Blog Entries

This sounds like fate and true love!

Yes, he admits that!

   My son Colton had started at a new school and was in the first grade. During the parent-teacher conference, I met his teacher. Immediately, I picked up negative vibes off of her but thought it to be my paranoid imagination and therefore, continued to be as nice as possible. However, after speaking to her for awhile, I realized that she was definitely unfriendly and seemed to have a major stick up her ass. She quickly dismissed me which left me with an unnerving feeling. I was one of those mothers who loved volunteering and baking cakes or cupcakes for the class. Going on field trips was one of my favorite things to do with the children. However, since we were starting a new school, I wanted to start out on a successful foot therefore, I tried to be as available and nice to her as possible. I did not let her frostiness dim or deter my excitement for continuing to sign up for all volunteering occasions. Yet time after time, of signing up to volunteer, she would reject and tell me that I was not needed. One night right before the Christmas vacation, Colton asked if he could take the Christmas Island CD of Jimmy Buffett to school for the class to hear. I thought it to be a fabulous idea and agreed to his request. Colton loved Jimmy Buffett’s Christmas music and we continually listened to it through out the Christmas season. So excitedly, Colton goes off to school with the CD in hand and gives it to his first-grade teacher. The first song that played was, “Ho Ho Ho And A Bottle Of Rhum.” Before the song had finished playing, the teacher immediately and abruptly snatched the CD out of the recorder and inserted it into Colton’s desk. She refused to play any of the other fun Christmas songs that were on the tape. After school and in the car pick up line, she greets me with a rather scary, mean face and berates me for allowing my child to dare bring such devil music into her classroom. I did not understand nor know what she was talking about. She therefore informed me that she was the wife of a Baptist preacher and did not appreciate my tramp music. Whoa, did she just call me a tramp? In any case, poor Colton suffered in her class because from the beginning, she apparently did not like me and took it out on him. Thank goodness for the sweet and kind angelic teachers-aid who seemed to take Colton under her protective wings. I, however, was not allowed to go on any of the school’s field trips or volunteer in her class during the entire rest of the school year. She was the worst! Yes, I admit that.

  So, I’m enjoying a day on the beach with family and friends. We have the absolute most fun playing together and amusing ourselves. Generally, we get out on the beach early in the morning so as we can find a great spot in order to set up and have enough room for our day of activities. On the perfect days, we have chairs set up for approximately twenty-five people. We spend the day in excess of talking, laughing, singing, dancing, drinking, eating, swimming, peeing in the ocean, getting super sandy, playing corn hole, having corn hole tournaments, applying sunscreen, getting too much sun, chasing escaped beach umbrellas or trash, playing frisbee, football, bocce ball and golf ladder. There is the occasional amount of extreme loudness from our crowd and sometimes the nature of competitive arguments will quickly and abruptly arise. We are not immune to watching the people who are sitting closely around us gravitate away. On this particular weekend, I had bought a new navy bathing suit and couldn’t wait to show it off. After several hours of sunbathing, I decided to go for a swim. I drifted out a little deep and started floating on my back. Ahhh, it felt amazing. The ocean water was the perfect temperature mixed with the exact impeccable amount of summer breeze flowing in the air. I opened my eyes and looked down at my bathing suit and noticed that it was black and not blue. I stopped floating and tried to stand up but couldn’t reach the bottom of the ocean floor. I was deeper out than I thought and started to swim closer to shore. I started floating again so that I could examine my bathing suit a little better. I could have sworn I had put on my navy bathing suit this morning. What the hell? I studied it awhile and realized my bathing suit was on inside out! The lining was black. Therefore, in the deep water, I frantically scooted out of my bathing suit, shamelessly turned it the correct way, all the while, fighting the waves and salty water gushing down in my throat. Panicking and dodging thoughts of drowning, I put my bathing suit back on and swam back to shore. That was a lot harder than you would think and luckily, throughout all the finagling, I did not lose my sunglasses. Apparently, no one noticed my bathing suit either way so I continued having fun in the sun. Yes, I admit that.

   The kids were not at home and visiting friends for the day. My husband Clay and I were taking full advantage of the warm summer day by frolicking around the pool. It is extremely rare to have the pool to yourself without kids, dogs, friends, kid’s friends or family. Therefore, we were going to make the most of this lovely afternoon. After a while of sunbathing, floating, swimming and kidding around, we realized that we were all alone and could do adult things that adults can do while all alone. So yes, we were going to have pool sex on the pool steps. I took off my bathing suit bottoms and laid it to the side of the pool. I left on my bathing suit top and thought about doing a strip tease show for him. Clay excitedly threw off his bathing suit bottoms to a rather far from us destination. Just about the time when things started getting heated up and exciting, a truck pulled up in the driveway and parked right where we were getting it on. I quickly grabbed my bottoms and slithered back into them while in the water. Clay on the other hand, could not grasp his suit as he had thrown it too far out of reach. An older neighbor who generously brought us vegetables from his garden, hopped out of his truck and reached in the back bed to bring us a box of vegetables. Clay did not have time to move and sat on the steps naked while the neighbor sat and talked to us for about twenty minutes. We do not know if he noticed that Clay was naked but could only laugh when he drove away. Yes, I admit that.

   If you live in a small town then you know, you get what you get. You understand. You get it. Therefore, when the ladies would get together for showers, birthday parties or bachelorette parties, we had limited sources in which to pull. The limited sources that I am referring to are of the strippers that we wanted for such parties and celebrations. During my sister Jayne’s first wedding, all the ladies decided to go in together or pool our resources for a stripper. We wanted it to be a surprise and hired a stripper from our small home town who would come dressed as a policeman. The bachelorette party was a huge success and the stripper did a great job. She fell for the surprise and let him frisk, search and handcuff her. We all died in laughter and enjoyed our first stripper party. A few years go by and it was time for another bachelorette party so we called the same stripper company in our small town. This time, the stripper came dressed as a fire fighter. There was something oddly familiar about this stripper and we finally realized that he was the same stripper that came as a policeman a few years back. We had all consumed just enough drinks so that we did not mind that we had seen his moves and gyrating ass before. In the meantime, Jayne was working on her third husband and we knew that we had to get a stripper yet again for her bachelorette party. Keep in mind, that living in a small town and before the internet, we had to settle for small town privileges or opportunities. Therefore, we called the same stripper company that we had used so many times before. On this particular party night, the stripper came dressed as a cowboy. Omg, no they didn’t. The stripper was the same stripper that had stripped and danced at so many parties before! What! Only this time, he was fatter, uglier and older. We were not impressed. We found out that he owned the stripper company which meant that he not only was the only employer but answered the phones and stripped at all the parties. Yes, I admit that.

  My husband Clay is an avid Elk Club visitor. To my displeasure, he probably has his very own seat at the bar of which is frequented every night. Normally and for years, on Monday nights, Clay has brought home a to-go meal from the Elk’s. On my return visit home from the beach, I stopped at the local fish market and bought, tuna and shrimp. I also purchased lemons, sweet potatoes and a cabbage. I had planned to make a delicious meal for the evening and for it to coincide with his arrival home from the Elks. The house was filled with a fabulous aroma and I knew Clay was going to be excited to eat such a delectable meal. When Clay walked into the door, I noticed he had a takeout from his favorite drinking hole. What the hell? I got mad. I had worked hard on this meal and felt totally underappreciated. I fussed at him for his ungratefulness and stormed out of the room. He said, “I’m sorry baby, had I known you had gone to so much work and trouble, I would have never gotten my usual Monday night take out. And might I add how lovely you look tonight.” For shits sake, I thought it was Tuesday. I had forgotten that I had stayed an extra day at the beach and not returned on Sunday but on Monday. In any case, if I have learned anything in our 33 years of marriage, it is that if a husband thinks he is in the wrong and emphatically apologizes, then you let him stew in that for a couple of days. Stewing is good for husbands, it gives them clarity as to how wonderful a wife they have and need to appreciate and worship more. Therefore, I never disclosed my error to him and continued to let him feel bad. Yes, I admit that.

  Once when my son Adam was a baby and still in his car seat, I did something that at the time seemed like a good idea but clearly, it was not. He loved riding in the car and the rumble of the tires on the pavement always put him to sleep. On a hot summer afternoon, I pulled up to the pharmacy in order to pick up a prescription. This particular pharmacy did not have a drive-through window. I saw a parking spot on the side of the brick building and stopped the car. I looked over at Adam and saw that he was peacefully asleep so I did not want to wake or bother him. I thought, why should I wake him when I can run in for a quick minute and be back in a flash. So, I hopped out of the car and ran towards the door. A movement in my peripheral vision made me turn around. OMG, in my haste of getting out of the car, I had not put the car in park and it slowly began to roll and then quickly accelerated. Dreadfully, it slammed into the brick wall! Yep, crash, boom and slam. My car with my poor little sleeping baby inside had smashed into the pharmacy wall. I immediately turned around and ran to the car. As I dashed by, I noticed a woman sitting beside my ‘supposed to be’ parking spot with her mouth aghast and horror upon her face. She had witnessed the entire fiasco. I fleetingly jumped into the car and without missing a beat, drove away. I never returned to this pharmacy or picked up the prescription. Yes, I admit that.

   Going to see Jimmy Buffett in concert is one of life’s most incredible journeys, fantastic opportunities and the ultimate of treats. An absolute must do, is the pregame show. Jimmy Buffett is notoriously known for his cool beat of Caribbean music but also for his crazy fun pregame shows. The pregame show basically consists of partying in the parking lot before the concert. Everyone comes dressed in proper Buffett attire which includes and insists upon, crazy shark, fin, crab or parrot hats, hula skirts, coconut bras, flowers, leis, bathing suits, Hawaiian shirts, shorts, flip flops and any creative idea that you can think of wearing. You will always smell weed heavily drifting in the air and alcohol is a must. If you are a fan and absolutely love Jimmy Buffett, then you are known and considered as a Parrothead. Parrotheads will set up their parking lot surroundings in exquisite fashion and style. Everyone secretly competes to have the coolest and most rocking set up. Some Parrotheads will set up in classic Buffett style and bring pools, wide screen televisions and set up tiki huts with full on bars. Mostly, you will see bars, chairs, tables, food, drinks, beer, boat drinks, blenders, Caribbean style tablescapes, sharks, fish, fins, grills, coolers, cornhole boards, volleyball, bucket ball and beach balls. It is always a hoot to see the wild imaginations of what Parrotheads can produce and achieve. In any case, I took my niece Samantha for her 18^th birthday along with my two sons, Adam and Colton to a Jimmy Buffett concert. We got there exceptionally early so we could set up our spot and have time to walk around and play with the other Parrotheads. We had been there a few hours when some Parrotheads walked over to our Margaritaville style section. They said, “Hooters for shooters” and looked and pointed at Samantha’s immensely endowed breast area. I said, “I will show you mine.” They quickly informed me that they were not interested in my hooters but apparently only in Samantha’s young, large and perky ones. In general, Samantha is a shy girl and did not appreciate their rude gesture. I however, saw an opportunity to get free drinks or shooters. Therefore, I said to Samantha, “Hey, let’s walk around and you show your hooters and we will get free shooters!” I thought it was an excellent idea and at the time, did not see the error of my ways. She immediately informed me that she was not interested and it was a ridiculously shocking idea. I told her that she didn’t have to show her boobies, because she had on a bra, but only to pull up her shirt. She quickly responded with an ugly glance and said, “No Aunt Nan, you are not pimping me out! Forget it.” Samantha was right to refuse, because I was not being a very responsible auntie. And besides, her mother would have killed me. Yes, I admit that.

   Annually, my girlfriends and I enjoy a weekend together away from husbands and kids. The girls and I have labeled our girls weekend out as GWO. We have gotten together for years and always have a wonderful time of adventure and fun by enjoying each other’s company. We laugh, giggle, drink, eat, sit in the sun, dance, talk about people, laugh some more, drink some more and talk about more people. We even have a motto, “Be there or be talked about.” On the ride down to the beach, my sister Judy and I came up with a brilliant concept and fabulous idea. We decided that each year we would achieve something new and different and outside of our normal safe boundaries. We did not know what this activity would entail but only knew that when it arose, we would definitely know it.  

  On this particular night the GWO girls decided to go to a cowboy bar. We all dressed up in our finest cowboy attire of jeans, boots and cowgirl hats. All ten ladies were happily standing around the bar when an announcement occurred over the speaker. The spokesperson said, “Hey ladies, who wants to ride the bull?” Judy and I immediately looked at each other and in unison said, “OMG, this is it!” Judy said that she was going to quit drinking in order to properly ride the bull. I had a different approach and said that I was going to begin to drink heavily. Therefore, I drank a few shots to get ready. We were called down to the stage where a bull was situated with four long ropes attached to it. The speaker then called for four mad and angry women who had recently been dumped, cheated on or in general were in a bad relationship with a shitty man and wanted vengeance. The four angry women were remarkably strong looking, fierce and mean. They each grabbed a rope and wildly stared at the bull riders, which were me and Judy and a bunch of other naive women. He first called for Judy to get up on the bull. She gracefully mounted the bull, held on to the saddle holder in one hand and raised her other hand high into the air. We had recently watched Urban Cowboy with Debra Winger and John Travolta and thought we looked like badass professional bull riders. As soon as she got on the bull, the spokesman said, “OK to the ladies who are holding the ropes, I want you to carefully examine these women and remember that they are the woman who stole your man. They took him away from you and spit on your face. They stuck their boot up your ass and laughed while doing it. These bull riders are going home tonight and have wild and kinky sex with your ex, your man ladies, your man. Yes, those ladies over there. They happily took your man away from you!” He pointed to all of us and I began to think that this was not such a great idea after all. The spokesman set the timer and said “Go”. Judy fell off the bull in a matter of a blink. She landed hard on the mat below and crawled back to the edge. Those rope holder women were mad as hell and meant business. We didn’t have a chance against them. Next it was my turn. I tried to plead with them but that just made the scary rope holder ladies madder. I hopped up on the bull, adjusted my cowboy hat, threw my shoulders back, grabbed the saddle holder with one hand and gracefully threw my other arm high in the air. If I was going down, I was going to go down with style and grace. The spokesman set the timer, which he only wasted his time. I fell off faster than Judy fell off. I may have stayed on the bull for 3 seconds flat, but no more. Omg, it was painful hitting that mat. Splat! My entire body crunched like a smashed beer can. Grace and style was not a word that could describe me as I also crawled back to the edge. I was sore for two weeks after that bull ride. Judy and I decided after the pain subsided that we would never again ride a bull but would continue on our adventure of trying new things. Yes, I admit that.

   Have you ever gone to a Jimmy Buffett concert? If not, you must, because it will be one of the biggest highlights of your life. I have gone to fifteen Jimmy Buffett concerts and have enjoyed everyone to the fullest capacity. I suppose I am a full on Parrothead, which means, you love Jimmy Buffett with all your heart and also a diehard fan. In any case, this particular concert was the concert that I realized that I had outgrown the lawn or hill. I further realized that I could afford good seats and would no longer waste my money by sitting on the lawn. It is incredibly fun, but eventually you realize that the lawn is for the young and not the young at heart. It feels like a million people are there and, on the hill, everyone is drinking, passing beach balls, getting high, passing out and falling all over you. I told my sister Judy that I would get us beers and meet her at the bottom of the hill. It is an extremely large amount of maneuvering and weaving in amongst the crowd to get where you need to be. I finally made it down the hill while carrying two large $14.00 beers and handed Judy’s beer to her. Whew, what a relief to finally made it back. Just as she grabbed the beer, a beach ball hit her hard in the head where as she dropped her beer. We both laughed and she turned around and walked back up the tall hill to get another beer. I told her to bring me one back. Yes, I admit that.