Monday, 01 August 2011
Dear Self Esteem,
I don't know how long it's been since I last saw you. I've honestly lost track. Still, I just wanted to write you a letter to tell you how much I miss you and want you back in my life. Remember the good times we used to have together? You were the reason I'd smile in the mirror in the morning while I was brushing my teeth--not because I was so overly glad to see myself, just because there was nothing to frown about. Remember when you helped me go places every day without looking at the floor or hoping I didn't run into anyone I know? I haven't forgotten. Since you left, all I want to do is eat. Some might say I use food to replace things that have been missing in my life since you left. Some just may be correct. You did a lot for me, and I'm so sorry I took you for granted while you were still here. You gave me the confidence to be a better mother to my children and be more involved in all of their activities. You helped me live in perfect harmony with my spouse--well, maybe not perfect... but as close as it gets. I'll never forget the positive influence you have had on my life, Self Esteem, and please know that I invite you back into my life with open arms.
Thursday, 14 July 2011
The other night, I sent my husband to the store to buy hot dogs. We live in an incredibly small town that hasn't had a grocery store since it burned down a few years ago. So, all we have is a Dollar General. Apparently, there were no name brand hot dogs at the local Dollar General, so this is what he brought me:
Now, I'm not sure how they could let that kind of stereotypical jab slip through the production line unnoticed, but I have to give them the benefit of the doubt. The other thing that stood out to me is the musical notes around the slogan, "The dogs kids love to bite." I don't know about anyone else, but I can't say that I can recall ever hearing a jingle for "Armour Hot Dogs." By the looks of it, though, you'd think I was supposed to be able to recognize and sing it, right? Well, I tried. No dice.
Monday, 11 July 2011
I was having a conversation with my friend Jeff yesterday. Now, Jeff is an interesting sort of guy, and he’s been mostly down on his luck for the past year or more. His marriage of 10+ years came to a screeching halt back in December, and he jumped into an even more ridiculous relationship after that.
Yesterday, in a Facebook convo, Jeff was telling me that he’s done with serious relationships and he just wants to have some fun before he decides to settle down again. There’s nothing wrong with that in my eyes. He doesn’t need to jump into the next skirt that walks past him, and I thought I was halfway proud of him for his revelation.
Naaaaaaaah! That would be way too easy, wouldn’t it?
Jeff’s new philosophy is that since he doesn’t want anything serious, he should focus on a completely new demographic: The under-serviced married woman.
I found myself saying, “C’mon now, Jeff. You don’t really want to make a hobby out of homewrecking, do ya?” Naturally, his reply was, “I can’t really wreck something that was going downhill before I ever came along. Besides, married women who aren’t getting enough are more likely to put out on the sly and keep on top of things like STD’s.”
The more I tried to convince him that his idea was completely craptastic, the more enthused about it he seemed to be. His only complaint was there wasn’t much of an open market for that kind of hookup. I guess he had been perusing the regular dating sites already. Either way, this was the part when I probably became an accessory to homewrecking if there is such a thing.
Completely tired of combating his crapalicious idea, I finally gave in and said, “Looks like it’s just you and Ashley Madison, then.” Of course the numbskull asked, “Who’s she?” I wasn’t halfway done explaining to him that it’s that affair site that people made a big stink over because they actually had commercials for a little while before he had already come back with, “Creating an ID right now!” I just shook my head and said, “You’re welcome.”
When my husband and I were laying in bed that night, I was telling him all about the conversation I had with Jeff earlier that day. Of course my husband thought it was pretty amusing, especially when I got to the part of him creating an ID faster than I could explain what it was. I asked him if I was an accessory to homewrecking, and he said “Nah, not really.” I’m still not entirely convinced.
Sunday, 10 July 2011
Oh, Xanga, I'm so glad you asked!
My husband and I had a discussion about the different ways we de-stress the other day, and you better believe our answers were completely different. I started a blog today, and I think I'm feeling a little selfish in honor of that. So, we'll skip his de-stress method and catapult straight to mine. Ready, Freddy?
Now, I'm not a complete deviant. I promise this isn't my answer to everything. It's actually mere coincidence that this is my first post-- but when I've had myself a long ol' day, the kids have played pictionary on the wall, the love of my life has called me with one of his infamous work rants, and that whole "This is the story of the rest of your life," feeling sets in, I tend to need a little bit of me time. Aw, yeah, fellow ladies. You know what I'm talkin' about. [Note: I would totally wink here, but my face just looks funny when I try.]
You may find yourself asking, "You time? Why don't you use the opportunity to de-stress with your husband?" This is the part where I ask you if you are married. After that, I'll ask you if you have children. If you still don't follow, I most definitely want to know what your secret is. Does it involve cow bells?
It's official, People of Xanga (I think I'll call you PoX for short). I've been here for five minutes, and I've already shared my dirty secrets with all of you. I feel like I've been to confession, except for I'm Baptist. So, I really don't know anything about confession. I just know how to sit on the back row and lip synch to all of the hymns. Either way, I can now do it with a cleaner conscience.
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