I'm sitting here staring at the keyboard trying to collect my thoughts and type something coherent. My fingers are moving way too slowly this morning and I have a feeling it will be one of those days when I drop everything. And I know someone will say, "you have the dropsies."

When I was at the mall on Saturday, I couldn't help but notice the poor men sitting on the benches in the center of the mall, waiting patiently for their wives, girlfriends or whatever. They all had the same expression on their faces. Their eyes were glazed over with the look of boredom, or the "I'd rather be somewhere else" look. Some of the poor souls were actually holding purses! These are the men who are really, and I hate to use this word, "henpecked".

This got me to thinking about things that I would never, I mean NEVER, ask my husband to do. So, this is what I came up with so far:

I would never ask my husband to hold my purse while I did my shopping. First of all, he would look completely ridiculous. I mean he's six foot six and weighs aboutt 280. Also, I doubt that I have a purse that would match his Carhart coat. The color of which is called "duck". (Where the hell did they come up with that name?)

Another thing I wouldn't ask my husband to do is to buy feminine hygiene products for me. It would be embarrassing for him, and besides, I know he wouldn't buy the right thing. I imagine him dashing down "that" aisle, grabbing whatever he could, and glancing nervously over his shoulder to make sure no one he knows saw him. It would be too much stress for him.

I never ask my husband to get anything out of my purse. As far as I'm concerned, my purse is my domain. NO ONE, I mean NO ONE, goes into my purse without my permission. If he needs something out of my purse (car keys, pen, etc.) he brings it to me and I get whatever it is he needs.

I never ask my husband to fold my laundry. I have this "thing" about people looking at my panties. It's to the point where I hide my underwear when I go to the gynecologist. I stuff them into a jean pocket or my purse. The gynecologist might see parts of me that I've never seen, but he's not going to see my underwear!

I never ask my husband to go to my gynecologist appointments, or any doctor appointment for that matter. When I was pregnant I asked him to go to two appointments. One was to hear the baby's heart beat, and the other was to see her in the ultrasound. And that was it. The main reason I don't ask him to go with me is because he plays with everything. He opens draws, picks up the instruments and plays with them, and basically, can't sit still! It's like having a toddler with me. I don't need the stress or aggravation. His companionship during doctor appointments isn't worth the headache.

I never ask my husband to write any kind of letter, email, or greeting card. My husband has terrible handwriting, for one thing, and he can't spell all that well either. There are times he's called me at work to ask me how to spell different words. I can always tell when he's calling me to ask for spelling help. He begins with, "How's your day going? What's new at work? By the way, how do you spell . . ." I remember once he called me to ask, "How do you spell 'shelves'?" I was floored! I told him our, then, 7 year old daughter could spell that word. To prove my point, that night at dinner I asked her to spell it - and she did! (To this day, my daughter says to my husband, "At least I can spell 'shelves'!")

I never ask my husband to visit my relatives with me. My family is a collection of Jerry Springer-types. They have one problem after another, and fight amongst themselves constantly. I don't want to subject him to their behavior. What he does know about them already, is enough.

I never ask my husband to go grocery shopping with me. He walks through the store and looks at things like he's never been in a supermarket before. I swear it's like he just came down from the mountains to buy his provisions for the month or something. I remember one time, when I did take him with me, I asked him to get frozen peas. Off he went to find the frozen vegetable aisle. He was gone awhile and I began to think he got lost, or abducted. I walked to the frozen vegetable aisle and there he was staring at the frozen peas. He looked at me with utter confusion on his face. "I don't know which ones to buy. "These" (holding up a bag of frozen peas) are on sale, but then again, these are Birds Eye, but they're not on sale." This was the conflict that was taking him so long! Forget it! He's more of a hindrance than a help! Besides, I don't want to hurt the feelings of the Dairy Manager! (See my Blog posting dated 01/26/07.)

Well, that's my list, thus far. I have to get ready for work, or I'm sure I would think of other things.

I hope you found this amusing! Have a Great Day!

 

Monday morning and what do you suppose is facing me today? SNOW! I just looked out of my window and there is a winter wonderland out there! Great! And believe me, I'm being sarcastic when I say that. Brushing off the car, watching out for the Kamikazee drivers on the road (people who have the same driving habits no matter what the weather is), and hoping I have enough windshield wiper fluid in my car is what I have to look forward to when I head out this morning.

My hair looks like a bird's nest right now. I have this love-hate relationship with my hair. I swear it has a mind of its own. There are days when no matter what I do to it, it stills does what it wants to do. I want a piece of hair to go left, but it insists on going right. I want another piece of hair to lay flat, it sticks straight out. And don't even get me started on the "Widow's Peak" that I have to deal with. You know, when your hairline comes to a point on your forehead. Yes, I have one of those. People seem to be amazed by it. I try to camoflage it by having bangs to cover it. I always thought of it as a pain in the butt. To me it looks like Dracula hair. I guess I hide it so no one calls me Eddie Munster. My mom always told me it was a sign of good luck to have one. Yeah, sure it is. I think she just told me that to make me feel better for having freakish hair.

Yesterday my hair looked like a landing pad for a helicopter - completely flat on top. I tried my best to poof it up a bit - to give myself some volume, but my hair won that battle. Hair - one, and me - zero. Then I noticed that my sides of my head looked like I had wings. My hair was sticking straight-out. Again I tried my best to brush them into some kind of order. The brush wasn't doing it so I pulled out my ultimate weapon - a large can of hairspray. Once I got to spraying that, things started happening. First, I sprayed the bangs, then the sides, and then I worked on the top of my head. It worked - sort of. I mean nothing was sticking out, and the landing pad looked kind of poofy. By the time I was finished spraying, I had to open a window to let the fumes escape, and I had 'helmet head' hair. Totally stiff - totally unmovable - totally unbrushable.

When I was finished with the hair, I took a good look at the face. That's when I noticed it. Right there, on the underside of my chin was a big, white on top, zit! Lucky, lucky me! How can I be almost 44 years old and still dealing with zits? Granted they aren't a constant addition to my face, but they do visit every so often. I sat and stared at it and contemplated the age-old question - "To pop, or not to pop." I decided to leave it alone because I didn't feel like cleaning the bathroom mirror.

Next I examined the lines on my face. Or should I say the gullies that have found a home there. I gently patted some concealer on them, but that was no help. It just gathered in the creases. Next came the foundation. So, I smeared alittle foundation on the deep ridge on my chin - being careful of the volcano of a zit that I have. And what do you suppose happend? Well, at first the foundation looked like it was going to work, then it just settled into the ridge. Same thing with the 'laugh lines' around my eyes. Everytime I have to deal with the "laugh lines" I curse myself for finding things funny. They are a punishment for having a sense of humor.

When I was at the mall on Saturday I bought a new foundation. This one is for 'mature skin'. I'm dealing with a zit, but yet I have 'mature skin'. That somehow doesn't make sense to me. Anyway, this new foundation is supposed to hide these creases and lines. I ended up buying it at the local Walmart because the Clinique counter was unmanned or should I say unwomanned. There wasn't anyone there to help me. A clerk from the perfume counter came over and told me they would be back in 5 minutes. SORRY! I have things to do, places to be, people to see. I can't be standing around waiting for the Clinique women to come back from wherever they were. No sale there!

Looking at foundations in Walmart was an adventure in itself. There were so many kinds, so many brands, and so many other women buying foundation. I mean did we all decide to buy new foundation on the same day? I couldn't even get close to the stuff. I had to wait patiently (something I am NOT good at) until the herd thinned. Finally there was an opening at the Cover Girl section. I manuevered through the other shoppers and stood solidly in front of the pretty display of colors.

Upon closer inspection, the stuff was a mess! The samples were all smeared around, the jars and tubes of make-up were all scattered and in the wrong place, and to top it off, they didn't even have a color close to my skin color. I'm fair-skinned and the only colors they seem to have for fair-skinned people are ones that make your face look like Casper The Friendly Ghost. I scanned the aisle for another opening at a different brand of make-up and saw the L'Oreal section was clear. This time I didn't try to "manuever" through the groups of shoppers. Afterall, trying to buy foundation was turning into a big ordeal and I was getting just alittle impatient with the whole thing. I just plowed my way through and didn't care who didn't like it. And believe me, I could feel the eyes of disapproval boring through me. I decided on a color and was on my way. Besides, the crowd started gathering behind me and I could feel someone's hot breath on my neck - YUCK!

Gee look at the time! All I did was rant and rave about my foundation. Sorry about that! I feel like I somehow cheated you today. I would correct it, but I have to start getting ready for work. And that is not an easy job. Let's hope the hair is cooperative, and the zit can be concealed, and the lines on my face are not so deep.

Til tomorrow!
 

Here it is, Sunday morning and I still have all of my weekend chores to do. Why you ask? All because I decided to spend my Saturday shopping with my sister. This was a shopping trip that we thought would be only an hour or two. It turned out to be an all day event. Now I have to make up for lost time. Which led me to the thought that if I had a wife at home, she would have done all of my chores.

This thought was originally prompted a few years ago when I received a call from my daughter's school. She had gotten sick and they called my husband, who works in town. He told them to call me because he was "in the middle of concrete-work" and couldn't leave. I work an hour away from home. I had to tell my male boss that I had to pick-up my daughter. He was not happy that I had to leave, and I thought, "Excuse me! I don't have a wife at home like you do to take care of these things." If I had a wife at home she could have picked her up.

Don't get me wrong, my husband is a big help with taking my daughter where she needs to be, and also with housework. He's not a slouch. However, there are times when I can't count on him to help out, especially if it conflicts with his work. He never asks to leave early and I can never count on him to pick her up from school if she gets sick. This is when I need a wife the most.

I wonder how a Rent a Wife company would do? Imagine the possiblilties. You'll be out of town, but your children still need to go to soccer practice - call Rent a Wife. If you have more than one child with activities scheduled at the same time - call Rent a Wife. You need weekend chores to be done, but you have a trip planned - call Rent a Wife. You'll be working late but your family still needs a home-cooked meal - call Rent a Wife. The phone company, cable company, or delivery of that new washing machine is scheduled between the hours of eight and five - call Rent a Wife to wait for them. Are you a single parent who needs a helping hand with managing schedules and chores - call Rent a Wife.

I could go on and on. Rent a Wife would really come in handy. Why you could even use Rent a Wife if you didn't have children, but were basically a lazy slob. Rent a Wife could clean your home or apartment, cook your meals, and run your errands. You could pay a monthly fee to have Rent a Wife on call, or have a "pay as needed" service.

Wow! The more I think about this idea, the better I like it! It could be a great service to everyone. No more walking the dog in the rain, or having dry, cracked hands from doing dishes and housework. If only there was such a service!

However, dreaming will not get my laundry or housework done. So, you'll have to excuse me while I start my Saturday chores.

Have a great day!
 

Here it is, at long last - FRIDAY! I didn't think it would ever get here. It's funny because yesterday one of the women I work with asked me if I thought the week was going fast. I told her she had to be kidding. This was the longest week ever. Apparently no one shared my insight. They all seemed to think the week was speeding by. Oh well!

This weekend I have my normal routine all set to go. I start my Saturday off with grocery shopping. I go to the grocery store twice every Saturday. Once for my mother's groceriers and once for mine. It is to the point where I think I'm having an affair with the Dairy Manager. I see him there every Saturday morning, and we always have a pleasant conversation - both times I am there. Now I know about his ex-wife (he really emphasized the "ex" to me), his teenage son who lives with him, and this girl that he is "sort of" seeing. I even know what he did over the holidays and how much he spent on his son. Whenever I walk down the dairy aisle, if he isn't stocking shelves with cheese, he quickly pops out of the stockroom and makes his presence known to me. Because of this, I always make sure that I look presentable when I go to the supermarket. No bedhead or smeared make-up for me. I now have an image to uphold to my supermarket's Dairy Manager. The funny thing is the other supermarket that I used to shop at had a Dairy Manager that would always go out of his way to talk to me too. Dairy managers must be drawn to me, or maybe I'm a magnet for them.

As I said, I do my mother's grocery shopping. To make things easy, she calls my answering machine and leaves her list for me. I am always amazed at the number of messages there are from her. Yesterday there were seven. Most of them began with "Oh and one more thing that I forgot to put on the list is . . ." I sit by the phone with pen and paper in hand scribbling her order. On every list there is that one item she asks me to get that either doesn't exist, or can't be found anywhere but in her mind. A list that should only take about a half hour ends-up taking me over an hour because of her oddball items. Things such as Cascade for washing dishes but "not the one for dishwashers". First of all, Cascade, as far as I know, doesn't make a dishwashing liquid for anything other than dishwashing machines. One time she asked me to get her Easy Off oven cleaner - the kind that is fume free. Ok - no problem, or so I thought. I dropped it off and the next day she called me to tell me that I got the wrong kind. She meant the "other one". Ok - no problem, I bought the one in the yellow can the next time. Again she called me the next day and told me this was wrong too. She meant the "other one". I told her they have two kinds - a blue can and a yellow can. She told me to forget about it that she would have someone else get it for her. When I went to her place the next weekend, she said, "I finally got the oven cleaner that I needed." I looked at the can on her counter and there was the Easy Off in the yellow can. "That's the same one that I got for you," I told her. "No, the one you got was the wrong kind. Now, I FINALLY have the right cleaner." Whatever!

She'll also use names for things that other people would never know what she is talking about. Such as "house spray", which when translated means "air freshener". Or "toilet doodads" which means those little toilet deodorizers that hang on the inside of the toilet. Every shopping trip is an adventure or should I say scavenger hunt.

Then there are times when she'll mention one item, but really mean something else. I, in turn, am expected to know what she REALLY meant. For example, she wanted me to buy two cans of chicken a la king. Ok, fine, I bought two cans of chicken a la king. "I meant chicken chow mein," she said on the phone later that day. Somehow, it was my fault that she got the wrong item!

Parking in front of my mother's house is an adventure too. There is no off-street parking which means I park in front of her house. The street in front of her home leads to the mall. Needless to say the traffic is always heavy. Her next door neighbor is a crochety old man who doesn't want anyone parking on his sidewalk. So he has buckets positioned to prevent anyone from parking there. One Saturday morning he poked his head out of his door and yelled, "pick-up that bucket you knocked over or I'll have you arrested for hit and run." I picked up the stupid bucket and went to get in my car. Did he let it go at that? NO! "I'm sick of you people knocking over my buckets. There's plenty of parking on the street." "WHERE?", I yelled back to him, but he already retreated back to his hobbit-hole. I know this sounds mean, but since that day, I always flip him the finger as I drive past his house. He isn't at the door, or looking out the window (as far as I know), but it just makes me feel better to do it. Crazy isn't it?

Oh well, time for me to get ready for work. Enjoy your day!
 

Today I have absolutely nothing to say. I woke-up slightly later than I normally do which means my body is now stiff and achey from lying in the same position too long. I must've slept in the shape of a pretzel because that's what I feel like.

All day yesterday I kept thinking it was Thursday. I hate it when I do that! "One more day" I kept telling myself. Then something would snap me back to reality and I was again reminded that it was only Wednesday. Is it me, or is this the longest week on record? Usually those four day weeks are the ones that really throw me off. Tuesdays feel like Mondays and my mind never gets with the program.

Its not that I have anything special planned for the weekend, just the freedom itself is something to look forward too. The not having to be here or there by a certain time and the not having to have my "professional" face on. On the weekends I don't have to restrain my mouth as much as I do during the work week. I can say what I want to those around me. At work, there are certain things that I don't talk about, or can't talk about. I'm an assistant manager of a bank, and all of my tellers are in their twenties. There are things in life they aren't even aware of, so it's kind of hard to talk to them about most things I'm experiencing. They just don't get it - yet. The magazines they read are all celebrity related - People and Us. I'll pick one up to read it, and end up just looking at the pictures. I'm just not into the whole Hollywood scene and what's going on in it. And my customers are usually way past fifty, so, again, there are certain things they don't want to talk about. So, it is a fine line that me and my mouth walk during the work day. Of course once I'm home the muzzle comes off and I can run-off at the mouth as much as I want. Not that anyone will listen, but just the release is all that I need. I listen to all of my daughter's stories from her day at school, and then my husband has his work stories too. That's usually our dinner conversation.

Wow, I can hear my husband snoring as I type this. Today and tomorrow he has off from work, so he'll be sleeping in as late as he wants. He has to work this weekend. He was glad that it was THIS weekend he has to work. God forbid he would have to work Superbowl weekend. That would have been a crime in his mind.

Well it's 5 AM, so I better leave this "nothingness" and start getting ready for work. Sorry this was so "blah" today. Tomorrow will be better. I promise!

Happy THURSDAY!

 

Wednesday morning - ugh! I feel like it should be Friday already.

I weighed myself yesterday. Why do I torture myself like that? Why am I so obsessed with losing these monuments to my overindulgence. I have a measly 9 lbs. to lose and do you think I can lose it? What do I have to do? I mean this is still weight leftover from when I had my daughter over 11 years ago. Or did I lose that weight and these are different pounds now? Who knows! I just know that these pounds have taken root and simply refuse to leave my body. They seem to have congregated around my waist, hips and thighs. A perfect example of what is called "The Middle-age Spread". They like to jiggle when I walk and stick out when I zipper my pants as if to say "Hi! We're still here!" A constant reminder of my overindulgence in one kind of 'bad' food or another. I have given up eating potato chips (my absolute favorite snack), cake, pies, M&M's, and everything else that used to make like bearable. And still they won't leave. They are the most stubborn 9 lbs. to ever exist!

One morning I actually caught myself talking to these unwanted hanger-ons. "Why don't you just leave? What do I have to do to make you understand that I can't stand you and want you gone!" Just my luck my husband overheard me, "Who are you talking to, Vick?" I stood there feeling like an idiot for talking to the fat pockets on my body. Then I realized he probably thought I was talking to him! "No one - I'm just being weird and talking to the flab on my body," I tell him. "Flab! What flab? You're crazy - you don't have any flab." I smiled thinking to myself, "I trained him so well."

So, anyway, after weighing myself I felt like a fat slob all day. I even wore one of my "fat outfits" because I wanted to have room for it to spread out I guess. I didn't feel like eating dinner - as if that would help. Skipping that one meal will really make a difference and I will miraculously lose the pounds.

Of course if I exercised maybe I would lose them. But that's another thing that bothers me. Why must I come up with some kind of an exercise routine and follow it religiously when I feel that life itself is exercise. Just going through the course of my day should be enough. Especially my weekends when I'm doing laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning, running one errand after another. Surely that should be enough exercise to get rid of a pawltry 9 lbs. When I was in my twenties and gained a few pounds all I had to do was watch what I ate for the next two or three days and poof! the weight was gone. Well those days are gone too! Nowadays when I eat something I know that I am feeding ten - me and my 9lbs.! It's not an even ten pounds that's what makes it seem like it shouldn't be too hard to lose. I guess I should be glad that it isn't 90 lbs. or 190 lbs.

But honestly, I'm sure these 9lbs. could find a better home - a place where they will fit in better and not be so noticeable that they get scolded everyday for being where they aren't welcome. Can't they take the hint?

I bored you enough with my weight issue/concerns so I guess I should go start my day. I'm not going to step on that evil scale at all today. I'm good for the rest of the week - thank you very much!
 

I feel like I could just squirrel myself away here at home - all day! I really don't feel like leaving my home at all. Unfortunately I have to - work is waiting for me. I have a meeting this morning and one this afternoon. Yeah! I'm being sarcastic in case you can't tell. I don't have the enthusiasm for my work this early in the day. It's one of those things that grows the longer I am awake.

I never did take that nap yesterday afternoon. I kept poking around WDC. I wrote another piece - besides starting this blog. I guess it was a productive day afterall. The piece I wrote was my commentary on the whole "eating fish on Friday" thing during Lent. I never mention religion in my writing, but that one just poured out of me. It's something that bothers me every year and I guess this year I felt I had to say something about it. I know Lent is still a month away, but I'm sure I'll have several revisions to it between now and then. It should be completely finished by then.

I was so tired last night that I started falling asleep in a chair in our living room. This is always disasterous because I mess-up my neck, which hurts for days afterwards. So now, whenever my husband or daughter catch me falling asleep they wake me up with "you're going to hurt your neck". God! I sound like such an 'old person!'

I noticed that since I hit the magic number of forty, my sleep patterns have changed! At first I thought it was only me, but after talking to other women my age I realize it isn't. What's up with that? How come I used to be able to sleep the night through, but now I wake up every hour and then finally decide to just stay awake? This is usually around 3 AM. By 8 PM, I'm dead!

At one point last night, I woke up in a sweat. I refuse to believe that I get the dreaded "night sweats" that are associated with the unset of menopause. It's just that stupid blanket that my husband insists that we need on our bed. I notice that he ends up kicking the covers off too. He stubbornly refuses to believe it is the blanket making us sweat. "There's nothing wrong with it" he tells me.

I don't know if you do this, but we 'name' things. For example, the blanket that I'm talking about we call "The Bob Ryder Blanket". We call it that because it was a gift from my sister-in-law and her husband, whose name is . . . you guessed it - Bob Ryder. Bob made the comment that this blanket "keeps you warm in the winter and cool in the summer". Which I thought was sort of stupid - how can a blanket keep you cool in the summer? Anyway, that's how the blanket got its name. It's not even the same blanket anymore, but out of habit we still call it that. When I tell my husband "the Bob Ryder Blanket makes me sweat" he doesn't listen to me. "Why do you hate the Bob Ryder Blanket so much?" he'll ask me. I don't hate it, I just don't like it all that much. It's one of those manmade material blankets - not cotton or something that breathes. Maybe if I was in Antarctica I would appreciate this blanket more.

After reading that last paragraph, I realize how insane my husband and I sound!

Today my daughter, who is eleven, gets her report card. We are anxiously awaiting her results. You see, she was having problems with her schoolwork so, we disconnected the TV in her bedroom, took her computer privileges away, and all video games too. These were all distractions. The tests scores that she's brought home since then have been encouraging - all A's. These are what she normally gets, but she was hanging around with a group of girls who don't care about their grades. It's so true that friends can either bring you down to their level, or bring you up. We are hoping she realizes this.

Tonight she has a Girl Scout meeting. It's Girl Scout Cookie time too. I sold 41 boxes for her. She sold about twelve. This is way short of her goal of one hundred boxes. I think I should be the one who gets the badge for selling the cookies and not her.

Well, I guess I have to end it here and start getting ready for work. Do I wear the brown suit or the navy one? Will my hair behave and do what I want it to do, or will it exert its own will and do whatever it wants? See what exciting things await me?

Off I go into the unknown!
 

I left work early - 11 AM! I made up some excuse that my daughter was sick and I had to pick her up at school. I just wasn't in the mood for all of the crap that was sitting on my desk. I know, I know - I lied! One of my resolutions for this year was to not lie. Well, at least this one lasted a full three weeks, unlike the "I want to stop smoking" one that lasted a whole three minutes! I don't think my boss believed me when I said my daughter was sick. I will pay dearly for this. On that I have no delusions.

It's not that I dislike my job. In fact, I do like it. I guess I really needed some time to myself with the husband and daughter out of the house for a few hours. I love them, but they can be so draining! They are so alike that I have to wonder if there is anything inside my daughter that is ME - besides her temper I mean. Asking her to do something usually gets me the response, "Dad doesn't do that." This can be totally aggravating especially when I tell her to pull her pants up so her belly isn't hanging over the top of them. "Dad doesn't pull his pants up to his waist." "Don't go by him! Since when does he know fashion?" I ask her. This stops her for about one minute before she walks away with her belly still hanging over the top of her pants. Meanwhile my husband looks at me like a wounded puppy and says, "I do know fashion Vick." This from a man who still has a Members Only jacket hanging up in his closet! Every so often he makes an attempt to wear it. Two things save me: one - it doesn't fit him any more (but may again one day that's why he still has it!) and two - I refuse to leave the house with him if he's wearing it. Yes, sometimes I feel like a stranger in my own home. Who ARE these people and how did I get mixed-up with them?

So, here I am trying to keep another of my resolutions going - the resolution to write something everyday. This one took me three weeks to even begin! What's with me and the number three? Hopefully I'll have more success with this one especially since I started it later in the month. This way it will look like I've been doing it longer!

I just realized that I'm late for a nap, so until tomorrow - keep your sanity!



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