Is it just me, or does Helen Mirren become ever lovelier with each passing year?
Is it just me, or does Helen Mirren become ever lovelier with each passing year?
1. I once had hives for eighteen months. On my legs, ass, belly, breasts and arms. Occasionally on my face. Oh, did I mention the bottoms of my feet? Yeah. They went away as mysteriously as they appeared.
2. Following the bout of angioedema, I developed sensitivities to wheat and a whole lot of medications, like Ibuprofen and Naproxen. Add that to my mild lactose intolerance which hit like a tsunami when I was pregnant with Miles.
(TMI Fair Warning: If the following gross you out or offend you, don’t come whining to me)
3. When I was pregnant with Jack I developed a yeast infection. Which lasted for seven months.
4. That’s when I started going all bare “down there.”
5. Last year I had a recurrence of crazy yeast infections every month, right after my period, which led to my abandonment of all things tampon and conversion to GladRags™ and my awesome DivaCup™. Not to wax poetic on feminine hygiene products, but ladies, if you’re not squeamish or squirrely about your fluids and you Love Your Mother, think about going green when your red friend visits.
6. Long fingernails (>¼”) gross me out. Seriously. I can observe a bowel resection and have a great time, but when I see nails like that all I can think about are the millions of bacteria breeding underneath them.
7. Apparently I am difficult to please when it comes to smartphones and Macs. I can’t get my versamail to work on my Treo 700p, so I have to check Gmail via Web. Also, there’s no direct online Yahoo IM, Gmail Chat or AIM. You’d think that on Sprint’s EVDO network I should be able to have the same technology that Helio Ocean users get on my (far superior in terms of smartphonedness: mobile apps, touchscreen) Treo. It’s the same network. I don’t want an iPhone until they make them undroppable and with chat apps standard. Apparently the Palm Centro has those things, but I’m worried I’ll just have the same old workarounds when it comes to syncing with my computer. Yeah, yeah, iPhone. But no IM push, plus that whole “intuitive touch screen interface” kinda freaks me out. I like keys. Grrr.
8. It’s partly cos I’m a Mac girl. Sort of tired of “workaround” being standard lingo when dealing with any new toy and my Mac. For serious. And now, just when I’m lusting after a new a) Macbook Air (yeah, right), b) 120GB Mac Mini to DVI/VGA up to my big-assed LCD TV or c) a 13″ Macbook, my 2 year old iBook battery is now holding exactly 45 minutes of charge. So not great.
9. It is almost February, the best month of the year.
10. I found the awesomest assistant/babysitter/wife on Friday. He is 23, dark and slight, with a peacoat and a fauxhawk. I knew we were made for each other when he sat on my couch for his interview and picked up February’s Blueprint magazine, saying, “This is the most hummayzing magazine! I just read this issue on the flight from Europe!” Oh, Dane, we are so perfect together. Please bring me a latte and organize my closet before you pick up the boys from school.
I think I have a houseboy. Even better, he is nubile. Even better, he probably doesn’t want to sleep with me.
Wow, I think maybe I am a little bit creepy.
For all my independence and self-reliance, sometimes I really want to be this girl.
I mean, I love hot weather, don’t misunderstand, but I love, love, love it when the air turns chilly and I have to put the downy duvet back on the bed.
(Also, I really prefer jerking off with a cover of some sort. I think it may have to do with muffling the sounds of my battery-powered fuckbots, but even when I’m home alone, give me a sheet, even, and I’m much happier.)
In celebration of Autumn, I bought new lipgloss: Maybelline’s shiny*licious in Chocolate Cherry. Unnnnnnhmygod, it is the perfect color, and not sticky. Like, my chin-length hair doesn’t get caught on my mouth when the slightest wind blows. It makes my lips shiny and looking like they aren’t wearing anything. Just how I like it.
So, this morning, after I took the kids to school in chilly 40-degree temps, Kelly brought me coffee. 40 minutes later he was out the door on his way to an all-morning meeting and I was pulling on my shirt, leggings and big writerly cardigan. I walked past my dresser and saw my new lipgloss. “Mmm,” I thought, “my lips are a bit dry.” So I slicked it on, stepped back and stared in wonder.
I may actually use up the entire tube of this stuff, and that never happens. Now, if I can only figure out a way to keep these lips full all day long which doesn’t involve periodically producing a dildo from my purse…
I bet you didn’t even notice I was gone, did you?
For eighteen hours I took up residence in Chicago, one of my favorite cities. Sixteen of those were spent in the company of Kelly, a boy I haven’t told you about, but whom I like immensely, at a swanky hotel near Water Tower Place. The remaining two were spent at the Argo Tea Cafe with the ginormously funny and cool Amy Guth.
We sat outside on a beautiful, sunny day and traded stories of cats and dogs, siblings and well, the things that kids do and say. It will be a while before I can hear “vagina” and not scream in a fit of laughter. Seriously, it’s good we were outside, because we have very similar laughs: a hearty “HAAA!” followed by peals of giggles.
It was great fun, and I thank her for taking the time to meet up. Next time I’m in town, the tea will be replaced with respectable amounts of wine. Think about it, Guthieroo: When we’re old ladies in Boca and we want to get the gang together to play mah jonng, it can be a three drink minimum and then all the altecockers will get ripped and then everyone gets laid. The end.
So, I think I really need to make plans to go to Chi-Town.
Seriously, with copy like this, I’m inclined to stalk the hell out of Mimi just so I can give her daughter the skull and crossbones mini purse I knitted. Then we can do tequila shots:
On the other hand, a woman with true class (in the etiquette-book, not socioeconomic, sense of the word) would probably not have taught her flu-stricken daughter to lick her wrist and then throw back the little cup of cough medicine like a tequila shot. Four-year-old Nora’s dose is now too big for the baby syringe, and during this last illness I got tired of her taking eensy sip after eensy sip while complaining about the taste. So I demonstrated the proper technique with salt and my own wrist and a shot glass of water, and told her that “this is how people quickly drink something that tastes bad.” (But tequila tastes GOOD! protested my brain. Be quiet brain, we’re trying to parent over here.) Nora is a sucker for procedures and processes, so she learned the routine and now knocks ’em back like a big girl. We skip the lime, that’s just empty vitamins.
Mimi Smartypants would think that last comment I made on the previous post was damn funny.
And Amy, well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to go to her place, eat breakfast, drink tea and color each other’s hair. Also, she could teach me the art of lipstick application, which, despite a stint at the drugstore cosmetic counter in high school, I’ve never seemed to master. Staying power, that’s what I’m talking about.
Sitting in the funky French bistro with my date, a fuckbuddy who’s twenty years my senior, I sipped my wine and admired the art and the other patrons. This guy always takes me to the best places.
I like him. He’s fun and uncomplicated. No strings, no attachments, just nice dates which, while they usually end with nakedness, always include expensive food and wine and the occasional show.
We sat at a small table, drinking and laughing. We genuinely get along and I forget the difference in our ages when we’re out.
A woman sitting a couple tables away, probably about the age of my date, gave me one of those looks which said more than she ever could have with words.
I wasn’t aware of it at first, since I don’t naturally view other women suspiciously, but I felt her eyes on me for longer than it would have taken to check out my outfit, which was awesomely cool and sexy. I met her eyes and smiled hello. She looked down at her meal and said something to her male companion.
A few minutes later I felt it again. I looked up and she was looking at me like I was the Whore of Babylon. I raised my eyebrows and nodded very slightly. I put my glass to my lips and tipped my head back.
I smiled and looked away.
My date looked at me quizzically, “What’s funny, baby?”
I signaled to the woman with my eyes, “I think I just got called a ho.”
“What does that mean, a ‘hoe?'”
It was so charming that I laughed and kissed him.