When Marriage, The Institution, Is Having An Off Day. In Explicit Detail.

So he comes off the night watch this morning and moseys into the bedroom where I'm getting dressed. And he grins at me and says, "Good Morning, Sleepyhead", and he kisses me and while feeling me up, says:

"Are you getting shorter or are these getting lower?"

Charming.

And when my mouth fell open, and I took a step back with a look of disgust, it only took him a split-second to realize what he said and came after me saying, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. You have great boobs."

While laughing.

Good thing I got up on the right side of the bed.

And the groveling. The groveling helped.

The Dalai Mama

I grew up thinking my parents had a perfect relationship. I saw them argue, I heard them argue, but every night, when my dad came home, he went up to the kitchen where Mom was usually preparing dinner and he held her. And he kissed her. And he squeezed her butt and made her giggle and I knew they were happy.

So when I got married, I expected that in the end, as long as the bottom line was that you loved each other, any marriage could succeed.

And then I got divorced, in a failure of epic proportions.

A year later, a man, a boy, really, asked me to marry him. And I said yes, but I had my reservations. I had failed so miserably before that I didn't trust my own instincts.

I talked with my mom. I told her my fears, my concerns, my doubts. We talked for a long time, about what, exactly, I can't recall, but one thing she said has stayed with me during these past 15 years. It's the voice of reason in my head when Marriage, the Institution, is having an off day.

I had told her that I wanted to have a relationship like she had with Dad.

And she looked at me and she laughed gently and she said, "Paige. My life hasn't always been what I had imagined. There were days that I wanted to pack my bags and walk out that door and not look back. But I didn't. I stayed because I knew that Life with your Dad was better than Life without him."

That day, she taught me that marriage, no matter how it looks on the outside, is work on the inside. And that it was ok to have doubts; that Marriage is worth the effort as long as the end result does not subtract from my Self.

My Little Carrie Bradshaw

Marvelous
Adorable
Curious
Kooky
Energetic
Novel
Zippy
Incomprable
Enthusiastic

Dinner and A Show

Apparently, several years ago, I called Mackenzie a lesbian.

I don't remember it that way. I do remember noticing aloud, in front of her, Tater and Dillon, how she never played with the Barbies, the dolls, the princess costumes that other little girls seemed to immerse themselves in and instead spent her playtime with the Brio train, blocks, and Legos. How she refused to wear dresses and while boys were super-fun to play with, the suggestion that she may one day grow up to marry or even kiss one caused her to shriek in horror.

Apparently, the way I noticed this sounded a lot like, "Gee, I think Mackenzie might be a lesbian." She was five.

Then recently, the rest of the family has said a couple of other things that, on their own, were pretty benign, but coupled with my earlier observation, sounded a lot like, "Huh, Mackenzie might be a lesbian."

So, last night, when she came home and told Dillon and I during dinner that she had made the Drama Club, and then Dillon said, in all sincerity, "I can see her going to high school and being a thespian", she had every right to completely drop sync with sanity and scream at us, "I AM NOT A LESBIAN!!!"

At which point Dillon and I looked at each other, our mouths dropped open (for Mackenzie never yells), and we howled with laughter. Tears were squirting out our eyes, stomach muscles were cramping, we gasped for air.

And then explained to her the difference between thespian and lesbian.

How About Maleficent?

...But that's harder to say than Evil Queen.

Lady Tremaine?

(She does make me dust when I go over.)

Ursula?

Lilith?

And finally, to answer this question:

"Do I need to research an "i" name or are they assigned? Maybe a weather name- Sunni, Mysti, Rayni? You know, vintage stripper. ~Annie"

It need not be an "i" name, but "i" names are more fun, racy, (let's call a spade a spade)... slutty. And at one time, that was the goal. Except for Muffinbottom and Bubbles. Well, Muffinbottom (Muff for short) was an accident. But then I liked it. And, I was going for embarrassing. It worked. A Southern Belle will cringe every time you call her "Muff".

ANyway, here's a start, I'll keep thinking.

Heeeere's Your Sign!

What kind of a Girl is Candi again?

Attention! Candi, Mandi, Muffinbottom (Muff for short) & Bubbles!!

The Unparalleled Annie* needs a Cherry Girl Name. And seeing as how she, Carolyn and I were the only 3 wives hanging out showing our dedication at the Warlord sign planting at Matt's room, I think she deserves one. Put your thinking caps on!

*Yes, she IS the Evil Queen, but what kind of a nickname is that? I mean, do we really want to walk around saying, "Hey, Evil Queen, want another Lava Flow?...Hey, Evil Queen, what do you think of that new vibrator that's out?"

xoxoxoxo Brandi

For Jes:

But mostly for Bella. (If she could read.)

Tagged By Nicole...

If you could have five autographs of anyone, living or dead, who would they be?

I only did living because getting that close to a dead person... eww.

Much like Nicole, I couldn't care less about autographs. But. It does seem like it'd be a good opportunity to get near someone I'd like to talk to...

So. (In no particular order) I'd like to get stalker-close to:

Oprah
Jon Stewart - unfortunate timing with the Oscars being last night
Muhammad Ali
A Holocaust survivor.
Harper Lee

What's A Girl To Do When She's Got Nothing To Say?

Post pictures!

Dillon and Stanley:



The look on Dog's face when I'm eating ice cream and not sharing...






















Dillon on his way to the Winter Sports Banquet. I crack him up.





























Oh yeah, and I killed 5 of Mackenzie's fish yesterday. It was an accident.

And, there are no pictures of her because she is sick with a cold and miserable. Not so cute today.

Please. Shoot Me Now.

Oh. My. God.

I had Two. Two glasses of wine last night.

And woke up with my head pounding and my stomach churning at 7am.

Went back to sleep. Need more sleep.

Woke up at 9:30. Can't get out of bed. Watch HGTV.

10:30. Must get up.

Downstairs. Plant butt on couch. Wait to die.

Lament. It was ONLY two glasses of wine!

(Granted, I have Ginormous, Bulbous, Wineglasses... But still.)

12:30. Today must start sometime. Take 3 Excedrin Migraine. Make Strong Coffee.

(Mmmm! Coffee! And I have biscotti! Yay! Eat biscotti. Taste anise. Shit. I hate anise. Give rest to Dillon. He'll eat anything.)

It occurs to me that Two Glasses of Wine should not make me feel like this. This is why I stopped drinking red wine. The sulfites...

Check back of Chardonnay bottle:

CONTAINS SULFITES

Pour out remaining sip of Chardonnay.

Vow to stick to Hard Liquor.

This Is Hannah

Hannah is my niece. My sister Alison's 6-year-old girl-baby (Though how she ended up in her uterus and not mine, I'll never know. She is more me than she is either one of her parents.). And she just called me. But I was on the phone with my mom so I had to call her back. But by the time I did so, about 10 minutes later, all Hell was on the verge of breaking loose...

When I called her back, she said she wanted to know when was I going to send her a package for her birthday. I could hear Alison in the background telling her, "No, that's not why you called. Remember? It's right here. Tell Auntie about this."

"BUT I DON'T KNOW HOWWWWWWWWW! I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!", she wailed, despite the fact that she had apparently just left a fairly coherent message on my cell phone. And while my sister was gently trying to remind her why she had called me in the first place, a meltdown of nuclear proportions was brewing. Alison was showing her the "thing", Hannah's crying was getting louder, and about the time I heard Ali say, "OK then, just go to your room.", I hollered (so hopefully they could hear me over the ruckus), "Let me talk to her!"

I had gathered by now that it was some homework thing she had called to ask me for help. So I got her on the phone and asked, "Hannah, is it some homework?"

Anguished. "YEEEEEEESSSSS!"

(Now, if you've never seen Hannah cry, then you must know that is is Very Dramatic indeed. Her face gets red, and her beautiful blue eyes fill with tears, her blonde hair sticks to her wet cheeks, and her bawling mixes with her talking so that anything she tries to say comes out wet and gooey and impossible to understand. Especially from 600 miles away.)

"Is it Math homework?"

Distressed. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Is it Reading homework?

Tortured. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO... IT'S A GAWBAREAADAH HABBBAEDAAGA POOOOEEEEEEMMMMMMMM!"

And, thankfully, I heard Ali in the background, "Hannah, do you want me to tell her what it is and then she can help you?"

(Yes! YES!! Please say YES, Hannah!)

Sniffly and snuffly, "Uh-huh."

"Ok. It's a name poem. She has to come up with a word for each of her letters that describes herself."

"Cool. Ok, Hannah? What's the first letter of your name?"

Weepy and defeated. "H."

"Ok. We need a word that describes you and starts with 'H'."

Gloomy. "I already have one."

"Great! What is it?"

"Happy."

Which made me laugh out loud. "Ok. (If you say so.)" And I could hear Ali cracking up in the background.

"What's next?"

"A. I have 'All-Star'."

"Good one! What's next?"

"N."

Silence.... I'm thinking. Mumbling, "something that describes Hannah that starts with 'N'....(thinking).........(thinking)....... Honey, all that comes to mind is 'Naughty'."

At which point, Ali, who can hear me, loses it, "That's the first thing I thought of too!" And even Hannah had to laugh at that. Because she is. No sense in anyone denying it.

"But we can't use that. (Thinking)..... (thinking)..... How about we come back to 'N'? What's next?"

Hannah laughs. "N."

"After that."

"A."

"How about 'Awesome'?"

"Yeah!" She likes that. I can hear her smile.

"I have an 'N'! 'Nice'!"

"Yeah!" she shouts.

"I have another one! 'Nature Girl'! You love nature!"

Gleeful. "Yeah!"

"What's next?"

Joyful. "H."

"Hows about 'Hilarious'?"

"I had 'Hippie-Girl." (THAT'S my girl!)

"Ooh! That's a really good one.

Now she's laughing. "Yeah, but how do you spell 'Hilarious'?"

And so ended a conversation that started with the saddest Kindergartener on the planet. She is:

Happy
All-Star
Nice
Nature-Girl
Awesome, and
Hilarious

And I love her.

So You Don't Worry...

I found my book. It was between a People mag and Pottery Barn catalogue.

Whew.

Catastrophe averted.

Yay! Blogger is Loading Fast Again! Alternate title: Boring As Hell

Apparently, my patience is next to nil these days. Blogger was loading so slow that I would start loading a page and then head off to the kitchen for a drink or click to comment and then go throw some whites in the washing machine, only to come back and have it half-loaded or time-out completely.

And it was pissing me off.

So I didn't even try to post. I figured that I'd type out an incredibly insightful and witty essay, probably my best ever, only to have it disappear into cyberspace and send me over the deep end.

And I don't need that.

What I do need is a copy of that book over there. Look to the right. In my list of Linkity-Goodness. See how I'm supposed to be reading The Sex Lives of Cannibals? Well, I'm not. I lost it last weekend. And I can't find it anywhere. It's not at work, it's not in my car, not on my nightstand... I even looked in the sofa cushions. Not there. I have no clue what I did with it and at this rate, I'm going to have to backtrack and re-read the four or so chapters I had already digested. And I despise that.

I also despise Things That Are Complicated. Enter the SAT.

So I signed Dillon up for the SAT tonight. Cost me 60 bucks. I don't remember it costing so much last time I checked. (Granted, that was 1984. And I wasn't paying.) And now you have to go online and fill out a bunch of questionnaires and answer a bunch of questions and I didn't want to do that. I just wanted to send him to the school with a check, and on the appropriate day drop him off early at school (Or better yet! Let him drive himself!) and be done with it. But I guess it doesn't work that way anymore. Technology has, ironically, made things harder. Bummer. They also expect the parents to go to a whole mess of meetings at the school. I don't remember my parents doing all that. When did everything get so complicated?

Gah! Look at what a mess this post is! I'm out of practice.

Let's blame it on Blogger.

Is it just me...

or is it taking everyone F O R E V E R to get to each page of Blogger? Seriously. Several minutes to open each page and comments. I've tried to post since Sunday but I just don't have the time to sit around waiting for each page to load.