Wedded Bliss

I'm still wavering in the blogging business.  I started with this blog was "discovered" by Vibrant Nation, but then found it difficult to write for both.  I was copying some of my blogs from this post to Vibrant Nation and vice-versa, but if people are reading both I feel there should be different blogs on each site.

Dave Barry and Erma Bombeck have always been my guiding light as I want to be humorous, but I don't always feel funny every day.  Also, I've been trying to write my blogs more like syndicated columns, which isn't really the idea of a blog.  So for now I'm going to write this blog as more random thoughts and keep the column-style type of posts on Vibrant Nation.

So what can I chat about today?  This past weekend was my twenty-seventh wedding anniversary.  My husband and I went out for dinner on Friday and then Saturday went to a craft fair and later that evening to a movie.  We get a popcorn to share.  Now here's my first dilemma.  He eats very fast.  I want to save the popcorn to enjoy during the course of the movie, but he could polish off that bag before the previews are finished and I want to be sure to get my fair share.  Isn't that sad?  Twenty seven years of marriage and I'm still worried about my fair share.  He has always made sure I have everything I need.  In fact, he generally stops eating after a while and gives me the bag to finish.  So why do I still have this keeping even mentality?

Secondly, as he's holding the popcorn with his left hand, his right hand is on my knee.  Isn't that sweet?  Not.  All I can concentrate on is the fact that he's also eating with his right hand.  And he put extra butter on the popcorn and then he put his hand back on my knee.  I'm going to have to wash that butter out of my pants.  I've been worried about the romance going out of our marriage, but I think I'm the one with issues.

What to talk about is another issue.  Does anyone else have trouble talking with their spouse?  He doesn't want to talk about religion, or politics, or the news.  We don't want to discuss our jobs.  We don't have kids.  Luckily we have a dog that we sort of talk through.  I think she's like a ventriloquist's dummy where we can channel our thoughts out loud through her.  We've discussed everything about each other over the course of thirty years of knowing each other, so what's left?

I do the like the comfort level of not having to be my best 24/7, but I think I need to at least go by some new jammies.  Especially with winter coming up.  I generally have a sweat shirt from one outfit with the bottom half of a pair of flannel pajamas and generally a sexy type of thick pair of socks which ties the whole ensemble together.  With all of these reality shows, perhaps they need a new show that has a makeover for housewives and husbands.  They pull these two poor schmucks out of the crowd as they walk along.  The wife is wearing clothes as least ten seasons old, the husband is picking some sort of food from his teeth and then they whisk both away separately to give them a makeover and a romantic evening out.  Wouldn't that be wonderful to see what we could possibly look like if we gave it half a try?

Well, that's it for tonight in the wonderful world of wedded bliss.

Shopping Nightmare

Have you ever wondered who lays out the various departments in a store?  Maybe I never noticed when shopping for Junior sizes, but now that I'm getting close to shopping in the Women's department, I realize that it's always next to Petites.  It's hard enough shopping for bigger sizes, but I don't need to see little Miss Size Two shopping across the aisle from me.

If Petites is not across from Women's, then it's generally located near Maternity.  Seriously; take a look! You haven't seen your toes in eight months and you have to waddle past undersized ladies shopping for pants that you couldn't shove one thigh into.  As if you're not struggling enough with your image already.

And who puts the bras and panties on the main aisle?  I could count the number of times I've run into anyone I know on one hand in the thirty years I've lived in my area, but I swear the one time I'm shopping for underwear, poof, I run into someone I haven't seen in ten years.  If you're shopping for granny panties like you normally do because they're more comfortable and don't ride up, you're mortified.  But even more mortifying is the one time you want to try to be sexy and are looking for something a little risque.  If you say it's for yourself, they'll laugh.  If you say it's a gift for your niece you look like a strange aunt.

Speaking of underwear, I went into Victoria's Secret to shop for something sexy.  Now first off, you don't want to try on panties unless they're over the ones you're wearing.  Nothing spells sexy like a thong over granny panties.  I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.  I have yet to officially try on a thong, 'cause like I said it's over the underwear you're wearing and I don't want to invest $25 for a 50 cent piece of material only to discover that the little piece in the back that goes up you know where gets hooked on a hemorrhoid or something.

They came out with these cute little lacy underwear, not sure what they're called, but they're bikini cut and come down a little over your thighs.  I looked like sausage in casing.  That lace was stretching as far as it could trying to work its way around my upper legs.  I remember my grandmother always grabbing my thighs when I was a teenager when we wore our jeans that we had cut off sky high.  When she grabbed that part of my anatomy she would say, "your moons are showing!"  Yeah, that gave a gawky teenager confidence.

I have never been much of a shopper and am finding it more and more difficult to do so now.  I know we need to get comfortable with our new physiques, but between trying to find a good fitting bra located next to the luggage that men are shopping for makes it embarrassing.  I have yet to find a dress that makes me feel pretty or shoes that are attractive without making my calves cramp up.

There is one store I have discovered that I will admit is styled for women past forty and is very attractive, but the prices are so over the top I can't justify shopping there unless it's for my birthday or Christmas.  Sigh.  I know it's time to put down the fork and pick up the barbells, but until then can someone PLEASE put my department of clothing in the back corner of the store?

How much prep does one need for the OB/GYN?

Ah, - the gynecologist.  This can be traumatic for some and non-eventful for others.  As a newly married woman going for this visit, I remember this old doctor who talked really loudly.  I guess he had to shout in order to be heard because his head was muffled under my dressing gown, but he's going on about "Do you want babies?  Tonight's the night if you do."  Walls were not thick enough to muffle my mortification.  And how could he tell?  Were my eggs strutting their stuff singing Donna Summer's "Bad Girls?" 

A lot of thought goes into preparing for this date.  If I spend too much time getting ready, it looks like I'm seeing someone on the side.  Wearing perfume is definitely out.  But I want to look like I take care of myself so as I'm in the shower I shave the arm pits because I don't want to look French while he's performing a breast exam.  Then I look down and realize I had better shave the legs while I'm at it.  When did the big knuckle of my toes get hairy?  I don't recall that in high school.  My toe nails are gross.  I think to myself, "I can keep my socks on during the visit," but realize how foolish it looks to peel all layers of modesty off only to leave my socks on.  I probably should have scheduled a pedicure before this visit, but it's too late now so I opt for a hack saw and buffer.  Good grief, if I spent half the time getting ready to see my husband each day as I do to see the doc, our love life could be taken to a whole new level.

My real fear is realizing what I've eaten the night before.  How many Gas-X can I safely take at one time?  The little stool is rolled into position and the doctor suggests to relax my knees.  I'm thinking, "buddy, if I relax my knees that little stool is going to be blown backwards, through the wall and into the next examining room."  You couldn't pay me enough to be at his end of the table.

When all is said and done, it's great to know I have a clean bill of health for hopefully another year and since I'm all gussied up, I call the hubby and go out for dinner and a real date night.

Hey, I Want Credit for That!

How do inventors get their ideas? Many were happy accidents. Remember when teachers made students stand at the blackboard for chewing gum? It was probably that kid who was the inventor of the Post-it Note, which was invented from a glue no one could find a use for. What else is he going to think about while he's staring at sticky substances for long periods of time?

Food items were created out of mistakes. Cheese, for instance, was invented by an Arab who put milk into a pouch made from a sheep's stomach. Apparently the heat from the sun transformed chemicals from the sheep's stomach so when he opened the pouch during the journey, he found cheese. I can just picture that vacation. "Dad, are we there yet? I'm thirsty." "Abdul, I'm not telling you again. Get the milk out of the sheep's stomach." "Aw dad, can't you get it for me?" "Look Abdul, if I have to pull the camel over, you're in big trouble."

Now I think my family should get credit for some inventions. I was always looking for ways to save time. I hated plucking my eyebrows so I thought, "why not use dad's razor?" Now here's a tip; don't use a razor that's about an inch wide to shave an area only a half inch wide. My mom freaked out during dinner that night when she looked over and saw both tips of my eyebrows shaved off. I'm sure this incident made someone come up with the idea to wax or thread instead.

My mom also had great ideas to use what was readily available to do tasks. There was the evening my dad needed his coat washed before going to work the next day. It was getting late and he was worried it wouldn't be done in time. My mom is like, "dont' worry, it'll get done." Well, down coats need to be fluffed during the drying cycle. She had heard if you put tennis balls in the dryer they would bounce around and fluff the coat. Not having any tennis balls, she decided apples were the same size and weight, so why not use those? I'm not sure why she didn't realize she wasn't hearing the thump, thump, thump of the apples any more, but when she finally went to get the coat out it had a shiny cast to it. She couldn't figure out what happened until she went to retrieve the apples only to find they weren't there. They had exploded and basically the coat's sheen was from baked on applesauce. We want our percentage for the dryer ball invention.

When I was in junior high, sanitary pads were attached to a belt. Not only was it awkward, I was sure everyone could see the outline of the belt through my pants. So I used safety pins and pinned it to my panties. Great idea until the pin opened up. Hmm, maybe the Post-it Note guy put my concept with his glue and came up with the adhesive sanitary products.

I haven't seen any royalty checks arrive at my door yet, so until then I won't quit my day job and keep on thinking of new ideas.

Who Changed the Dryer Setting to Hot?

There's a laundry poltergeist at my house who's turned up the dryer a notch. This has been very frustrating because all my clothes shrank two sizes. My abode's apparitions sit and snicker while I'm dressing when they see the edges of my sweater not meeting in the middle. It wasn't as horrible when you could take a big breath and manage to slip the buttons in their proper place, but lately each side of the sweater is like opposite poles of a magnet resisting contact.

Further proof of these goblins are my belts and bras. Since bras are not put in the dryer and belts, of course, just hang in the closet, the only logical explanation is these creatures have been twiddling with the furnace again. The humidity setting has been increased and it's always hot, which explains why I wake up sweaty in the middle of the night.

To further complicate matters, these sinister spirits have changed the surface of my mirror from flat-planed to convex, causing images to magnify. The bags under my eyes are more noticeable. Another big chuckle for these demons is when they dabble with the lights just as you remove your clothes to get in the shower. Somehow it's as if the light is shined directly on you and your silhouette looks like Santa against the shower wall.

Now friends have suggested this could all be signs of menopause, but that would mean you have mood swings. Hmmm, this could explain the look of fear in my husband's eyes when he's uttered words he can't take back like when I was trying to get on a pair of pants and he lovingly suggested maybe I had grabbed his by mistake. If my eyes could turn my thoughts to laser beams, there would have been nothing left of him but a puddle.

I'm starting to think the issue of Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde is that Hyde was a woman whose estrogen had fallen so low she went stark raving mad. Think about it; mannish attributes start to appear. Hair starts growing different areas. Your upper lip; your chin. I'm like the Sorcerer's apprentice as the faster I pluck the faster the little buggers grow back in.

The good news is,once you've crossed from perimenopausal to being a full fledged member of the menopause club, you only have somewhere between one and ten years left and you're home free. Gee, that should help lift my mood swing.

Stress Busters

We all need stress reducers in our life. Ah, what better relief than a pet. The feel of their fur between your fingers, the purr reverberating off your chest, the oh-so-adoring eyes staring up at you. It has been documented that pets lower blood pressure and cholesterol, cure depression, lower heart disease, improve mental and physical health. They might as well say they cure hemorrhoids and warts while they're at it.  Do these people even own pets?

My dog is a springer spaniel.  High energy, which is good because it forces me to walk her each night after work.  Ah, spring time, and we can get exercise after our long winter.  That will reduce some stress.  There is the smell of rain - rain and lots of it.  Gotta get the rain coat, the leash, the bags.  "Come on Katie, let's go for a walk." Five minutes is spent trying to hook the leash to the collar as she spins about my ankles. I open the screen door and go to shut front door while she proceeds to leap off the front porch pulling me with her and the screen door slams on my wrist. "Katie! Sit!" She sits. I lock the door and off we go. Now where I live it is goose wonderland.  There's a reason why the phrase loose as a goose was penned, but to my dog it just translates into the word smorgasbord.  Remember the game Pac Man?  Well that's how my dog walks; from one prize to the next while I'm turning green trying to persuade her to avoid these little treasures.

Summertime is good.  The geese have left and the field is ours until soccer season starts.  Ah, the smell of freshly mown grass and children running through sprinklers.  Well in my mind that's what it sounds like.  I know kids must exist, I'm just not sure where they are.  Holed up in front of a television, or computer or texting their friends, but all done in their air conditioned homes.  Because it's so hot, Katie gets extremely thirsty.  We bring a water bottle for her, but it's embarrassing when she tries to take water bottles from other walkers.  I apologize to the couple wearing white shorts that now have her paw prints on them.

Fall has come; the dang geese are back.  You can't step one foot between one land mind and the next.  She's like, "Whoo-hoo!  Snack time!"  I am fairly soft spoken and do not like to make a scene.  So first I'm just whispering, "Psst, Katie, stop."  After about a block my voice is more raspy as I hiss, "Katie, don't eat that!"  And by the end of our walk,  I look like someone who's escaped from a ward.  "KATIE, PUT IT DOWN!!!"

Winter has come, geese are gone again, but my dog can dive head first into a six foot drift and pull out, well, you get the picture.  I have fallen on sidewalks when my feet hit black ice just as Katie has spotted a rabbit.  My head hits a boulder of frozen snow where the snow has been shoveled off the path .  As I lay there stunned I wonder why I didn't bring my phone and hope I don't freeze to death before someone discovers my body.  I don't have any i.d. on me, but as long as the dog doesn't get away, they'll see our address on her tags.
Yes, she is frustrating, the vet bills are outrageous, the pet store portion of my credit runs higher than the groceries, but she gives my husband and I something to talk about and like proud parents watching over their children sleeping at night, we whisper lovingly that she looks like an angel and would probably do it all over again.  The fact that she relies on us, trusts us and loves us unconditionally - that, my friend, reduces my stress.

March to Your Own Beat

It's good to be unique, however, unless you're rich enough to be considered eccentric, most will just label you as nuts.  The other day I went to Menards and asked if they had any bat houses.  The lady says, "you're the first who's ever asked for one of these."  If no one asks for them, why are they selling them?  At Walt Disney World, I requested a Coca Cola half regular/half diet. The vendor says he's waited on hundreds of thousands of people and that's the first time he's ever gotten that request.  What's so weird about that?  You get let less calories, but more of the real Coca Cola flavor.

Life's too short to be boring.  Even as a child when most were asking for dolls, I wanted stilts.  Guess I secretly wanted to join the circus.  Another item I wanted, but never got was a unicycle.  My parents thought it was just a passing fancy, but then the next year it was asked for again, and the next and the next.  Guess they thought the idea would eventually pass.  My mother must have felt guilty because she bought me a unicycle Christmas ornament one year.

While other children quietly watched the t.v. while their parents square danced, I was outside in the field attempting to catch a mouse.  One the way home, I was telling my parents about my mouse encounter and my dad said, "you shouldn't play with mice, they might bite you."  It was at that moment I realized I had never heard either of my parents swear.  Mom said things like "bug juice" when she was mad, but when I announced that the mouse did indeed bite me, dad said "s**t."  I was more stunned at his swearing than the fact I was bit by a mouse.  He whipped the car around and headed for the hospital.

Now it can also be said I was a bit of a smart aleck as a child.  When the nurse asked if we had the mouse, I'm like "no, I flung him off my finger."  She asked if we could go back and retrieve the mouse.  I asked "How?  By looking for the one with the blood on his teeth?"  Ah, my parents were so proud.  Because we had no mouse, my parents had the fun decision of debating between my getting rabies treatments or crossing their fingers and taking a chance.  Not sure if they flipped a coin or what, but they opted out of rabies treatments.  Maybe they decided it was a win/win situation.  They saved money on the procedure and if it turned out badly, they would have one less mouth to feed.  Everything turned out fine, but it could explain why I sometimes foam at the mouth when I'm mad. 

To this day I still want to try new things.  At 30 I tried ice skating and at 40 went to night school to work on completing my Bachelor's degree.  Now at 50 I just want to be able to bend over and tie my shoes without blacking out from the jeans cutting off my air supply as they dig into my abdomen.

As long as my heart keeps beating, I'll march to that beat, however offbeat it may be from others.