when i was growing up, sessie and i shared a room with two twin beds, complete with classic 1970s matching bates corded bedspreads in pepto bismol pink. i think every kid in america had these bedspreads growing up. they sold them through the sears catalog and they were available in a myriad of colors.

personally, i wasn’t so fond of them because they were kinda thin and scratchy and if you sat on the top of the bed for a while, you got the cord indentions all over the backs of your legs. but my mom loved them because they were indestructible and machine washable.

there was also someone else in the house that loved them. our freak-ass cat. we were always bringing home stray cats, which mom would sneak off to the ASPCA while we were at school, but for some reason, mom relented and let us keep this one, and we named her maggie, after the rod stewart song “maggie mae.”  maggie mae was kind of a crazy bitch and the song lyrics couldn’t have turned out to be more prophetic.

maggie had a bunch of issues, as most strays do, but there was one in particular that’s forever burned into my brain. when sessie and i were at school, maggie would go into our room and get up on our beds and drag her cat junk across the covers and leave kitty skid marks all over the bedspreads.

unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, because the bedspreads were pink, it was completely apparent what maggie had been up to, and sessie and i would scream and mom would come running and take them off and wash them. sessie and i just assumed that maggie had discovered that the ribbing on the spreads was an excellent source of kitty charmin or that it just made for a good butt scratching.

kudos to johnny over at 15 minute lunch, however, for solving this long-standing childhood mystery. it appears that all maggie needed was a good anal gland expression and she had discovered all that corded nubby goodness was doing the trick. 

apparently, this is not an uncommon problem for house pets and your vet is more than happy to relieve you of $30 a pop to perform this service. i say, invest the $19.95 for the current twin version of the spread and you’re all set.

Humor-Blogs.com

here it comes again. it seems like i have just gotten over the holidays and then BAM! every single year – it’s my birthday. so this year, i’m having one of those milestone birthdays. i’ve actually already had some milestone birthdays and most of them i’d like to forget. there was the one that my ex-boyfriend threw. he held a surprise party for me, complete with “you’re old now” gag gifts and black balloons. and i was only 30. needless to say, i did not end up with him…actually he hasn’t ended up with anybody. coincidence?

when i was younger, i loved having my birthday. i loved having a party, and getting presents and being the center of attention if only for one day. i guess in theory, i still enjoy people wanting to make my day special…just don’t ask me how many days it’s been. it’s funny how just a few years can make such a difference.

take boobs for example. until only recently i had what some might consider a fairly spectacular rack. gravity and two pregnancies have conspired against me, however, i can still incite envy in some of my girlfriends and still manage to turn heads at the hardware store, so it’s not completely hopeless. they say the best offense is a good defense. and in my case, i’d say the best defense is a good brassiere. so between me and victoria’s secret, we’re managing to perpetuate the illusion of youth and perkiness with relative success.

so maybe that’s what’s bothering me. in spite of my best efforts, and strategically engineered underwear, i still can’t stop what’s happening to me. i’m middle-aged…and there’s nothing i can do about it. but there are some things i can do. i will defy expectations and preconceived notions and live my life the way i want to.

• i will have long hair and it will be blond. forever. 
• i will sport cleavage until people begin to snicker and point.
• the words “age appropriate clothing” do not exist in my vocabulary. i will continue to shop at forever XXI and abercombie & fitch, because i can. the only people who say older women shouldn’t shop there are the haters that can’t fit into the clothes.
• i will flirt with the slacker counter boys working at starbucks near my office.
• i will wear tank tops and shorts during the summer and have tan legs.
• i will wear a bikini to the beach.
• i will revel in the fact that older women have more character, humor, intelligence, and sexiness that any 20-year-old girl could possible hope for.
• i will love myself and my wrinkles – at least until my regular botox injections begin.

so, i’m going to accept what’s happening, but i’m not going to take it lying down. i’m going to fight it every step of the way. and i’m going to win. and when i walk down the street, and hear “wow! there goes a great-looking older woman!” i’ll accept the compliment graciously and with pride.

blogging is something i’ve only recently discovered and i do it mostly to amuse myself.  however, i luv it when people find and read my blog, so i am just beside myself because of this!

someone over at the wall street journal wrote an interesting article titled “putting privilege into perspective” which discusses how many children today are given so much, so early that it perpetuates a fake rich lifestyle. and at the very bottom of the page was this:

and what’s so amazing is that i only wrote it yesterday and this was up by last night. how does that work?

i’m not sure to be flattered or insulted (maybe i’m a perpetuator) but this is awesome!! apparently someone wants to read me, besides me.

we spent christmas at disneyworld, as i had promised. i know when i was a kid, this would have been the penultimate holiday experience. the magic kingdom is exquisitely decorated and there are parades and light shows that will rival any griswalding that takes place in my neighborhood. so you think my kids would be ecstatic about being there, right? my daughter was having a great time, but apparently i was just bothering and irritating my son in an attempt to make a magical christmas for him (except for the gratuitous ordering of room service), and to show his displeasure he made every attempt to sabotage any commemorative photos of our HAPPY trip. 

…

“gee. now that a professional photographer is taking our picture, this looks like a good time to pick my nose.” 

…

“i hate all of you.”

…

“i’ll ride on this, but i don’t have to like it.” 

…

seriously, i was about ready to strangle him. but instead, i just did this:

problem solved!

…

i did however, manage to get a fake smile out of him for this one.

santa seemed a little peeved to be recognized and a little jet lagged after his busy night, but he did graciously pose with the kids.

on new year’s eve, my husband and i elected to stay in and drink some wine that we have been storing in our wine refrigerator. my husband is an occasional wine connoisseur and has amassed a fairly impressive collection over the years.

my husband has connections to football royalty. his best friend is a guy we affectionately call “mr. peter.” mr. peter is the nephew of the owner of a major-league southern football team and various car dealerships located across the southwest united states.  i don’t want to completely give it away, but this team’s fan’s were once reduced to wearing paper bags over their heads to conceal their identities during their lean years. you figure it out.

mr. peter and my husband became friends during high school and their friendship has continued to this day, much to my dismay. they were each other’s best man (twice apiece). mr. peter is a middle-aged peter pan who grew up with everything handed to him on a silver platter and could probably have any woman he wants, but he continues to prefer the company of woman with really big boobs and strippers. this should tell you something.

when i married my husband, mr. peter came as a package deal. don’t get me wrong, i like mr. peter OK and he has been a very good friend to my spouse, but he himself, is a terrible husband. but he is generous, amusing, and generally has some pretty interesting stories to share.

so as we uncorked and drank our grape juice, my hubby asked if i’d like to hear an amusing story about the wine we were drinking.

one time mr. peter and my husband had gone to chicago with his uncle for an out-of-town game. the pregame dinner was located at a prestigious restaurant where many fine wines were served.

the owner of the restaurant approached mr. peter’s uncle as they were seated. the owner began chatting and said that recently, one of football team’s players, rickey jackson, had visited their fine establishment. the player said he wanted to order some of their finest wine.

after perusing the wine list and not finding anything to his liking, he called for the sommelier and stated, “yeah, do you guys have the wine with the two dudes?”

apparently there was some confusion on the part of the staff who were probably convinced he was talking about ernest and julio gallo, until someone brought this to the table:

 “yeah, that’s it! the two dudes!” he exclaimed.

i guess ponying up a couple hundred dollars for a bottle opus one is easy when you forego your child support payments for say, 11 years.