Okay, time to ‘fess up.

I love online gaming.

No crazy Dungeons & Dragons or role playing…

Dear Clarice, my pathology’s a thousand times worse.

It’s Scrabble & word games.

I can’t even help myself.

I love winning–and even better, being accused of cheating–as I use my extensive education to wield and manipulate random letters into 5, 6, or even 7 letter words (the latter also involves bonus points!).

It’s pathetic, I know.

But if you’ve played games with me, I have to admit, I am a bad loser and a worse winner–think Grace Adler (from Will & Grace) with a very annoying version of “I Win! I Win! I Win!” shouted after every victory.

I think I’m hard wired this way.

It’s no wonder that I have to sit by myself and play in front of a screen.

Just know that there is help for me yet–writing this interesting diversion has cut down on the wasted time immensely.

I’m even thinking of trusting gravity enough to get off my computer chair to venture outside, meet new people, make new friends…

Maybe they’ll even want to play a game.

You sing: “Go ahead baby!”

It has come to my attention that I have a serious problem.

I jiggle.

Not in the cute 4 year old bouncy way…but in the dreaded lunch lady way. Parts of me are too close to resembling cottage cheese, and for cripes sake, I’m way too cute have the role of Rachel’s thighs being played by Jello.

So it’s Day 1.

And I am surviving.

It’s been a full 16 hours and I have kept things under control.

The goal is for my birthday (in August, btw) to be as totally fabulous on the outside as I feel on the inside.

I just fear that it means a lot less chocolate, carbs, and wine…..

Crap.

Quickly changing my mantra: “I’m fabulous baby!”

You sing: “Go ahead baby!”

I feel better already.

The Boy just arrived home.

He brought me flowers today.

And a BUNCH of parsley.*

He’s very sweet.

(And obviously wanting some good press.)

Title for next blog entry: A Necklace of Diamonds.

*see 2/25/08

Is it just me, or are there others out there in cyberspace WITHOUT any tattoos? Please make yourself known!

Good Grief.

Here are some of my personal, south of the Bible Belt, favorites:

1. A pair of legs with red high heels–one on the inner arm, one down the body, all leading to some idiot’s hairy armpit…….nice. Can’t you just hear “Sweet Home Alabama” in the background?

2. Picture it: White Guy, both calves, WHITE on one, POWER on the other…as a sidenote, his ASIAN wife walking proudly beside him wearing a strip club tee-shirt and his daughter was a beautiful blend of the 2 morons……there are so many people that want babies, yet these a$%*&!@’s have no problem pro-creating…hmm, because of the irony of the situation, does that make them oxymorons?

3. Looney Tunes……why do people seem to think that Yosemite Sam, the Tasmanian Devil, or Tweety Bird belong on their body forever?

4. Disney Characters……no word of a lie, I JUST saw a 6-8 diameter Holiday Wreath, on yet another calf, with Mickey, Minnie, Donald, & Pluto wishing Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas FOREVER. Maybe it’s a Florida thing.

5. Spiderweb Elbows & Teardrops…..I know that some fool will probably come after me on this one, but SERIOUSLY?!

6. Panthers, with claws, crawling up arms and legs…..ring, ring, clue phone–no one buys this s*&$ for a minute AND it looks like crap.

7. Profanity on your arm or knuckles forever…..I guess the upside is that it is usually spelled correctly.

8. Skulls with vampire teeth and other hellish icons…..perfect for holding your sweet baby in christening photos.

9. Your NAME…..are you honestly so dumb that you need a permanent “Hello, My Name Is” on your BODY?!

10. The tramp stamp…..how many of these uninteresting smears am I going to have to look at–only bettered when accompanied by a whale-tale thong popping out under your muffin top.

I know that there are more fine specimens–feel free to comment and enlighten me.

Maybe I’m in a mood today, but seriously–take a picture and build a scrapbook of memories to keep at home. I don’t care that you’re “Born to be Wild” or that you want snakes coming out of eye sockets in skulls on your arm to be the 1st impression of you. If you need to remember names, keep an address book on you or check your cell phone.

While shows like LA Ink might be fun to watch for the freak factor and, to be honest, the talent of the artists, I find the majority of ink on the everyday individual to be mundane and mainstream–and isn’t that the opposite of what it’s supposed to be?

And don’t even get me started on the pathology of the pain of the needle associated with a “Good Memory”…..

Maybe I’m completely wrong.

Maybe my NOT having any tatt’s means I have commitment issues because I can’t think of one picture I want on my body forever.

Maybe I’m just afraid that today’s Betty Boop will be tomorrow’s Betty Droop.

Maybe I’m the freak here……but maybe I’m not.

or, Things that are cute when you are little, that are NOT when you are a grown up.

1. Chewing with your mouth open to “show” me (with an emphatic, “SEE!”) that you are, in fact, eating your dinner.

2. Throwing yourself on the floor of the library screaming and crying– we call it “The Flop”–when disappointed that your favorite movie or book has been taken out.

3. Wetting your pants. (“I just had a little leak Mommy.”)

4. Jumping knees first onto Daddy’s tummy, and landing a little bit lower….

5. Ripping one in the bathtub and looking back to wonder where it came from–then laughing hysterically and proudly announcing it to everyone.

6. Pooping so big you HAVE to bring in your friends and parents to see.

7. A stranger compliments how cute you are, and you promptly reply, “I know.”

8. Eating a Ghiradelli Hot Fudge Sundae with such gusto that you need to put the spoon down and use your hands–smearing your entire body in the process.

9. Someone gives you bad news and you feel compelled to crawl under the nearest chair and shout, “No! No! No! I will NEVER do it! NE-VA!”

10. You see your Daddy getting dressed, and as he bends down to put his first leg into his boxers, you run up behind him, grab his dangly bits and proudly yell, “Daddy’s got a TAIL!”

I would like to introduce you to The Dainty Flower.

Did you say, “AWWWWW”?

Yeah, I have to admit, she’s pretty cute.

(Oh, btw, the little cowgirl was just playing dress-up and posed on her own. I am not some crazy Jon Benet-style pageant Mommy….but I digress.)

I’m here to inform you that we’ve reached a new phase in this household:

LYING

And not just, “I didn’t eat the cookie” with crumbs around the mouth cuteness either.

No, this is a whole different deeper layer of bulls&*%.

This is the, “We didn’t pick up the cat like a suitcase and color on his 17 year old body with permanent flourescent marker” kind of lying.

Stop smiling.

It’s NOT funny.

She doesn’t stop with the solitary lie either…she’s already getting her friends on board! Afterthought comments of, “right Bella?” warm the cockles of my heart as her deception spreads like plague. What’s the cliche? A chip off the old block? Again, I digress…

Bella (who doesn’t realize my daughter is throwing her under the bus) quickly chimes in, “Right Faryn!” before we (the mommies) can stop her. The whole production is only missing a wink and a nudge, if you know what I mean…

And as for the cat, he is now laying in the litter box to hide. That’s right folks–it’s preferable to the cat to be sitting in it’s own feces than be “loved” on by my Dainty Flower.

Can you imagine what fun she’ll be as a teen?!

1. The Ladies Room. Whatever those “ladies” do in there I want no part of.

2. 5 million people work in the mall–where is the one with the fitting room key?!

3. If you can actually get into a fitting room (see #2), why does “helping” mean shouting, “Oh, do you need a bigger size?” in a decibel so loud that you have to peek to make sure that there isn’t a crowd gathered outside your dressing room (undoubtedly paying their quarters, eating popcorn and candy apples) to see the sideshow “Fat Lady”.

4. Trying on a sweater that has taken on new usefulness as a sponge…and now you smell like someone else’s hygiene issue.

5. Realization: You are now 30 and are in the fashion void between Forever 21 and Holiday Applique Sweaters.

6. Further case for depression: Even if you could shop at Forever 21, you can’t tell the shirts from the dresses anyway–run out of store in humiliation as can’t bear to ask 16 year old which to wear with tights or leggings…if they need them at all.

7. Kiosks selling stupid crap. My favorite new item at said vendors is gold teeth….silly me, I thought you needed a dentist to hook up your “grill”!

8. Simply stated: All children wearing “heely’s” (stupid sneakers with roller skate wheels) need to be tripped. Immediately.

9. And let it be known, that if one more person bumps into me and does not say, “Excuse me” I am going to start carrying a piping hot Starbucks around just so I can throw it at them and NOT say “Sorry”.

10. Finally, I would like to take the time to make a public service announcement. If you and “Your Baby Daddy” feel the need to traipse through the mall, could you please not be obviously looking for your next pimp or ho–they can see you doing it and they’re not THAT stupid! And if you still can’t control yourself, would you all please get the F&*$ out of my way so I can get to Starbucks before you bump into me!

So, with much anticipation of seeing The Boy after a week of vacation, I exited my plane and headed right for the escalator…where undoubtedly he would be waiting with flowers and fanfare to sweep me off my feet and make me feel like the “Natural Woman” I know that I am.

I am proudly lugging around his Fender Bass, complete with cumbersome hard case that is giving my hands blisters, excited to surprise him with the treasures of his past to reinvigorate his present.

One last check in a random window reflection to make sure that I am presentable and away I went…down, down, down…hmm, not here. Well, the plane was early, no harm, no foul, he must be parking the car.

Go to baggage claim, to retrieve the obvious, and know in my heart that he will wrap his arms around me at anytime and kiss my neck in just the right place.

Tick. Tock.

Luggage comes.

No Boy.

Cautiously balance all luggage, with stupid guitar that I don’t want to listen to anyway, and meander outside through 1 million smokers–and their smoke–to sit and wait.

Waiting.

Finally, car drives up! Hooray! Not losing hope, have a final dream that he was late due to extensive floral arranging of beautiful bouquet I just can’t quite see yet…

WRONG

Out comes husband, ready to grab and go luggage. No kiss. Smells like Irish Pub. Late due to drinking with buddies after paintballing and excited to show me his injuries.

………………….not happy……………………..

Is it too much to ask that if I have to read 100 magazines on how to spice up my love life–including a BJ article in REDBOOK, if you can believe it–that he at least bring me a flower when I go away for a week?!

Is it okay for me to say, “Honey, I love you, but I am not interested in how you dominated today–nor do the amount of paintballs that have left bruises and welts on your body (but didn’t burst and you tagged the guy out so you are AWESOME) turn me on–oh, and by the way, you smell”?

Maybe I am unrealistic, a dreamer. Maybe flowers were too much to ask. But at this point I would be happy with the sprig of parsley left on his plate–or at the very least a “to-go” drink for me!

It is inevitable.  As soon as my daughter gets within the confines of any bedroom with a friend…her clothes come off.  It happens so fast, that I am convinced they remove themselves as she approaches the room in some sort of cosmic toddler/pre-school portal.

How do I know this occurs EVERY time?  The stunning conga-line processional that follows of, “Naked! Naked! NAY-KED!”complete with booty shaking and Carmen Miranda arms.   I imagine it’s exactly what Adam and Eve did in the Garden of Eden before the unfortunate fruit eating incident.

The sheer joy of it all, the reckless abandon, left me at pique intrigue.  I decided to try it.  I waited patiently until the Dainty Flower went to bed, and the boy was at band practice.  To get the full effect, I threw my clothes on the floor as fast as I could and, ahem, shook my “money maker” for all it’s worth.

I didn’t shout the customary song (see above), but gave the Naked Dance a good go–complete with conga booty thrusts.  I was only missing fruit adorned headgear–but this is the Naked Dance after all.  I was having a great time and thought that my daughter was brilliant…I couldn’t wait for the boy to get home to have him join in the revelry!  This is GREAT! I can’t believe I haven’t done this before!  I’ll start a new sensation!

And then I glanced up and checked myself out in the mirror.

And realized that when my body stops moving, my arms, butt, and stomach…DON’T.

Immediate thought:  “I know what makes an ocean wave, wave” from Boston Museum of Science commercial, circa 1982.

Stunning realization:  What once was a “money maker” I believe, may be reduced to a change machine.

No. More. Naked. Dance.

I’m going to leave it to the professionals.

So here I am, the last day of my vacation.  I am feeling refreshed, rejuvenated and ready to tackle life again.  I am thankful for all my friends and family who made this trip wonderful and unforgettable and excited to head back to my dainty flower for a snuggle, a kiss, and possibly a good book…

life is good.

ps–looking forward to seeing the boy too!