I’m having a psychic party at the end of the month. I’m inviting 15 girlfriends over for wine and a peek at their future. Some of the girls I invite will be skeptical. Some will be too afraid of what they might find out. But I think the girls who came to my last psychic party will be looking forward to this one as much as I am. Because once you’ve learned a few things about yourself, you realize there’s a lot more you want to hear.
I first met Dixie when Stefani’s mom Patty hosted a psychic party. I didn’t really understand how it all worked but I was curious and they were serving alcohol. We sat in a big circle and you could ask Dixie one question that she would answer in detail. You could also give her the name of one person and she would tell you all about them.
Dave and I were coming up on our first wedding anniversary and were starting to think about having kids. I have always had a hard time not knowing what is in store for me and having kids was one of the biggest unknowns I had ever faced. We wanted them but would we be able to have them? Would we be able to get pregnant easily? How many would we have? When?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask Dixie such an important question, especially in front of everyone. I was a little scared about what I’d find out but I asked her anyway.
The first thing Dixie wanted to know was whether or not twins ran in my family. Everyone, including me, got a little freaked out since they all knew I had a twin sister. Dixie told me she saw a vision of me in late summer and I was bigger than I should have been for the number of months pregnant I was. I was floored. I knew that there was a possibility I could have twins but I thought it usually skipped a generation.
I got pregnant a month later and gave birth to just one baby in the middle of July. Turns out if you gain slightly more than the doctor recommended amount of weight (like double) and you give birth 14 days PAST your due date, and the baby weighs 9 lbs. 7 oz., every single person you know will say, “hey are you sure you’re not having twins?” for the entire last month of your pregnancy.
Dixie also read my palm and told me the following: I would have a long life and would live to be 75-90 years old. When I am 45-50 years old I will completely change the way I look at things. I have a strong talent line but she didn’t say what the talent was. I have two deep emotional attachment lines. She said I was bossy, had a little bit of a temper, and wanted to control life by compartmentalizing everything in neat little boxes. She said I was unable to relax and was always looking for the next task to complete. She also said I was compassionate, highly suspicious of others, a seeker of knowledge, and philosophical.
I saw Dixie two more times after that and each time I learned a few more interesting things. Supposedly I will be running my dad’s motorcycle shop someday and Dave and I are going to buy a big old house. Neither of those things seem likely to me now but I guess I’ll have to wait and see what happens.
Meanwhile, I need to be thinking about what to ask Dixie. I never ask anything I don’t want to know the answer to and I don’t want to talk to any dead people because a psychic party is supposed to be fun. I’ll let you know what I find out.
I’d like to dedicate this post to all my wonderful friends, especially the ones that called and/or texted me last night when they were totally shitfaced. Here are a few of my favorites.
Happy New Year Trish and Kristi! I received your completely incoherent gibberish filled voice mail when I finally checked my messages this morning. Just a couple things:
1. At what time last night did the two of you lose the ability to converse in English? I have no idea what language you were speaking and couldn’t hear a thing due to your screaming and maniacal laughter.
2. When you are done leaving me a message, please remember to actually hang up. Paradise by the Dashboard Light is a really long song and I had to listen to you sing for almost 2 minutes before I could delete you. And P.S.? You guys sucked!
Happy New Year Tom and Amy! I found your text quite amusing. I’m sorry that Amy broke a glass in the batch of WW brownies she was making. And I don’t know what that means. Was Amy drunk baking? Was it a wine glass and was it full of White Zinfandel? Did she make another batch or were you completely brownie-less on New Year’s Eve? And for the love of God, who are the Gunderson’s? I can’t keep all your aliases straight.
As for us, we spent the evening partying like rock stars. I’d like to play Rock Band again soon and I’m guessing if I play it when I’m sober I’ll be a little quicker and won’t miss every third note. Man they come up fast!
And Lisa? The somersault you did over the edge of the couch into my lap was some pretty fine gymnastics. I don’t know if you remember it but you totally nailed the landing. We’re both lucky I was not holding my wine glass at the time because frankly, you came out of nowhere.
Our lovely hostess Julie had the most awesome champagne ever. I can’t remember what it’s called (though I tried desperately to commit it to my long term memory last night) but it was red! It tasted great and it was my favorite color.
We’re watching the Hawks kick some serious ass right now but I have no idea what we’ll do with the rest of the day. I wish we had Rock Band at our house. I feel like jammin’.
Scream really loud when Dave is about to hit another car because it drives him nuts.
Be super pissed at Dave for not answering his Blackberry, not knowing where it is, or not taking it off vibe so he can hear it ringing when I’m calling him.
Fight with Trish like we are 13 years old.
Keep telling Trish her Texas accent (which comes and goes) annoys the crap out of me.
Mess with Trish’s match.com account, even though I know her password and could change her settings to attract only beer- bellied mama’s boys who live on farms.
Yell out a cuss word in front of the offspring and then try to turn it into a normal word (example: yelling shit really loud but then turning it into shiitake mushrooms).
Drink so much red wine it looks like I’m wearing purple lipstick.
Make disparaging remarks about the meeting leaders at Weight Watchers.
Keep referring to girls I don’t like as stupid crack whores.
Acknowledge stupid e-mail chain letters. Nothing BAD is going to happen to me if I don’t forward it to 10 of my friends. P.S., they don’t want it either.
Keep talking about the Dooney and Bourke medium chiara bag in black leather that I still don’t own.
Say out loud all the inappropriate things I may be thinking in my head.
I’ve got it bad for the vamps. I wish they were real. They’re gorgeous. And strong. And fast. A vampire is the ultimate bad boy. Yes, technically one could snap my neck like a twig or drain me of all my blood but those are just RANDOM DETAILS I’m not concerned with. Because lately I find vampires simply irresistible.
I didn’t lose my mind overnight and decide to lust after undead make believe men. It started when I read all four books in Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series. I also saw the Twilight movie last month with Amy. Then I moved on to The Southern Vampire Mysteries by Charlaine Harris (I’m on book eight). The HBO show True Blood is based on this series. We dropped HBO after Sex and The City ended but I think we might need to add it back.
First: Twilight. It’s a book about Bella and Edward, who attend high school together in Forks, Washington. Bella is the new girl, having just moved from Arizona, and Edward is a vampire. They slowly fall in love and Stephenie Meyer does an incredible job of building tension between Edward and Bella. Lot’s of tension. Smoking hot 41-year-old housewife caliber tension. Seriously, by the time I finished the first book I was ready to combust. I wasn’t really lusting after Edward, per se. He’s 17. I’m 41. We’re both in our sexual prime so we’d probably be quite compatible but I find that kind of creepy (to clarify – I only find the age difference creepy. I’m obviously okay with the vampire part).
I really loved this book series even though I wasn’t expecting to. Stephenie Meyer has managed to create a believable love story between two people that shouldn’t be together in the first place. That which is forbidden has a really strong attraction.
When I was done reading all the Twilight books, I moved on to Charlaine Harris’ Southern Vampire Mysteries. Finally, vamps closer to my own age. It’s much easier to lust after a vampire when he is not actually in high school. This series is about a telepathic barmaid named Sookie Stackhouse. She is an attractive, but quiet, young woman and she begins dating Bill the vampire after he walks into the bar where she works. She was a virgin but now she and Bill do it all the time. Then she and Bill broke up and she started doing it all the time with Eric the vampire. Now she’s getting ready to do it with a couple other vampires and I’m wondering if Sookie’s becoming a slut or she just can’t get enough. Either way, my infatuation with vampires does not show any sign of going away in the near future.
I think if I can actually find a real vampire I should be allowed to have my way with him if only to see for myself what all the fuss is about. And Dave? It’s a real shame you told me you never read my blog anymore because if you had read this post you wouldn’t be so blindsided when I tell you about my vampire lover. If you want to try and snare one of the Victoria’s Secret models you have my blessing. I am totally equal opportunity, especially when it comes to THINGS THAT DON’T HAVE A CHANCE IN HELL OF HAPPENING TO EITHER OF US.
Meanwhile, I’ll keep searching for the vampires. Maybe the werewolves of London know where they hang out and will point me in the right direction. Because I really need to know if the vamps are worth the hype.
Santa Claus is one big, fat, mean, purse-teasing sack of crap. There was no Dooney and Bourke medium chiara bag in black leather under the tree this morning but you can bet your ass all the cookies I left out for him were gone.
I have coveted that purse since last spring and I STILL don’t own it. I am getting tired of visiting it at Dillard’s. It should be hanging on my shoulder by now and when I’m not carrying it, I plan on placing it on a special shrine I’ve constructed in my closet.
Since I’m not willing to mainstream and get a normal job (and I’m apparently not super employable for some reason) I have to find a way to increase my cash flow and BUY THAT PURSE MYSELF. Here’s the plan:
On Tuesdays and every other Saturday I will be selling my blood and platelets to the Blood Center of Iowa. I know they like my blood because they leave at least 15 messages per month on my voice mail begging me to come in. I gave them a couple pints back in 2005 and now they won’t leave me alone (imagine how excited they’ll be when I tell them about my super preferred life insurance rating). I’m going to ask them to install one of those vibrating massage chairs like the ones I sit in when I get a pedicure because I’m going to be there a lot and I want to be comfortable.
On Mondays and Thursdays I will be stripping at The Lumberyard. My stage name will be Peaches Honeyblossom and I will be wearing long fuchsia hair extensions, white thigh high boots, and my birthday suit. Every hour, I will be workin’ the pole to a three-song set by Def Leppard. Please stop by and contribute to my purse fund by slipping me a buck or two over the tip rail.
I have also put my eggs up for sale on Craig’s List. Because I’m 41 and my eggs are possibly a little funky genetically, I have priced them very competitively and I expect them to go quickly. My profile states that I am a teetotaling midwestern housewife who enjoys biographies and knitting (I am totally screwed if they find my blog and discover that I am really a wino with a potty mouth).
By my calculations, I should have that purse in about a month and I can put all this nonsense behind me. But if you have any other good money making ventures to suggest? Please leave them in the comments section of my blog. I think I’ve proven I’m open to just about anything.
Today was my 3rd Weight Watchers weigh in and I must be doing something right because I lost another 1.4 lbs. That makes 7.2 lbs. total lost in December (or as I like to refer to it, the month I usually put on 6). I didn’t want to stay for the meeting because I had PLENTY to do at home to get ready for the Christmas Eve dinner that Dave and I are hosting but Arlene was shaming someone into staying and I somehow got caught in the crossfire.
Today’s meeting was interactive which means that Arlene stood up in front (very festively dressed from head to toe) and asked us to yell out our favorite tips in various categories.
Category 1 was dining out. Everyone in the meeting was very worried about that one. Really? How about, don’t order fettuccine alfredo and cheesecake? Or, plan ahead, figure how much you can eat (and more importantly, how many glasses of wine you can have) and then go to the restaurant and DO THAT.
Category 2 was how to move more. Um, get off your ass? Get up? Get vertical? Put one foot in front of the other? GET IN YOUR CAR AND DRIVE IT TO THE GYM. Stop me anytime, I’ve got more and I can keep ‘em coming. I mean, do the people in the meeting really and truly need these tips or is Arlene just filling air space and we’re all too polite to tell her what a waste of time this is.
The final category was all about emotional eating. Arlene first asked who could tell her what feeling hungry felt like. How did we know when we were hungry? Are you fucking kidding me? If I can’t tell whether or not I’m hungry I am not intelligent enough to live on my own. Or reproduce. Apparently I was the only one that felt this was a completely retarded question because everyone else started saying things like, “my stomach growls.” Or “I feel weak and get a headache.” I understand that she was trying to help us differentiate between real and emotional hunger but I’m having a hard time believing anyone at the meeting couldn’t figure that out on his or her own.
Before anyone thinks I am being unfair, I understand that Weight Watchers is a program that was written for the masses. Some people may truly find these tips helpful. I am not one of them. My only problem is making sure not to eat MORE than the amount required to lose or maintain my weight.
I think the older members of Weight Watchers do find the meetings informative. The meeting I went to today is not the one I’ve been going to for the last two weeks but it was also chock full of old people. I commend these senior citizens for still giving a damn about their weight and being willing to exercise and follow a weight loss program.
When I’m their age I have no intention of watching what I eat or exercising. I plan on driving my golf cart from the front door of my retirement village condo to the bar and nail salon, even if they are only located 1/8 of a mile from my home. I will be wearing one of many velour elastic waist tracksuits and there will always be French silk pie and a cocktail within reach. In short, I will be letting myself go PERMANENTLY.
Until then, I will keep following the Weight Watchers program. If I can survive December on a diet, the rest of the year should be a cakewalk. In the meantime, I need to find another meeting. The one all the housewives are going to.
Last night’s episode of the Real Housewives of Orange County began with Tamra and Vicki, and their families, preparing for a day on the river at Vicki’s vacation home in Lake Havasu to celebrate the fourth of July. The overall theme of the day was partying and Vicki and Tamra wasted no time in getting completely hammered. In the words of Chelsea Handler, whom I adore, those two were a hot mess. (As a side note they both wore these really cute cowboy hats and I plan on getting myself one to wear at Tom and Amy’s lake house this summer).
Throughout the afternoon, Vicki and Tamra continued to drink and Vicki was very upset because Jeana brought Frankie to the lake. Frankie is a former tenant of hers and she is currently suing him for back rent. Vicki would not join Jeana and Frankie at their table so Tamra acted as go-between and went back and forth between the two while simultaneously trying to prevent her three young kids from drowning.
Later on the boat, Tamra started stroking Simon’s you-know-what through his swim trunks. I hope Tamra was mortified when she watched last night’s episode. Vicki got hit in the head with a football which was funny because I thought it was like Karma telling her to shut the hell up.
The new housewife Lynne was featured heavily on tonight’s episode. She has the strangest set of breast implants I have ever seen. They are perfectly round and sit very far apart on her chest. Other than her horrendous boobs she has a good figure but I don’t know what the hell is up with her face. She has tanned herself into a handbag and she is quite a bit more wrinkled than the other housewives. Her two teenaged daughters are nauseatingly spoiled and will no doubt follow in the footsteps of their vapid mother.
Gretchen’s fiancé Jeff was in the ICU at the hospital but Gretchen was partying at another lake with her family and they showed her drinking and having a great time. Frankly I think she has some “daddy issues” because the way she and her dad interacted gave me the creeps. He was taking a picture of her while she pretended to ride a big yellow pool noodle. Meanwhile, Jeff’s children had flown in to be with their dad at the hospital. They showed Gretchen on the phone with Jeff later and it was really sad because she kept asking him if he felt better and he kept saying no. He sounded very sick and I could not understand her partying with her family while he lay there in a hospital bed.
This episode was hard for me to watch because last week I read an article in US Weekly that Jeff DIED last September. He must have been fighting his illness very hard during the last couple episodes and that bothers me.
I can only imagine what the producers of this show were thinking when they cast Gretchen as the newest housewife, knowing her fiancé was so ill. And I’d love to know what Gretchen and Jeff were thinking. I am going to HOPE that Gretchen really loved Jeff and that she did her best to take care of a dying man. I’m going to HOPE that she did everything in her power to help him face a terminal illness with dignity. Because if she was anything but sincere I don’t want to watch this show anymore. I hope that the producers really didn’t realize Jeff would lose his battle with cancer so quickly. But if they did, shame on them and shame on Bravo.
In the previews for next week’s show, they show the housewives ganging up on Gretchen for not being by Jeff’s side. They also introduce Lynne to the other girls and it’s always entertaining to watch the housewives haze the newbie. I’m sure next week will have all kinds of conflicts and startling revelations. For the first time since I started watching this show, I’m not sure I care.
- The offspring are driving me bat shit crazy and I have no idea how I will survive until January 5th when they go back to school. At this point I will be happy to make it to December 26th when we ship them off to their grandparent’s for three days.
This is what I envisioned for the last few days before Christmas: The offspring and I cuddling on the couch sipping hot chocolate. The fireplace is on and snow is falling. We are watching all the children’s Christmas classics, especially Santa Claus is coming to Town which I still love even though I’m 41. Chloe is on my lap and it is quiet, serene, and calm. All the cookies for my Christmas Eve cookie platter are baked, the gifts are wrapped and artfully stacked under the tree, and the house is clean and free of clutter. A pine candle is burning and when we’re not watching Christmas shows, we have the stereo turned to the holiday music station.
This is what really happened:
I finally wrapped the four presents that have been sitting on the dining room table collecting dust since I brought them home from the mall a month ago. The offspring wanted to help so it took 3 hours instead of 15 minutes.
I made two dozen sugar cookies (one batch with egg and one without) that the offspring and Dave polished off before I could get them frosted.
We made an emergency trip to the walk in clinic for Lauren’s sore throat because I was worried she was getting strep again and we would be without antibiotics on Christmas Day.
While at the walk in clinic (at Dahl’s) the offspring managed to put the following in the cart while I was looking for cleaning supplies and butter: One box of cookies, 2 donuts, a brownie mix, and tiger print earmuffs.
- Lauren has said “mom” no fewer than 235 times and the top of my head is close to blowing off.
My house is still half dusted and I haven’t started vacuuming. Someone did something bad in one of the toilets.
- I have 3 dozen more cookies to make and everyone will be threatened with their lives if they touch them.
- Matthew is watching endless DVR’d episodes of Drake and Josh and Full House. He has also discovered the movie Home Alone.
- Lauren keeps asking me to send supplementary e-mails to Santa because she has thought of a few more things she’d like.
- I am drinking endless cups of Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride hot tea, instead of wine, because I ran out of weight watcher’s points days ago.
- The kids and I still need to make reindeer food (oatmeal and glitter) to sprinkle on the lawn Christmas Eve. Chloe will eat it all the first time she goes outside so there will be sparkly little puppy turds all over the yard for the next two days.
I went to the nail salon today to get my fake fingernails filled and all the dead skin scraped off my heels before Christmas. There were only 3 technicians working when I walked in, two women and one man. The girl behind the counter told me to sit down and since one of the women was plucking her eyebrows and the other one was talking on the phone you can probably guess who she sent over.
I hate having the guy do my nails and this is the 3rd time it’s happened at this salon. He doesn’t speak English and I don’t speak pot sticker so we basically spend the next 50 minutes in awkward silence while he holds my hands.
Today his Black and Decker super fast fingernail sander thingy cut my cuticle and I started bleeding. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the cooties that were probably entering my skin via the exposed germ superhighway and wondered once again why I keep taking my life into my own hands for the sake of vanity.
I really needed a pedicure, because my heels looked like those of a ninety year old woman plus I wanted to have my toenails painted with OPI’s I’m Not Really a Waitress because it’s red and sparkly and perfect for Christmas. But when the nail technician who was done plucking her eyebrows started walking toward me, I recognized her as the one that almost broke my tibia last summer during the “massage portion” of the pedicure. I still have a Pavlovian pain response when I see her so I decided I’d go to a different salon in a couple days where hopefully I can get a pedicure from someone who is not a sadist.
I put some Neosporin on my cuticle when I got home and prayed that gangrene would not set in. Maybe someday when I catch something worse than funky toenail I’ll quit going to the nail salon. But until then, mama’s still got some grooming to do.