Sleeping Beauty

It has been awhile since I’ve joined in the Theme Thursday blog fair. I saw this and of course it brought back a story. I thought I’d share this one with you about Sleep.

Gladys woke with a start and rubbed her eyes. “Was I asleep” she asked Kahuna. He nodded and rearranged his arm shaking it a bit when he did.

How could she have let this happen? She hadn’t felt well but had agreed to see him anyway. She had rushed home showered and primped. She dressed in her cutest top and fluffed her hair. She gargled with warm salt water trying to stave off the sore throat then drank a double espresso to keep her exhaustion at bay. She had worked close to 60 hours that week not to mention had crammed in a 2300 mile round trip for a court hearing. But he was such a nice man and had been such a gentleman on their first date several weeks back.

Gladys had been single for quite some time and her last endeavor into a relationship had ended catastrophically to say the least. Her daddy had told her that her picker was broke and boy was he right. Every man she had chosen had been a really bad choice. They were either lazy, a cheat, mean, or just downright dastardly or all of the above. Kahuna seemed different.

He actually seemed to be the answer to a prayer if you didn’t count the fact that he was a movie talker. He was attentive without being clingy; he was kind and sweet without being weak, he was available and best of all he had a great sense of humor. So she made an exception to her newest rule of not dating.

They sat close together watching the movie, his arm around her shoulder. Gladys watched as the plot unfolded and her eyes got heavy. She watched as Leonardo DiCaprio flew the Spruce Goose.

She tried to watch but something happened and her eyes closed. The next thing she knew it was the ending credits and she had been out cold for almost 3 hours. She had fallen asleep and had laid her head in her date’s lap at the local movie theater. She was mortified. If that wasn’t bad enough she had drooled. She had drooled all over this nice man’s pants. Oh she had not just exuded a little spittle. Oh no, she had emitted enough saliva to over flow the banks of the Mississippi. She wanted to die. She prayed that the roof would open up and that GAWD would smite her right there in the local Edward’s Cinema.

Kahuna shook his arm again and dabbed at his soaked dungarees with a napkin “do you feel better now?”

“I am so sorry I fell asleep on you. I didn’t mean to. I mean I know you know I didn’t mean to. What I meant was I wouldn’t have accepted the date had I known I was that exhausted.” Gladys wiped the spittle from her cheek and chin and tried to put her now disheveled hair back into some semblance of order.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you had a good sleep.”

Gladys reached in her purse and pulled out her wallet “Please let me pay you for my ticket. I mean how rude of me to allow you to pay for my ticket and then, well, you know.”

Kahuna held up his and “Nope it was well worth the money. I mean I can’t tell you the last time I spent three hours watching a movie with a woman asleep on my lap.”

Gladys was awfully embarrassed by the whole scenario and headed toward the exit. “Thank you so much for asking me out. I really do appreciate, um, well you know, your not being upset.”

Kahuna smiled “how could I be upset with someone who made them turn the volume up because she snored so loud?”

That was it Gladys searched her purse for a knife, a letter opener, anything so that she could slit her wrist right then and there.

The Dating Game

I wanted to repost this story from my old blog because I don't think some of you have read it.  Now I know you are saying "WAIT! You had another blog before me?"  Yes, dear hearts I did and some of it didn't get brought over.  I will try to finish bringing them over for your criticism, I mean enjoyment.

I wasn’t allowed to date until I was sixteen.  I was a junior in high school when I finally turned sixteen and really didn’t embark on the dating scene until late in my junior year.  I was introduced to a boy from our rival high school across town at a party one night.  He seemed nice and my friend who introduced us vouched for him.  He seemed to be interested in me and me in him.  When he asked me out for the following Friday I was thrilled, elated, heck I all but floated out of the party.  I mean this guy was cool.  He dressed differently than the cowboys I was used to dating.  He didn’t have a dip of snuff under his lip and he quoted poetry!  Be still my beating heart. 

My parents were still quite strict even though they had been through this dating thing twice before. They had gone through this with my rebellious sister and the other with my elusive brother.  I am sure that is why my mother set my curfews so early and my daddy insisted each boy come up to the house and meet one of my family before I could leave.  I had rules.  Rule number one, no boys in the house when my parents weren’t home which meant never since my parents were rarely home.  Rule number two, home before 9:00 pm on school nights and 10:30 pm on weekends, because we all know that you won’t get into any trouble or have s-e-x before 10:30.  Rule number three, no drive-in movies, because that was where kids had s-e-x. Rule number four, the boys had to come to the house and meet someone from my family before they could cart their daughter out on a date. 

I spoke to let’s call him Craig, because that was his name, on the phone several times during the week before our date.  Each time getting a more of a sense of the Rebel Without a Cause vibe from him.  He was funny and intense and sort of moody.  He was everything a teenage girl finds attractive; thank God we finally out grow that.  He agreed to pick me up Friday evening at six because the movie started around seven that would give us time to grab a burger before the show.  He got directions to my house and I told him my “house rules”.  He just chuckled and said “we’ll see”. 

Friday finally arrived and I couldn’t wait for school to let out so I could go and primp and prune and polish.  I tamed my frizzy hair as much as I could trying to look like Farah Fawcett but instead looked more like Rosanna Danna Danna.  I put on my high waisted Faded Glory Wide legged bell bottoms, my cutest tallest platform shoes lifting me up from 4’10” to 5’1” and my cutest hippest Hang Ten tee shirt.  I was a vision of 1970’s loveliness.  I was dressed and ready to go by five o’clock and sat in the den with my dad waiting for Craig (le sigh) to show up.  My dad was entranced by something Walter Cronkite was saying on the six o’clock news when I heard a honk from the front of the house.  I got up and ran to the front door.  At the end of our side walk sat the coolest, hottest trans-am.  It was black and gold with the big eagle on the front, t-tops and loud pipes.  My heart leapt in my chest.  Craig is just the coolest! I thought.  My daddy on the other hand was not impressed.  He yelled from his recliner.  “Young Lady, YOU are NOT going out there!  You can yell at him and tell him to come in and meet me or you can just sit your little butt back down on the couch and stay home.” 

I did as I was told and opened the door and asked Craig to come inside.  I was mortified, but I would have been more so if I hadn’t.  He got out of his car very much put out to be made to come inside but he did. My daddy gave him the third degree and asked him all but what his blood type was.  Then he said “Okay, then Greg, you have my little girl back home by 10:30.  You got me boy?”  To which Craig replied “My name is Craig and I got you.”  Daddy narrowed his eyes and looked at Craig and said “Alright then Greg we’ll see you later and you drive careful.”  I literally wanted to crawl under the couch and have a tea party with the dust bunnies, well if my mother would have had dust bunnies.

Craig and I walk out to the car with me chattering on about some nonsense and I walk around to the passenger door and wait.  I notice Craig has already gotten in the car.  Now I was raised that it was only polite and the gentlemanly thing to do for the man to open the woman’s car door as a sign of respect.  I stood there dumbly looking at the door when he said “What’s the matter don’t you know how to open a door?”  Well of course now I felt stupid so I opened the door and slid into his purring machine.  My teenage hormones were at full tilt and I just knew he was going to be “the one”.  I would have to work on his manners but hey that was just a minor set back.

I sat back ready to enjoy the evening.  Craig put his foot on the accelerator and laid rubber half way down the block in front of my house.  I could feel my daddy’s eyes rolling from the end of the street.  Craig took the first corner on two wheels only instead of being frightened I felt exhilarated.   Like I said I lived in a very strict household.  We stopped briefly at the little drive-in diner and wolfed down a hamburger and some fries and then we were speeding across town again.  The next thing I know we pull into the drive-in movie theater.  I looked at Craig and said “I’m not allowed to go to the drive-in.”  He just smirked and replied “What your parents don’t know won’t hurt you.” 

We pulled into our stall and he rolled down his window, took the speaker off the stand and hooked it on the door.  The movie had not started yet and they were playing some rock and roll tune that we both sat and sang the lyrics and kept the beat to.  I was trying to feign comfort but the situation just felt all wrong.  I kept hearing my daddy’s words in my head and I just knew my mother with her voodoo who doo or extra sensory perception would know.  I had images of an errant meteor hurdling towards earth and unfortunately striking right in the center of the theater parking lot.  There I’d be on the news being interviewed about a meteor hitting the front of the car and my parents would know.  I was petrified!

Nighttime snuck in and the movie trailers started.  Craig put his arm over the back of my seat and leaned across the console and in a very husky almost whisper said “So would you like to get comfortable in the back seat?”   I was taken aback.  I was shocked.  I was aghast.  I looked at him with my big eyes and squeaked out a “No thank you; I’ll just stay up here with you.”   His mouth snapped shut, his eyes turned black and he threw the speaker out of the window revved the engine on his car and peeled out of the theater lot.  He sped 100 miles per hour across town weaving in and out of cars running red lights and sliding around corners.  He skidded to a stop in front of my house reached across the car and opened my door.  He then spoke the only words he had spoken since he had asked me the confusing question “GET OUT!” he said. 

I begged, I pleaded, and I groveled.  What had I said?  What had I done to invoke his ire, his wrath, his hate?  He said nothing just sat there looking at me like I was covered in rat shit.  I slowly crawled out of his super cool car.  The next thing I knew the door was slammed and all I could see were his red cat eye tail-lights speeding away.  I was crushed and confused.  I didn’t understand why he was so angry.  I didn’t understand why he would turn on me.  My inferiority complex just tripled in size as I drug my feet to the door and let myself in.

Daddy was still in his recliner now watching a western or Nova or something.  He looked up when I entered the room and asked what I was doing home so soon.  I was crushed and began to tell him what happened. The slightest curl went to my father’s lips.  He suppressed a chuckle or two and very calmly said “You did good kid.” 

The Kahuna and I

Today is Kahuna’s birthday. Now I will tell you what he got for his birthday several years ago.
I had just had a really devastating year. The man that I had been involved with turned out to be everything bad I hoped he wasn’t. I moved a million miles away from the home I had made and my family. I lost my life, not that it was a good life but it was comfortable, like an old pair of sneakers. They stink and look like crap but when you need comfortable or routine you put them on and wear them around. I didn’t realize that they made my feet stink and I wouldn’t listen when everyone told me that they didn’t fit and weren’t good for me. No I just kept on wearing them even though they pinched my toes and rubbed blisters on my heels. I was going to make them better, newer, nicer. Then one day the sole got separated and the laces fell apart all at once. I had to admit I was never going to make them better.
I got a new job and a new place to live and tried to make a new life. I was so lonely, hurt, heartbroken and disappointed. I vowed that I would never again date or get involved with a man. I had long talks with my mother, father, brother, sister, brother-in-law, the wall, the rocks the ceiling and my dog, Killer. After one long lament my daddy looked at me and said “Gladys your picker is broke. You need to stop pickin men. When the right one comes along he’ll pick you.”
Then one night at a party an acquaintance grabbed my arm and said he had someone I needed to meet. He dragged me over to the side of the dance floor and there was this man. He was distinguished looking but when he looked at me he really looked at me. We chatted for a few minutes and he listened really listened to what I said. I recognized his name from our client list. I let him guide the conversation and then a co-worker grabbed me and dragged me onto the dance floor. I looked for Kahuna after the song was over but he was nowhere to be found. I didn’t hear from him or see him for a week or so after that. I was alone in the office New Years Eve, everyone had left early. I stayed and worked because honestly I had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. The phone rang and it was a familiar voice. We spoke about business then he said “I know this is late notice and I don’t normally go out on New Year Eve; but would you like to go to the movie?” I did not answer him right away. I asked him to call me back in an hour.
I am going to be honest with you, I didn’t want to go. I mean who would after the trouble I had with men. I instead called my sister who was vacationing two thousand miles away. I talked to her and told her the story and asked her what she thought, and then I called my mother and father and asked them what I should do. I asked the kid that worked the take-out window at the In and Out Burger what I should do. Let me just warn you, you really don’t want to hold up that line. When people want an In and Out they do not want to listen to you kvetch about your life. I asked the wall and the door and anybody and anything that would listen. I was scared.
I did what everyone told me to do. Go out with him. They all said that he seemed like a nice guy. They all found him honest, sincere and truthful not like any of my other dates or boyfriends. Okay again some honesty here I thought he wasn’t my type and he wasn’t. I met him at the movie theater. We sat down, the lights went dark and he began to talk. He talked through the whole movie and I thought “Oh no! A movie talker. Strike One.” Then he asked if I would like to get a bite to eat and we talked all through dinner. Then I told him good night and he called me to make sure I made it home and we talked some more.
I told him my whole life story that night and you know what he did? He didn’t run away. He didn’t flee rending his clothes and tearing out his hair screaming down the street. He sat there and listened. He really listened. I’m not sure if I told him my situation because I wanted to scare him off or if I just needed to tell my story, but he listened and he asked questions.
We started seeing each other periodically after that. Nothing serious, nothing steady just a date here and there. I always met him wherever we were going. I kept my distance and he respected that. He watched as I struggled with another relationship I had with a mutual friend. He never said anything. One evening over sushi he asked me if I was interested in this other guy and I couldn’t really say I was; but I knew the man was wrong for me. He was just like the man I had left and deep down I knew it wasn’t a good match but I thought I could fix him. Kahuna looked me in the eye and said “you know he’s not right for you. I am.” That is when I knew he was serious about me.
That is when we started dating in earnest. Then he invited me to go to Hawaii. It was the first part of September and I had a long weekend coming up not to mention I had been working seventy hours a week so I had a little comp time coming. I packed my bag and headed to the airport. We started to board and they ushered us to first class. I thought that Kahuna was really pulling out all the stops. Then we arrived in Hawaii and it was the most beautiful, romantic place I had ever been. Then he took me out in the crystal clear pacific swell and put me on a surf board. He patiently and lovingly shared his passion with me. I was truly in paradise.
We woke the morning of his birthday and grabbed some fresh pineapple and shaved coconut. We drove up to Pali Lookout where 30 years ago he and a group of his friends ventured. I didn’t realize that it was going to be so windy on the lookout and had chosen a big circular skirt for the excursion. So here I stood looking out over the windward side of the island holding on to my skirt when I feel as if I am being watched. I look up to see a Japanese tour bus unload and stand on the ledge above Kahuna and I. They were laughing and pointing. I turned back to Kahuna who stood ring in hand and he said “I promise that I will never ever cause you pain. I promise I will never break your heart and I will never hurt you. Please promise you will be my wife.” I stood there frozen. I felt the tears well and my heart beat loudly. The crowd was taking pictures but I couldn’t let go of my skirt or it would blow over my head. My head was filled with all kinds of thoughts, fears and trepidations but I heard my daddy in my head saying “Gladys your picker’s broke. You let them choose you.” I said the only thing I could say, yes.
I guess you could say that I was Kahuna’s birthday present that year. I think it’s better said that he is my birthday present for the rest of my life.

My Picker's Broke

I am going to be honest with you as I always am. I mean really would I lie to you? That face, those eyes? No I would not lie to you. I might stretch the truth and tell you “no really those white pants make you look thinner. What panty lines? Really you haven’t had your lip waxed? No I can’t tell you have a mustache” but I will not out and out lie to you. I have not always done a very good job of picking guys with which to be involved. I mean my bad sense of relationships goes way, way back in history. I believe that in my previous life I probably dated Attila the Hun and played Spin the Bottle with Adolf Hitler. Oh it’s not that I believe that I was someone famous in my last life, it’s just that I would loose my head over someone like Henry the Eighth.
Don’t believe me? Well go read about some of my dates in my story titled “My Worst Date or One of them” and “The Dating Game”. Oh but those are not even my worst stories. I have one right after the other like the Satan worshipping jeweler who drugged me and used me in his satanic ritual. Then there is the rodeo clown who left me standing in the middle of a cow pasture with no way home and this was long before cell phones existed. We could talk about the Robert Redford look-a-like used car salesman who asked me out but canceled and took my sister out instead. Do we even need to talk about the guy I dated for several months only to come home from work and find him in bed with my roommate or the man who turned out to be a pedophile?
I think you get the drift of my ability to choose inappropriate partners. Yet I continued on going after the men who prey on women like me, women who are pleasers. Women, who want to make things better for them, heal them, cure them and be loved and revered for it. That unfortunately is not what happens. I imagined in my mind that if I loved long enough, hard enough and endured enough abuse that I would turn these scourges of society around. I gave them my time, money, my belongings and my soul.

It was after one of these really horrific relationships had ended that I was enlightened. The skies opened, the light flicked on and it was all clear as to what was the origin of my demise. Oh don’t be all impressed thinking I was personally responsible for the epiphany. No I can not take credit for it at all. It was my dad, Trooper Bob, who imparted his wisdom upon me in a dry and matter of fact manner. This is the story of that event.

I sat lamenting my bad choices in men with my mother and father. Here I sat a forty-five year old woman with yet another train wreck of a relationship on my hands. I was at a loss as to what I had done to deserve what had happened. I was heartbroken and angry that this man had taken advantage not only of me but of my family. He lied, stole and stripped my family of my life for twelve years. He had separated me from my siblings and tried to do the same with my own child. I was finally seeing him in all his psychopathic dementedness. The facts were on the table and my heart and my trust had once again been laid bare.

Nurse Meme poured me a glass of wine and looked at me. “You look pale. Here drink this and for God’s sakes put on some lipstick. You look dead.” I took a sip and said “but Momma, I don’t understand how this could happen to me yet again. Why do I continue to get hooked up with these guys?” She shook her head and wiped the kitchen counter top and said “because you go where you’re looking you don’t look where you’re going. You have always been like that.” I started to argue when I heard my daddy clear his throat. I looked over at him as he sat his glass on the coaster. He reached over to my hand and patted it and then with all of his seventy-five years of wisdom he said “Gladys, your picker is broke. There ain’t two ways about it. You’ve got a broken picker.” I sat there for a moment doing the confused poodle look, shifting my head from one side to the other. I tried to decipher what he was saying. Then some where in the distance I heard trumpets blare and a choir of angels sing “YOUR PICKER’S BROKE”. I got goose bumps all over.

It clicked. What he was saying was that I didn’t need to pick any more partners. I picked the wrong type of men. The men who were broken and I was never going to be able to fix them, not me not any one. I chewed on that fact for a few minutes. I took a deep breath and realized he was absolutely right. The men to whom I had been attracted were damaged beyond repair. The men to whom I was drawn saw the weakness in me and pounced on it like a lion on an injured water buffalo.

Yes, I wasted most of my life on trying to make other people better, never once trying to improve on myself. I was so concerned about taking care of someone who really didn’t want to be healed. They were happy just the way they were and knew exactly how to get what they wanted from someone like me. My picker was definitely broke. Did I go out and buy a new picker? Where would you get one? Picker’s R Us? What aisle would you locate a new picker on at the local Wal-Mart? Do they have a special section in Bed Bath and Beyond for Pickers? I looked at my daddy and said “okay, so my picker’s broke. What do I do about it?” Trooper Bob looked at Nurse Meme who rolled her eyes and blew out a deep breath “you stop pickin” was his answer.

So that is exactly what I did. I stopped picking. It was when I stopped picking that my life changed. What about you? Is your picker broke?

Perception, A Terrible Thing to Waste

Oh MY GAWD why didn’t somebody tell me I had gotten old? You may or may not know but I was interviewed yesterday morning on the KTLA Morning Show. That is the Los Angeles CW station’s morning news show. It is kind of like the Today show only funnier and hipper. I was on for an essay I wrote on this story MY Worst Date, Well One of Them. Kahuna and I got up bright and early at two o’clock, yes in the morning and gussied ourselves up. We then proceeded up the Highway of Hell to the city of Lost Angels. We panicked when we were sitting completely idle on the 15 freeway at 5:45. We wandered if we would make it on time? Would the news go on without me? Would they even miss me? Well I’m happy to say we made it with time to spare and the news was able to be reported. I know big sigh of relief.

That my friends is not what this story is about but the fact that I saw myself on the TEEVEE yesterday. Do you remember the old cartoon where the woman has a size 10 foot and she keeps trying to put it in Cinderella’s size 2 glass slipper? I guess what I’m trying to tell you is my story is about perception. You see when I saw myself on the screen sitting next to some young blond thing, Jessica Holmes I said to Kahuna “Hum I wonder when that old hag is going to be off of here and I’m going to be on. Hey why is that old hag wearing my dress and saying my words?” Then I screamed and grabbed Kahuna’s arm. I had realized that old hag was me. I do not see an aging woman in my minds eye. When I look in the mirror I am still a young woman, wearing my blue eye shadow and Gloria Vanderbilt size double zero jeans, but a young woman. The woman on the screen was old enough to have been my mother, well at least in my mind. It was this awful realization that made me think of my college room mate.

My college roommate, God rest her soul, was named Viola. Now you may pronounce it anyway you want but back in Texas we pronounced it *Fie-OH-lah the emphasis on the OH. She was from a little town up in the panhandle of Texas named Muleshoe. She was a preacher’s daughter and wilder than a March hare. She was always slipping off with this boy or that to get drunk, smoke pot and do whatever college kids did back in the 1970’s. I don’t want you to think I was a total prude or a goody-two-shoes because believe me I wasn’t. I just worked all the time and didn’t get to go drinking and carousing, much. Viola though was a professional at it. She loved to get dressed up in my clothes I might add and hit the town.

Now I know you’re sitting there saying “Gladys what the heck does that have to do with perception and you being older than Methuselah? Get on with the dadgum story, dagnabbit.” (I see you’re pretty old yourself.) The problem was Viola was 5’5” and weighed in at about 160 pounds. This means that she wore a size 12. I on the other hand was Skinny Minnie weighing in at about 72 pounds on a good day and all of 4’11”. Like I said I wore a size double zero. I was tee-tiny and my roommate was trying to and often did squeeze her much larger self into my little bitty clothes. Then she would paint her lips copper penny red fluff her henna colored hair and waddle out of the room and out onto the quad all smooshed and sqooshed into my little clothes.

I am not going to lie to you she used to drive me absolutely insane. I could not for the life of me understand why she would try to wear my obviously too small clothes or why she would even go out in public looking like a badly stuffed sausage. I know you are picturing it in your mind, lumps here, flesh exploding there. It was not a pretty sight. People would stare at her and whisper. I tried telling her several times that my clothes were too small. I begged her not to wear my shiny polyester shirt with the rhinestone buttons or my Diane Von Furstenberg knock-off wrap dress but she didn’t listen. She looked in the mirror and saw Cheryl Tiegs. She saw a Supermodel and was oblivious to everything else. She was the size 10 footed woman trying to fit into Cinderella’s size 2 shoe. Not that I think or even thought I was Cinderella. Well except for having to scrub the floors and cook and clean and not getting to go to the ball, but that is a story for another day. She simply had a different perception of what she looked like than the rest of the world.

It is she, I thought of when I saw my taped interview. I thought of Viola trying to fit into my too small clothes because my perception of what I look like is so different than what I saw on that screen. What I saw was an aging woman with a fat face and no lips. Oh and by the way Farrah called and wants her hair back. What I see in my minds eye is my younger self. The tight skinned, bright eyed woman of yesterday. I have to tell you truthfully I have one mirror in my house and it hangs over my bathroom sink. I am usually the one behind the camera, not in front. I rarely stop and stare at myself in shop windows or gazing pools so I am not that familiar with the woman into which I have aged. It was down right scary and disheartening to see myself in all my sagginess up there on the screen. I now understand why there is such a run in Hollywood for plastic surgery. Why actors go into the surgeons office looking like our favorite actor and come out the other side looking like that horrible Joker from Batman, the Jack Nicholson one not the Heath Ledger one.

My perception of my looks is so different than reality and I’m okay with that. I will not be starting a plastic surgery fund nor will I be soliciting on the internet for strangers to watch the procedure for a mere forty-five thousand dollars. I won’t even as my friend Suzy Soro over at Hollywood Where Hot Comes to Die says fly off to Thailand for the five star treatments. I am who I am, saggy jowls, wrinkles and all. The woman who spoke was still me even though the visual was askew. My mind still works in the same demented and twisted way and I still have the ability to laugh and have fun. I am not saying I don’t apply the anti-sag anti-wrinkle face tightening face lifting creams but honestly you can only do so much. I mean you can’t make a silk purse out of a sows ear and you can’t make me 18 again.

So our perceptions of ourselves good or bad are usually based on what our thoughts are. Your thoughts control your beauty and how you appear to others. My case in point is what you put out there you will be. I don’t mean go buy the size double zero jeans and try to squeeze your size 12 self into them but think positive about yourself. Go look in the mirror, acquaint yourself with your sags, wrinkles, pimples, blemishes and all then perceive them as beautiful because you are. Think sexy and you’ll be sexy. Think positive and happy and you will be. Trust me on this because I’m older than Methuselah but I think I am a spring chicken.

The Ugly Truth about The Ugly Truth

First of all let me just say that I am not usually star struck. I say not usually but that danged Gerard Butler is just too cute for words. I mean he looks good on the big screen and he looks just as cute in person. No he didn't kiss me and thank God because I wouldn't have wanted history to repeat itself.

Second of all I found out tonight that I am a dinosaur. I am old. I am ancient and unhip. Our seat mates were two young ladies. We got to chatting about how each of us came to possess tickets to the premier. One of the girl's aunt is a literary agent who reads scripts then schlepps them all over town to get the studios to schlepp them some more to investors. They asked me how I got tickets. I told them my story of winning the KTLA Ugly Truth Contest. They wanted to know the story. I gave them the reader's digest version of me puking in Mr. LookedLike Barry Gibb's mouth. Guess what? They didn't know who the BeeGees were. They had never heard of them. I sat there for a minute and tried to think of a group that is popular today with which I could compare them. You know what? The only one I could think of was the Jonas Brothers. It hurt me physically to say that the Jonas Brothers were like the BeeGees. Not the Jonas Brothers are bad but they don't have Barry Gibb.

We also met the parents of a couple of actors but alas we did not personally chat with any of the actual movie stars. You know what else I noticed tonight? The Hollywood of my youth, the one that I thought existed, really doesn't. I expected everyone to be dressed to the hilt and be dripping in diamonds and that would just be the men. I am not saying they weren't dressed nice but Gerard didn't even shave. I just can't see Humphrey Bogart not shaving for a premier.

Now my lovlies it is way past this star struck ladies bedtime. I'll have more for you later.

My Day in A Nutshell

I am sure by now you are all wondering what, where and how I will be attending the premier of The Ugly Truth. I will be arriving in style. My hair will be somewhat perfectly quaffed. Well as good as it can get for a nappy headed white girl. I will be wearing a lovely creation from either Écouter (Target) or a snappy ensemble from Marshall’s. I was going to wear a vintage piece but I can’t remember where I stored it when I cleaned all the cute thin clothes from my closet. You notice I said “thin” clothes, believe me that is relative. What I should say is thinner. As in before I was fat but I am thinner now.

Let’s go back to the hair portion. I got to see one of my favorite people today. She gives really great shampoo. She is the amazing Mz Lola Cabana. She was a show girl with yellow ribbons in her hair and a dress cut down to there. No wait, wrong Lola. She takes my frizzed out fuzz and tames it. She fluffs and puffs and pulls and rolls until it actually resembles something close to hair and not a Brillo pad. She kept introducing me around the salon as “This is my friend Gladys. She is famous.” You see Lola and I believe if you state it will be so. I need to take this opportunity to tell you that not only is Lola the “hair whisperer” but she also designs, creates and writes. She is multi-talented that one. I felt so revered. I felt so important. I felt so famous. Thank you Lola of the Cabana.

I then rushed off to find something to wear that was neither flip flops nor cut off jeans. Here is where I will confess one of my deepest secrets. I am a tightwad. I hate spending money on myself. I like to look cute and wear stylish clothes but I had to spend money on them. I guess I just keep waiting for them to magically appear in my closet. I hope to open my closet one day and find it full of all those men I want to dress me. I dream I would slide back the door and there staring at me would me Michael, Isaac, Kenneth and Calvin not to mention a few Versace’s and some Cavali’s. Oh I’m not biased. I wouldn’t mind a few women in my closet too. Some Coco’s, Lily and even a few Vera’s. (For you men out there those are all clothing designers) Unfortunately that never happens. I instead look at my watch which says it’s now after five p.m. I stop at the first store and browse through their over stuffed racks of the latest fashions. I look around in crisis because I have no idea what to wear. I spot this woman who looks like one of the Real Housewives of Orange County. She is dressed to the nines and has all the right accouterments. I meekly say “excuse me”. She turns and looks at me and says “yes”? I clear my throat and push through “would you wear this to a movie premier?” RHOOC looks at the dress and then back at me in my schlumpadinka wear and says “you buy a lot of black don’t you?” Well yeah. I mean it’s easy, it’s slimming and did I say it’s easy? If you buy everything either black or white then it’s like buying garanimls. Do you remember them? They were kid’s clothes that had animals on the tags and all you had to do was match the animals for coordinating outfits. So here I am in my zebra/zebra outfit holding a black dress looking once again like my boxer after hearing “doggie doo”. RHOOC pulls out a bright green dress with some schmaltz on the top and says “try this one, instead. You need some color.” I looked at the bright green dress and said what the heck. The only problem was there really isn’t much of a dress there so I said “would you wear a sweater with it?” She smiled that knowing smile and said “Grandma’s and schlumpadinka’s wear sweaters over great dresses.” I smiled and whispered “yeah, I guess so.” Off to the dressing room I headed. I tried on the green dress and it wasn’t too bad and the price wasn’t too bad. I mean the dress could have been a burlap bag if it were a dollar ninety-nine I would have probably called it perfect. I am standing in the dressing stall when I hear a knock on the door. I open it to find RHOOC standing there. “So how does it fit” she asked. Now I have to tell you I was touched. I was verklempt. I did the perfunctory twirl and she agreed it would work.

Then it was off to my second stop, Ecouter or for those of you who call it by its American name Target. I needed a new set of hot rollers. Oh shut up they do to still make them. I just don’t get it. I mean I bought my last set when I was in high school just a mere hundred years ago, you would think they would still work. I guess they just don’t make things the way they used to anymore. So I am standing in line waiting for the woman in front of me to check out. She is purchasing gardening things for children. She must have had two children because she purchased two of everything one in pink the other in red. When it came to the gardening gloves the pink ones rang up at the sale price but the red ones remained full price. She questioned the clerk why she rung the red ones up at full price. The clerk looked at her and stated that the red ones weren’t on sale. The woman began to moan then she began to rail on the clerk. She began to curse and carry on. I again look at my watch, it is now after seven. I listened to this woman vetch about a difference of about a dollar. Now I know things are tight. I realize we are in a recession. I understand people are squeezing a penny until it turns into a dime. What I don’t understand is what good she thought yelling and cursing at the poor little clerk would do.
Now I’m on a deadline. You see just like in college if I’m not home by 10:00 pm I get locked out. No Kahuna is not a dictator. It is the park we are staying in closes the gate at 10 and you can’t get in. I’m doing the math in my head trying to add up how much longer it will take to check out, get packed, eat then travel back to my humble covered wagon parked in the oaks. It is going to be tight. I then turned my attention back to the debacle that is unfolding in front of me. The woman was now red as a beet and I was able to count her pulse from the vein protruding on her forehead. That’s it I had had enough. I could take no more. Out of my mouth poured forth my thoughts. My filter had fallen off and I began to speak “Does it really matter? I mean it’s a dollar. Just don’t buy the gloves if it is too much. Is it worth yelling and screaming at this poor clerk who doesn’t have the authority to change the price? Is it worth having a heart attack over? I mean honestly it is just some kid’s gloves.” The woman stopped her diatribe and looked at me like I had just grown a third eye. She looked at me and said “I have two children I can’t just take one of them gloves and not the other.” Am I the only one who sees how simple this is? No I don’t mean go home and lock one in the closet while the other gets to play with their new pink gloves. I mean don’t buy the gloves or do and stop complaining. I smiled my sweetest smile and said “then don’t buy the gloves. They won’t miss them. Really it’s not worth making yourself and everyone else miserable. I mean what are you going to do if you don’t get the red gloves for the sale price? Are you going to go home and throw them at your kid and say here are your damn gloves? Really it’s not hard. Just buy the gloves and go home and love your kids.” She stared at me and then turned to the clerk and said “ring them up.”

That’s my day in a nut shell. I’m the nut and the world is my shell. Next installment will be from Hollywood.

Seeing Stars

I hope to be seeing stars. No I’m not waiting for Bugs Bunny to sneak up behind me and hit me on the head with a huge sledge hammer he ordered from Acme. I mean movie stars. I am so excited I could spit. Now explain to me why when someone is excited beyond words all they can do is spit? Is it because you become like one of Pavlov’s dogs only the bell is different for everyone? I know you are just dying to know why I’m over here spitting and spewing. Oh come on you want to know, don’t you?

About a month ago I was lying in bed sipping my morning coffee watching the news. Kahuna was discussing some major newsworthy news story when I stopped him cold. “Did you hear that?” He stopped talking looked at the T.V. squinted his eyes in concentration then looked back and said “what”? I sighed took another sip of coffee and said “the contest”. He shook his head and then went back to his explanation as to why some woman shouldn’t have said something about being better than some man who wants to be judge or president or something.

I had seen it even if he hadn’t. They had a contest on the Los Angeles news station to attend a movie premier. The name of the movie is “The Ugly Truth”. It stars Katherine Hiegl and Gerard Butler. The contest was to send in your worst dating story. You know me I ALWAYS have a story so I submitted one. (Here it is read it here) I really didn’t think I would have a snow ball’s chance in hell of winning when I entered. Not that I was cold and crystalline but that the odds were about even. I bucked up and I edited a bit and then I pressed that send button and honestly forgot all about it.

I continued to see the commercials on the KTLA morning news and wondered who might have won. I in fact was a bit disheartened because I just knew some young girl or guy who had a fresh college or high school horror story about dating had in fact won. I mean who wants to hear about something that happened 35 years ago to little old Gladys. I mean besides you, my faithful readers. I did not however lose any sleep over it or miss any meals. Heck I don’t miss many meals over anything. I’m kind of like the post office; neither sleet nor snow nor dark of night will keep Gladys from chow. I digress.

Then the little light flashed on my crackberry. I drooled a little then checked my emails. There staring at me was a message from of all people KTLA. It was ominous and stark and very cryptic. It said:

Good Morning Gladys
This message pertains to your submission for “The Ugly Truth” contest sponsored by KTLA.

Please call me at 800 BR 549 no later than 12 noon today. Thank you.

I read this and wondered what I had done wrong now. I looked at the clock on my phone and it was 2:45 p.m. As in the after NOON. I of course panicked. I mean what if I had to call the news station or a bomb went off or something somewhere. Okay I know I’ve watched way too many Bruce Willis movies. I hurriedly pushed the numbers into the phone then waited for the familiar trill. It rang once, twice, three times a lady. Oh wait no, wrong story. The phone was answered by a very nice woman who informed me I had reached KTLA’s sales department. Wait I wasn’t buying anything. What did KTLA want to sell me? Or did they want to sail me? Maybe they just wanted to sale me. Anyway I said “Hello, this is Gladys, someone sent me an email and said I should call. Since I do what I’m told I’m calling. A little late but here I am.” The nice lady laughed and said “Oh thank goodness. We didn’t think we were going to be able to reach you.” I of course went into hyper paranoid mode. I listened intently for explosions from the bombs my call wasn’t in time to stop. Then the nice lady said “Did you enter Ugly Truth contest?” I thought for a moment wondering if I should say yes or no. I mean I am the youngest of three kids, sometimes it is wise to wait before you confess. I took a breath and reluctantly said “yes. Why am I in trouble?” The nice woman chuckled and replied “No, as a matter of fact you won.” What? I won? My little pea brain could not wrap around those words. I never win. Well I did win a Target Gift Card from a fellow blogger and a book one time but not a major award. I never even won a leg shaped lamp with fish net stockings marked FRAGILE.
I squealed and gasped and then began to gush “I’d like to thank the academy, my mother and father for giving me the gift of gab and most of my loving husband who has encouraged me.” Then I heard another chuckle and the nice lady cleared her throat. “We need to know what name to reserve the tickets under.” I cocked my head to one side much like my boxer does when you say “doggie doo”, “what tickets” I asked the nice lady. “The tickets to the premier of The Ugly Truth. You won tickets to the premier. We might want to interview you Friday morning on the Morning Show. Can you do that?” I sat a moment trying to take it all in and process what she had just said. “I won tickets” I queried? “Yes, dear, you won tickets. You and a guest are going to the world premier of The Ugly Truth.”
Now you know why I will be seeing stars.

Gladys and Slim an Easter Story

A long time ago when Gladys was a divorced single mom she met a very tall cowboy. He talked slowly, he walked slowly and he thought slowly. No he was not dim witted he just mulled things over before he spoke. He was born into the wrong century and didn’t really care for new fangled things like telephones and televisions. He lived in an old rock ranch house that was built sometime around the time the earth cooled. His abode was often visited by rattlesnakes and opossums. He would just scoop them up in the snow shovel he kept on the mud porch and carry them out as far as he could then toss them. Sometimes if the rattlesnake was too mean or too big he would kill it but most of the time not. He only killed the things he would eat and had a freezer full of venison, duck, rattlesnake and javalina.

It was getting close to Easter time and Gladys started assembling an Easter basket for her little girl. She got the bright idea to also assemble one for the tall silent cowboy. She bought chocolate rabbits, water pistols and cap guns; because nothing says Christ has risen like weapons. She stuffed hay in the bottom of a couple of handmade baskets she bought at a garage sale and filled them full of her Easter booty making sure to stick several pistols in each basket. She then baked a batch of cinnamon rolls and a green bean casserole to take to the church Easter luncheon.
Easter morning Gladys and her daughter got dressed up in their pretty new Easter frocks and gathered up their pot luck fare. They heard Too Slim pull up in the drive way and ring the door bell. Gladys had been brought up that you dress a certain way for Easter Service. Even though you wore “church clothes” to church every Sunday you had special clothes for Easter Sunday. This meant that the cowboys and farmers would actually wear a suit not just a clean pair of wranglers and wipe the cow poop off their boots. The women would either sew or purchase a new outfit from the local haberdashery and even wear a hat. The church they attended was a small town church where Too Slims parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, first cousins, second cousins and neighbors attended. Gladys was trying extra hard to adhere to the standards of the community.

Gladys opened the door to see Too Slim standing there looking like he was about to go feed the cows. Pearl snap faded denim shirt, well worn jeans and dirty boots. “Are we going to go by your place so you can change” Gladys questioned as she looked Too Slim up and down. “Nope, I figure Gawd don’t care what I’m wearin on the outside as long as what I’ve got on the inside is good” Slim answered. She and her daughter double checked their frocks and hair they loaded their goods up in the truck and started on their way. “WAIT” Gladys screamed. Too Slim fearing he was about to hit a dog or something slammed on the brakes. His dog Ned riding in the back began to bark and raise a ruckus. “What is it” Too Slim asked. “I forgot something back at the house” Gladys exclaimed. Slim put the truck in reverse and backed up the road to the Gladys’ little cottage. She jumped out and came back with two cellophane wrapped baskets. She put them in the back seat and they headed out once again.

Once at the church Gladys realized that this was the country and many of these people were taking just enough time out of their day to say howdy to Gawd and eat some lunch before it was back to plowing and planting. She looked around and while the women had on their best frocks she imagined there would be an apron tied around their middle in less than an hour and the men had come in long enough to hear Brother Bedder Thanewe talk about the resurrection. The service ended and the congregation went out on the lawn for an Easter pot luck and social before heading back out to work. Gladys joined in with the Slim family in putting out the feast. She was just setting the chicken casserole on the table when she remembered she had not given Too Slim and her daughter their Easter baskets.

Gladys excused herself and ran to the pick-up truck. Ned sat guarding the truck waiting for his fair share of goodies from the pot luck. Gladys rubbed Ned’s ears and said “I didn’t forget you” and handed him a pig’s ear. She gathered the Easter baskets and tracked down her daughter and boyfriend. She found the two of them sitting in a circle of old men telling stories. Her sweet little daughter was mesmorized by these old men and their tales of time. Taddy looked up and saw her mother holding a couple of baskets. Slim slowly got up and introduced her around then asked “Whatcha got there?” Gladys smiled and said “Easter baskets, one for Taddy and one for you.” The corners of Slim’s mustache lifted and then a full out smile appeared. “You got me an Easter basket? I ain’t had an Easter Basket since I was about four.” He reached out and took it as Taddy had already torn into hers and had the ears bitten off the chocolate rabbit. Then Slim found the water pistol and the cap gun the grin on his face was bigger than before. The old men sitting around the circle started riffling through the basket too taking out eggs filled with jelly beans and robins eggs. There were grumbles and mumbles of
“ain’t nobody never fixed me no basket. I always had to steal the candy from the youngins. Hey lookie here some of them there chewy bears and worms.” The next thing I knew there were water pistol fights between Slim and Taddy and Grandpa and Uncle Joe.

It was a sight to see what with all the cowboy and Indian playing going on between a bunch of old real cowboys and farmers. So maybe the real point of Easter isn’t egg laying rabbits and how much candy we can consume. It isn’t about who is dressed nicer or even what you wear. Instead maybe it’s all about the celebration of life.

Happy Easter Y’all.

Written in Lipstick

Remember Knott and Very Meany? Remember Mr. Meany having a little incident with the medicated cream? You can read about it here. A Medicated Relief

Well Knott was a fun loving good humored gal who occasionally liked to play tricks on people. No she did not put the medicated lotion into the regular lotion bottle that would be just plain mean. She would wait until her brother-in-law Tall Meany, who lived with them, would get into the one and only bath in the house and then she would dump a bucket of ice water on his head. Another one of her infamous tricks was to switch the salt for the sugar in the sugar bowl because Tall really enjoyed lots of sugar in his coffee. Tall was a good sport and often would get back at Knott in his own way. He decided one time to put Knott’s car in reverse while she idled at a stop light making sure first there was no one behind them. Knott stepped on the gas to go only she was going in the wrong direction. Now Varry didn’t much like these pranks and he really didn’t like them played on him.

Tall and Knott made a pact and decided they would get Very. Now at this time both Very and Tall were city policemen. They worked alternating shifts and would often pass each other in the hall going to or from their shifts. Tall and Knott put together a plan to get Very.

Knott went to the local T G & Y discount store and bought several packs of very, very, very extra large women’s panties. She hid them in a place that Vary would never look, the laundry room. She took a pair and with the reddest of red lipstick wrote “Very, Can I meet you for coffee” across the rear end of the extremely large panties. She then put them in some really pretty tissue paper, sprayed them with some Evening in Paris cheap perfume and handed them off to Tall. Tall then found out which patrol car Very would be driving for the evening and slipped the package into the glove compartment. He passed Varry in the hall on his way to briefing and told him that some woman had called the station earlier in the evening looking for him.

Varry stowed his gear in the trunk did his walk through of his car and opened the glove compartment to hide his evening candy bars. He spotted the package looked around and then pulled it out. Now Tall had alerted most of his fellow officers to the plan so many of them were standing on the second floor binoculars in hand watching Very. He sniffed the pretty pink package and winced. He turned the package over and over in his hand until finally fortified he pulled the ribbon loose. He carefully pulled the women’s underwear out and started to unfold the 47 yards of pink satiny material out until he could read the message written on the seat. He quickly wadded them up paper and all and threw them in the back seat. Tall was on the phone with Very giving her the play by play. They both laughed and let it go for a day or two.
Next Knott took the baby blue panties with Wednesday written on them and again took the bright red lip rouge and wrote. “Varry, I’ve been watching you.” She repeated the process of perfume and pretty wrappings. Once again Tall took over and planted the package. Vary went through his normal shift procedure right down to stowing his candy bars when once again he came upon the package. Intrigued he once again un-wrapped the package. Once again he looked to see if anyone was watching and he read the message. He was irritated and confused. He walked to the trash bin and threw the gift away.

Now Knott bumped up the anti just a bit. Varry came home early the next morning as Knott was getting ready to leave for her job. She gave Varry a hug and as she did she said “rough night?” Varry looked at Knott and grunted “no, why?” Knott sniffed Varry’s uniform and said “because you smell like a French whore house. Pee Ewww! I haven’t smelled anything like that since high school and that was a joke someone gave me.” This made Varry angry and defensive and he replied “I kind of like the smell.” Knott smiled and just answered “to each his own”.
Tall and Knott kept up this little game letting more and more people in on the joke. There was one officer who especially liked the fact that this was irritating Varry. He walked up to Varry in briefing and said “hey Varry, I was in your patrol car after you and you left these on the seat” as he handed him the 40X large panties. They were the same ones he had tossed in the trash. The group guffawed which made Varry even more irritated.

Varry decide this had gone on long enough and he was going to play inch-high private eye. So he staked out the station house waiting for a robust beauty to leave her drawers in his car. The guys at the station though were one step ahead and made sure to stock the glove compartment when Varry was not around. It became a joke all through the department. Knott had everyone in on it. It continued on for a couple of years and had outgrown Tall and Knott. The whole department was in on it. They would leave him bottles of champagne with little love notes written in lipstick. Varry was convinced he had an elusive stalker.

Time passed and the pranks played on which irritated Varry but please Knott to no end. Then Varry decided to go back into the military to serve his country. He moved his little family 2000 miles away from the little town police department and into the big city. One day Varry went to get into his Hum-V and there on the passenger seat sat the biggest pair of pink panties his platoon had ever laid eyes on. Written in lipstick was “I miss you! Please come back.”
Knott never knew who continued on her prank but loved the fact that they did. Life went forward and Knott and Varry divorced. Sometimes Knott wonders if Mr. Meany still receives Extra Large lingerie with lipstick messages on them 28 years later.

A Medicated Relief so to Speak

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Oh wait that’s not it. A long time ago Mrs. Nott Meany was married to a very nasty man. He was mean and nasty to Mrs. Nott Meany and their beautiful little girl. Mrs. Nott Meany believed in the old adage what goes around comes around. She was just waiting for the day when it did.

One afternoon Mr. Very Meany came home early and greeted his wife and daughter with a grunt and a sneer. He put on his running clothes and left without a goodbye or fare-the-well. While he was out stretching his legs and pounding the pavement Mrs. Nott Meany went about her daily routine. She scrubbed the floors and cleaned the bathroom. She put the jars of dry skin cream and the sore muscle creams on the shelf where they belonged. She washed out the sink and hung fresh towels and then went on to do the rest of the house.

Mr. Very Meany after a long hard run came back to the house and walked into the kitchen. “Is my supper ready?” he barked. “Almost” replied Mrs. Nott Meany. “I’m going to take a shower” he snapped and then added “I don’t want to be disturbed.” Mrs. Nott Meany rolled her eyes as she heard his muddy running shoes walk down her freshly scrubbed wooden floor hallway. She basted her bird, checked on her homemade bread and finished mashing the potatoes. As she was placing the finishing touches on her salad she heard a piercing scream. She stopped and listened but heard nothing more. She walked to the laundry room and put some towels in when she heard her name being screamed from bathroom.

Thinking that maybe Mr. Very Meany had fallen in the shower and hit his head or worse she made her way slowly to the bathroom. The screaming got louder the closer to the bathroom. Slowly she opened the door expecting to see massive amounts of blood and brains, well maybe not massive amounts of brains. The door creaked open and there standing in front of her was a very naked and a very irritated Mr. Very Meany. The naked Mr. Meany screamed “Nott what the hell did you put in the skin cream?” She looked at her husband standing there with his manly parts in his hand tears in his eyes shifting from one foot to the other. Then she looked at the jar of Icy Hot muscle cream sitting on the sink. She was confused as to what had transpired so she asked “Very, why did you put icy hot on your manly bits?”

Mr. Meany picked up the jar and glared at the big blue and red label in horror then he screamed “Make it stop burning. Oh dear lord it burns!” Nott bit her lip and stifled a giggle. She looked at the pain and agony emanating from Verry’s face and that‘s when it dawned on her. This was his “comes around” minute and she needed to take full advantage of it. She very innocently said “Quick run cold water over it.” Now for those of you have never used Icy Hot or Tiger Balm or even Ben Gay you wouldn’t know that cold water only makes the effects well more effective. It makes the burn hotter, the tingle more intense and for Mr. Meany the agony more agonizing.

Once again Mr. Meany emitted a scream that rivaled a bob cat caught in a bear trap. “Make it stop!” he cried. Nott smiled to herself and said “Is that not helping? Oh my! Well let me run to the pharmacy and see if I can find something to help.” “Please hurry” groaned Mr. Meany. Then with the speed of a sloth she retrieved her keys and her purse and headed the 10 miles to the pharmacy. She waited until her favorite song finished playing on the radio and listened to the weather. She entered the pharmacy and checked out the new nail colors and magazines as she made her way to the pharmacist counter. She graciously allowed several older people to go ahead of her in line after all it was the polite thing to do.

Finally it was her turn to speak with the pharmacist. “Hi, my husband slathered icy hot all over his beans and frank and is in quite a bit of pain.” Nott stated. The male pharmacist instinctively grabbed his groin and sucked in air as he asked “How exactly did this happen?” Nott smiled her sweet smile and said “I’m not sure but he had it everywhere in his man area. What can he put on it to cool it off?” Mr. Pharmacist grimaced and said “there really isn’t ANYTHING that can be done. It just has to wear off. You might put some corn starch on it, but whatever you do DO NOT put cold water on it. Once that cold water hits it the petroleum jelly in it just coagulates and it just makes it harder to get it off.” Nott smiled to herself and then thanked the pharmacist. She slowly made her way over to the talcum powder section. She searched until she found just the right powder containing corn starch. She made her purchase and then drove well below the speed limit to insure she would not be sited for speeding.

Once she arrived home she again finished listening to a song on the radio and made her way into the house. She called out to her spouse. She walked through the house and found him cowered in a corner of the bathtub tears in his eyes still holding his now scarlet and swollen bits and pieces. “I spoke to Mr. Pharmacist and he said this should help some” she said as pulled the container of Gold Bond Medicated powder out of her bag. “Oh and make sure you wash with plenty of cold water to keep the swelling down.”

Mrs. Nott Meany went back to salvage her supper. She switched the kitchen radio on and turned the volume up to drown out the screams.

My Worst Date, Well One of Them

I was over at Kelly’s Casa DeChaos reading about her really bad date. That got me thinking about my really bad dates. I have had some doozies. A few stick out in my memory more than others and some are downright scary. You can read about one of them here to THE DATING GAME go on I’ll wait.

I was away at college living in a dorm. Now this dorm was a girls only dorm. They were very strict on their rules. No boys allowed past the front door and they locked the doors at 10:00 p.m. If you weren’t in by 10:00 p.m. you were out of luck and had to find some other place to lay your head. There were two of us in a room and the rooms were pretty simple. Two beds a closet and a desk and a radiator that got turned on to 100 degrees in September and got turned off in May. Now this was in Central Texas where temperatures in September are still in the high 90’s and it starts heating up to the 90’s in February. That’s it. No bathroom, no sink and no toilet. If you wanted to use the toilet that was down the hall around the corner and down another hall, very inconvenient when you’ve been drinking beer. The shower you went down the hall and up the stairs oh and they had toilets with their showers. You couldn’t flush any toilet in the building while someone was showering or you would hear screams of agony from being scalded. I digress.

I was living in this lovely dorm taking a full load of classes and working two jobs. I don’t know why I thought I had time to date but I was young and full of energy. I met a guy who looked exactly like Barry Gibb. He was tall, he was good looking and he was a really good dancer at least that’s what he told me. I met him at work. I worked at a department store in the men’s clothing department. It was an easy job. A young coed tells a man they look good in something they buy it. Easy peasy and I worked on commission. He came into the store in need of some underwear. When he left he had new underwear, socks, shirts, several leisure suites, two pairs of shoes and a date with me.

I worked weekends as a bartender after I got off my day job so weekend dates were out for me. Also since I bartended I never got off before 2:00 a.m. which meant that I was not allowed into the dorm to sleep until 6:00 a.m. when they unlocked the doors. We made plans to go dancing the next Monday, my only day off.

I was excited, nervous and generally giddy with anticipation. He was so good looking and so suave. I told everyone about him and the fact that he could be Mr. Gibb’s twin brother. Finally the fated day arrived and I got myself ready. I blow dried my hair straight and then curled it into a perfect Farrah Fawcette hair-do. I put on my danskin leotard and wrap around skirt in shocking blue because it brought out the blue in my eyes. I put on my platform Connie’s T-Strap dancing shoes. I layered another layer of Maybelline Great Lash on my eyes, applied another layer of Aziza Blue Eye shadow, shadowed my cheek bones with a brownish blush in an upsweep and applied my copper penny Revlon lipstick on my thin lips. I was a vision of disco loveliness.

Cherry, the dorm dick, knocked on my door to let me know I had a visitor. I fluffed my hair one last time smiled to make sure I didn’t have any lipstick on my teeth, blew into my hand to make sure I had that Close Up fresh breath and headed out to meet my date. There he stood at the front door to the dorm waiting. He stood in his white suite, black shirt open to the navel hair shining in the setting sun. Around him stood 200 college girls batting their eyes and trying not to giggle too much. “Well, hello” Barry said as he looked me up and down and back up again. I blushed underneath the 14 coats of make-up and reached out as he offered me his hand. I looked back over my shoulder at the gaggle of envious girls and waved goodbye.

We arrived at the local discotheque and started inside. We stopped at the bouncer who looked at me then at Barry and said “That will be $10.00 a couple.” Barry pulled out a $5 then looked at me with his hand out. I looked at him and then at the bouncer and said “Excuse me?” Barry stood there with his hand out and said “I thought we would go Dutch.” My jaw dropped to the floor. I had never gone ‘Dutch’. I mean that’s not a date, that’s just hanging out with friends. I looked at Barry and said “I don’t have any money on me. I didn’t even bring a purse.” Barry sighed a heavy sigh and then reached back into his pocket and brought out another fiver. Now a million things started to roll through my mind. Should I order a drink, I mean I don’t have money and he certainly doesn’t want to pay for it. Did I mistake his invitation?

We got a table near the DJ’s stand and watched the couples on the raised multi-colored dance floor do the Hustle under the disco ball. Barry ordered himself a drink and I asked the waitress for water with a lime. Then the DJ played “You Should Be Dancing” by the Bee Gees. Barry looked at me and mouthed “wanna dance?” I nodded yes. I mean after all that is why we were there. He had professed to me while I was fitting him with his nice white polyester suit that he was indeed an excellent dancer. I loved to dance what better way to get to know each other.

We stepped out on the floor he grabbed my hand and spun me around. Then he proceeded to throw me around like a rag doll. Stepping on my feet and jerking my arms out of the sockets. Then he grabbed me and turned me upside down in an attempt to flip me. Now I had disco danced enough to know that flipping takes a lot of practice and is not something that should be done cold. Just as he turned me upside down he lost his grip and dumped me in the floor on my head. Then not even apologizing swooped me up and continued to throw me around. Finally the song ended and I wobbled shakily to the table. I got a drink of water and decided I need to set the next song out. This is when Barry started telling me about how much each of the women in the club wanted to sleep with him. He also told me how lucky I was he chose me to accompany him. Then he got angry because I didn’t want to dance.

We mutually agreed it was time to leave. My head was pounding and my neck hurt. I felt I surely had both whiplash and a concussion. Barry told me I was making way too much of his dropping me. I was quiet on the drive back to the dorm, which for me is unusual. I didn’t feel well at all and just wanted to get to the dorm before 10 so I wouldn’t have to sleep in my car. Barry on the other hand used my silence to tell me how ungrateful I was for not staying and dancing the night away. I mean after all he had just purchased a very expensive new pair of boogie shoes.

Salvation was in sight as we pulled into the dorm parking area at 9:57 p.m. I did not wait for Barry to come round and open my door, nor did I check to see if he was even going to disembark from the automobile. I just wanted to get inside take some aspirin and sleep.

I reached the front door and felt his hand on mine. I turned and looked up into his gorgeous Barry Gibb look-a-like face. He bent down and planted his lips firmly on mine. Then he did the unthinkable with his tongue he parted my lips. Now honestly I don’t know if it was the fact that I hadn’t eaten in a couple of days or that I had been dropped on my head and was suffering from a major internal head injury or if it was this guy had become repulsive to me but that’s when it happened. A deluge of bile exploded up my esophagus and into my mouth which of course ended up in his mouth. I was horrified! I had just thrown up in Barry Gibb’s mouth. Oh man! I grabbed the door handle and fell into the lobby just as the Dorm Dick came to lock the door. I ran to my room in shame and pain.

I left Barry spitting vomit out of his mouth and never saw him again. Now I’m sure out there somewhere is a balding egotistical man with a big chunky gold chain around his neck and his shirt unbuttoned to his waist telling people about the worst date he ever had. He is telling story of the stupid bitch that puked in his mouth.

So what was YOUR worst date?

What Not To Give

My sister from another mother over at Tales of the Wild Boomba actually spurred me to write this story.

*Disclosure: This is not suitable for children. The names have been changed to protect the innocent and the not so innocent.*

There was a woman, we will call Lucy, and she was a mature woman divorced from her husband. She wasn’t a prude by any means but also was not what you would call a swinging single either. She was your basic nice girl grown up who had gone through a bad marriage and was back on the dating scene. She was dating a man she had known the better part of her life and he knew that she was quiet about her intimate life. She was also the type of woman who loved giving gifts more than getting them. She often felt awkward and embarrassed when receiving gifts.

The man she was dating, we will call Richard or Dick for short, was the type that did not give gifts well. He could not give someone a gift and then let it go. He was the type to hold it over the recipient’s head like a bucket of goo just waiting for the moment to unleash it. This was especially unfortunate since he didn’t give very good gifts.

Lucy’s birthday was coming up and all she really wanted was a nice evening out; a nice dinner at a nice restaurant and a movie or even better a show at the local live theater. She expressed this wish to Dick over and over adding with a bit of sarcasm unless of course he wished to buy her a 10 Karate diamond then that might be better. Dick assured her this would be a birthday she would never forget and then he smirked and went on about his business.

The big day arrived and he called about an hour before their date and said “Get dressed up really nice, I’ll pick you up in about an hour.” Now Lucy was skeptical because she still remembered when they were 16 and Dick told her to get dressed up and he took her to What-a-burger for dinner then dropped her off at her front door and went to the Country Club with another girl. She had high hopes for him though and prayed he had changed. Lucy put on her prettiest dress, the red slip dress that complimented her hair and brought out the pink in her cheeks. She slipped into some pretty stiletto gold pumps and flounced her hair and checked her make-up. She waited and waited until she was at the point of giving up. Dick was over an hour late, he wasn’t coming. She knew this because he had done this before, but she continued to hope he had changed. Lucy stepped out of her gold pumps and started toward her bedroom where her comfortable sweats and tee shirt were waiting. Just as she started up the stairs the door bell chimed. She saw through the side light of the door that Dick had arrived. She opened the door ready to unleash her fury and frustration but he had an excuse and an arm full of flowers. She invited him in and put the flowers in water while listening to his unbelievable story of a gas station hold up and him as a witness. He explained he had to give a statement and was unable to give her a call. Still wanting to think the best of this man, Lucy forgave him and decided better late than never. They walked to his vehicle and there waiting for her was a beautiful corsage that he helpfully pinned to her chest, not the dress he stuck the pin in her chest. Trying not to cry, Lucy affixed the flowers to her dress and off they went.

Lucy questioned Dick about the exciting event he had just been party and he wove an intricate story of the whole ordeal. She was so intent on soaking in the details that she barely noticed that they had arrived at the most prestigious and elite restaurant in town. They walked in the door and the Maître De greeted Dick by name. Lucy thought that odd since he had never taken her there before. He showed them to a table in the center of the crowded establishment. Lucy looked around and nodded at some of her fellow diners. She recognized most from the social pages and few of the more renowned professionals in their city. Lucy began to think that Dick had changed and was looking forward to an enjoyable evening. She leaned toward the center of the table and told Dick how thoughtful and wonderful all of this was. She told him that she was impressed with his effort and attention to detail. He smiled a knowing smile and told her it was just the beginning. He explained that after dinner they would be attending the theater which was a one night production of a Broadway musical. Lucy was elated.

The dinner was sublime. The lobster scrumptious the steak succulent they even made her favorite dessert and served it with an extra flair. When they brought out the Cream Brule the waiter also brought out a beautiful gift bag replete with sparkling ribbons and tissue paper. He also had a small box that looked suspiciously like a bracelet or necklace box wrapped in that coveted blue paper that signifies Tiffany.

Lucy was taken aback. This was all too good to be true. She was having a wonderful dinner at such a renowned establishment and later a she would be taken to a production she had wanted to see. She looked at Dick and thought that she had been unkind and harsh with her thoughts. He excitedly urged her to open her gifts, handing her the bag first. As I mentioned before Lucy felt awkward accepting gifts and felt especially so in public. Dick vehemently insisted she open them right then, right there, right now. She noticed her fellow diners watching anxiously from their tables. Perhaps they thought Dick was about to propose. She gingerly and cautiously took the gift bag as it seemed the least intrusive of the gifts and started feeling around the multitude of tissue paper for the gift. There in the bottom she felt something a little soft and reached to pick it up. That’s when it happened. The item started moving and wiggling and then she noticed it was all the way out of the bag. She sat there with her mouth open as women gasped and men chuckled. There in her hand was a big purple male member wiggling and vibrating. It was huge and it wouldn’t stop. Lucy didn’t know what to do with it. She didn’t want to throw it on the table and she couldn’t seem to get it back in the bag because it kept wiggling. She was mortified.
Lucy looked at Dick with terror in her eyes. Why had he given this to her. Surely it was some kind of joke. Only the look on Dick’s face wasn’t one of humor. This man was honestly proud of the present he had given her. He in fact was saying something but she was in shock and couldn’t make it out. Then it hit her he was telling her that this was a Battery Operated Boyfriend. A Bob. He went on to explain all its useful and interesting qualities. Lucy still in a state of shock looked around her at the faces of the other diners. They avoided her gaze and looked away. Some of the women were grabbing their furs and urging their husbands to finish with the check. Others just pretended they had seen anything. Finally she came to her senses and threw the still writhing purple gel monster into the bag. She grabbed her wrap and started toward the door. Tears welled in her eyes from humiliation and frustration. Just as she reached the door Dick yelled across the room “Lucy, wait! You didn’t take your present!” Lucy stopped in the doorway and turned to look at Dick. She looked at the other patrons of the bistro and said “I’m sorry but that wasn’t my present, that was yours. So go stick it where the sun doesn’t shine”



The moral to the story. Bad guys don’t change. Remember Valentines Day is coming. I suggest you put something in that bag that comes from Tiffany or Zales or even Bath and Body not from Lulu’s House of Pleasure.

The Dating Game

I have a niece who is just nearing dating age. You know this is happening because all of a sudden they stop looking like little girls or tomboys with torn jeans, oversized tee-shirts, messy hair and dirty faces and d and start looking like movie stars. They have the perfect hair, their nails are painted and long, their clothes start coming from Abercrombie and Fitch instead of Dad’s side of the closet. Yes, it is time for the phone to start ringing incessantly or the appearance of a growth looking exactly like a cell phone becomes attached to their ear. They start throwing in names like Hunter or Ryan into their conversation as in “Ryan is so cool; his dad gave him a vintage 1980’s mustang.” Your first thought is when did 1980 become vintage and second is “you’re not getting in the car with him”. You try not to vocalize these thoughts but sometimes you loose your filter and it spills out. Yes, welcome to the world of teenage dating.

I wasn’t allowed to date until I was sixteen. I was a junior in high school when I finally turned sixteen and really didn’t embark on the dating scene until late in my junior year. I was introduced to a boy from our rival high school across town at a party one night. He seemed nice and my friend who introduced us vouched for him. He seemed to be interested in me and me in him. When he asked me out for the following Friday I was thrilled, elated, heck I all but floated out of the party. I mean this guy was cool. He dressed differently than the cowboys I was used to dating. He didn’t have a dip of snuff under his lip and he quoted poetry! Be still my beating heart.

My parents were still quite strict even though they had been through this dating thing twice before. They had gone through this with my rebellious sister and the other with my elusive brother. I am sure that is why my mother set my curfews so early and my daddy insisted each boy come up to the house and meet one of my family before I could leave. I had rules. Rule number one, no boys in the house when my parents weren’t home which meant never since my parents were rarely home. Rule number two, home before 9:00 pm on school nights and 10:30 pm on weekends, because we all know that you won’t get into any trouble or have s-e-x before 10:30. Rule number three, no drive-in movies, because that was where kids had s-e-x. Rule number four, the boys had to come to the house and meet someone from my family before they could cart their daughter out on a date.

I spoke to let’s call him Craig, because that was his name, on the phone several times during the week before our date. Each time getting a more of a sense of the Rebel Without a Cause vibe from him. He was funny and intense and sort of moody. He was everything a teenage girl finds attractive; thank God we finally out grow that. He agreed to pick me up Friday evening at six because the movie started around seven that would give us time to grab a burger before the show. He got directions to my house and I told him my “house rules”. He just chuckled and said “we’ll see”.

Friday finally arrived and I couldn’t wait for school to let out so I could go and primp and prune and polish. I tamed my frizzy hair as much as I could trying to look like Farah Fawcett but instead looked more like Rosanna Danna Danna. I put on my high waisted Faded Glory Wide legged bell bottoms, my cutest tallest platform shoes lifting me up from 4’10” to 5’1” and my cutest hippest Hang Ten tee shirt. I was a vision of 1970’s loveliness. I was dressed and ready to go by five o’clock and sat in the den with my dad waiting for Craig (le sigh) to show up. My dad was entranced by something Walter Cronkite was saying on the six o’clock news when I heard a honk from the front of the house. I got up and ran to the front door. At the end of our side walk sat the coolest, hottest trans-am. It was black and gold with the big eagle on the front, t-tops and loud pipes. My heart leapt in my chest. Craig is just the coolest! I thought. My daddy on the other hand was not impressed. He yelled from his recliner. “Young Lady, YOU are NOT going out there! You can yell at him and tell him to come in and meet me or you can just sit your little butt back down on the couch and stay home.”

I did as I was told and opened the door and asked Craig to come inside. I was mortified, but I would have been more so if I hadn’t. He got out of his car very much put out to be made to come inside but he did. My daddy gave him the third degree and asked him all but what his blood type was. Then he said “Okay, then Greg, you have my little girl back home by 10:30. You got me boy?” To which Craig replied “My name is Craig and I got you.” Daddy narrowed his eyes and looked at Craig and said “Alright then Greg we’ll see you later and you drive careful.” I literally wanted to crawl under the couch and have a tea party with the dust bunnies, well if my mother would have had dust bunnies.

Craig and I walk out to the car with me chattering on about some nonsense and I walk around to the passenger door and wait. I notice Craig has already gotten in the car. Now I was raised that it was only polite and the gentlemanly thing to do for the man to open the woman’s car door as a sign of respect. I stood there dumbly looking at the door when he said “What’s the matter don’t you know how to open a door?” Well of course now I felt stupid so I opened the door and slid into his purring machine. My teenage hormones were at full tilt and I just knew he was going to be “the one”. I would have to work on his manners but hey that was just a minor set back.

I sat back ready to enjoy the evening. Craig put his foot on the accelerator and laid rubber half way down the block in front of my house. I could feel my daddy’s eyes rolling from the end of the street. Craig took the first corner on two wheels only instead of being frightened I felt exhilarated. Like I said I lived in a very strict household. We stopped briefly at the little drive-in diner and wolfed down a hamburger and some fries and then we were speeding across town again. The next thing I know we pull into the drive-in movie theater. I looked at Craig and said “I’m not allowed to go to the drive-in.” He just smirked and replied “What your parents don’t know won’t hurt you.”

We pulled into our stall and he rolled down his window, took the speaker off the stand and hooked it on the door. The movie had not started yet and they were playing some rock and roll tune that we both sat and sang the lyrics and kept the beat to. I was trying to feign comfort but the situation just felt all wrong. I kept hearing my daddy’s words in my head and I just knew my mother with her voodoo who doo or extra sensory perception would know. I had images of an errant meteor hurdling towards earth and unfortunately striking right in the center of the theater parking lot. There I’d be on the news being interviewed about a meteor hitting the front of the car and my parents would know. I was petrified!

Nighttime snuck in and the movie trailers started. Craig put his arm over the back of my seat and leaned across the console and in a very husky almost whisper said “So would you like to get comfortable in the back seat?” I was taken aback. I was shocked. I was aghast. I looked at him with my big eyes and squeaked out a “No thank you; I’ll just stay up here with you.” His mouth snapped shut, his eyes turned black and he threw the speaker out of the window revved the engine on his car and peeled out of the theater lot. He sped 100 miles per hour across town weaving in and out of cars running red lights and sliding around corners. He skidded to a stop in front of my house reached across the car and opened my door. He then spoke the only words he had spoken since he had asked me the confusing question “GET OUT!” he said.

I begged, I pleaded, and I groveled. What had I said? What had I done to invoke his ire, his wrath, his hate? He said nothing just sat there looking at me like I was covered in rat shit. I slowly crawled out of his super cool car. The next thing I knew the door was slammed and all I could see were his red cat eye tail-lights speeding away. I was crushed and confused. I didn’t understand why he was so angry. I didn’t understand why he would turn on me. My inferiority complex just tripled in size as I drug my feet to the door and let myself in.

Daddy was still in his recliner now watching a western or Nova or something. He looked up when I entered the room and asked what I was doing home so soon. I was crushed and began to tell him what happened. The slightest curl went to my father’s lips. He suppressed a chuckle or two and very calmly said “You did good kid.”