I Do Not Like It, Not One Little Bit!

Last night I was laying in bed watching television when my son came over to me. We were both winding down from our day of shopping and cookie baking and present wrapping and he was smelling good (finally!) just out of the shower.

He leaned down and looked at me thoughtfully and I was thinking how much I enjoy our little moments of sweetness when he said something to me that I will never forget:

Mom?

Yes, baby?

You need a razor for your face.

What? I do not!!!

Yes, you do! You have little hairs right here (points to my upper lip).

Well I don't need a razor.

Yes you do! You look like The Cat in the Hat! (literally falls on the floor laughing).

You better watch it, mister!

What? Why? (still laughing).

I haven't finished Christmas shopping for you, yet, but I could be!

He walked away then, but had a hard time controlling his snort-laced giggling.

...I am off to buy a razor. Or some moustache wax...

I Don't Want No Scrub

An appropriate rerun...

To my married and otherwise committed friends out there:

I know your spouse/significant other sometimes gets on your nerves, or says something stupid, or farts too much, but please do me this favor: First, thank your lucky stars you aren’t “out there” right now, looking for love. Second, go hug, kiss or otherwise pleasure the person you are with because when I get through here you will feel like the luckiest person in the world. Why, you say? Two words: Internet dating. Yup, I am there. Gone are the days when Chuck Woolery was here to help. Now it seems I am at the mercy of the Web.

So it’s been interesting to say the least. Sometimes it’s downright hilarious. And yes, there have been some holy-shit-who-is-this-crazy-bastard moments, too. Thankfully, though, there are just some plain nice people out there who I won’t make fun of. They are the ones that keep the hope alive that at the age of sixty I won’t be talking to one of my ninety cats all day long and calling my son over to rub lotion on his momma’s feet.

The best way to explain this, I guess, is to break it down into categories:

Perverts:
Good god almighty. It’s one thing to have someone stare at the girls during a face to face conversation, but behind the keyboard and across the web there is a whole other perverted and eye-contactless world waiting there. Good thing I’m not that hot, because who the hell knows what they would say, then… I’ve been asked to meet here or there inside a five minute email exchange. I’ve been asked for photos (and no, not because I have a nice smile and they want to see more of the same). I’ve been asked for videos, and yes of exactly what you think they want on that video tape. Sorry, my camera is in the shop.

Stupid Idiots:
I’m sorry to have to call out the dummies, but they deserve it! The language is English. If spelling the word “the” is a challenge to you, please go elsewhere. I got a message from one (of many of the language-challenged) who asked me to call. No, I won’t call you. After reading your profile, I am confident I made the right decision because the caption of you pictured next to the General Lee reads “me with car at paint shop.” What it should read is “Me man. You woman. Me club you on head. Make you mine.” That would be charming. Next!

The Clingers:
Please, please, please! Just because I answered your inquiry by saying “hello, I’m fine, and how are you?” Does not mean that I am immediately interested in eighty exchanges every day about how you have to go fix your momma’s stopped up drain or what fabric softener you prefer or what your dog’s potty habits are. I don’t want to be mean to you but you are making it really difficult not to tell you to please get a life and go the eff away.

LOLers:
Let’s get something straight: I use “lol.” I like “lol.” But not every question/comment/show idea requires “lol” at the beginning, middle and end. And just because your question/comment/show idea is peppered with “lol” it does not erase the fact that you just asked me to “get naked,” or do “x, y and z” to you… Sorry, Cowboy, that ain’t no way to lasso this filly.

I HEART CAPS LOCK:
STOP YELLING AT ME. I DON’T CARE IF IT’S EASIER TO KEEP YOUR CAPS LOCK ON BECAUSE THE SHIFT BUTTON IS SO HARD TO PRESS AND YOU DON’T WANT TO OVERWORK YOUR FINGERS. IT’S JUST ANNOYING, I MEAN LOOK AT THIS AREN’T YOU ANNOYED? AND THIS IS ONLY FOUR SENTENCES.

The Marryers:
I’m sorry. I’ve never laid eyes on you and I will not marry you. As thoughtful and romantic as being proposed to via email is, I’m afraid I can’t lower my standards on this one. I hope we can still be friends. (Not really, but you are supposed to say that, right?)

Mister Cliche:
"If I could change the alphabet I would put u and i together." Are you fucking kidding me? If I could change the alphabet, I would put k and m in front of a!!!

The Axe-Murderers:
Yes, they are out there! Beware, sisters. I got a beautiful email from one. When I looked at “interests” on his profile he listed “poking things with a stick.” I shit you not! His idea of a first date: “Sex first, then we will see if we can be friends.” Wow, I am tingly already! Oh and just shy of a swastika tattoo on his forehead, he is a shoe-in to win the next Charlie Manson look-alike contest. Be afraid! Be very afraid!

Shirtless Rednecks:
Unfortunately, geography is not in my favor here. Shirtless is OK, I suppose, but probably not truly appropriate for your profile picture unless you are at the beach or pool. You, shirtless, sweaty, leaning on your pickup truck in front of the junkyard/trailer park just doesn’t do it for me. Oh and if “four wheeling” is all you can give me under what interests you, I’m not.

So my friends, I’ll say it again. Thank your lucky stars you aren’t along for the ride… Oh and wish me luck, I have a date Friday night.

A Gift Real Special

This is what I call a Christmas classic.

Uncensored version, so proceed with caution...

Hot Stuff

I'm guessing the conversation went something like this:

Mom?
Yeah, Mom, it's me. Mom I've got awesome news!
No, no I'm not getting married.
Mom, listen...
No, Mom, I keep telling you I like women.
Yes, really.... Listen, Mom, I got the commercial!
No, not the Pepsi gig.
What?
No, not that one, either... It's actually for Tabasco!
Yes, the hot stuff.
What? No, I'm not wearing the blouse you gave me, Mom, guys wear shirts.
No I don't have a love interest, it's a commercial.
A pepperoni.
A pepperoni.
Pep-a-ro-nee!!!
Yes like on a pizza!
What?
Singing.
No, singing!
Yes you heard me!
No, there's four of us.
Yes, we all sing.
What do you mean how will you recognize me?
The second pepperoni from the bottom...

Thanks, Stadium Pal!!!

Last night I had the most fun I have had since... well... a long time.

We went to Birmingham for An Evening With David Sedaris, author of Me Talk Pretty One Day (which got me hooked) and Naked (which has led me to put down Dan Brown's new one in favor of it). They are just two among many others that I will devour as soon as I get the chance. We laughed, howled, even, as we listened while Sedaris read his essays about everything from jury duty to email to shopping at Costco. My sides still hurt.

Check him out here, and if you evereverever can, in person...

It was my friend Frank, a writer in San Francisco, who finally set me straight. When asked about my new look he put down his fork and stared at me for a few moments...

"A bow tie announces to the world you can no longer get an erection."

- David Sedaris

Are You Tired Of Being Turned Down?

When I figure out what the little girl in the beginning is saying I will feel the same as I did when I found out about "tin roof rusted" from Love Shack. Anyway this is an example of genius advertising in my area. The quality isn't so hot, but you get the idea.

Ryhmes With Larry Jay

Last week I was having lunch with my mom when this perky little thing approached our table.

Excuse me, she sang, I hope you don’t think I’m crazy but my friend and I over there were talking about how gorgeous your eyes are!

Thank you, I said, that’s very nice of you.

Well I was just wonderin’ if you would be interested in helpin’ me out? I need a face model…

Now, flattering as that was, I was skeptical to say the least. As much as I’d like to claim that people stop me in restaurants all the time to tell me how pretty my eyes are, they don’t. So I wasn’t quite ready to run home and tell all my friends how I’d just gotten discovered at the Golden Rule BBQ and that at 41 my modeling career was finally going to be launched…

What do you want me to do? I asked Perky.

Well we would just do your makeup and take your pitcher.

I told her I didn’t mind but that I lived in a different city.

Omahgaaawd! Me toooo! (Apparently we weren’t just neighbors we were also soul mates) Would you mind givin’ me your phone number?

She handed me a business card. The card was not from a famous modeling agency, but from a cosmetics company famous for its in-home parties.

She leaves the table with the promise of calling me the next day. When she does call, it’s more flattery. I thank her again and then ask what it is she wants me to do. She says she can come to my house or I can meet her at her “training center.” I say I prefer to meet her. We agree on a day and time, but before the conversation ends I tell her that I have no problem helping her out if she needs to demonstrate her products, but that I am not in the market to purchase anything.

Oh, noooo! You’d be helping me soooo much! She is singing again.

Fine. We end the conversation with pleasantries and her promise of a goody bag for me for my troubles.

So last night was the night. I arrived at the designated time and was shown into a room in which every piece of furniture had been covered with pink leopard print material and its walls adorned with pictures of women driving pink Cadillacs. Perky sits me down at one end of the table and starts opening her case full of cosmetics. Meantime, a group of women who all know each other also come in and sit at the table. The other women are asked to fill out a card while my hostess assembles a few items in front of me. She also tells me that she has a gift card for me for “helping” which sounds promising for a moment. There is another version of Perky in the room who is dealing with the rest of the group. At this point the little faith I have that I am going to be the subject for the demonstration quickly disappears when Perky announces that she will be back a little later and that I should just follow Perky Two’s instructions.

So for an hour I sit and follow my cleansing, exfoliating, moisturizing and application
directions. When we were done, Perky reappeared with some of her colleagues and addressed the group. Other than not being allowed to ask her weight (who the hell would?) we were told we could ask whatever we wanted to know about her and her job. The more questions we asked the more raffle tickets we would get in order to win a free eye shadow. (A $6.50 value!) Out of the dozen or so people in the room, myself and one other person asked questions and I was The Big Eye Shadow Winner. So I would get that along with my “gift card.” The demonstration was over once The Other Perky announced that we could own the items demonstrated to us for a mere $189.

My Perky then presented me with a brochure listing items beginning at $48. (For the record, my skin care regime is generic apricot scrub and Dove lotion) I asked what else she might have that wasn’t quite so expensive. She said that she had a bunch of eye shadow or she could get her other case with other cosmetics in it out of her car. When I told her I did like the eye shadow that was used in the demonstration, she said that those were $10 because they were crème, but that I could get both colors with my gift card if I liked. I said fine, I would. I asked about the lip gloss. She told me that’s $13. Thirteen effing dollars for lip gloss? Never mind, I’ll get me a tub of Vaseline and some glitter and my lips will shine just the same. She again presented me with the brochure and a selection of non-crème eye shadow. As pretty as colors like violet and navy are, I am not wearing them on my face. Finally I said that since I’d only used $20 of the $25 gift card and I’d won an eye shadow, (a $6.50 value!) why didn’t she just let me get the lip gloss and I’d be on my way. After some hesitation she agreed, but not before she asked me if I’d help her again.

I think I will stick with my routine the way it is. Maybe she’ll discover someone else at Golden Corral.

376

August 17th, 2009 wasn't anything like I thought it would be. For the 364 days before that I had been counting down to it, thinking that there would be some kind of music or bright shining light that would follow me around and that people would know I was something special. Truth is, the day was cloudy and blah and I spent most of it in the car in search of a job, so with the exception of the time I spent during my interview with the Human Resource Manager I was by myself, and I realize now that it's just fine.

August 17, 2008 was the day I stopped drinking. That day I was scared, lonely and very sick. I'm not so scared or lonely anymore, but the sick part will be with me forever. The difference now is that I know it, admit it, and love it. I love it because alcohol no longer runs my life. I love it because I have an answer. I love it because I now know how many people there are that know exactly how I feel and that I can talk about it without reservation or fear of judgement. I love it because I feel a freedom like I never have and I am not willing to give that up. I am a grateful, recovering alcoholic.

Some of you who have visited here before may be familiar with what I call The Beer Ticker. It was my way of counting my days sober, and another level of accountability to myself. Many of you have counted the days right along with me, something from which I have drawn a tremendous amount of strength and encouragement. I can never express how humbled I am by the words of love and support that you have shared here as it has helped me beyond description. I've decided, though, to retire the ticker. Frankly I don't feel that I need it anymore and it's time to move on. So this will be the last time you will see the words:

"The value of Budweiser stock continues to plummet on this, the 376th day of Amy's sobriety... Sell! Sell! Sell!"

I love you all.

~Amy

What's That Smell?

I get these a lot...

Reality Bites

On May 13th, a Wednesday evening, my son asked me if he could ride his bike up to his friends' house and see if they could come out and play. I told him the usual: "Sure, just check back with me in an hour if you decide to stay." A little while later I tore myself away from whatever Wife Swap or Trading Spouses rerun I was watching to go in the kitchen and start dinner. I had just dragged something out of the freezer when I heard the front door open and Jamie yell, "I'm back!" Or at least I thought that's what he'd said the first couple of times. Finally I went to the door to see why he had insisted on announcing his arrival with so much enthusiasm. What I found instead was my child standing on my front porch, bleeding. I asked him what happened. He said he'd been attacked, and I kept waiting for the punchline. For him to tell me that he had taken his fake blood outside with him and that this was a (not funny) joke. There was a stain on his shoulder. He had wet his pants. He was holding his wrist. "What?" I said. "I've been attacked by a pit bull!" He was sobbing and embarrassed that he'd wet his pants. I pulled him into the bathroom to look at his wrist, which was bleeding heavily. Once I got a good look at it, the reality of the situation finally started sinking in...

I ran back to my bedroom both to grab my cell phone and my jeans because I knew we would be leaving soon. I called 911. I sat Jamie down in the kitchen and took all of his clothes off because I didn't want to miss anything. There was a bleeding hole at the top of his chest just below his left shoulder. There were bleeding tears on his right side. His right wrist was swollen and bleeding terribly. When I hung up the phone I went to his room to get him some underwear and a towel because by then he was telling me he thought he was going to throw up and because I knew he wouldn't want the paramedics to see him without any clothes on. I noticed someone standing on my front porch and realized it was the dog's owner. The man stood there with a lit cigarette. He wanted to know if he could come in and I said no, that my son was too upset and that the ambulance was on its way. The man told me my son "swatted at the dog." My response to that was to ask his name and phone number, which he gave me.

The paramedics approached while the man was still standing there. Once inside, they could not have been any more professional or caring when dealing with both my son and me. The same goes for the police and the nurses and doctors at the emergency room. Luckily the x-ray showed that Jamie's wrist was not broken. The doctor told me he did not like to stitch dog bites and that was just fine with Jamie and me both. They sent us home with prescriptions, extra gauze and something to wash out his wounds.

That night was a long one. Jamie was sore and scared and did not want to be left alone. I stayed in bed with him until dawn, went I went to lie down in my own bed to get a little rest by myself. I laid there only a few minutes, the first I'd had alone since Jamie left the house to go look for his friends. It was then that reality--and my emotions--hit me hard. My sweet boy left on his bicycle and came home scarred for life. The night before he'd told me that his friends didn't answer when he knocked on their door so he decided to ride his bike down the hill because he likes to feel the wind in his face. Instead, a vicious animal charged at him and knocked him off his bicycle and attacked him. The owner finally--thankfully-- pulled his animal off of my son. Then, bleeding, scared and soaked in urine, my son got on his bicycle and rode home. By himself. I cannot even begin to imagine the terror and the pain that he must have felt. I am so proud of him for having the bravery and the wherewithal and the goddamn guts he did for getting himself home.

I am angry, too. Angry that the animal's owner has never once said to me or to my son that he is sorry for what happened. Angry that this man seems to think that he bears no responsibility whatsoever in this case. Angry that the law where I live allows an animal like that to still be living today. Angry that since my son was attacked that the animal once again got loose and put other innocent people in danger. Angry that these animals are allowed to exist at all. Angry that my son is afraid to ride his bicycle.

Today was a small victory in court. The man and his wife showed up to plead not guilty. They tried to tell the prosecutor that their animal didn't bite anyone, but the prosecutor had the photographs. They tried to say that their animal had been on a leash and got away, but the prosecutor didn't buy it. They tried to say that their animal was (brace yourself) going to be a search and rescue animal for the police department, and the prosecutor was just as stunned-looking as I was.

So they plead guilty. They will have to pay fines. I don't know how much, but like I say this is only a small victory until the next court date.

I Love You, Baby

Fabulous!

I'll be darned: Superbitch Janice Dickinson actually has a sense of humor.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

Ha. Ha. Ha!!!

Cheesy revenge. Cool.

Do You Ever Get That Not-So-Fresh Feeling?

Apparently, Brett Michaels is not itching enough. Here we go again with Rock of Love Bus 3. This time the "hotties" get to ride around on buses while Brett is on tour. Fun!

Watch this while I go boil myself in Clorox...

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