Archive | May, 2011

10 phrases

27 May

that will get a suburban husband laid:

10. “Why do you look so hot? Isn’t it just at PTA meeting?”

9. “Hey, I was just about to buy you this Groupon for a pedicure …”

8. “… but it’s at that one place you don’t like because you think the Asian ladies are making fun of your feet in Vietnamese …”

7. ” … so I found a better one on Living Social.”

6. “Damn, I need to go to your hair stylist. You’re having like, a good hair month.”

5. “How do you keep your toenail polish so free of chips and your heels so smooth?”

4. “It’s not like I don’t LIKE porn — I just with the women looked more realistic … ”

3.  ” … all those hairless vaginas just seem kinda pervy … ”

2. ” … I’d much rather be with a woman with a little meat on her bones.”

1. “I wish my stepchildren were my real children. They are amazing.”

“Let’s get drunk …

23 May

“… and misbehave with inflatable toys.”

Day Two of the inspiration box, and pardon me — I originally posted to the wrong blog, so I added that post here.

To be honest, I have no idea what that references, but it’s funny. It either has to do with the lake, sex toys or a story I once did about a prank some high school band members played on their freshmen members at an away game where they made them pose sexually (though fully clothed) with inflatable sheep and took pictures of them, then got in trouble for sexually exploiting minors. Way to understand kids, authority figures. And way to seem super cool, senior bandies!

Speaking of getting drunk … such an ugly way to put it! We had five couple over this weekend for a band/fan cookout. It was BYOB, a mission each couple/family took fairly seriously. So there was hamburgering, and drinking, and caking and cooking and I think most people left around midnight and I would say it was a successful evening.

Events included:

* Real-life snake handling

* This:

* The formulation of a pilot for a series called “The Real Housewives of Payne County” (highlight: A clip of one of my new friends saying, “I honestly am a nice person and I usually get along with everyone!” spliced over a shot of her throwing a drink in someone’s face)

* “Shots” of Ol’Boy’s margaritas (a much better way to consume them, really)

* Walking into the kitchen the next morning and feeling like an extra in “The Hangover.” In so many ways.

So it’s been two years, and look at me! Friends, a new house, a great job, a puppy, a cat, wonderful child and a husband who knows just want to say, when to say it and when to just shut the fuck up and clean up the kitchen while I nap.

“Just FYI …

23 May

… my boyfriend is taking a shit in the woods.”

This is just one of the many messages written on a scrap of paper that I unfold, read, and laugh aloud at daily at my desk.

I’m not sure how many are in the handmade box, and I dread the day I run out.

The notes are part of a going-away present given to me by one of my favorite students and best friends, JC, who spent who knows how many hours jotting down random quotes, facts and anecdotes relating to our lives. The idea was that I could read one each day. I love my little tequila-box-turned-decoupage decoration, even if we two are the only ones who know what secrets it holds.

Summer means a slow time for me, and a chance to catch up on reading. Along those lines, I’d like to write more, and it occurred to me today that these notes would be a perfect chance to write a little about our many amazing adventures and probably just stir some emotions and thoughts about my life. She knows me so well, Baxter …

So here’s the story behind today’s note (the hope being that I salvage one daily this summer and write just a bit about it):

One of the (secret) epics of my life is simply known as Bubba Keg Day. I will save some of the details of that saga for a later post, and also hope my mom never seems them, because she would shit. It’s a story best told in chapters: Chapter 1, A Last-Minute Decision (Prompted by PK Bringing a Roadie into Our House Because it Was Officially Noon); Chapter 2, The River’s Mouth; Chapter 3, Exploring the Cave; Chapter 4, The Mysterious Turn-Around No One Actually Remembers (so that’s going to be a really short chapter); Chapter 5, Possibly the Cave Again? We’re Really Not Sure, But Definitely PK Skis With His Teeth; Chapter 6, The Flash; Chapter 7, Remains of the Day; Chapter 8, The Wagoner Sonic. The Epilogue shares its title with a film known simply as “The Hangover.”

So today’s note is the story of Chapter 6, The Flash.

After engaging in activities in Chapters 1-5, which in summary include taking five gallons of frozen margaritas onto the lake, we arrive, sloppy and sunburned, at Party Island, a nasty little spit of sand known for its drunken revelry and, presumably, lots of Girls Gone Wild-style flashing. We nose up and gun the boat onto the sand in a narrow spot between about six million other boats. It’s a fleshy, boozy carnival of gas, girls, cigarettes, a few unfortunate children that DHS had not yet picked up, and us– the Fab Five. Needless to say I’m wildly uncomfortable, and Ol’Boy never wants to leave. I’m not sure what led us to trapse up the sand, but the girls went walking and along the way ran into a girl waist deep in the water who warned us not to go any further on the island because, “Just FYI, my boyfriend is taking a shit in the woods.” There was something really hysterical to me about this buxom, mermaid-ic chick rising up out of the water to fill our ears with such filth that we promptly ran back to the boat to fill the boys in.

I decided to engage in a complete re-enactment just to show how funny it had been, and when I thrust myself up out of the water, Budweiser-girl style, my tube top popped off and slid down to my waist. Fortunately, the only person paying attention was our party, and the only member of that who HADN’T seen my ta-tas was PK, JR’s boyfriend. He was so embarrassed he couldn’t even compliment my fabulous rack. Poor guy was speechless.

Ol’Boy just turned to him and said, “Well, I guess now we’ve got something else in common.”

He always knows just what to say.

1 May

Life is just better when its warmer. Take for instance, last night, when I got in an hour hike with the dog and a good friend in the woods as the sun went down, and our promises to go to bed early were juiced like so many limes in our tequila and tonics.

When it’s warm, you can open all the windows and get a nice breeze going through the house at night. Then the neighbors can hear you getting louder and louder at the hours pass (the ones you were supposed to sleep through). I like the way Friday nights feel consequence-less — whatever you do, you’ve got days and days to recover or be constructive. Friday nights are like the first day of a vacation — you’re so excited to finally be there, and you’re wound up for all the potential.

The house to our left is empty, and the one to the east is occupied by two friends who might otherwise have joined us, if they didn’t work all the time. They complain about how old they are, and how they go to bed too early. I like to think must have particularly enjoy the singing that took place after midnight as we auditioned songs for Billy’s next gig (no consensus was reached, and Billy informed me <a href="

“>this was far too difficult to sing and play drums to at the same time. So I think he’s maybe going with some Green Day? It’s kind of a really loud blur).

Point being, I know I’ve been so reticent lately. I used to be so outgoing, and I think most people still see me as being that way, but I feel like there’s a lot going on in my head I’m not articulating, lot of experiences I’m not sharing. I worried I was turning into something blue, but now I believe it was just winter sucking my will to live. I’m just glad to feel the sun as it should feel — warm on me.

The sun and all the green bursting out of every bit of soil and branch just has me high.