Saturday Showdown

So this morning, my husband informed me that my puppet wrinkles are not, in fact, wrinkles, but rather sagging skin (aka jowls. JOWLS!). Instead of a quick restylane injection, what I really will need is a face lift. Would somebody please remind me to poison his food?

I don't know if it was residual anger from the jowl diagnosis, or what, but I managed to get in a bit of a scuffle with a lovely couple at the gym today. I should preface the story with some background info...

I am a former showdown queen. I have made store managers cry, several random people threaten me with physical violence, and a water filtration salesman run from my house in fear of his life. It used to be that I would let my emotions rule my actions, causing the gloves to come off rather quickly, and the fur to fly. However, I have mellowed in my old, saggy-jowled age, and tend to let most things slide. But not today. Oh, no.... Not today.

I guess the details don't really matter.  A guy took my spot in class and I politely pointed it out to him. Instead of moving, he ignored me. I will admit that I then began talking loudly to my husband about how this guy took my saved spot. His wife turned around and spoke to me, irritating me with her stupid comments. Sorry, but if you engage me, be prepared, right? RIGHT?! (please, somebody say "right!")

So things kind of escalated from there. I made a couple of slightly sarcastic remarks to the wife. Then the perpetrator/husband started in on me. My hubs did the whole, "If you get into with my wife, you get into it with me!" He may have even pushed up his sleeves. The husband/perpetrator actually ended up running off in a huff, leaving his wife alone in the class. She then proceeded to try to bait me throughout the class, and I basically ignored her. Apparently, it had taken her over a month to convince him to come to the gym with her, and I had sent him packing, never to return. Really?! Seems to me, he has bigger issues, if his status at the gym was so fragile.

I felt completely justified in my behavior at the time, but am starting to feel guilty. I am wondering why I keep thinking the right thing to have done was to not say anything and not stand up for myself. That doesn't seem fair. 

Anyway, happy Saturday. 

There's a New Lesbian in Town

That's right... Move over, Jay. You may very well have been replaced.

So yesterday, I felt the need to complain about my rapidly and disturbingly deteriorating physical appearance (hello? puppet wrinkles!). And, like the amazing, truly incredible women that you all are, you quickly came running, ready to commiserate with me. But then I got the most ridiculous comment from our resident 1/2 woman lesbian. If I didn't know better, I would have thought a man wrote it. I couldn't believe my eyes. It went something like this:

"You are a beautiful and smart lady blah blah blah..." I stopped reading before I became physically ill. What??? Any woman worth her wrinkles and $250 heels knows not to try to convince a woman she's beautiful!!! A real gal pal needs to jump on board and wallow in the self-pity! So disappointing.

Which brings me to CaJoh... Unlike Jay, he instinctively knew what to say (paraphrasing here):

"That's right, girlfriend. You should see my white hair... It makes me look older than dirt!" And this was after he posted one of his quick and easy recipes on his blog!

This has me thinking... Should we make them duke (claw?) it out, or is there room in this town for the two of them?

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...Go Find Someone Else to Torture.

Getting old stinks. I remember being in my 20's and 30's and actually looking forward to hitting 40. Somehow, I thought this would miraculously mature me and make people respect me more. I thought there would be all sorts of exciting, automatic changes, validating me as a person. I am approaching an entire year of being 40 and, honestly, there have been some changes. Unfortunately, they have all been physical. Yuck. 

I know the grey hair is all my own doing. Perhaps now was not the best time to launch Root Watch '09. However, I will say, even though I look 75 years old, my hair is actually thicker and healthier than ever. I think the constant bleaching/dying/bleaching/dying/flat ironing/bleaching/curling had taken its toll and I had a lot of breakage and damage. So that's the good news. 

The bad news is on my face. MY FACE! Don't get me wrong... I've been expecting the wrinkles. In fact, I had it all planned out in my mind. Since I laugh and smile all the time, I just knew I would have those cute smile lines around my eyes, indicating to all, a lifetime of happiness and joy (even though parts of it really sucked). 

Well, the other day, I noticed that I am developing these deep, awful frown lines on each side of my mouth. Like a ventriloquist's dummy. I don't even know how to frown!! It's physically impossible for me! Yes, I get mad and sad, but when I do, it's all in my eyebrows. What is going on??? So now, not only do I look old, I look mean. With a head full of grey hair. I look like a mean, old marionette!!  I might as well start wearing tank tops everyday and wave my cafeteria lady arms at people. Maybe I'll even start calling everyone "Sonny." Just for fun.

Oh, and to top it all off, I still get no respect from anyone and I think potty jokes are funny. What is wrong with me?

Ugh... At least I have very youthful looking ankles and I'm continent. For now.

Tuesday's Tribute: Say "Cheeeeeeese!"

I try not to overdo it too often about my cooking expertise, because it's not my job to make you feel inadequate and bad about yourselves. However, I must take this Tuesday to rave about one of my favorite foods... Sliced cheese. Or I guess, to be more precise, processed American cheese food (See? It is a food. It says so on the wrapper).

Again, I hate to rub it in, but I make an amazing grilled cheese (food?) sandwich. And if I'm feeling extra nice, I may offer a side of canned tomato soup to my growing boys (I love spoiling them). They adore my grilled cheese (food?) sandwiches, and whenever my husband offers to make them, they shout out, "NO! You don't know how... Mom makes them better!" What can I say?

I feel hesitant sharing this next part with you, but since we are on the subject... Sometimes, when I have the whole afternoon to plan and prepare, I will make them my signature international dish, grilled cheese (food?) quesadillas! Don't hate me because I'm the kind of mom that always thinks ahead and has fancy food like tortillas on hand.

Come join the fun... It can only get better from here! Link up and share your tribute.

Yet Another Jay and Deb Production.

The Morning After...

Holy Mackerel. 

I don't drink. But I did last night. And this morning, I am remembering why I shouldn't.  The pounding head, the upset stomach, the bloated hands and puffy face. Blech.

You'd think I went on some crazy binge at a seedy honky-tonk (good lord, I never thought I'd actually use that word), but in reality, hubs and I found ourselves alone for the evening and decided we'd have a nice, quiet dinner at the little Mexican restaurant around the corner. Two peach margaritas later, and I'd whipped out my phone and was trying to grab shots of the other customers that I found hilariously amusing (but were really just normal people eating). My husband pointed out that my flash kept going off, and that was a pretty tell-tale sign I was being obnoxious and perhaps violating some sort of privacy law (and I can't afford to break any more laws).

Speaking of breaking laws, I took Moody Teen to get his learner's permit yesterday, and was pleased to note that there were no Wanted posters with my picture on them hanging in the DMV. I did kind of inquire in a very vague and theoretical manner about what was required of someone who had let their license expire for over 6 months. If I heard correctly, not only am I going to have to take the written test, I think I may have to take the driving test, too! 

Oh man, somebody please pass the tequila.

Six Word Saturday: Buckle Up!

Putting   life   in   hands   of   teen.

For other amusing, unsettling or uplifting six word updates, go visit Cate at Show My Face!

Happy Saturday, my peeps! 

I Fought the Law and the Law Won

Oh man, I've really done it this time. My negligence and defiance of basic state law, coupled with sheer stupidity and complete loss of all common sense has landed me in quite a pickle. It's only a matter of time before Federal Agents appear at my door to escort me to The Pen, never to see my family again (I guess there really is a bright side to every story).

It is the perfect storm... a convergence of individual events causing one really spectacular mess (and maybe a casualty or two, before this is all over). Here we go...

So you all know my driver's license has been expired. Since May (I know, I know). Well, I went to the post office to apply for a passport, and the guy points out to me (duh) that my license has expired. Let's call this Red Flag #1 (RF#1). I asked if he thought it would be a problem and he assured me that it would not be, as he has processed many applications with expired licenses. Although hesitant, my laziness and hatred of the DMV won, and I proceeded. I then handed over my birth certificate, which would have to be mailed in with my application. Since I was going to be without my birth certificate for a couple of weeks, I asked again if he thought it would be fine. This time, his story was more ambiguous. "Ma'am, all I do is write down the information you give me... It is up to them," (Hello? RF#2). Either feeling extremely optimistic or perhaps having lapsed into complete denial, I happily paid my $135 for expedited service and left.

Well, well, well... Later that day, my husband and I took the kids to turn in their applications. Both parents have to be present and both have to sign something saying we won't kidnap our own children (no thank you), or something like that. So the guy (different guy) asks for my ID and I innocently hand over my license. He takes a look at it, starts to laugh this crazy, mean, very upsetting laugh, and tells me he can't accept my license, since it has expired (RF#3). So of course, I launch into this whole big thing, thinking surely I can convince him otherwise, and ultimately get my way. He doesn't budge. In fact, at this point, he is kind of acting like I am trying to pull a fast one (which I guess I am), and am some sort of criminal (which I guess I am). 

Suddenly, the consequences of my actions and inactions are crystallizing in my head. My boys can't get their passports until I either get my passport or get my driver's license renewed. I can't go get my driver's license renewed because I need to have my original birth certificate, and that, my friends, IS ON ITS WAY TO THE STATE DEPARTMENT.  So the more desperate I become, the angrier I get at the guy, which is my typical M.O. (not very mature, I admit). I grab all the paperwork, give the guy a dirty look, leave him with some completely ridiculous words of advice to ponder, and march out (my family had long since headed to the car).

So now it is a month until our vacation for which we will need our passports. And instead of learning an important lesson and perhaps calling the Passport Agency to explain my situation and beg for mercy and assistance, I am busy scheming how to circumvent the system. Will I ever learn? I am just worried that if I call attention to the fact that I have submitted my application with an expired license, they will reject it and I will have to start all over again. If I keep my mouth shut, maybe they won't notice or won't care, I can get my passport, then quickly get the boys'.

My husband keeps trying to point out that my anger is totally misplaced, and perhaps I should be shouldering some of the responsibility for the "situation". He also is promising to send lots of postcards to us from the vacation he will be taking alone. Remind me to never speak to him again.

So I am still driving around with my stupid expired license and a brake light out. It is only a matter of time, people. Only a matter of time. I guess the good news is if I do end up in jail, perhaps I can get to the bottom of this Casey Anthony mess.