Don't Yah Wish Your Husband Was Hot Like Me

Tonight is my son's school's Auction Gala. An elementary school is hosting a semi formal "cocktail attire" affair. Well that should be easy because when I used to go out to bars for cocktails, at the local bars on Cape Cod, I usually wore jeans and a tee-shirt. I was horrified when my clothes horse husband explained to me that cocktail attire meant I should dress up. My son over heard our conversation and said. "Oh Mommy! You are getting dressed up? You should go as Thomas The Tank Engine!"

Oh if life were that easy. I would love to dress up as Thomas The Tank Engine and I would feel more comfortable dressed that way than wearing a little dress. Let's get one thing straight I do not wear little dresses. My thighs and if I can help it my upper arms are covered at all times. I hate wearing pantyhose and my highest high heels are basically flats. I hate wearing makeup, I hate doing my hair and I hate getting dressed up. There fore I have one black dress that I wear to everything. Which was going to be fine until I heard the rich pretty popular moms talking in the school pick up line. Do you recall these rich pretty pretty always snotty high school girls? Well picture them 25 years older, but still a size 2. I hear them all gossiping about the fabulous new dresses, shoes, and bags that they all bought. Then they were discussing where to get their hair and nails done, perhaps meeting early and all going together.

OUCH High School prom flash back! Make it stop! Go to your happy place! Let me tell you a few things. First is that I was planning to throw this dress over my head, throw on some make-up and run out the door. Now I am feeling like Cinderella before the ball. I can't wear my black Polyester dress that I bought two years ago at Target for $24.99. Not when lil' misses Saks, Neimans, and Nordstroms are going to be floating into the room in their expensive new dresses, perfect hair, and professional makeup and nails. As they are chit chatting about how fabulous they are they catch me watching them. The ring leader whispers something and then they all turn look me up and down then glare at me and look away! Oh no they didn't!

I am almost 40 years old and all of a sudden I am feeling insecure and embarrassed because the pretty popular girl's are talking about me? OH Hell No! This is stopping right now! I have not spent all those years in therapy for a few little rich bitches to bring me down. I might not have the time or money to go buy something new, and get all fake and fancy but I have a plan. I quickly pick up my cell phone. I call Dave. He picks up on the second ring. My sweet dependable lovely Dave.

"Honey! You have to come home early tonight. I want you to have time to press you shirt and pants. Oh and you need to have time to shower and put in your contacts. You need to lok your best tonight for the Gala!" Oh yeah! I want my husband to look his sexiest tonight. I might be overweight, under dressed, and temporarily strapped for cash, but I have seen some of these ladies old fat husbands. Forget the Fairy God Mother, the coach, and the dress, this plus sized Cinderella is going to the ball with the one thing their money and popularity can not buy. A sexy hot husband who is crazy for me!

When Best Friends Marry

Going with the Vermont theme I am writing today about my best friend P. and her perfect husband J. P and I have been best girl friends since the 3rd grade and I went up north to visit her and her sweet perfect husband, and I was once again reminded how lucky I am to have him in my life!

Yes, this is all about me. But let me tell you that I have suffered threw a lot of unworthy boyfriends and even one dirt bag husband with P since the 3rd grade. We have clocked a lot of hours talking/obsessing over these guys, analyzing them and trying to decode their odd behavior. Then when relationships ended, back in the day we smoked a lot of cigarettes, drank a lot of cheap beer, and ate a lot of bags of Doritos over the loss of these losers, I mean lovers. I was in her corner. I felt her pain and even though at times I was silently relieved that I would never have to see these idiots again. She loved them so I tried my best to love them too.

I don't have to tell you guys how important our girlfriends are. As we get older our girlfriend's relationships get more serious. We have too many years of our lives invested with our friend's to have them marry some jerk who we can't stand. Right! I have already lost a girlfriend who married such horrid yucky jerk that Dave and I couldn't stay friends (I can't mention details, but it would have to be really bad for me to abandon a friend). I still miss her. I never ever want that to happen again! This is serious stuff. Who ever friends end up marrying become our kid's uncles and aunties and they become an important part of our family of friends.

I don't know about you but when my close friend's find a new love interest my first thought is. Can I know this guy for the rest of my life? Can my husband watch football with this guy for the next 20 or 30 seasons? Can our family go on vacation with them and come home friends?

This is a serious commitment. If you are like me your girl friends are your most important people in your life. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband, but my girl friends love my husband too. Because if they didn't love him I wouldn't have married him. You know that if your friend's hate your boy friend that you are dating the wrong guy. We'll if you don't know it now, you will see understand after the relationship crashes and burns, and I won't even tell you I told you so.

Getting back to Vermont. The first time I met P's new boy friend J it was love at first sight. After hearing about him for a few months on the phone I had to drive up from Boston to take a look. The three of us went out to play pool, drink beer, and have dinner. By the end of the evening I was in smitten. Finally after 30 years she had done it! She found the man of my dreams! That night I knew that she was going to marry him. Well I prayed that she would marry him if not for her own happiness, but for me and Dave's happiness too. Well she did and we all lived happily ever after!

Queen Without A Kingdom

You know me. I am a nice happy some what scatter brained delightful person. I am usually fun to be around...usually.

This week I am writing about my weekend in Vermont. I went up north to visit my best friend of 33 years and help celebrate her bakery/general store's first year of operation under her creative care. They had their having the first annual Bakery Jam. http://www.vermontcakestudio.com

I almost drove to Vermont via Utah, then almost died flying down the side of a mountain in the dark icy night, being beat to death by my boobs, but I did eventually get to her house. Of course her and her perfect husband (who I will blog about tomorrow) were already asleep as they had a bakery to open the next morning. Which was fine. After my near death experience I was happy to just find my room and go to bed.

The next morning I woke up like a trained monkey at 7:00am. I listened and didn't hear my hosts so I stayed in my room and read. At 7:30 I just had to pee, so I got up do my business and then read on their couch. I really wanted coffee but I didn't want to be rude and wake them by clanging pots and pans so I waited and waited. By 8:30am I am starting to wonder if they have died up in their bed. I yell up the stairs. "Are you guys alive up there!" I hear no reply. Then I felt my neck hair stand up. Oh for Pete's sake! Am I really this dumb? I quickly walked over to the window and peered down craning my neck to see that my car was indeed the lone vehicle in the drive way. I am here coffeeless and all alone!

I walked over to the dining room table and found a note that told me that they have gone to the bakery. I feel like such an idiot! Being a mom you assume that the whole world revolves around you. No one wakes up, dresses themselves, and leaves the house with out my permission and more importantly my assistance.

I feel a surge of adrenaline. I have to get dressed and get to the bakery to help them. That's why I am here. They can't run the event with out me! I am dressed and in my car with in 5 minutes burning rubber down the road. I drive the 25 minute commute in about 7 minutes. I run in the door throw on an apron get behind the counter and try to start working. I quickly get kicked out and am made to sit down with the "patrons" and drink coffee. WHo do they thin they are? Kicking me out? I am up again in a few minutes back behind the counter asking what I can do. People are busy cooking and delivering breakfast orders, using the cash register and trying their best not to knock me down. Her employees are polite but I can tell that I am annoying thm. I will have to talk to her about this later. How dare they.

I wedge myself into a corner where I am safe and badger and nag my busy friend until she gives me a job. She has me make tags for items in the bakery case. Is she serious? I do this in about 3 seconds. I put them in place and then drop the markers, holders, and cards all over the floor. My friend is trying her best to talk nicely behind her gritted teeth. She asks me if after I pick them up if I wouldn't like to hang out in the back room.

I am pissed off. I am hurt. I have driven 12 hours and risked my life to help her and she is treating me like a child. She is giving me little stupid tasks just to keep me out of her way. Then she banishes me to the back room.

My first instinct is to drive back to her house, pack up my stuff and drive home. I am picking up my toys and going home! Then reality hits me in the head like a brick. Oh my gosh. I am a child! I am acting just like my kids. I want to help, but my helping is annoying and obnoxious. Like when I was trying to cook spaghetti and Alice helped me by pouring a bag of rice into my tomato sauce.

What is my problem? I mean other than PMS. What is wrong with me? I am sulking in the back room almost in tears. I am istting at her desk feeling sorry for myself. Why do I feel so lost? Then I realize that I am lost. I am a queen with no kingdom, I am a mom with out kids, a husband, or a house to rule. I am so used to being in charge and being everyone's every thing, and taking care of people, places, and things, that I have no idea how to just hang out in a bakery. I am actually mad at them because they won't let me stage a coup d'état and overthrow the bakery. What the hell do I even know about running a bakery?

I did eventually apologize for being a mega-bitch and they did give me a job as event photographer to keep me busy. The day went fine, even though I was really temped to wipe people's mouths and ask them if they needed to go potty. I kind of liked being a normal citizen for the weekend, but it's much better to be queen.

Mountain Road, Take Me Home...Alive

Yesterday I wrote about how Red tried to take me to Utah instead of Vermont. Today I am telling you about how she tried to take my life.

It was a dark and rainy night. The moon was an almond sliver in the sky. My GPS system is taking me for a joy ride all over every mountain in the Green Mountain State. One mountain road in particular was dark, winding, and terrifying. I look on the GPS to see that I am traveling on this highway to hell for what? 18 miles! Is RED a sadist?

My dashboard clock read 10:45pm and Red gave me an arrival time of 11:15pm so I knew that I was close to my friend's house. I was I the final lap of this race from hell 18 miles to a warm safe home. Is this a test? I mean she turned me off the well light straight road with houses and street signs and discover a dark haunted road with rocks on one side and a 200 foot drop to my death on the other. Am I Ulysses and this is my final test before my quest is complete? The road is covered with snow and ice with winding corners that I can not see around. Meaning that at any minute a huge pick-up truck can screech out from around the corner and hit me head on as the lanes are too narrow for two cars.

I am so nervous about this road that I find that my hands are gripped to the steering wheel like a bimbo on a billionaire. I am also noticing that even though my foot is off the gas my heavy Subaru wagon is quickly picking up speed. The road is barely paved so the car is bounding down the steep inclines. I still haven't gone bra shopping nor lost my 35 pounds so my boobs are bouncing nearly out of my bra and hitting me on the chin. I apply the breaks in small doses because I know too well that if I burn them out I am road kill. If I lock them up I am road kill, and If I slam them down the car spins out and you guessed it, I am road kill.

As my boobs and I are bouncing down the side of the mountain squealing around blind turns I am thinking of my kids. I can't die. I love those little people more than my own life. Also how is my sweet Dave going to find another woman as great as me? I mean what are the chances of that? How can I do that to him.

Momma is not going down this way! I slap on my high beams crunch the car into a lower gear and ease the break praying that I live to drive another day! My hands are almost bending the steering wheel I am gripping so hard. Every one of my muscles is tight and on high alert. I can feel tears streaming down my face, but I am to angry to cry. I am a fighter! I am a super momma! I drive like a bat out of hell for 18 miles! Finally Red tells me to turn off the road. 18 miles of the carnival ride from hell and I live to tell about it!
I passed the test! I am momma hear me roar!

I turn the car pull over to the side of this new civilized populated road and stuff my girls back in the bra, stretch out my permanently clenched hands, wipe the tears from my eyes, wipe the seat off my forehead, and say a quick prayer. I will never ever trust this machine and put my life in her hands. Well at least not until the drive home.

Red's Revenge

This week I will be telling you all about my weekend in Vermont. I'll start with apologizing to my husband Dave because he was right. The Red our GPS system is the devil and her only mission in life is to get us lost. I swear she and her little mechanical GPS friends are laughing at us. The machines are having a contest to see who can get their human the most lost before the driver catches on. I am happy to report that Red won. That little bitch directed me to Vermont via New York City & Ontario. Okay so she wasn't that bad, but close.

I assume that now that I have my spiffy GPS system that she'll find a quicker better route up north. That she'll shave the 3.5 hour drive into 90 minutes. She'll make my driving easy as pie. Have I mentioned how hard it is to actually make a pie? Red starts me off on a one lane high way near my house and an hour later I am snaking all over the state on little back roads, and country lanes, and one lane highways. I am singing to my CD, drinking my water, dreaming of cows, cheese, and Ben & Jerry's ice cream, Red is getting us there their is no need for me to pay attention to the directions right? WRONG! All of a sudden I find myself in this unsavory neighborhood in Worcester. Which is a kind of yucky city about 45 minutes from my house. I look at the clock and realize that Red has taken over an hour to get here and Worcester is nowhere near Vermont. I look more closely at Red and notice that her estimated arrival time for Vermont is 6:30am. I left my driveway at 6:30 pm. I am going to be in arriving Vermont in 12 HOURS!

I pull of of the road into a strip mall in front of a check cashing place. I assume that I have put in the wrong address. I type the address in again. 12 hours! I type in my friend's parent's address who also live in Vermont. 13 hours! I start hyperventilating and call Dave. No answer he is at the YMCA with the kids. I try my best to calm down and then decide to reset Red. I am sure that the kids have messed with her. They have probably told her to avoid freeways, toll roads, or any road where the speed limit is above 40 mikes per hour. I press the button to restore the machine to her factory settings. Then I type in the address again. 12 HOURS!

I start to get that chest convulsion you get when you are trying to stifle a hysterical sobbing fit. I play with the settings and get red down to 4 hours and even though Vermont should be a 3.5 hour drive and I have already been in the car for over an hour I will settle for 4 hours. I just want to get out of Worcester alive.

I did get to Vermont alive, but I never did go faster than 40 miles an hour. I think that I drove on every barely paved dimly lit one lane highway, through every small one traffic light town, and around every winding deadly mountain road to get there. Nothing was familiar about this strange route and I have been to Vermont at least 100 times (yes my sense of direction is that bad). I am sure that Red was leading me all over East Soggy Bottom just to see if I would blindly follow her crazy directions. She and her GPS friends were laughing their electronic voice boxes at me. I did notice that I was not alone. Their were other cars driving down these impassible treacherous dark roads. I could see their rouge GPS systems lit up on their dash boards and I when I turned my CD down and listened closely I think I heard them giggling.

Tomorrow I will write about how I almost died bouncing my car down the side of a mountain at night going full speed on a scary road.