Mommy Mondays

Hello friends. No, this isn't my (not so) subtle way of making an announcement of a pending baby due - gasp! Or, the announcement of my adoption of a new, furry puppy.  It's the announcement of a guest blog starring my dear friend, Laura.  LJ for those of you know her from other times in our respective lives.  Laura has two adorable darlings who are known to do some pretty funny stuff.  She shares this with me via phone and email and I always laugh and laugh.  And I thought you needed to hear some of it too.  This may happen again.  Or, maybe not.  Just depends on how often her kids do silly, funny, blog-worthy stuff.  And, how often it's Monday.  And, how often I can get my act together to post her fine, clever prose on a Monday.  So, welcome to Mommy Mondays!!  And, welcome Laura.  Okay, your mic is on...

My son, Grayson, is three-and-a-half. He attends preschool one block from our house, and we walk there three mornings a week. We love his school and plan to send his one-year-old sister, Harper, there when she's ready, too. It happens to be a Jewish preschool. Our family isn't Jewish, so we think it's pretty cool that Grayson teaches us things about the Jewish religion/culture ("Hamen is a bad guy!"), new vocabulary words ("Mom, did you eat matzo/hamantashen/challah when you were a girl?") and brings home fun projects (like a "Plague Bag"--including, among other things, a locust, lice, blood, and a dead cow--all faux, of course) on a weekly basis.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, Grayson requested ham in his lunchbox. I told him that ham isn't allowed at his school and that I'd send turkey instead. He proceeded to ask me at least a hundred questions about why he couldn't have ham at school, and I did my best to explain. I said that some Jewish people don't believe in eating pork, and that he should ask his teachers if he wanted to know more. OK, maybe that wasn't the greatest explanation, but I really just wanted him to stop asking questions about ham!

Out of the blue at school that Wednesday, he declared to his teacher, "I'm not Jewish, because I like ham!" Fabulous (insert my red face here). We had lunch at home the following day, and (surprise!) we had ham. At some point, Harper started throwing hers on the floor. Grayson, momentarily glancing up from his iPad screen (mom of the year), wanted to know what she was doing. I told him she was throwing her ham on the floor, and he asked, "Does Harper not like ham?" I said that sometimes babies just throw things. He watched her for awhile, then shrugged and said... "Maybe she's Jewish."

From now on, I'll leave the teachings of Judaism to the experts.

Happy Passover to Harper and all my Jewish friends! 

Just Plane Inappropriate (3rd edition)

If you are joining us for the first time..welcome and let me give you some background.  I travel for work.  Fairly often.  Not all the time.  But, often enough that I've seen some crazy things. 

One of my biggest pet peeves is people who take their shoes off on the plane. 

I was telling my boss about this the other day and he acknowledged the he will go sans shoes on International flights.  That gets a pass.  They give you booties to cover your feet.

Domestic flights keep your shoes on.

Anyway, here's another pet peeve, people who eat weird, smelly or sloppy things on the plane.

So, the other day, we're in flight.  I look over and there is a man sitting there with his work spread out across his tray table.  He is working diligently.  Scribbling feverishly.  He must have really had some good thoughts burning through him.  Then he paused.  Reached into his lap and pulled out a bag of cereal.

No, not a baggie.  Not a ziploc.  The bag.  That he removed from the standard size box of cereal.

The bag was nearly empty.  There was probably enough in the bag for a kids size bowl of cereal.  I couldn't believe he was going to stick his hand in that bag and snack on handfuls of cereal during our flight.  Seriously? 

So, he unrolled the top of the bag, positioned the bag to funnel the corner and leaned his head back.  Opened his mouth as wide as it could go, lifted the bag upside down above his head and dumped in some cereal.

I was dumbfounded.  So much so that I paused mid-conversation and shook my head.  Then he started scribbling his notes again.

He repeated this two or three times until he got every last crumb of cereal out of that bag.  It was one of the funniest and oddest things I've seen someone eat on the plane.  A grown man.  Graying beard and all. In 20D.  Dumping cereal in his mouth.  I hope he got all of the crumbs out of his beard.

You gain weight?

As we all know, I love getting manicures and pedicures!! And, I am generally a very loyal client once I find someone who perfectly polishes my elegant fingers.


I found a gal I loved. She went by Katie because I, along with many others, couldn't pronounce her Vietnamese name. Katie was sweet and kind. She would sing and hum quietly when I was tired. Ask how I was doing. Ask about Sam and what puppy antics he had been up to. She asked about my boyfriend and work. I think she genuinely cared.


I was Katie's client for years. I would rearrange my schedule to make sure she would be the one clipping my cuticles and shaping my nails into perfect squovals.



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Then one day everything changed. This was the day Katie looked at me slightly confused during my pedicure and said, 'You gain weight?'

I had. Probably 15 pounds. I was happy and in love so I ate and drank whatever I wanted. And, yes, I had gained weight. I was not happy about that but before I could answer she quickly followed with 'what you eat?'


I was mortified. Embarrassed. Red-faced. I already knew I wasn't happy with the extra 18 lbs I had put on. And, I certainly wasn't happy with Katie pointing it out either.


For  my next manicure I took my money and my extra 21 pounds elsewhere.

My Dating misAdventures Entry # 2

A friend set us up.  On paper he was AMAZING.

Tall.  Love it!

VP of Marketing for a major sports team.  Smart and Savvy.

Dark Hair.  *swoon*

Christian.  My mom would approve.



CC By Eric Heath

We talked and agreed to meet on Saturday night.  He suggested the Top of the Mark. 

I knew nothing about the Top of the Mark.  I wanted to wear jeans.  He said he would be wearing a suit.  He wanted to get dressed up. See you soon fancy man.

Enter blonde girl.  Tuxedos in the lobby.  I am totally underdressed in my heeled sandals, skirt and tank.  I should have worn a sequined ballgown.  Up top, I take in the glory of this elegant restaurant at the peak of the Mark Hopkins Intercontinental Hotel in San Francisco's Nob Hill. Apparently you go here to celebrate your 50th wedding anniversary. China.  Multiple forks and spoons.  Crystal.  Why not a pub with burgers and fries??

Over candlelight I drank wine with dinner.  He asked if I had been SAVED by Jesus.  I ordered another glass. I mean it's great to have a relationship with the big guy upstairs.  I have one, we talk.  However, date 1 may not the best time to bring it up. Let's have breezy conversation.  Flirt. Laugh. Share funny stories.  No need to go biblical.

He said and did some other odd things.  Kind of arrogant too.  We parted ways knowing we would never see each other again.  The car from the Mark Hopkins took me home.  Where was The Bachelor camera crew to film my tipsy commentary about my feelings toward the Jesus-loving sports exec?

Many months later I learned from the person who set us up that 1) she didn't know much about him and 2) at this exact same time he was trying to determine what to do about another female in his life.

Apparently they met at church.  Their lust and desire overtook them during bible study.  A one-night stand occurred. She was pregnant.  They weren't exactly sure what to do.

I think going out with me was a brilliant idea.  Do you sense the sarcasm in my voice?  Seriously?   Dude, you probably should have been attending to your knocked-up church friend.

My Dating misAdventures Entry #1

I've gone on a few dates in my day.  Some wonderful. Some not so wonderful.  All good stories.

My friends get a good laugh at my dating adventures.  They ask when I have good ones.  Awkward ones.  Funny ones.  Short ones.  Tall ones.  Sad ones.  Bad ones.  I sound like Seuss. 




CC Trevor Hurlbut Aug. 28, 2010

Anyway, considering I am a single 35 year old, I've had a decent dating experience.  Many crushes.  Many good-byes.  A few boyfriends.  A couple of loves.  And, an occasional mistake (or two).

I've decided that you, too, may enjoy some of my dating misadventures. 


My first 'real' date.  He asked me out. A few days in advance.   That's apparently all it takes.

He was in college.  I was in high school.  I guess I've always had a thing for older men.

He was going to take me to House Decs.  We would walk around Greek Town and admire all of the decorations and skits each of the sororities and frats had conjured up in the grand spirit of Homecoming.  I was sure we would hold hands.

He picked me up.  There was no plan other than house decs.  Of course.   He was a freshman in college.   He drove through Taco Bell because he was hungry.  I didn't order anything.  I don't know that he asked if I wanted anything.  Not even a burrito.  I didn't want to hold his hand anymore.

House Decs?  Good.   The 'date'?  Really lame.  

There you have it.  My first real date.  I was completely disappointed. I called my girlfriends and complained.  At least that part of the 'date' went well..  Rehashed the whole thing with my girlfriends.  They told me he wasn't good enough.  I deserved better.  Exactly what girlfriends are supposed to do after a bad date.  The pattern was established.

Now, you'd think that any guy who took me on a date since then would score an A because the first one set the bar SO low.

Wrong.  I have high standards.  He was just the tip of the dating iceberg. 

Now, don't get me wrong there are some good ones. And, my girlfriends hear about those too. And, encourage me and tell me how excited they are and how great he sounds and when are you going out again??  We oooh and awww over those. 

But, there are many really bad ones.  And, honestly, those are the funniest.  And, make for the best stories.  And, the most laughter.  So that's what you will find the most of on this blog.  There may be a sweet one in there occasionally. And, just like in dating, it's the occasional sweet one that keeps you coming back for more.

My (sometimes) High Maintenance Life

I am sometimes High Maintenance.  I am a girl.  I think most of us can be this way.  Occasionally.  Or, often.  Whatever.

I try to keep my high maintenanceness under control.  I am good at this. Sometimes.  Not as often as I'd like.

Like the other day.

I went to breakfast with some girlfriends last Sunday.  It was an eggs and bacon and biscuits&gravy and pancakes kind of place.  No eggs benedict. No frittatas.

We had a party of five.  The restaurant was not that busy.  There was no wait.  They seated us at the most awkward table.  It was situated between 2 benches.  One side of the bench could accommodate 2 people. The other side, 3.  But, the weird thing was that the table was incredibly long.  Like 10 feet long.  So, the 5th person would not be facing anyone.  It was like they would be eating at their own table with no one to talk with or look at.

I didn't want to sit at this weird, non-inclusive table.  I didn't want anyone to sit by themselves at the odd end.  I didn't want anyone to have to sit across from no one.  Weird.  Awkward. I hated it.



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So, I asked the host if we could sit at the other booth.  It was perfectly situated to allow us to sit near each other.  Everyone would be happier here.  I was certain of it.

Host:  "No, that's reserved".

Me:  "Really?"  "This exact table is reserved"?  "Well, is there somewhere else we can sit?" *snotty tone kicking in*

Host:  "No, you'd have to wait".

Waiting doesn't work for me.  Particularly when I am feeling high maintenance.  I was hungry. 


And, high maintenance.  We took the weird table.

10 minutes later a party of 2 was escorted to the table by the host.

Host: "It's so nice to see you again, Mary".

Mary wore a huge floppy hat and sunglasses.  Mary's perfectly manicured hand flaunted a diamond which was nearly 5 carats.  Mary was with her sweet adult son who likely just brought her from church. The waitress knew what Mary wanted. Mary was a regular.  Mary and son were served before our shared waitress took our order.  Mary's drink was always full.   I have a feeling Mary has a high maintenance side.

My motto from here on out:  Eat, Drink and (one day) Be Mary.

 

Naked People

There are many different types of people in the world.  Skinny, Tall,  Brown-Haired, Muscular, Chunky, Blue-Eyed, Petite..I could go on. 

There are also two very distinctive people - Naked People and Not Naked People.

The Naked Cowboy likely only wears underwear to avoid the NYC slammer.  He has made good money off of his nakedness.  Clearly he is a Naked Person.  Probably everyday.  Probably all of the time.

I am a Not Naked Person. I don't walk around the house naked. I don't dry my hair naked. Nothing. I did not grow up in a Naked House. We wore clothes. Always. I don't have anything against Naked People. I am just not one of them. So, their nakedness is sometimes surprising.

I dated a Naked Person once.  I found him sitting naked on the couch and felt so bad for every other person who would ever sit on that couch again. Yuck! This happened a few times and every time I was like 'put some freaking shorts on'...Sheesh. 

I also had a Naked Person as a roommate.  One night our home phone started screaming at 2am.  We were in our 20's.  This was not abnormal.  We both came running out of our rooms. I, clothed head to toe, in yoga pants, a long sleeve shirt and a sweatshirt.  It was winter.  She, on the other hand, was naked.  Totally naked. Not even jewelry naked. We stared at the phone, looked at each other, laughed and went back to our respective Not Naked and Naked Rooms.

You are either a Naked Person or a Not Naked Person.  There is no in-between.  The Naked Ex sometimes also cooked naked.  Breakfast.  Really.  Nothing like a full moon when you walk into the kitchen on a Sunday morning.

Ruby Red Lipstick: Anniversary Edition

I am single.  I have been for a year now.  To the day. 

Yes, I dumped my ex on Halloween of last year.  He applied for a car loan in my name.  For a Range Rover.  When he was unemployed.  Really?

He did a handful of other things that really crossed the line and my forgiveness had just run out.  So, I came home mid-day and told him it was over.  I didn't cry.  I just felt an incredible sense of Peace.  Even when he called me every nasty word you can think of to refer to a woman or her body. Or, when in the middle of The BreakUp he changed his relationship status on Facebook to 'single'.  Who does that?  Peaceful the whole time. Seriously.

That peaceful easy feeling lasted for about 14 hrs.  Then, I woke up and I felt terrible.  And, I felt great.  And, I felt sad.  And, I felt happy. And, I felt relief. And, I felt lost.  And, I felt found.

For a while it was a mix of these emotions but eventually I got over the ex and the relationship.  My friends were amazingly supportive through it all!  The best friends a girl could ask for.  Xanax also helped. So did wine.  Sometimes too much.  But never too much of both at the same time. I even called the Walgreen's pharmacist a few times to be sure my time between the sedatives and the wine was enough. They think I am completely nuts. Safety first.

I think the 'tipping point' in my 'moving on' was when me and my Ruby Red Lips found him at a pizza place.  No, I didn't smooch him. YUCK! I seriously just gagged a little.  I did however try to play nice.  Until he asked me to do him a favor. 

 Him: Liz, could you do me a favor?
 Me: Sure, what's that?  (me trying to play nice)
 Him:  Lay off the red lipstick?

Seriously?  Who says that?  Lay off the red lipstick?  Really?

Whatever.  Like he had any right to comment on my appearance or my make-up selection. Who did he think he was?

I love me some red lipstick.  Here is one of my favorite pics of me rockin' red lips. I get that the picture is a bit crazy. Cray-Zee is totally why I love it.

Whenever I put on the red lipstick I am empowered, strong, beautiful and confident.  Actually I feel that way in pink lip gloss or when I wear chapstick too.  But, when I pop the cap off of the red I remember that moment and how good it felt to tell him

Me: Actually...I like it...so I'll probably keep wearing it. *smug smile*

Today, I am wearing red lipstick.  And, I feel Great.  Happy and Healthy. Peaceful and Pretty.  Sassy and Sophisticated.  And, I don't have a Range Rover in my driveway.  And, even better, he doesn't have one in his.

Steroids..not just for MVP's

Steroids work miracles.  I was sick earlier this week and a shot of steroids helped me wake up the next day full of energy, ready to go and no longer sounding like I had a 3 pack-a-day habit. Granted my bum felt like I was kicked by a horse, but I could breathe, I sounded like me, I. Felt. Better.  Good enough to go to the Cards game and watch them smoke the Giants.  Hopefully we'll see more of that tonight in San Francisco.

Now I am taking 60 mg of steroids in 6 pill-a-day fashion to help keep me breathing cleanly and to eliminate the upper respiratory infection I had.  Past Tense. It is going, going...gone!  Kind of like all of the homeruns hit during the steroid era of baseball. 

Now granted these are two very different types of steroids, right?  I am not trying to get stronger or bulk up like an All-Star.  Although, I think I could put away a bag of chips in seconds because I want to eat everything in sight.  And, I am experiencing crazy amounts of energy.

So I updated my living room...I had ordered new Crate & Barrel slip covers for my couch and chair and they F I N A L L Y arrived.  So I spent yesterday evening steaming, ironing, eating, straightening, steaming, ironing, straightening and eating.

Here's the 'new' chair.  Thank you Crate & Barrel.  Now if only I could have sat still long enough to enjoy the comfy newness of it.  Instead I started laundry and had some cookies.