Hand Gestures While Driving

I’m not big on hand gestures while driving, other than the courtesy wave. I don’t get too upset when someone accidentally cuts me off or does something they shouldn’t. If another driver really pisses me off I may mutter a, “feel free, asshole” under my breath. But, that’s about it.

When I was young I was a lot freer with flipping the bird. But, age has tamed me. Plus, I don’t want to encourage any sort of heated road rage or entice some maniac to whip out a fire arm. (Having children makes you paranoid.)

The husband tends to let other drivers get to him. Whenever he gets overly agitated  I always reply in a happy tone, “Blood pressure!” If I’m in the wrong and do something to anger another driver I usually just wave, smile and mouth oops, sorry! If they remain pissed and flash me the middle finger, while visibly cussing me out, I smile even bigger and wave even harder. Kill ’em with kindness, ya know. Plus if you smile and wave frantically you kind of look like a jack ass, and who can’t help but chuckle at someone purposefully lookin’ a fool. It lightens things up.

(Warning: If you are extremely prude or easily offended, stop reading now.)

So, about a year ago, I was at a stop sign, patiently waiting my turn when a soccer dad in a Subaru Outback drove by me. It was a clear day and I was looking right at him. All of a sudden he flashes me the universal cunnilingus sign. He did it for at least 3 full seconds and was totally into it. Either he thought he knew me or he was a bit of a deviant! Who knows? I’m sure I looked quite shocked, but being the girl that I am I let out a, “Woo Hoo, Yeah!” You see, if you don’t know this by now, I’m a gal who can appreciate this type of ballsy, unexpected gesture. Not surprisingly, I also see the humor in a well-timed BA. Moronic and juvenile? Yep! Undeniably hilarious? For sure.

I couldn’t wait to get home and tell the husband about this little incident. He grinned from ear to ear as he exclaimed, “No way!” However, he seemed a little hesitant when I told him I put the little tale in my Facebook status, but really, how could I not? 

My friends’ reactions didn’t disappoint. They weren’t horrified or appalled by this true story. In fact, several people wanted to know if the “perp” was hot! Ha! I do love kindred spirits. 😉

And, if you’re wondering…he wasn’t bad.

Your turn. Are you a blood boiling bird flipper? Or, have you been the recipient of a unique or interesting hand gesture while driving? Do tell…

Flower Faux Pas

This is a picture of my neighbor’s yard (the side of his house facing the street). Little did he know when he purchased the home that the previous owner’s nick name was Tulip Man.

Tulip Man was an odd fellow. He loved his bulbs and planted them in mass. His front yard was like an homage to Holland, missing only were the wooden shoes and windmills.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love flowers as much as anyone. But, this was no ordinary display. Tulip Man had blooms of all varieties coming out of every square inch of his modest sized plot of land. There was no discernible plan or reasoning behind his flowerscaping, other than to plant random flowers everywhere he possibly could. Daffodils, croci, tulips, dahlias, and more. Tulip Man was an equal opportunity planter, never having met a bulb he didn’t dig. (Get it!) 

In a neighborhood where the “Association” takes their job very seriously, I was surprised that Tulip Man’s yard wasn’t a recurring topic at the HOA meetings. Although, maybe it was… I’ve never attended. (Rebel tendencies.)

Anyhoo, Tulip Man lived here for only a year or two. His house was sold in the dead of winter to a buyer who clearly had no idea what was in store for him come springtime.

New owner seemed to have a passion for tinkering in the yard as well. As soon as the ground thawed he was planting grass on the side of his new home, re-directing visitor traffic by adding a rock path to his front door, topping the new stone columns with ornate concrete planters (that always appear to be empty of any actual plantings). Yes, he made it his own, right off the bat.

I can only imagine his surprise when multiple bulbous beauties started rearing their little green heads through his freshly laid sod. But, I guess he must have liked the hideous exhibit. He’s been here for about five years now and the queer blooming grass has remained.

So, every spring we all get to enjoy(?) the array of daffodils and then tulips that alternately poke through the little island of shaggy lawn.

What say you? Flower faux pas or odd yet lovely display?

My Husband Watches Stupid TV

My husband is pretty easy-going. When I’m shuffling the daughter to and from dance, he’s more than happy to eat cereal for dinner. If he comes home and the house is destroyed, couch pillows lined up like stepping-stones guiding you to the mountain of stacked pillows almost to the ceiling from the errant toddler, he doesn’t say a word. Messy kitchen, shameful laundry room, he can handle it. But, ask him to watch any sit-com, dramedy or mainstream TV and you’ll see one unhappy dude. He’s not having it.

My husband and I don’t watch any shows together unless he’s managed to hook me on one of his many ridiculous pleasures. If sports are on, he’s probably watching. But, I use the word sports loosely. Sure he’s a fan of the regular stuff like football, basketball, golf, etc. But, he also considers any human duel to be a sport, and thus worth viewing. 

Throw two heavily inked grown men in a cage and tell them to dry hump until one cries out, “Uncle,” and he’ll be glued from start to finish. Two buffed out chicks puttin’ up their dukes, delivering body blows to eachother’s girly parts, why not. Grown-ups wearing sunglasses indoors playing an endless game of Go Fish, Old Maid, or fine, maybe it’s Poker, whatever, it’s still a card game and see, since I said game you can bet he’s going to watch.

His odd list of favorites doesn’t end there. He loves Dave and Cody, the adorable couple who try to survive in precarious, desolate environments. Indian supply truck drivers, he’s a fan of you guys and girl too. Oh, and that bunch of seemingly not so bright Oregonians digging for gold in the Alaskan wilderness–he loves you all. Loner fishermen risking their lives for the deadliest catch, re-run or not, you boys need not feel left out.  

If these shows all seem a little rough and tumble, no worries, he also digs the LA motley crew who battle it out for other people’s stuff in Storage Wars. As well as the crazy, out of shape, good ol’ boys at the Las Vegas pawn shop and of course, the impeccably groomed metrosexuals of Million Dollar Listing. (I guess he’s a bit of renaissance man after all!)

But, whatever you do, do not ask him to watch mainstream TV. 30 Rock, Cougartown, Modern Family, Dancing With The Stars or even The Office–are all out of the question! Around here we have a strict rule of, “No Sit Bombs” or “Fake TV!” Unless of course it involves nomadic men and it’s on the Discovery Channel. Then, it’s educational, damnit…

Thankfully, the TV Tyrant has an early bed time of 9:00 pm sharp!

Now you know why I stay up til midnight… Ahhh, finally! Cheers!

Show & Tell

I thought I’d share a few pictures that I took today of things in my house that I haven’t been able to stop looking at. They are all very different, but all have gotten my attention more than once today.

My 7-year-old painted this blue vase for me at one of those pottery paint stores. It was my Valentine’s Day gift and I just love it. I think it looks so cute with the big yellow daffodils and colorful jelly beans. It’s happy and I can’t help but smile every time I walk by it.

On the opposite end of the happy spectrum is my goddamned pots and pans cupboard. You can’t get anything out of it without multiple items crashing to the floor in a loud– Clank, Bang, Thud! It is sooooo annoying. If you’re wondering why I don’t just clean it out, well, because I have no where else to put these things…and I’m lazy.

And, the final picture of my Show & Tell session is the back of the Honey Nut Cheerio’s box. I cannot stop seeing penises every time I look at it. Is it just me? Am I a total perv? Well, yes, probably. But, come on…do you see a bunch of dicks too? Please, tell me.

What Has Happened to Friday Night?

When I was in my twenties, Friday nights were the best. My theme song was ‘Shake It Baby’ by Terence Boylan. (Google it.) Yeah, yeah, I know…it’s from like 1976. And yes, I was in my twenties in the 90’s not the 70’s. But the song is on the “Fastimes Soundtrack” and if you listen to the words it’s more than relevant.  

“…Shake it baby, shake it all you can tonight, break ’em, break ’em baby break ’em all you can tonight. It won’t last forever, so do it for worse or for better, give the boys something to dream on later…”

I mean really, does that sum it up or what? I loved to listen to this song as I was gettting ready–teasing my big blonde hair, carefully doing my sexy eye make-up, wrestling on my tight black pants (always black pants). Yes, we had other more current “pumpers” that we’d blast before heading out into the night–‘The Immigrant Song’ by Led Zeppelin (I know, it wasn’t exactly current then either, but it’s a great party song and totally reminded us of our college days, pre-funcing at SAE). Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ and ‘Sin’ by Nine Inch Nails were other frequent choices that helped get us in the mood. And whenever I was going out on the town with my “boy bestie,” EZ, we’d always belt out ‘I Need a Lover Who Won’t Drive Me Crazy’ because really we found most people to be totally annoying and not nearly as fun as we were. 

Friday nights were full of anticipation and the unknown. We’d start out at some dive bar in the city and eventually walk for blocks and blocks to go dancing. Giant platform shoes and painted on pants didn’t hold us back. We were young and free and nothing phased us. When we’d finally get to our favorite night club we’d dance our asses off for hours. I preferred to dance alone in a sort of cage, because up-there I could really get into it and go wild. I didn’t have to worry about making eye contact with some boy who surely couldn’t keep up with my killer moves. We’d work off the free jello shots and multiple vodka crans we’d downed earlier by shakin’ our money makers well into the wee hours of the night. When the club finally closed, it’d officially be morning, and we’d head to the all-night breakfast joint that catered to our fellow creatures of the night.

Somehow, we’d make it to one of our homes and crash until the afternoon. We’d bum around all day, watching movies and hanging out, until we had to get ready. After all, it was now Saturday night, time to do it all again.

Ahhhh, to be young… Oops, it’s after 8:30, time to get the kids to bed. Maybe we’ll get really crazy and watch a movie On Demand? Or maybe we’ll just drink some wine, listen to ‘Shake It Baby’ and remember what it was like to be young… Or maybe we’ll just go to sleep?

*I totally forgot about this cartoon that a graphic artist made for me after spending a night on the town with us. Look closely and you’ll see what a typical Friday night looked like back in the day!

Camel Toe. It’s a No-No.

When I was about ten years old my brother dated a girl named Julie. They were sixteen, so naturally I worshiped them both. Julie was something else. She had a super cute face and her shiny, brunette hair was always curled into perfect feathers. Julie drove a bright red Celica hatchback. Brand new. She lived in a big, fancy house and came from a wealthy family. Julie seemed to have it all. On top of everything, she was very sweet and was always nice to me.

When Julie would come to our house to pick up my brother, she’d usually stand in the entry way and chat for a minute before they’d take off. I’d always make sure to be there so I could make a mental note of what she was wearing, how her hair looked and what shade of lipstick she had on. I’d study her mannerisms and loved being in her company, even though our time together was brief. I immediately noticed the different way that Julie wore her pants. Now, this was 1982 so they were probably pretty high-waisted. Anyway, her jeans always made a little crease in “that area.” I didn’t know at the time that this look had a name. But, I figured if Julie was doing it, so should I.

I started hiking my pants up to my armpits in the hopes of achieving said look. It wasn’t very comfortable, but I was old enough to know that sometimes girls had to “take one for the team” in the name of fashion. I guessed this was no different from wearing high heels, bras, or pantyhose.

What I couldn’t understand was why I was getting the reaction I was. When my brother or mom would see me like this, they’d look slightly annoyed and say with disgust in their voices, “Pull your pants down.” If I questioned them, they never really answered. So, I’d usually push them down a little until they left the room. Then, back up the center they would go. Ugh! Looking like hot stuff was taking a toll on me.

Fortunately for me and my private, Julie and my brother didn’t last too long. Once she was out of the picture I didn’t think to wear my jeans this way anymore. It wasn’t until many years later that I heard the term and realized what it was. Yikes.

My brother and mom were right. It wasn’t a good look. Camel toe is indeed always a no-no.

*My gross (yet funny) friend Sean told me about this song. I apologize! But, it is pretty funny. PG-13, FYI.