How easy would it be to win the “Worst Cook in America” title?  I was recently watching this show on the Food Network, and it occurred to me that this would be really easy to win.  You see it’s all based on improvement.  You get your friends and family to say you can’t boil water.  You fudge a few recipes, and then ta da…you become a decent chef.  Who couldn’t do that?  You could always lie about how good you are to start with.  Then you add the benefit of professional chefs teaching you to the equation.  In the end it is all about you.  Now, if your competitors have the same idea you may be effed but I don’t figure anyone is as sneaky as I am.

I love the Food Network.  My love my stem from current association with Jenny Craig.  There is something aobut watching people make really delicious food when you are on a diet that is satisfying.  On the other hand, it can really make you hungry.  30 Minute Meals could be my downfall…all that butter, olive oil, and pasta.  I am allergic to exercise so I can’t eat the pounds of pasta Rachel Ray consumes.  My pasta has to be doled out in 1/8 cup portions. 

Paula Deen is my girl.  Mo’ buttah…mo’ bettah!  She also has the intense love affair with chocolate that I have.  I watched an episode of Paul Deen’s home cooking that was completely dedicated to the abuse of chocolate.  She put chocolate on everything…including one of the male guests in the audience.  She makes southern fried food and then completely ignores the one starch rule.  She makes corn fritters, with potato dumplings, and then adds a big ol’ carb laden ooey, gooey dessert to the mix.  God Bless that Woman!  She is large and loving life!  She makes me want to shuck the diet and embrace my inner Goddess (you know, the one with all of the curves who isn’t afraid to eat).

I can’t stand Alton Brown.  He has a speech pattern that makes me want to throw things at the television.  He sounds like Jeff Goldblum and isn’t half as attractive.  No, I am not implying that I think Jeff Godblum is attractive…I am stating that I think Alton Brown is not.  I don’t trust skinny cooks either.  Rachel Ray has curves, Paula Deen definitely has curves, Mario doesn’t have curves…Mario doesn’t indent.  If they look like they enjoy eating then I will watch their show.  If they look they don’t eat it…I ain’t watching it!

My favorite thing on the Food Network are the Challenges.  I like the pretty ones, not the barbecue or steak challenges.  The chocolate challenges, pastry challenges, sugar sculpture challenges, and all of the cakes…but especially extreme cake challenges are on my remote’s speed dial.  It is through the extreme cake challenges that I met and fell in love with Duff Goldman.  I feel that a man who can bake a cake, decorate it, and deliver it to my address is damn near a demi-God.  He’s chubby too.  Bonus!  My daughter prefers his assistant Jeff.  He is really thin.  He can decorate a mean cake, but he obviously doesn’t eat.  What is the point?

The Food Network makes me want to cook.  I watch them make these astounding and unheard of dishes, and I want to go into the kitchen and see what I can do.  The Food Network is responsible for my lack of fear in the kitchen.  It has helped me to create several of my family’s favorite dishes.  It has taught me to use ingredients my mother never had in her kitchen.  It has put several pounds on several of us.  On days like today when there is seven inches of snow on the ground and the kitchen is cool I want to go into the kitchen and make yeast dough, and cookies, and homemade soups, stews, or stoups.  I want to use lots of butter and lots of cream.  I want to add those winter pounds and then hibernate.  I don’t want to do dishes.  Perhaps they need to come up with a Clean House network….oh who in the hell would watch that?

 

I live in the northern tip of the south.  It’s almost the midwest, but not truly.  I know this because I receive Southern Living magazine.  If I lived in the midwest I would received Midwest Living (which I didn’t know existed until at the home of a friend who lives in the midwest).  We are always ill prepared for inclement weather.  Generally speaking, our biggest threat is tornadoes.  When it snows, our road crews get so excited they dump all of the salt on the highway and then have nothing left if it snows again.  We are currently in the middle of a winter storm.

I have thought, for awhile now, that winter storm warnings are the brain child of Wal-Mart.  They pay the local news sources to announce a coming storm and everyone (I do mean everyone) goes to by a winter’s worth of supplies.  Here’s the thing…they buy enough to get them through Armageddon.  We have never had a storm that lasted a month.  Last year, we had an ice storm that left some people without electricity for ten days, but I see these people loading up like there will never be another chance to buy groceries.  My question is this…what do they do with all the groceries if the electricity goes out? 

My oldest son is giddy with excitement.  He sells generators.  He knows that people will get so panicked by this prediction that they will run out and spend thousands of dollars on generators to protect the thousands of dollars they just spent on groceries.  I know that there were tons of people at the grocery store, because my husband and I had to go as well.  We didn’t go to Wal-mart.  It was way too crowded.  We went to a local grocer.  We bought stuff that isn’t technically healthy, but it doesn’t spoil if we don’t have power.  I’m talking canned cheese, saltines, Doritos, peanut butter, Ritz and lots of bread.  We will survive, but we may weigh 900 pounds before it’s over.

I love the south.  I love the lazy way we speak (and move).  I love the humid summers, and the mild winters.  I love the big hair and beauty pageants (for babies).  I love that peepaws and meemaws get in the F150 and head to Wal-Mart when there is a threat of snow.  I love the people in the trailer parks who are the first in line to be interviewed after the tornado…”I’s just standin’ over yonder, and I heard sumpin’ sounded like a freight train.  I looked over ta granny and tolt her ta get in the root cellar.  Then I saw it!”  There are millions of college graduates in the south, but they never line up to be interviewed.  It’s the same if there is criminal activity in the neighborhood.  My favorite was the lady who (when interviewed after a train accident) stated that she heard something that sounded like a tornado.

We may get more snow.  The ice has yet to accumulate as predicted.  However, it seems that the immediate threat may have passed.  You can bet though, that if they say on Saturday, that more snow and/or ice is on the way everyone will load up the biggest vehicle they own and head back to Wal-Mart.  They will load up the deep freezes and pantries.  They will cook for days to have casseroles in the fridge just in case they have company come over.  They will make sure cell phones are charged, and fires are lit.  They will also do everything they can for neighbors, cattle, pets and family.  That is the real reason they load up, because they worry that they may be the only ones who do and they want to be sure to take care of everyone else.  That is the true south.  The concern for our fellow man.  The kindness and concern of our neighbors is the reason we live in an area that bakes us in the summer and freezes our butts off in the winter.  Some people will tell you that they love the fact that we experience all four seasons (sometimes in one day).  The truth is, it’s the people who make the south…not the location.  I could never live around folks who care only about themselves.  I need the manners and concern of the south.  I like that everyone talks to you like they have known you your whole life, even if you just met them in line at the grocery store.  People smile and make eye contact.  Neighbors check on one another.  We complain, just like everyone else, but southerners are here because we love it…not because jobs are better, or life is cheaper.  So bundle up babies and make room for lots of casserole.  It’s cold outside and Aunt Maude fried chicken!

I am looking for a Facebook friend who is a Democrat.  It would seem that Facebook is littered with Republicans.  I am bombarded with Republican propaganda on a daily basis and I am sick of it.  I do my best to shoot down the lies and misunderstandings (and they are vast my friends), but I cannot seem to make these block heads understand. 

You wouldn’t believe some of the crap that is swirling around the toilet of the Republican mind.  I first had to battle the daily grumbling of losers.  Then they just started out and out lying.  “He’s not even an American.  Where’s his birth certificate.  At eighteen, his citizenship status ended.”, and crap like that was thrown at me time and again.  A lesser woman might have succumbed.  I am no lesser woman.  I  did my research.  I posted articles.  I did my best to enlighten the masses, but every time I threw up a solidly documented proof that they were wrong they posted two bogus reasons they felt they were right.  The biggest crock was them telling me that Obama’s birth certificate was MIA.  I haven’t personally ever held a President’s birth certificate in my hand.    I have never felt the raised seal.  However, I trust the process that verifies a candidates eligibility.  At the same time I recognize that even if I could personally produce the document I would be accused of forgery.  These people will never accept the fact that our President is indeed a valid President.

I think I have two major points of contention.  The first of these is the fact that while The Great Pretender was in office we were admonished to “support the President.”  The country as a whole knew he was a pitiful leader, but we were asked to support him simply because he was “The President”.  While I never pretended to be pleased about the powers in office,  I never wrote hate mail in public.  I realize now that I was wrong.  I should have bombed the shit out of everyone I know.  I should have vocalized my displeasure loudly and often.  I should have set up a “kick W’s ass out of office” website and put up every mispronounced word, photos of every shit eating grin, and blasted every incorrect analogy and statement from national speakers.  Apparently, that is the only way to express any displeasure in the administration.  I have come to realize when Republicans say “support your President”, they mean only Republican presidents.   

Secondly, I have always felt that statements made with regard to any one’s character should be supported factually.  You can’t just go around making up crap to suit your point of view.  I tried instill this in my children.  When the boys talked about a friend with questionable sexual preferences we had this conversation: ”He’s gay.”  “Has he ever personally made a pass at you?  Have you seen him with another man?  Then don’t go spreading rumors.”  To those who try and tell me that our President doesn’t even pass the basic requirements for presidency I say, “He’s there”.  Someone checked his background and found him eligible for the office and I’m sure they looked at every document in detail.  I feel equally certain that the Republican party looked for every possible out before he took office.  If indeed he was ineligible I feel they would have kicked him out of the pool before he took office.

Finally, let me say that our President has a crappy job.  He is the leader of the world’s largest power and he receives no respect and not nearly enough pay.  I personally don’t see why anyone would take it on.  Barack Obama did and has done a respectable job.  He hasn’t been without his mistakes, but if we were to tally the mistakes of the former President against the mistakes of the current President there would be no comparison.  He is trying to undo eight years of errors.  He has been in office 1 year.  A comparison for your perusal: If you walk into a marriage with a child who has been spoiled by his mother (or father) for the eight years of their life prior to the current administration, how long will it take you to straighten that kid out?  If you answered honestly, you would have to admit that straightening the child out might never happen.  At best it won’t happen in a year.  Maybe in five years you can mold a decent human.  Well, the President is dealing with a lot of spoiled little children, and he has to try and get a MAJORITY of them to behave. 

I am very proud to have an eloquent, well spoken person at the helm of our country.  I feel like we are finally getting the respect as a super power that we deserve.  I don’t have to worry that this president isn’t taking the job seriously.  My biggest fear is that the American people won’t give him the time he needs to get the job done.  That is a supreme relief.  Before I was worried that “W” would be trying to order a pizza and press the wrong button.  I was extremely concerned that the person whose finger was poised above the nuclear button had never been able to pronounce nuclear.  I wish I had some bit of advice to give to those who are frightened, but I’m frightened too.  I’m frightened that Republicans aren’t taking global warming seriously.  I’m worried about North Korea, and I’m really concerned that so many Americans are much more concerned with their good than the good of the country as a whole. 

I think Democrats are going to have to become as vocal as the Republicans.  They are spewing propaganda faster than I can debunk it.  I need help.  If I have Democratic friends on Facebook post support for our President on my Facebook page.  I will be setting up a Facebook page for Aging Disgracefully.  Voice your support, or if you (like so many others) have no faith in our current administration…give me a chance to change your mind.  I’m working on the Facebook page today.  Let Freedom Ring….m’er f’ers!

I am back in Kansas City.  I am with my husband this time, not my mother.  We arrived yesterday.  The snow began today.  It is still snowing.  The weather is bitch-ass cold.  Which (if you know weather) is the coldest of all the weathers.  My daughter thinks ass off, added to any thing greatly improves the quality.  For instance…she sleeps her ass off.  She also works her ass off, shops her ass off, gripes her ass off, eats her ass off (which gives me pause for concern because when I eat I tend to eat my ass on), and laughs her ass off.  What can I say?  For her, it works.  If I must use her terminology I am freezing my ass off.

Temperature wise Kansas City is no where near the same ball park as say the Bahamas. My non-vag daughter asked why if we were going away for a week we weren’t going to some where warmer.  I reminded her that we come here to check on a family member and that if they ever moved to warmer climes we would be happy to visit here there too.  For all of you relatives reading this, if you would like to see more of us move to warmer climates.  It would also help if you had a guest house separate from the main house and a loaner car.  Private planes will be considered (based on their size) and long term visits can be arranged.  I think this could also be the reason that all of our family lives in places just as effing cold as northwest Arkansas.  It won’t be warmer any time soon either. 

While I was speaking with my non-vag daughter today she informed me that she is in trouble with The Precious.  Apparently he is resenting the fact that she wakes him up, takes away his blankie, and is just mean in general in the morning.   For the last two days he has greeted her after work appearance with, “I don’t wike you!”  She said that he told his daddy the reasons aforementioned.  Today, however; he was taking her hand and leading her towards the garage.  Apparently he felt that if he at least showed her where her car was she would leave and he would be safe.  I tried to tell her that in his two year old mind all of the things she had done were vile.  Even I resent people who wake me.  And just try and take my effing blankie.  You’ll unleash 5′3″ of total whoop ass.  I thought she was getting off easy.  I mean basically she was just getting a slap on the hand.  I truly feel she appreciated the support.  I also told her that all three of my kids had at some point in their lives told me that they hated me.  I told her that The Precious was very advanced because none of my kids ever said it at two.

It’s nice to know I can help her in little ways like these.  I am also there to laugh when they do something stupid.  I laugh alot.  Not just at the two with the two year old.  I laugh at all of them.   Mostly because legally I can no longer be held responsible for their actions.  It sure is good to get them past that 18 year old mark.  I tried to tell my non-vag daughter that she should write down all of the things he says.  Eventually you forget or you forget who said what, but I don’t know if she took my advice.  My guess would be not.  The one and only thing all of my kids (vag and non) have in common is the fact that they don’t listen to me.  That is another reason I get to laugh more often than most.

Well, Boppy and I may or may not get out tomorrow.  We are nestled, cozy in our hotel room.  We have our Jenny Craig food.  We have fruit and beverages.  We will survive.  The snow is supposed to stop at some point either tonight or early tomorrow morning.   The temperatures will range between 0 and 4 tomorrow.   We have plenty of warm clothes with us and good heavy coats.  We are glad that we have someone near who owns a washer and dryer just in case we have to stay longer than we planned.  It’s all good.  Remember though…if you are planning a move south is the proper direction. 

 

 

So the hubby and I were talking tonight, ( I’ve become my mother…starting my stories mid-sentence) and I told him that I expected something major this year for my birthday.  He played stupid…at least I think he was playing, and said why?  Well, you know my dear ones, why this birthday is special.  I have only been going on about it for the last six months or so.  So I said to him, “I will never live as long again as I have lived already this half of my life.”   Age makes you stupid.

Age also makes you avoid mirrors.  When I was young I used every reflective surface I could find to look at myself.  Now I can get naked in front of a full length mirror, shower, lotion, and redress without ever sneaking a peek.  I can also undress under all the bedding reach over and turn out the lights and have sex with my husband without ever glimpsing skin.  I figure I am doing both of us a solid.  I don’t have to be embarrassed, and he doesn’t have to pretend he likes what he sees. My dad once said when he looked at my mother he still saw the fifteen year old girl he fell in love with.  While sweet, it was probably only true when she was fully clothed.  No one can look at an out of shape middle aged woman and even pretend to be aroused.  Sure there are stars older than me who have killer bodies, but they have trainers and dietitians who make sure they look like they are half their age.  Some of them have great bodies, but are so thin they look harsh.  This is not a problem I deal with.  I have fully developed my “Emmy” body.  If The Precious wants to lean back on my boobs he has great pillows for his relaxation.  The funny thing about that is…The Precious loves boobs.  Sometimes while he is on my hip he will just start squeezing my boobs.  I don’t stop him because I figure calling attention to it is wrong, but I am pretty sure feeling Emmy up is wrong too.  The way I see it, this is a parental issue.  The way I see it almost all issues involving The Precious, are parental.

What I can do to help with aging is wax my face, color my hair, and things of that nature.  I have a dear friend who does lash extensions and she has been kind enough to do my lashes for the last six weeks or so.  This seems to have helped.  At least I don’t have to wear mascara.  I told my hubby that I thought ridding myself of the bags under my eyes would be a great birthday present.  My eye bags are a gift from my dad.  All of that side of the family have horrible bags under the eyes.  I told him that if I could rid myself of them I would look, if not younger, at least rested.  He suggested that rather than have the bags removed, we could just pack them and go on a trip.  I’m pretty sure if we packed these babies we could go for a month long cruise and have clothes left over.  “Excuse me ma’am, are those carry on?  Can you get them inside the size meter?”  People might die.  I can just hear them telling me I have to pay and extra $50 for the two extra bags.  So from my dad I got short, bull-headed, and eye bags.  I also got gorgeous blue eyes and his smile…for those things I’m grateful so there is no point in talking about them.  When last I was carded I laughed because I thought the poor dear was kidding.  When first I was carded I laughed because I was finally legal and didn’t have to worry about not being old enough.  It’s amazing what makes you laugh when you are older.  For instance, when The Precious does things I spanked his father for…I laugh.  Not in front of him or at least not always.  Still, I do laugh.

 Anyway, my point is he had better go big on my birthday.  I will never be 50 again and I want it recognized.  I will not go quietly.  I will continue to age with great disdain.  I will whine and cry and kick and scream.  I fully intend to make everyone grateful when I go.  I don’t want them to be sad.  I have always thought of others first, and myself last.  In fact, I would have that put  on my tombstone if I intended to have one.  “Here lies The Precious’ Emmy.  She always put others first.  She lies here fully clothed.”

 

My New Year’s resolution was to blog more consistently.  In two weeks I have written once.  Is that more consistently?  In my defense, it is only the third.  So technically I have only missed two days since I made the resolution.  However; it looks as if this resolution is going the way of so many others.  I have good intentions.  I truly do.  Life tends to get in my way.

The tennis elbow (how funny is that?) is still the same.  It hurts all the time, and nothing makes it better.  This seems to be the story you constantly hear from me.  It hurts all the time, and nothing makes it better.  I wish I had the resilience of The Precious.  His little broken arm doesn’t even slow him down.  He has figured out what he can and can’t do with it, and utilizes it to his full advantage.  He even manages to look pretty darn cute with it.  It’s red and reaches up above his elbow.  Not because he needs it that high.  Elbow would have been good enough, but it is above the elbow so he can’t monkey his way out of it.

He received some Christmas money and we took him shopping on Saturday night.  He found a castle.  It has “boys” in it.  It also has a dragon that roars and causes thunder and lightening.  He and I stayed together while his parents went to  a movie and Boppy went to play trivia.  He must have played with his castle for over an hour without even looking up.  He had guys falling off the top and getting bonked on the head with boulders and about a zillion other things.  I don’t know if I have ever been around someone so little with such a big imagination.  He has begun to cry whenever he leaves and that breaks my heart.  He has to learn to go quietly.  Seriously, I think his parents have taught him to make me feel guilty so that I will let him spend the night.  I will too, just as soon as he keeps my hours.

We had a great Christmas, and we were lucky enough to have all the kids at home at least one night.  My youngest is working all the time…two jobs basically.  To top all of that off she starts cosmetology school the last of March.  It seems she is never home, and when she is it is a whirlwind of clothes and hairspray and then she’s gone again.  The middle son is working on a play.  Actually (and this is where I get to brag a little bit), he is starring in Bug.  I think it is kicking his ass.   I called him about three days ago, and I still haven’t gotten a call back.  I can’t even begin to imagine learning a whole script, and he is basically the only character.  He has a female lead as well, but she has many fewer lines to learn.  He was able to come in for one night and then he was gone.  He practices and he sleeps.  The older kids…the married ones are just swimming along.  I told my non-vag. daughter the other night that I really don’t even understand how they have clean clothes.  I mean, if I had to do housework, work, and raise a two year old I truly think there would be some naked people running around.  Yes, I know that I used to do it all the time.  I know that I dealt with three of the little monsters.  I also know that I had my first when I was 17.  I had the second when I was 20, and the third at 25.  I am now within weeks of turning 50.  I am tired.  Alot.  I don’t know how any of my kids manage to do all the things they do.  I now think back and wonder how in the hell I did it.  Then it comes to me.  When you have to…you just do it.  You don’t think about it.  If you did you would go nuts.  The older ones are even considering beginning the process of adding to the brood in the next six months or so.  Again, been there done that, but WTF?  I know they’ll manage.  A large part of me still sighs each time they leave though.  I love my grandson to the moon and back, but he wears me out.  I would see him every day if I could, but he wears me out.  He is the cutest little trained monkey you have ever seen, but (I know you know).

So what will 2010 hold?  Hell if I know.  I just know that at this point in time, everyone is well.  Most of the time at least 6 out of the 7 of us are happy, and some days we are 7 for 7.  That’s not bad.  The economy sucks, but life isn’t bad.  Maybe instead of shooting for better we should just maintain the status quo.  I have to believe that things in the economy will improve.  I choose to believe that the family will just get better and better.  Considering how good we are now, I’d have to say things are looking up!  I’m gonna go knock some wood now!

This will be brief.  Went to the Dr.  I have (drum roll please) RA, OA, and fibromyalgia.  He will change my meds.   Will take up to two months to see if meds work.  Getting rid of some meds.  Not enough!  Plus, have tendonitis in elbow.  Can take months to heal.  Right hand.  Typing hurts.  Blogs will read like content labels.  Tough!  Wearing brace.  Ice in place.  Months….F…..!  Precious broke wrist.  Also right hand.  No right to complain.  Kid trumps me.  Always getting trumped.   The end.

My daughter and I were talking the other day about men we have secret crushes on.  We found out that we both kinda dig dirty guys.  Not stinky dirty, just dirty.  We love Mike Rowe on Dirty Jobs.  We both dig Johnny Depp, and the guy who mows our yard.  I don’t know about Mike Rowe, but Johnny Depp and the yard dude are both out of reach.

It defies explanation.  There is a ruggedness to a strong man covered in the debris of his work place.  You never know what Mike Rowe will be covered in, but the yard dude is covered in green stains and loose soil.  He smells like freshly turned earth.  He is not what I would call traditionally good looking, but there is something there.  Mike Rowe even kind of looks like the yard dude.  Part of it is the stubble thing, but the stubble needs to be dark.  Blonde or ginger stubble just makes a man look lazy.  I don’t know why…plus it’s an opinion.  Johnny Depp is just hot!  I don’t see how  anyone can argue that point.  He is probably the handsomest of the three and definitely the most handsome man of his age in the country.  But he has to quit smoking.  I really can’t stand the smoking, and something tells me that he smokes after sex.  I would like to be able to tell you definitively that he does indeed smoke after sex or that he doesn’t (preferring doesn’t), but I will never know.   It seems he has a strong attachment to the mother of his children. 

Some women like men who look like they just jumped off the pages of GQ.  Some like men who come in scrubs (you know doctor garb), but I think that may have more to do with the scrubs than the guys in them. But until my daughter confessed that she likes dirty men too I didn’t have a clue that I wasn’t the only one.  I have always kept this a secret.  There are several reasons for this.  One is that my husband would never be considered a “dirty” man.  He does sport scruff, but it’s ginger scruff.  He is nowhere near my age, but I love him to the moon and back.  See the things is…I don’t want to make  him feel bad because I find traits he doesn’t have extremely sexy in other men.  It doesn’t mean that the traits he possesses are any less attractive to me.  I don’t know why I feel guilty because when he sees a hot chick he doesn’t waste anytime letting me know.  He has actually been known to say to me “look at the rack on her.”  Obviously he finds giant jugs attractive and doesn’t worry about hurting my feelings so why can’t I just say “honey, did you know that I find men who look like they’ve been out sweating all day really sexy?”  Trust me, it would not turn out well.  As for my daughter, she still could land a scruff.  She has been seeing a man who oversees construction.  Not quite the carpenter himself, but still he might smell like sawdust.

I know there must be many  of us out there.  We scruff lovers need to start a club.  Those of you who actually have scruffies at home are not invited.  It’s only fun because it’s off limits.  It’s like eating a 2lb. cheesecake.  You know you could never do it, but a part of you wants to try anyway.  So you go as far as you can without throwing up.  Yes, I felt you with me right up to the throwing up…but you get the picture (some of you more vividly than others) it’s forbidden.  It’s that forbidden fruit thing, and look where that landed us.  It’s because some bitch gave in to the forbidden that we all bleed until our fifties, cramp to high heaven, bloat for a week every twenty-eight days, and scream like banshees during childbirth.  I don’t need to point out the obvious…stay away from that which is forbidden.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I intend to waddle into the kitchen see what is left of that cheesecake and take fork in hand, eat until I puke then go to bed.  Eating ain’t cheating!

My very dear sister in law sent me George Clooney for Christmas.  Yes, I got Georged for Christmas.  He came champagne in hand with a sweet message inviting all the beautiful ladies in the world to have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.  While I will not mention her name (you’ve probably noticed that I don’t), her initials are PMS.  I kid you not.  While most in the family feel that I am the bitch, she is the one with those initials.  I appreciate the irony, even if you do not. She’s damned near a saint.  I know she’s not technically damned near a saint.  I have no proof of miracles (unless you consider being married to my brother in law for quite a long time).   We have dirt on each other, (sisters share) and she has never divulged and neither will I.  I mean I don’t know know where the skeletons are buried…I kid, there aren’t any skeletons…that I know of.  PMS is just another sister.  She isn’t a sister that I knew I had my whole life.  She’s the sister I didn’t know I needed until she showed up.  The other three were always there, and I knew I could count on them.  I’m not short changing DNA.  I’m just saying that sometimes in life’s comedic system of checks and balances sometimes…rarely, but sometimes…you come out ahead.

Now let me tell you about her.  She knows without a doubt that I love my husband sincerely and deeply.  She recognizes that I would do George Clooney in a half heart beat if given the chance.  He’s on my list.  I know that if given the chance my precious hubby would nail Jennifer Aniston like the speediest carpenter you’ve ever seen.  Bless his heart, it might be over before it begins and part of the deal is that we only get the one chance.  Two or more is an affair, and that’s off limits.  So my sister from another mother, this non-vag sister of mine, sends me George Clooney for Christmas.  She knew that getting all warm and melty over him is not against the rules, plus she knew that the fact that we both appreciate the beauty of this man.  I don’t necessarily mean the physical beauty.  It’s the whole package.  I have followed him from the days he showed up toting deliveries for Mrs. Garrison, to his shaggy haired role on Roseanne (as Jackie’s love interest…yuck!).  I watched him court Sela Ward on Sisters, and couldn’t believe he left ER to do movies.  I thought for sure he was a goner, but not George.  The mellow mouthed man dominated the screen whether small or silver.  Everything he touches turns to gold, and that is the reason we (and by we I mean all women with a pulse) want him to touch us.  We all want to bathe in his golden light, even if just for a minute.  Yes, his toast is to all the beautiful women in the world and you may not see yourself as beautiful.  Look harder.  There is something beautiful in all of us.  In PMS it is the complete and utter joy of family.  She has always been attractive, but it is the glow being with family gives her that makes her beautiful.  My beauty (in my opinion) comes from my sense of humor.  I can usually find something to laugh about in any situation.  You see PMS accepted me as family as soon as we met, and I knew I was home.  She has said it was because I took the pressure off of her with our mother in law.  She doesn’t need me for that any longer. Now, I make her laugh.  Today’s blog is less about the crap that getting old and fat and having your lap sit on your lap even if you do manage to lose a few pounds causes.  Today’s blog is about Christmas.  It’s about knowing that sometimes the best gift you can give someone for Christmas is humor.

Recognizing the humor in life, and knowing you’ll never get out alive is funny in itself.  Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, isn’t that what they say?  Well I can’t stand the smell of smoke and I’m allergic to dust so I intend to live forever.  I intend to live eternally with full gusto.  If I have to go, my children have orders to take me to a taxidermist.  I want to be stuffed and mounted (puns fully intended) and propped up in plain sight with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.  Why?  Because I didn’t do those things in life, and I think irony is funny.  Those of you who truly know me may ask about the pain.  Pain?  Oh please, I live with pain daily.  Those worried about the economy have been heard to worry that they will starve to death if they lose much more.  They think that’s what poor is.  Poor is not having family to love you…I’m good.  Old?  Of course, old happens until dead happens…we are all of us getting older.  It’s how we go about getting old that defines us.  Preachy?  Obviously you don’t know me.  I’m just thanking one of my four sisters for Georging me at Christmas.  To the other three…he’s on his way.  What?  Did you think I was selfish?  Puhleease!

I say five and sorta six because technically it was six nights and five days.  The bottom line is, I’m home.  Mom swears she had a good time.  I don’t see how.  Unless she truly enjoys the life she lives at home, because she basically did the same things.  She got up in the morning, made coffee, did her Bible reading, and played on the computer.  When I got up (several hours later), she made more coffee and played on the computer until I got out of the shower.  We went to lunch.  We found something to kill time until dinner. which I ate and she didn’t.  We came back to the hotel and she brushed her teeth and went to bed right after the ten o’clock news.

Other than the shopping, and not sleeping with my husband, (okay…other than the shopping) I guess my routine wasn’t so different either.  Of course, I did eat two meals out per day.  Shhh!!! We’re not telling Jenny Craig.  She thinks I was good, or at least she will until I weigh in.  Which, if I time it right should be about June.  I have been living on sticks and bugs for the last six months.  At first, I dropped like twenty pounds.  It took me  ten weeks, but I dropped those twenty pounds.  Then they increased my damned medication again and promptly put back on ten pounds.  Ten!  After nearly three months of sticks and bugs!  Who the hell is this Valerie Bertinellie and why do the put her head on that chick in the bikini?  Anyway…back to the trip.  Mother and I actually did fairly well.  We took one little wrong turn in choosing the Bible as a subject of discussion on the way home.  To say we view it differently is what they call an under statement.  So we went on to safer subjects.  Like how she basically raised my older son for me while I went out on dates all the time.  (Don’t I wish?  At least about the dates.)

Mother has decided that Mennen Baby Magic is the best lotion ever.  She uses it twice a day, and I guess for her it is alright…she is in her second childhood.  The last time I had it on me was about 24 years ago, and that was only because I had lotioned my baby.  She purchased about a gallon bottle and wanted to share with me.  She offered to let me take that bottle home, because she had more.  I told her that due to my extremely dry skin I really needed a cream and not a lotion.   This is not a lie.  I choose to use Aveeno Night Time skin cream because it is the only thing my skin doesn’t soak up like a sponge in 2 minutes.  Instead of, “well okay.”  I got that mother look that everyone knows.  The one that says, “okay you little fool, but if you listen to me you would be better off.”  Oh come on.  You have used it, and I damn near perfected it.  To some degree it always works, but not to such a degree that my very wonderful perfume gets overwhelmed by smelling like a baby’s bottom.  Yes sometimes, a baby’s bottom smells better than others, but I am talking about a clean baby’s bottom here…a clean, freshly lotioned, baby’s bottom.  I still prefer my perfume.

I dropped mom off tonight about 9:30 p.m., and I walked her to the door of her apartment and helped her unload her luggage before I went home.  I gave her a big hug and kiss and told her that I would call her tomorrow, and I will.  The only time I was really wondering how I was going to make this work was when we were in the car for hours at a time.  That was really on the way up and way back, but I survived and so did she.  I don’t even have to be concerned about long car rides for a long, long…oh who am I kidding.  She rides with me to my sister’s on Christmas Eve.  This time, hopefully I’ll remember to avoid the Bible!

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