Jennifer and Angie: The Showdown

I was reading the ShowBuzz site- so I’m kind of swiping from them – don’t bother to sue me because you won’t get squat. BTW you all should check the site because Andrew is awesome and he likes my writing so the man’s obviously brilliant beyond all comprehension. He’s on my friends list so link to him from there. Tell him I sent you.

So I read the story about Brad Pitt’s mom telling Jen that Brad still has feelings for her and Angie’s all whacked out of shape over it and afraid that Brad wants to go back to Jen. THEN supposedly Brad took Shiloh to see Jen. Oooooohhhhhh nooooooo he didn’t!

Dear Lord in Heaven, I realize that I’ve not always lived a life that would make you proud but if you would just give me one teensy little request……

Please Lord let there be just one big catfight between Jen and Angie. I want these two to run into each other on Rodeo Drive at high noon. Traffic backed up for miles and paparazzi everywhere. I want to see ripped St. Johns blouses and flying Jimmy Choo’s. Hair extensions hitting innocent pedestrians. I want little children crying out “mommy make the mean ladies stop”.

I’m a betting woman, and while I’ll not tell you whether I’m team Angie or team Jennifer, I will say that my hard earned cash is on Angie. She’s just got that crazy look in her eye all the time like she’s going to spontaneously combust. You know she’s as crazy as an outhouse rat. She’ll bend Jennifer Anniston like a pretzel. The paramedics will be picking up pieces-o-Jen off the sidewalk with tweezers when crazy momma gets finished with her.

I’m sorry but I just live and die for this kind of stuff. Maybe I’m a nosy bitch. Perhaps on some unhealthy level I enjoy seeing really beautiful women get some of the crap-o-la the rest of us get. It could be that I enjoy the fact that rich people have problems as well. Who, am I kidding? I’m a nosy bitch.

Today’s sign of the Apocalypse- or how to piss a mom off in 60 seconds:

I'm spending a leisurely, non-renovational (yeah I know not a word) Sunday afternoon parked in front of the TV watching Nickelodeon with "my heart of love".

By 4 o'clock I had watched Drake & Josh, the gosh darned Amanda Show and those annoyingly perky kids from High School musical until I was practically in a coma, so for just a moment I was going to close my eyes and relax. As I did a commercial comes on for…..are you ready?

ENZYTE Male Enhancement. Oh yes, that's what I said people. You heard mamma right the first time. I couldn't make this up. A male enhancement commercial in the middle of programming supposedly geared toward children age 7. I know this because I pay attention to the parental ratings. I'm one of those "hover "moms and proud of it.

I flew from the sofa. Awkwardly leapt is a more precise description but I kid you not, my ass was airborne. That dive from the sofa would've earned me a Silver medal on its difficulty factor alone. I could not reach the keyboard fast enough. Being the hippie minded I can move mountains kind of woman I am I whipped off a sternly worded email to Nickelodeon and Viacom. Had it not been Sunday I'd have called both corporate offices. I was livid.

I'm telling you now people, in print. If that commercial airs again during children's programming I will call both Nick and Viacom corporate headquarters and ask that the CEO please come to the phone and explain the product to my 6 year old daughter and why he felt it advantageous that it air during children's programming.Then he gets to speak to me...

When I finish unleashing my "verbal castration" on this misguided, money grubbing corporate executive he'll never have use for a product of this nature cause you just wouldn't fertilize a dead tree now would you?

A break from the renovations: My dating rant…or please date like a grown up.

A new acquaintance of mine is trying to set me up with her cousin. She just knows that we'll be perfect for each other. (Sound familiar ladies?)

I met this woman at a neighborhood meet and greet a few weeks ago and I believe she's taken it as a personal mission to fix me up. From the minute she described her cousin I was not impressed but because first impressions –especially second hand ones, are deceiving I was considering it. (Coffee first ladies- no night time dates- safety first)

My first rule is to go out with someone twice. Unless they're totally obnoxious or offending in some way, everyone can have a bad day, not everyone makes a first good impression and is usually nervous on a first date. If everything you were unsure of on the first date proves true on the 2^nd date then it's just not going to work.

I'm not much on dating because I still get nervous like a high school girl and like most women convince myself from the get go that he's just not going to like me. But that's not what really stops me. This is what stops me…. (*Disclaimer* this does not apply to all men and I'm not a man basher. There are wonderful, mature men out there who appreciate and respect women.)

This is how the scenario goes. They tell their friend about this bright, interesting, intelligent woman they know and they just have to meet her. They'll just love her! Then we meet. Well hell, I'm what they just traded in after X years of marriage. It's not that I'm unattractive but they're looking for babe material. They're looking to trade up. I'm what they just divorced. They're middle aged (like me) but want you to look 25 but still have the brains of a 47 year old. Well hell I'd like a go at Johnny Depp but ….I digress.

NOTE TO MEN - it shows on your face when we meet you. You'll either need to work on better disguising your facial reactions or make it clear to your friends that you don't wish to be fixed up with anyone older than 30- 35.

I'm a petite woman and try to always look good but I'm still in my late 40's. Not the Hollywood 40's- the real world 40's. And I've had two children –do the math. There are times I've described my body as sort of like watching a lava lamp. Slowly moving in directions dictated by gravity but still amazing to watch. (Taking dramatic license here folks, work with me)

It has an interesting beauty. It's given birth to humans and nursed babies. How cool is that? I understand that physical attraction is an important part of the way humans work but does it stop there?

I'm amazing, funny and really bright. I have all of my own teeth and can grasp the meaning of many multisyllabic words. I'm a wonderful mother and loyal friend. I use the proper utensils and have not been asked to leave even one of the finest and oldest restaurants in the country (Antoine's still being one of my favorites) for any type of slovenly behavior. I can speak intelligently on a number of subjects and keep abreast of current events and don't own a single tube top.

This leads to the 2^nd rant:

Do not assume that because there is a child involved that we're looking for a meal ticket. I support my child and she's a lucky little girl. Luckier than most. I'm financially responsible for her and that's the way I like it. It makes me feel good to be the bread winner.

It makes me empowered and is a life lesson for her. She's proud of me. Besides, you should be able to spot a gold digger when you see one or you're dating with blinders on. Many of my girlfriends are telling me the same thing. We feel as if we've reached the "invisible" age. Not old enough to be respected for our wisdom but not young or attractive enough to be dateable.

I went through a stage where I had a face full of Botox and at one point had so much Restylane injected into my lips and around my mouth that I could hardly move my face. Sure, I was wrinkle free and had big fat movie star lips but lost all the character in my face. I wasn't me. I couldn't laugh with the same bravado that I love in my laugh.

Now I'm not saying I wouldn't do it again at some point and believe me when finances allow I'm all about getting some stuff nipped, tucked, lifted, repositioned or well hell, they can just pull it all to the top of my head, lob it off and make a new person out of the extra skin! Clone me, whatever. I did it so I'd feel better and look rested but I won't do it to be dateable. If and when I ever meet Mr. Right, Mr. I want to spend the rest of my life with this man then I'll have it all done and and know that he fell in love with me.

This is not a solicitation for dates by the way - just another one of my running commentaries on life as I see it so it must then be an authoritative observation right?)

But it has been on mind since my friend has been killing herself to set me up and this blog is basically a long winded response to the question I hate most from people. What's a pretty, smart woman like you not doing dating? I just can't believe someone like you doesn't have men ringing the phone off the hook. I'm tired of being told to get out there. Jump in the water -get your feet wet, etc.

This needs to be said to my sisterhood of middle aged women. The women, who get together on the weekend and see movies, play cards, or just make margaritas and tell bawdy jokes. Single moms like me who get together and bring our girls to a museum (which Logan hated and told me she didn't even know who Rembrandt was so why did she care what he drew?), art gallery or symphony so they'll grow up to be well rounded intelligent women.

You are awesome. I am one of you. I am so proud of who you've grown up to be….wrinkles and all.

Disquisition on Renovations – Or how two idiots fixed a house. - Installing a window unit

Because it's 2 story house with only one central air unit installed and the undisputed fact that heat rises, the upstairs gets unbearable in the summer. So after approval from the God forsaken "Historic Committee" we were able to install a window unit in my bedroom and in my daughters room IF they were in side window not easily seen from the street. (like I'd slap them in the front windows like white trash, please people).

First of all the bedrooms in question are on the second floor and the a/c's we bought we're in the basement. That means I have to carry these puppies up two flights of stairs and they weigh I think about 50 pounds a piece. On the one hand I'm ready to pass out by the time I carry the second one up,but on the other hand I'm proud of the fact that I'm physically able to do it without having a stroke. (again people, it's the small things in life that make you proud)

Now the units are un-boxed and sitting on the floor of their respective rooms.
First gripe - Note to the writers of instruction manuals. Could you just keep it simple? I need you to write your instructions as if a three year old is going to be installing your product. That and the fact that there are little baggies of screws and bolts-none of which are labeled. Your supposed to compare them to the drawing on the instruction page and know which ones to use. Well I'm here to call a Bullshit on that. Just label them.

2nd gripe - Stop it already with the "Three Simple Step" slogan. I've realized this is a Satanic marketing tool and never to be believed.

I take a break for a much needed cup of coffee because I realize that after hauling 100 pounds of stuff up from the basement, each of this now has to be lifted into the windows.
*It's at this point in time I'm thinking that I should be practical about life and consider getting married again. Not so much for love, companionship or even to have a positive male influence for Logan but purely because I'm tired of hauling stuff by myself.* I also go back to my rant about beautiful women not having to do things for themselves. I can't help believing that if I looked like Nicole Kidman someone burly would be installing these for me.

So my mother and I actually manage to decipher the instructions, drill the braces into the window frames ( again through whatever miserably hard wood this house is constructed from) and get the darned things in the windows. To date, this has been the simplest project. And they work! We didn't trip any breakers with our faulty work and we didn't burn the house down from power overload.

Why we don't hire someone you ask.First, like all single moms I'm on budget that doesn't have the ability to budge. The president should hire me to handle the deficit in this country. I can trim a budget folks. But I realized. It's not just about the money. It's about showing an adorable 6 year old that if you put your mind to something, you can do it. That if your lucky you'll have supportive people around you who will be there for you but at the end of the day your survival is up to you.

Now do I wish I didn't have to go it alone all the time? Sure but I knew when I chose to have her that it would be just the two of us. Going it alone and making it work. My mom moved in after she retired and now we're three woman making it work-getting it done and hopefully setting a good example for my little one.

Single moms everywhere should pat themselves on the back every day. I now have another accomplishment added to my resume of life. I did break a nail in the process but that now entitles me to go have them done today. There will be no renovation work today. My daughter and I are going for manicures and if I've ever deserved one it's today.

Disquisition on Renovations – Or how two idiots fixed a house. Lock installation.

July 9, 2007 - Monday

The locks on our entry doors were horribly inadequate. They're original to the house and apparently no one broke into homes in the 1920's because this thing was pitiful. I've seen stronger locks on little girls' diaries.

I purchase my deadbolt kit (at Home Depot) and my "shoppers" have told me it's the simplest to install. Piece of cake. All I have to do is unscrew the old locks, pop this bad boy in and presto, instant security. I have no doubt that I can do this as the label says "Simple 3 step process". I've attended an institution of higher learning. I can handle 3 steps.
These locks took 2 days, 4 pots of coffee, 2 Klonopin and a Red Stripe to install.

The three step process should be 4 steps and read:
1. Find a hammer.
2. Hold hammer firmly in both hands.
3. Beat yourself in the head with hammer until you lose consciousness.
4. Call a locksmith.

To begin with I install the lock backwards with the screws on the outside of the door where any 13 year old hoodlum with a pocket knife can easily access what I'll now refer to as my "palatial estate". I realize my mistake and reinstall in what I think is a correct manner only to find that once installed the key won't turn the lock meaning, (and I know this now) that I've not aligned the inside properly. I'll cut to the chase. I finally take the deadbolt off and use the lock system from another door in the house and later installed the deadbolt on that door where it worked like a charm.

Now I'm worried that I still need more protection on this outside door but I'm feeling good about life because I happen to have one of those nifty locks they have on hotel room doors left over from another house. The type of lock that would let you get the door open but this little gadget would catch and you couldn't open the door any further. Sort of like an old slide bolt but fancier.

After an hour of trying to drill through the toughest wood ever grown by the hand of God, I get this installed. I yell for my mother and daughter to come to see my handy work and sing my praises. I feel proud. I feel strong. I am woman. My mother walks to the door, pulls the newly installed handle and the door won't budge. It won't wiggle. I'm talking it's frozen in place.

I have installed both sides of the lock base to the door frame. We are locked in the house.

I didn't cry. I didn't even curse. I was numb. My mind was racing with a thousand thoughts of how one woman with instructions in three languages and brand new shiny tools could have failed so miserably. I just wanted to protect the people I love and I had let them down. Dejected but still humming songs from Les Miserables I disassembled everything and begin again. Yeah that's right I've got a tool belt and have seen Les Miz. Pretty impressive,uh?

I'm rethinking this whole lock system and am giving great thought to just placing a sign in my yard reading: I have a gun and I don't call 911.

Disquisition on Renovations – Or how two idiots fixed a house

DISCLAIMER: This will be a recurring blog as this process of renovation and redecorating are still in their infancy stages and quite frankly I see no end in site. You are in no way obligated to follow this story as I believe it's more therapeutic for me than it will be informative for you. It will contain no actual renovation tips, know how or any form of construction expertise what so ever. I should start from the beginning.

We live in a quaint, quiet college town in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains. Our house is located in a Historic District, and while my neighbors spend a huge amount of time being impressed by that fact, I simply see an 85 year old house needing massive amounts of TLC. Located on one side of our house is a lovely historic cemetery. On the other side is a 93 year old man. Either way I look…oh, wait that's not nice.

I thought I'd take advantage of my untimely departure from my previous employment to begin with a list of chores and repairs which I felt my mother and I could accomplish before the stampede of return phone calls regarding my resume submissions began arriving……oh, what's that? Oh, just the sound of the phone not ringing. I felt certain that if we stayed within our budget and time frame of the very few weeks before I was hired somewhere fabulous, we could turn this lump of coal into a diamond. (No, I don't smoke crack but you wondered for a minute didn't you?)

So the characters in this drama: My mother: She's 65, on total disability. She's had 2 heart attacks; one stint put in and has many of the ailments which 65 years of life will bring. Yeah, sucks but you move on. Me: I am 46. I stand at a staggering 5 foot nothing and thanks to no on the job nervous binge eating am currently topping the charts 15 pounds lighter than 8 weeks ago. As a result of a car accident I was left with 30% use of my right hand (and of course I'm right handed), and 20% use of my left hand. In addition there is nerve damage which resulted in almost no use of the thumb or forefinger of either hand. (I must say that I've adapted to the point that very few people even notice that I'm doing anything differently). There are things I'll never be able to do again, but you suck it up and move on.

I think physical exertion is over rated. I'm exhausted if a restaurant doesn't have curbside service. Mental exhaustion is finding the perfect jewelry for a new suit and I'm totally drained when I have to switch out the clothes in the closets because the seasons have changed.

I point this out in its entirety so you, the reader can picture a middle aged, maybe not so handy woman and her mother, neither being a specimen of strength, agility, or construction expertise taking on this mind boggling task.

I won't begin this blog-a-thon with any actual story today but rather with just a few things I've learned.

1. Remember to tighten the jigsaw blade BEFORE you turn it on.

2. Gorilla Glue is the stickiest substance ever created by human hands and I'm really not sure why NASA is not using to hold those damned tiles onto the Space Shuttle.

3.When Home Depot assigns two people to help you each time you're in their store shopping you have: a) Spent too much time in there. b) Spent too much money in there. c) Frightened the other customers with your aisle roaming and mumbling to yourself to the point they've actually appointed tool store police to you under the guise they're to help with your shopping so you'll get the hell out there and go home.

My police, uh shoppers, must love seeing me pull up in the parking lot. And finally, yes honey that is you stinking. I'm a city girl and southern. I didn't think we had sweat glands. Wait, I believe they're ceremonially removed around the same time your old enough to attend your first afternoon tea, in July, in New Orleans.

Besides, Southern women don't sweat - we glisten. Well I'll tell you, I'm glistening my ass off now.

Could no one mention to me that I was stupid?

June 27, 2007 - Wednesday

I had considered myself a well read woman and was under the impression that I could carry on a reasonably intelligent conversation. Dare I say I'd fancied myself one pretty smart cookie. As a result I tend to watch way too much History and Discovery Channel. (I know, I should get out more but that's a subject for another blog). So I'm home watching a series on the Theory of Time- cause my social life is a friggin hoot nowadays. But it seems simple enough so I'm gonna hang with him for a minute and see what I can learn. Well this bozo begins to explain how it's possible to time travel into the future and he says "let me show you a simple way to think of it". Well now I'm all in a tizzy cause I know that in the next few minutes the doors of all knowledge will open to me and I will be one with the mysteries of the universe. He begins to stir coffee in a cup and as the liquid spins faster explains that time can move faster and faster just like this coffee so in theory we could individually move within a faster band of time than those around us. Just like the spinning coffee. I swear to the sweet baby Jesus I lost consciousness for a moment. I stared at the television in total disbelief. My brain actually hurt. I couldn't in any form or fashion wrap my brain around what he'd just said. That's when it hit me - I know nothing. I'm an idiot with an IQ a tad above room temperature and no one's had the guts to tell me. If I can't understand coffee spinning in a cup how the hell can I be expected to function on my own? Who are you people to allow me to leave my home unsupervised, operate a moving vehicle or take care of my child? Shouldn't someone be assigned to check on me at regular intervals to make sure I'm ok and not a danger to anyone? You people let me vote. What's wrong with you?