Random

You just don’t know how to get off this dumb email list do you? It’s like the sweepstakes mail; it keeps coming whether or not you send in a response.

Reminds me of telemarketers.

I wonder how they get my address and phone number, and how do they know when you’re eating dinner? One guy called last week asking for donations for the police department. Hellooooo, don’t I pay taxes to fund this program!? He told me that I gave to his organization last year and that he would appreciate my support again this year.

I said, “Now, wait a damn minute. I didn’t even live in this state last year, how could I have given to the local police department? Besides, that, how did you get my name and phone number?”

He hung up on me! The audacity! I’m supposed to be the one to hang up first!

(1998)

I Don't Wanna Grow Up

My Daughter asked me today if I have decided what I want to be when I grow up. I told her I wasn’t planning to grow up. I’ve seen adulthood, and I’m not interested. As far as being mature, it’s all relative anyway. Being like a child, it doesn’t take much to amuse me. Cindy and I found a new Jello gelatin that is mixed with Club Soda instead of water. It jiggles and sparkles. Kept us busy for an hour! Cindy and I are taking my mom to the Ugly Pajama Pageant this weekend. I’ve made outfits for all of us to model.

(1999)

Expressy is Stuck with a Shave

What’s black, blue, and read all over? 

Not the newspaper, but my legs after an unsuccessful attempt to give myself an amateur wax job. 

I wanted to get rid of monkey legs for at least 6 weeks by having them waxed, but I’m a single gal on a budget, so I went to Sally’s Beauty Supply and got a do-it-to-yourself kit for less than half what the salon charges for one leg. I expected it to be a little messy. I didn’t expect to glue myself to the shower curtain and have a new wallpaper design once the ordeal was complete. I started out in an inconspicuous area…yeah, you guessed it. The bikini area is also the most sensitive. The wax wasn’t hot enough so when I yanked the first strip off, I hit the ceiling screaming some four-letter words my momma never taught me. When I surveyed the damage, I had black and blue blood blisters in the crease, and I’d whacked the hell out of the bush. I had no idea how I was going to remove the remaining lumps of wax but I sure wasn’t about to give it another tug. I used scissors, soap, water, oil, and alcohol (80 proof given orally) but nothing helped loosen the wax. Sure, it would eventually wear off, but what will I do between now and the next millennium?

I was not about to be defeated by one little mishap, so I decided to go ahead and try the legs. By the time I was done, I had stuck one foot to the toilet seat and one to the bath mat, the wax-heating element was stuck to the counter top, and I had glue strings hanging from every part of my body. I had so much wax on my hands that I was permanently attached to three towels, two washcloths, a roll of toilet paper and a box of Kleenex. I got into the bathtub to shave off the rest of the residue, but my razor clogged and stuck to my leg. I scrubbed until I thought I had enough off to be able to sit down and not adhere to the chair. Later that night when I undressed for bed, I had blue jean fuzz stuck to both legs, and I was minus a few moles and a varicose vein. I could sub for Lucy Ricardo. I think I’ll just forget trying to be sexy. It’s too damn painful.

Love,
Stucky Spressy

From: kurlikew@bcuz.net
To: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
Date: 15 Mar 2000 6:33:38 EDT
Subject: Re: stuck with a shave

Ya know, Spressy, I think if it weren't for bad luck you would have no luck at all. But thanks for the warning. I think I'll avoid the home leg-waxing ordeal. :O)


From: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
To: kurlikew@bcuz.net
Date: 15 Mar 2000 6:41:53 EDT
Subject: Re: stuck with a shave

I try to help folks avoid trouble. That's the whole point of sharing stuff like this.

From: Birthababe@nurserynews.com
To: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
Date: 15 Mar 2000 6:52:53 EDT
Subject: Re: stuck with a shave


Try baby oil to remove the wax! It works! And, it's a lot less painful. Don't give up on the waxing.....you get better with practice! (I've been waxing for over 2 years....additionally, the wax job will NOT last 6 weeks but more like 2 weeks.)


From: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
To: Birthababe@nurserynews.com
Date: 15 Mar 2000 6:58:47 EDT
Subject: Re: stuck with a shave


I did try baby oil, motor oil, and linseed oil. I threw away the whole waxing contraption as soon as I got it pried loose from the countertop. I’ll “stick” (ah, another pun!) to waxing floors and cars.

Safety First, Fashion Second

Injuries can occur in the oddest ways, and the statistics indicate that most of them happen at home. That’s why I’m glad bell-bottom jeans are coming back in style. It is so much easier and safer to change pants when the legs are wide. Of course, I COULD take off my shoes first. I’ve have actually been late for appointments because I was stuck half in and half out of a pair of straight-leg jeans. One time I lost my balance while changing jeans, and I fell into the dresser. I wasn’t hurt but I ripped the seam of my pants, and knocked over a lamp – blue jean hazard.

Beware of the Teenage Driver

A learner’s permit is a piece of paper that allows teenagers to legally take revenge on their parents. It also tests a parent’s reflexes. I don’t like driving from the passenger’s seat. My horn doesn’t blow, my brakes do not respond, and I can’t steer from this side of the car. All I can do is yell. It makes me a nervous wreck to have my daughter take my car and me over the curvy narrow back roads in Williamson County. Give me the 6-lane interstate and the 18-wheelers any day, but please don’t put me on those hilly curves with a teenager that thinks she’s an experienced driver now that she’s been driving for a whole month. She’s driving me crazy, and in that she does have experience.

My Daughter took a job at the Kroger store. It takes 20 minutes there, and 20 minutes home twice a day to accommodate her. Yesterday I took the Blazer to pick her up from work. It doesn’t glide and hover like my Camry, and I thought that would give me a chance to get over the whiplash I have from yesterday’s excursion. On the way home today, daughter slammed on the brakes and jerked us both forward when she nearly ran the stop sign. The Blazer went dead. She cranked it, but it went dead again going up the next hill. This time the car behind us nearly smashed into us. We lost steam going up the hill until we came to a complete stop and started rolling backwards.

“Brakes!” I yelled while stomping the floor on my side.

We started the truck again and got over the top of the hill before it died again. We were picking up steam on the downside of the hill, and since there are no shoulders on this steep, narrow road, we could not pull over. I saw a street coming up on the right and suggested that she turn in. She was headed toward the brick wall of Twelve Oaks Subdivision when I realized that she’d lost power steering when the engine died. I grabbed the wheel, used my ‘yell and stomp’ brakes, and managed to bring us to a safe landing in front of a brick mansion. That’s when I noticed that our gas level was low, and I hoped we had enough to get to a station. Guess what?! We didn’t. The truck would not crank so I walked up the driveway of mansion #1 only to be chased back to the truck by a three-legged dog. Close call.

I went to mansion #2 and rang the doorbell. A nice man let us use the phone to call My Husband. My Daughter and I sat in the truck singing silly songs, styling our hair, and waving at the rich folks who were coming home from work while we waited to be rescued. My Husband arrived 45 minutes later with a gas can. He poured gas into the fuel injection jets. We tried to crank it and it fired right up. It caught fire, that is! He grabbed an old glove and started beating the fire out, but it didn’t extinguish. I was about ready to call my friends at 9-1-1 when the fire went out on its own. The plastic hickies in the fuel injectors were melted pretty badly, but can you believe it? – the truck cranked, first try.

The next day I was off work. I wanted to sleep late but I had a dentist appointment at 8:45 a.m. I questioned my intelligence the whole way there wondering why I had made the appointment so early. I arrived and found out that my appointment had been cancelled and My Daughter had forgotten to tell me that my dentist had called the day before. I fumed all the way home and had a plan for retaliation by the time I arrived. I made My Daughter get up out of bed, clean her room, clean her bathroom, and do her schoolwork before I would take her to her job at 1:15. I bet she remembers to tell me next time someone calls.

(1998)

Expressy's Clove Loathe

Hey Hot Tub Hellions,

I woke up this morning with my lower back hurting. My legs were numb except for the sharp pains that stabbed me every few seconds. When I got home from work, I drew myself a warm bath while glancing through my aroma oils. I read the label on the clove oil. It said that it is good for toothaches. Toothaches, backaches- they both hurt like hell. I put in a few drops of clove oil, some anise and a little lemon. Pretty soon it smelled like someone had dusted the dentist’s office with lemon Pledge while sucking on a licorice stick. I liked the smell, so I added more of each.

As I began to relax, I noticed a tingling sensation in my legs. Good, it’s working quickly, I thought. Then my back started itching, and my whole body started burning and stinging. I jumped up and grabbed a towel so fast I nearly fell into the toilet. By then, I felt like an uninvited guest at an ant colony. I wanted to rinse myself with cool water but the water in the tub was so deep it could be ten minutes before it drained. I ran past the open blinds of the guest room on my way to the other bathroom. I was sweating profusely as I rinsed until the pain started to subside.

Why didn’t I just use Calgon?

(1999)

Wacho Woman’s Wild World

Our icemaker has gone schizophrenic. The metal arm that stops production broke off so it continuously makes ice and drops it in the bin. I empty the ice bin daily, but we still have to watch our toes and be ready to catch ice when opening the freezer door. I guess I should call a repairman but this makes life more interesting and it gives me something to write home about.

(1997)

Childhood Memories

For some reason today I am remembering some of the instances of my kids childhood. It tends to make the present seem a little less stressful and a little more believable. I thought I’d share a few of them with you just for kicks.

We lived in a rough neighborhood when my kids were little. Some creep tried to seduce them into their car with candy one day while they were playing in front of my grandmother’s house (she lived next door to us). My son who was about 8 or 10 years old at the time grabbed his little sister and dragged her home to tell me. I thought they had been watching too much TV but I must have been living in denial. I didn’t think the ‘hood was that bad until the kid up the street was suspended for taking a gun to school. He was one of my son’s daily playmates. It seemed par for the course when my kids told me about fights on the bus nearly everyday. That’s when we decided to sell our house and get out of there. It was on and off the market for 6 years because nobody wanted to live in that neighborhood. My parents finally bought it just to get our kids out of that school district. My parents finally bought the house so we could move to higher ground in the outskirts of town. When we left, the Lopez’s went with us and found a house in a subdivision close by. That way our kids could finish their multi-cultural raising without having to contend with the violence of living in the city.

What else? Then there was the time my son sliced his head open on the mailbox playing football in the street. (He caught the pass though!) While we were at the emergency room waiting to be sewn up, we met another of my son’s playmates who was having a bb removed from his hand. I think my son or Jamie shot him. Jamie and his brother Mickey answered their mom in English when she spoke to them only in Spanish. I thought that was kind of neat. We only understood half the conversation, but Mrs. Lopez could cook a meal like nobody’s business and she brought goodies over on a regular basis. I liked the Mexicans and the Puerto Ricans and the Africans on our street, and we looked after one another’s young ‘ens. It was the white trash I didn’t care for too much. Well, shooting Johnny didn’t have any deterrence on my kids’ ambition about ammunition. My son shot his bb gun through the thicket behind our house not realizing it was penetrating through to the neighbor’s yard below. He nearly shot a small child who was playing outside. The parent was real mad. I learned a few new curse words that day from my neighbors.

It was cold outside and my son was playing in the backyard. He wanted to warm things up a bit. When things heated up a bit too much he came running into the house with this terrified look on his face. “Mmmmmommy?” I could tell something was wrong. Observant, aren’t I?

“What is it?”

“F-f-f-fire! Mm-m-momie!”

“Tell mommy what happened. You aren’t in trouble, just tell me….” He didn’t have to. I looked out the window to see the playhouse engulfed in smoke. I ran out of the house, grabbed the hose, and ran to the rescue. It was only a matter of minutes before everything was under control, but my daughter has been mad at her brother ever since for melting her plastic stove; dishes, play food, and all.

Those are accidents, I suppose, and everyone has their share to tell about, but then there are things that adults do that are truly stupid. Like the guy across the street who lay in the ditch drunk night after night until the police came out to get him back into the house when someone finally complained of his moaning. And the two gals who lived next door who fought all the time. One day the blond got into her car and tried to run over the redhead. She missed the first time so she took a second and a third try until she succeeded in penning her against the concrete wall with the bumper with no place to run. Then she proceeded to beat the hell out of her. I was watching out my bedroom window. I was on hold with the police station…again. I thought that was pretty retarded and that things couldn’t get any worse. Then another set of renters moved in when the ‘ladies’ were evicted. This family had some badass dogs that were so vicious I couldn’t let my kids play in my own front yard. That’s not to mention that the dogs tore the trash out and strew it all over our yard; trash that included the front leg of some dead animal, probably a deer since it was hunting season. I called the landlord and the police. I was told there was nothing that could be done unless I could get the dogs into captivity on my property. I’m telling you my son’s bb gun took care of that situation right away. Mommas can shoot too! I just can’t hit a target, but the sweet pup was tied tightly to my front porch ready for their ride to the Animal Shelter after just a few days of that mess.

One day I was doing my quilting or playing piano and minding my own business when the GBI came to my front door asking questions about my neighbor. I was asked to identify a hat he wore often. The next morning after I got my kids off to school, I awoke to a loud noise in the backyard. People were screaming and hollering (that’s southern for yelling). By the time I found my eyeglasses, a policeman was straddling atop my neighbor’s back. The young man was lying face down in my petunias while the officer placed handcuffs to arrest him right there in my backyard. His crime? He had killed a woman that he had picked up at the bar down the street. He then stuffed her body into the trunk of a car, drove the car to a local park, left it there, and got a ride home like nothing had happened. Only in the movies, so I thought.

Well, that’s enough of remembering for one day. I get to sleep late in the morning. I think I’ll go to bed early and get a head start.

Smoking Tea

Did you know that wet tea bags are flammable? If you leave the strings hanging over the edge of the pot they will catch fire and burn. That much we all know, right? Yes, of course, it happened.

But, did you also know that if you boil all the water out of the pan and the bags dry out, they will also burn? I thought I’d better warn you about that - black & orange pekoe tea is not something you’d want to smoke.

Blog Tag: 10 Honest Traits About Me

I've been tagged to write ten honest traits about me! I've decided not to write about myself since this whole blog is Expressy this, Expressy that. You're tired of hearing about me, so I've decided to share some honest traits about the author who created me. Hopefully, this will land me in the morgue with a toe-tag, and she'll quit writing about me. It's embarrassing, I tell you.

So, here goes honesty at its best, from Expressy to her author (a fictional character).

1. My author did not have a midlife crisis. My character, Expressy, IS her ongoing midlife crisis.

2. My author taught me everything I know about aromatherapy. I take no responsibility for the mistakes or messes she thinks I might have made.

3. My author hates to shave her legs. She projects everything on to me like it's my fault the world is screwed up.

4. My author gave natural birth to a 10-pound boy in 1979. She decided to try it again and birthed a smaller baby girl (nine pounds one ounce) in 1983 with no anesthesia. You should have been a fly on the delivery room wall that day!

5. My author is easily distracted. Like just now when she started to email a client about an important meeting? She's Twittering instead. On Twitter.com, dumb ass. She's addicted to social networking. Geez, get your mind out of the gutter. What did you think I meant by Twittering? Besides, she has to get new batteries for that other thing.

6. After five surgeries, my author is missing a few internal organs. I think one of them may be her brain.

7. My author was a pianist/keyboardist for 30 years. She practiced as much as five hours per day and never had time for me or the kids. Glad she gave that noise box away.

8. My author stands in front of the mirror and makes her belly shake just to watch it jiggle. She got this idea from My Husband who twirls his appendage.

9. My author thinks that anything chocolate covered is a health food.

10. My author took her 20-year-old son with her to get her first of two tattoos. She would like to get more, but ink is expensive. You should see her printer cartridge bill.

Oh, God! Here she comes.

"What are you doing at my computer?"

"Tagging."

"You'd better not be writing about me again."

"Nope. Tagging is like Twittering."

"Oh, okay then. But, I need my computer back in five minutes."

* * * * * * *
Gotta hurry. My time is short (maybe literally!) If your name is on the list below, I'm tagging you. I've given your blog or email addresses which should excite the robot spammers. I am not responsible for how things turn out.

Expressy

1. President Lincoln - (no forwarding address or blog site)
2. My fertile friend with nine kids - Kidsrus@doittomeagain.org
3. My author's first boyfriend - (I'm pretty sure he's on parole by now, but I don't have his new email address)
4. My author's orthodontist - wiredteeth@much-pain.com
   
5. My former pastor - nosex-nofun@gotohell.com
6. My new porn star friend - ballerina@poledancer.org
7. My friend Cappi, who never writes back - Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com
8. My little brother - pest@nananabooboo.net
9. My gardener - Suzysunflower@deadgarden.com
10. My Web master - This page returns a 404 error

Lost in Ohio?

We can’t find Chuck. Has anyone in Ohio seen him? He showed up here on the 2nd, and headed back home on the 5th saying he had a job to go to. It’s been over a week now and no one has seen him. I hope he didn’t get lost. My Son is on his way to Ohio to find him.

(1998)

Why do Women Shave Their Legs?

I'm serious! Why do we do this? Why does fashion dictate this inhumane and needless, time-wasting practice? All that work only to have them grow back by tomorrow.

Are leg hairs that offensive? If so, why don't men shave their legs? Seems like a double standard to me, but then again I question why men can walk around in public without their shirts on and women can't. So, I'm probably not the best authority on morality or equal rights.

Somehow I can't see a cave woman using her homemade hatchet to control her leg hair population. So when did it start? I'm serious. Can anyone tell me when women started torturing themselves like this? I may need counseling for this very thing.

Some gals and I were talking one day about the toilsome task of shaving our legs. What is the best method and what lasts longest? One gal suggested a weed whacker for the undergrowth, another suggested weed killer for the stubborn ones that always get missed, but I suggested a John Deere. Why walk when you can ride?

Well I’ve got to get to work. There’s not much excuse for being late when you don’t have to walk but 30 steps from the back to the front of the house.

(2009)

A New Batch of Aroma Oils

I made a batch of aroma oil that enhances dreams. Last night I dreamt that we were moving again. I woke up screaming and hitting My Husband in the head with my fists. We’ve lived in four houses in three different states within the past five years, which means we viewed 100 prospective houses. Sometimes I can’t remember which house we bought and what state I live in.

My Daughter passed the test and got her learner’s license this week. I made sure I had an aroma recipe for calming nerves. My Husband may need it. I’m home schooling the kid, he’s teaching her to drive. If you haven’t had kids yet, save yourself the trouble. If it’s too late, and you already have kids, sell them before they become teenagers!

(1998)

Aroma Warnings!

Hi Team,

I finally got all the 1999 calendars hung right side up and turned to the right month. That seems to help. A lot of folks gave us calendars and planners in December. They must want a date with me! Get it? Calendar? Date? Moving right along... I’ve discovered some hazards of aromatherapy that I thought I might warn you about.

Don’t ever put your contact lenses in your eyes directly after a bath using essential oils. You’ll have a foggy outlook all day.

You might want to consider having bathtub rails installed if you are not an avid skier. It will help you stand up in the shower if you are the lucky one to follow a person who took an aromabath.

There are toilet hazards: Always check to see if a freshly oiled person has visited the site before you sit down. I’m not sure if homeowner’s insurance covers injuries occurred from sliding off the seat. The toilet is no place for a sitz bath, I can tell you that much.

If you spill any oil in the floor you will want to get it up immediately before some unsuspecting person learns to do a Chinese split on your kitchen floor.

If you get essential oil on the kitchen counters while mixing, don’t’ use the dishtowel to wipe it up. Your dishes will smell like patchouli and your husband will sing Rolling Stones songs at the dinner table.

Don’t mix too many fragrances at once. It could confuse the olfactory nerve in your brain, and you won’t be able to tell if you are feeling relaxed or stimulated, or if you are hallucinating.

It’s a good idea to have your bathroom doorknobs removed and the doors hinged so they swing outward. That way you will not become trapped in the bathroom and make yourself late for work trying to turn the knob with greasy hands.
Beware: Cappi is legally on oil therapy.

The sandalwood oil is for your feet, the tea tree oil goes on the trunk of your body, but the bergamot does not go in your nose!

Never do an oil & salt rub right after shaving your legs unless you are trying to reach the high notes in an opera tune. Some of the grains in the Dead Sea salt are still alive and will attack open wounds.

If you give the dog a massage you may want to omit the massage oil. Fur is not all that absorbent but upholstered furniture is.

If you find that you are spending too much money on your aroma habit, you may have to keep your debit card under lock and key. Just because you have checks left in the checkbook does not mean you have money in the account. Ask me how I know.

If you are subscribed to this mailing list against your will or better judgment, you may unsubscribe by sending an email to me at Expressy@coffeehouse.com. Just put “forget it” in the subject line. If you want to keep getting Email Episodes, write me, and put “oil me up” in the subject line. It’s as simple as that.

I’m going to go pierce my ear now. Talk to you later.


FROM: Rosemadder@mindseye.com
SENT: January 20, 1999
TO: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
SUBJECT: RE: Kooks of Hazard and other oil spills

Oil me up, Scotty - oh wait, that's “Beam me up Scotty” - is that what we'd use for light therapy sessions? Anyway...please don't delete me from your expressy-ions. I need something to remind me that there is a world still waiting outside of the cube farm.

Cubicles: padded cells without doors.

Belly Fetish

My friend, Toha, is a terrific belly dancer (I read that on her Web site, but I've never seen her dance, but I like her a lot, so we'll go with that). I took belly dancing lessons for about three months. I learned how to make my belly roll from top to bottom and bottom to top. I bet Toha can do that without leaning over and standing back up. 

Still, I like watching mine shake like a bowl full of jelly. Ho, ho, ho!

Slip & Slide

I remember an aroma error I made when I worked a day job outside my home.

I mixed up some oil with some lotion and put it on my feet. It made them so soft and silky, and I was proud that my heels didn’t have the usual craters. I decided to wear open-toed shoes with a high heel. About an hour after I got to work, my feet started feeling sweaty and moist. By lunch my feet were so slippery I need ski poles to stay in my shoes. I had to hold on to furniture to keep from tripping over my toes, which were dragging the ground in front of my shoes. So much for soft feet – at least alligator heels stick to the ground!

Sixteen Things about My Author

Expressy here. I just posted sixteen things about my master (the author of this ridiculous book) over on facebook. She tells the world all my short comings so I thought I'd return the favor. Hurry, go and read it before she finds out and deletes it. Let me know if it won't open for you; that probably means she screwed up, but I can fix it.

 

Gotta go blow dry and style my hair before it dries and makes me look like I just got out of the shower and went immediately into "freeze" screen. See ya!

Aromatherapy? What the Smell?

I hope you are all well and as happy as a beaver after a tree falls in your part of the river, but not that busy. Then again, perhaps that’s why you haven’t written – you’ve had too much dam work to do! Oh, that was funny, Espressy.

I’m learning aromatherapy. I’m mixing oils and fragrance to make medicines! I’ve been doing a lot of research because I heard you have to be careful not to make something toxic or blow up the house. I’ve been experimenting like a mad scientist. The process reminds me of my mom when colors her hair. She mixes so many vials of color, there’s no telling what color hair she may have when she leaves the bathroom. Aromatherapy keeps me busy and…..well, happy. We all know how important that is! Those doctor and counselor appointments aren’t cheap! The house smells good and I smell interesting. My Daughter asked her dad, “What’s with mom and all the little bottles? Every corner of the house smells different, and something stinks!” True, I’ve oiled everything, including the dog. The book I bought has recipes for proper mixing but you know how I hate to follow directions. I sprayed My Husband’s pillow with a citrus mix and he dreamed he slept in an orchard. I sprayed my pillow with lavender and rose. I slept all night for the first time in months. The next night I forgot to spray our pillow, and I was up all night. I think that’s the night I made My Husband’s lunch at 3:30 a.m.

My new friend, Jean, came over today and brought some leftover Thai soup she had made, bless her heart. I poured it down the disposal today along with a dish I made that not even the dog would eat. Jean is helping My Daughter decorate her room. She brought her a mirror and told her she could break it and glue the pieces to the wall with Elmer’s. My Daughter broke it all right! She tripped over a pile of stuff lying in her floor, and landed on the mirror shattering it to bits. She wasn’t hurt by that fall but she did slice her thumb with the scissors trying to open a Legg’s egg on Sunday morning. We were late for church while we waited for her to quit bleeding. It could have used a stitch, but we’re too cheap to take our kid to the emergency room on the weekend. She is asking to be home-schooled next semester, but I think it’s just too dangerous. Her room is a safety hazard and we don’t want her spending too much time there.

My Daughter went to the mall with me. Shopping is good therapy for depression. In fact, I’ve found that depression is an excuse for just about any childish behavior. I got annoyed when My Daughter would not let me try on the blouse with fake fur on the sleeves, nor the leopard hats, nor the feathered boas. I think I may have embarrassed my daughter when I lay in the floor screaming and kicking the cosmetics counter. All I wanted was one more squirt of perfume! She said if I wanted to smell like a French whore, she’d take me home so I could play in my aroma oils.

Well, here she comes now. I think she wants me to cook dinner. Too bad I didn’t keep that Thai soup.

Love,
Spressy

(1998)

Red shoes for Husband!

Dear Cappi,

My Husband just came in here fussing about a charge he got on his credit card that I made after he gave me his card, a URL, and instructions to buy a product to buff away my leg hairs. I didn't think my leg hairs were that bad, but since he suggested it, I placed an order.

My iChat friend asked, “Why was he mad when you used the card after he told you to?”

When I placed the order, We thought it would cost about $30 including shipping. A confirmation email was sent that didn’t have a total, but the prices per item shown were doubled and shipping was as much as the product! I immediately tried to cancel the order online, but when I typed in the order number they gave in the email, it was not found in their system. Great. I didn’t figure Husband was going to like that, so I warned him. That was two days ago. He checked his balance online today. They charged $89 to his card.

“Wow, then you are right,” says my friend. “He might need some red shoes to let you know he is upset.” She read the article on this blog about me wearing red shoes when I’m having PMS.  “What are you going to do?”

I don't have time to worry about credit cards or leg hairs. I haven't even gotten the product yet; that could take four to six weeks. By then, I’ll need hair bows for my braided leg hairs, but at least we got the payment out of the way.

Did you read the one about my red shoes?

I work from home. It's cold outside, so I rarely go anywhere. In fact, I don't even get dressed some days. I can't tell when PMS ends and meano-pause symptoms begin. My grandmother is trying to die, and my aunt is trying not to. My daughter is selling my old piano like I told her to, but still it's hard to part with it. I survived the holidays as well as any grinch would.

I've may been down about things, but I haven't lost my sense of humor. I got creative in my attire to let my husband know when I’m upset. I gave my bedroom shoes a coat of red spray paint!

If you have no idea why I wear red shoes, you should probably read this post so the rest of these ramblings will start to make sense.

(2009)

All Nighter

Cappi,

Thanks for coming to town and cheering me up. You are the best. My Husband was pretty upset that you and I stayed out till 4 a.m. celebrating our birthdays, but hey, we only turn 40 once, right? I’ve never done anything like that in my life. I’m probably the only person you know that went bar hopping all night and never drank more than a club soda!

Expressy

(1999)

On Being Dysfunctional

I know I'm messed up. I come from a dysfunctional family created with the help of organized religion. But, I'm dealing with it. It's the folks who think they have it all together that you have to watch out for.

My friend says, “Dealing with your stuff is good. It means you can add and subtract stuff about yourself?”

“Well, I dunno about that. Sounds kind of like a Potato Head, I replied. "Add a nose, remove an ear, change the eyes, turn the mustache upside down.”

There are some days I would like to add or subtract a few things. My friend wants new boobs. I'd settle for some nice looking eyebrows. I could trade some belly fat for them.

(2009)

Dish Wisher

Here we are on the first day of the New Year, and already something stupid has happened. I was cleaning house when I noticed that I had left out the Christmas soap dispenser. It only had a little soap left in it so I put it in the dishwasher to rinse it before packing it away with the rest of the Christmas stuff mom dragged out of the attic in her seasonal retaliation.

While I was wiping the counters I felt my feet getting wet, but I ignored it. I assumed it was water spilling over the edge of the counter due to the cleaning frenzy I was having, but the more I worked, the wetter my feet got. I looked down to see myself standing in a soapy river that was running from the dishwasher, past the refrigerator, and into the pantry.

I took off my squishy socks and ran to the bathroom for towels. When I got back, the river was taking over the kitchen, flowing into the laundry room, and down the heat vent. It must have ran down the duct work and into the garage since My Husband was came to the top of the garage stairs yelling something about suds dripping on his head. It took me an hour to mop up the mess, but at least we have clean duct work. Whatever you do, do NOT put regular soap in the dishwasher.

(1999)