting, fiddling or putting them back in.

Then there is the fact that they get caught on everything while I’m walking around the house.  The cord gets caught on the dishwasher rack mostly.   Sometimes I don’t realize I’m wearing them and do something stupid like change my shirt.  Let me tell you it’s a drag trying to untangle earphones out of the sleeves of your shirt.

Just the general sudden hand movements that drag the earphones quickly and violently from one’s ear.  That just plain hurts and kind of pisses me off because I am usually concentrating on some important thought and that messes up my flow.

Have you ever been zapped by static while wearing earphones?  Boy, that’s no fun.  I suffer enough brain zapps before my medicine kicks in the morning thank you very much.

What Christmas Means To Me….

Published on by cmglife

You start off thinking you’ve got it all covered.

One small gift for each of the women in the office. So that’s it right? Three gifts.  Go to The Body Shop in the mall and buy three small, $10 body butters in nice holiday packaging.  No need to wrap, slap a card on them and good to go right?

Oh, not so fast!  A dilemma: Another friend whom I did not get a gift gave me a present of a tiny water feature that will sit on my desk to give me tranquility.  To the card she taped a marble, in case I lost my last one (she has no idea just how close she got it).  I was seriously touched.  I think she is great, but I wanted to keep a reign on my gift giving for money purposes and I had a good plan.  How could I not reciprocate at this point when the woman gave me a marble and a fountain of all things?  Now if I give her a gift, will she think I did because she gave me one? She, of course, would be correct.

I just received a text from my friend in the office.  Do I want to put in twenty dollars for a gift card from us in the office for our administration?  Wait a minute I think …where does this stop?

I just want to honor the true meaning of Christmas, gift etiquette.

The Day My Clutch Went Out

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On a way to a meeting today my clutch went out.  I managed to limp my car into a dealership, barely making it.  I was definitely shaken up after a 45 minute drive only able to use 2nd and 5th gear.

I was so elated and relieved to see the man in the service department! I wanted to fall onto the desk and tell him the whole story.  How I had handled it alone, no help from my dad or my husband!  I wanted to tell him what a big deal this was because I have no self confidence or mechanical experience.  Wouldn’t he be interested to also hear that I got stuck at an intersection a ¼ of a mile from here and I used my ingenuity and unusually long and ambipedal big toe to pry the clutch from the floor?  Wouldn’t he listen intently and sympathize maybe even offering me a seat, a coffee or a cold drink?

Instead all he asked was, “Can I have your last name?”

Skinny Bitch

Published on by cmglife

My dad told me recently that I am becoming a little cantankerous.  You know, speaking my mind, lashing out.  He thinks it might be because I work in a middle school and have to deal with all kinds of situations and it has caused me to develop an itchy trigger finger.  He may be right about that, but I don’t think so.

I think I’m becoming a skinny bitch.

Skinny bitches are one’s with the attitude because they can fit into a pair of jeans that are at least 20 years younger than they should be wearing.  That may not be the exact definition.

My husband commented that my new jeans are “really low” (low rise).  He can’t get past the fact that I am not wearing 80’s mom jeans.  Though these may be pushing it, I am thrilled I can actually wear them.

I’ve developed a weird body builder quirk.  I’m not by any stretch of the imagination saying that I am a body builder I am just acting like one, I guess.  This is just getting weirder and weirder, maybe it’s the steroids.

If there is someone acting like they are skeptical of my workouts (real or imagined I’m not sure) I’ll ask them to feel my bicep. And then I say, “And I’m not even flexing!”

Oh God, now that I’ve actually written this down I realize how insane I am acting. And yet still surprised!

Confessions of a Mad Woman

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Don’t men drive you crazy sometimes? Whether you are in love with them, living with them, married or not, female or not, don’t they just drive you crazy? As a person married to one for twenty years I will tell you it has been one of the biggest tests in my life to stay with my husband.

The other day I actually sprayed his toothbrush with Windex while I was cleaning the bathroom.  It was completely immature, but it gave me great pleasure.  He had hurt my feelings, I was mad, but I was too proud to say anything so I did something so incredibly passive aggressive it should go down in the books.  Anyway, Windex isn’t that poisonous is it?

I contemplated swishing the toothbrush around in the toilet, but that seemed too clichéd.  On the second pass at the sink I felt a pang of guilt so I entertained the idea of rinsing it under the water, but instead I sprayed it again.

The Space Between

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“Oh, no.  That’s too bad, I haven’t seen it.”

That is what I will say to my daughter when she notices her rival school’s t-shirt is missing.  She says she doesn’t care if the other kids will make comments or say something. What she doesn’t realize is that I have lived way longer than she has and I know these things will hurt.

It’s almost the same as the “nice rack” moose t-shirt exploiting women’s breasts that was inexplicably lost behind the space between the dryer and the wall until a month ago when it was miraculously found.  By then it was way too small for Tristan to wear anymore.  Darn.  Too bad.

Maybe we’ll find Allison’s t-shirt in the space between the wall and my dresser in a couple of years too.

Exasperation

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I am exasperated. Nothing earth shattering, just irritated…generally irritated.

First off, I have the most annoying of annoying co-workers that I need to punch in his throat.  The fantasy just isn’t cutting it anymore.

I want to eat carbs!  I’m going to die if I don’t have a piece of bread today!  If I have to have another fat free yogurt or a grilled chicken breast I’ll end up face down on the kitchen floor sobbing.

I finally love exercising. That scares and sickens me…

Every evening for the last four years (a coincidence, I think not) I’ve had a glass or two of wine.  It’s become a boring habit.  What other vice can I possibly replace the wine with?  Cigarettes? Tried it, doesn’t work.  Meth? Too vain.  Sex? John couldn’t handle that much of me (wink)! Exercise? Already doing it.  Whiskey?  I’ll try it, but I’m not happy about it.

Just as I was getting to the stage of venom dripping from my keyboard, my  family life crept in again in the form of my favorite son, Tristan.  He came into the room and sat down right next to me with his laptop.  I did move to the other side of the couch, but he had already cramped my style.  Then there came John  and he flipped on the tv to watch the game.  I put my headphones on and tried to crawl back into the bitchy little cave I’d constructed.  It didn’t work, couldn’t get my vibe back.

I have a feeling this mood is not over. Oh no, it is definitely is not over.

Actually, I’m not a big woman…

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Last summer my “sleep” doctor said to me, “You are not a big woman, but you could stand to lose 5 to 10 lbs.”

But weight (Freudian slip) …a triumph!  I have lost 13 pounds since August.  Why is this significant?

Well, other than I may be looking a little bit “hot”*, it gives me some comfort that maybe my new life on medication is finally working and maybe I will be alright after all. An awful lot of maybes in that last sentence.

What am I doing you ask?  I know it’s unconventional…diet and exercise.  It’s a new feeling for me to be in control of anything.  I don’t think I’ve ever experienced control before anywhere or in any way. Yeah for drugs!

* Parentheses and an asterisk must be used by me for the word “hot” because I am 47 and still haven’t quite adjusted to this word that has been substituted for the more appropriately descriptive “good looking”.