Gardening with Rambo

Rambo. Dear Rambo. How I love you. (If you haven’t read my About Me page, this is my DH so go there and read it!)

We were sitting on the couch the other day, each with our laptops on our laps. DUH! Oh and watching TV. And he mentions wheat grass.

“Did you know you can grow  wheat grass in the house?” Translation: We should try this.

“No, I didn’t know that.” Well, actually, yes I did but I have to let him think he knows something I don’t. It helps with the sex later. Ego stroking.

“It’s really nutritional and good for you.” He sounds so excited.

I start laughing. “I hear it tastes like shit. AND we would have to buy yet ANOTHER appliance, a special  juicer, to use it.”

Undeterred he says, “We should look at making putting it in a little pot and seeing how it grows.”

Um, yeah. Sure, whatever you say.

All this from a man who will not eat cooked vegetables unless they are in a stir-fry or pureed in spaghetti sauce. The two exceptions are corn and carrots if they are in soup or cooked with a roast. Okay, I did manage to get him to start eating fresh asparagus this past year, but that is because I barely cook them. Green beans? Hell no. Cooked broccoli? Never pass his lips. His idea of vegetables are potatoes and a salad. If we don’t have a meat and potato with dinner, I am trying to starve him. Don’t even get me started on his need for bread. Must be the Italian in him.

And here he is wanting to grow wheat grass.

We have had a small garden each summer with tomatoes, beans and peas (for me and the kids) and cucumbers. A nice small garden that is manageable.

This year? He has gotten a bug up his ass to make our garden bigger. So he rented a tiller and made it bigger. In addition to the normal things, we have potatoes(!), broccoli, garlic (for me), corn, brussel sprouts (for the kids), radishes and carrots.

What do I get out of all this?

Work. He leaves for fishing and leaves me a honey-do list. WTF?!?!!? Really? Plant the broccoli, tomatoes, brussel sprouts, garlic and marigolds. While he is FISHING!  I don’t even want to think forward to September. UGH.

Not only that but I have to endure the comments like:

“Are you going to sit in the house reading while I am out here weeding? Don’t you want to help?”

Um. No. There are mosquitos and gnats out there and I swell up like the freakin’ Michelin Man. Now THAT’S attractive.

So wheat grass? I think not. I can’t even get him to try one of my rhubarb strawberry smoothies. And there is no way in hell that I am going to start drinking wheat grass just because he wants to “try it”. And if he can’t stomach green beans….highly doubt his tummy could handle wheat grass.

So here I am hoping that the thought of having to have a special appliance to juice the wheat grass will be enough to deter him.

He’s cheap. And he already hates my 30 appliances that take up my pantry shelves. So yeah. I think I am safe.

Forever sassy!


The Wedding Day

Last week I was a guest poster on No Longer Quiet  and it was an honor to be selected. Russell inspired me even though it was hard to write. I can honestly say that it was therapeutic. This is what I wrote. I hope you like it.

The Wedding Day

My baby brother is getting married today. It’s a big day.

Why is everyone asking if I am going to be there? Facebook messages are flying.

“Are you coming?”

“How are you going to handle it?”

Why do they doubt me? Of course I will be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, he’s my baby brother. And he’s getting MARRIED! He has finally found the one. And I will be there despite you.

Mom would be proud. She really liked Mandy and thought she would be good for Jon, he is calmer when with her. I wish Mom could be there to see him in his tux. He’s never worn one. She would cry even if we didn’t see her, they would be dry tears. She was always the stoic one and she will be missed this day.

We get in the car. My stomach is sick the whole way to the community center where the wedding and reception are being held. I want to throw up, I wish the ride was faster. An hour and a half to ponder what will happen when I see you.

I think back of the last time I heard your voice. You were pissed at me because my life is busy with all that has become my life. You called. You left a message.

We listened to the message when we got home. The kids were there.

One new message:

“What the hell! Where the hell are you? If you can’t answer the fucking phone, then FUCK YOU!”


That was the last time I heard your voice.

Oh, I have seen you since that message was left.

There was that night in the hospital after I got the call. There was an accident and you had to have emergency surgery. You broke your neck and almost died on the table. I don’t think you knew that I was there. But I was. I held your hand. Then I left.

Now, I have to face you. With 150 people all watching to see what will happen.

We walk in. I see you standing there. I have never seen you dressed up and it surprises me. You look away with a look of disgust. Or were you just surprised to see me? I prefer to think you were surprised.

Relief pours over me. No scene. I do not want to ruin the day for my brother.

Jon and Mandy say their vows. Jon is the most nervous I have ever seen him. I laugh because he is the little brother that provided the requisite crying soundtrack for my wedding video. That was so long ago. Now, it’s his turn. Mom would be proud.

The reception starts and everyone is table hopping. Bob comes over. Bob can be a meddler. He gets into why we aren’t talking and I don’t want to talk to him about it. I nicely tell him to stay out of it, it is not his place. He leaves. I think it’s over.

A few minutes later, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and it’s you.

My stomach drops.

“Bob said you wanted to talk to me” you said.

Damn him! Why couldn’t he have left well enough alone? I told him to stay out of it!

Total speech loss. I don’t know what to say. I know what I want to say but I can’t do it. I can’t ruin this day for Jon.

I ask you to sit down. Maybe things have changed. You tell me all what has happened since we talked last. It was all about you. It always is. You couldn’t ask about the kids, where they were. You couldn’t ask about me and how I was doing. No. It was all about you.

I feel the eyes on us. People whispering what they will whisper.

“Oh my gosh!”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Is she going to snap?”

You get tired (drunk maybe?) and say you don’t feel good. You want to go home and my brothers arrange for someone to drive you. Hubby and I walk out with you to your car. Yes, your precious car. It’s always about your cars. Was it ever about anything else?

“Isn’t it great? I paid $45k for it.”

And in that moment, I realize nothing has changed.

I know what I want to say but I don’t. Not at that moment. Instead, I say goodbye.

I walk away and mutter to myself.

“Fuck you, Dad.”

The Shoe Whore

Shoes…one of my addictions.

I don’t drink (much), I don’t do drugs (unless we start qualifying caffeine) and I don’t overeat, most of the time.

The one thing I do is shoes. Flats, heels, boots, flip-flops, athletic shoes…you name it, I covet them if they can cover my feet AND they look cute. It is a plus if they feel good too, but that’s not a deal breaker. Sometimes you gotta have pain to have cute feet.

I have a friend at work who I refer to as my Shoe Madame. She provides me with shoe websites to peruse so I can drool all over my keyboard. I tell my husband that the letters are worn off from my nails but in reality, it’s the drool. Gross, huh?

We all know about and Shoebuy and my other favorite, Amazon but this new one…it’s like I have died and gone to heaven. What did we ever do before the internet?

She has fed my addiction with She got this from the Shoe Pimp in the other cubicle…Seriously, this site makes me swoon. The clearance store especially!

Calvin Klein heels for $44.70? Yes please. Pink and Silver Betsey Johnson strappy heels for $65? Oh yes…Leopard print BeBe pumps $59.98?…please and thank you, may I have another? It’s almost as good as sex.



I want these. NOW



It’s a damn good thing that I have willpower or we would be in the poor house with my shoe purchases.

Now, I also have a Twitter friend who has learned of my obsession. She tweets me pics of shoes. You can find her blog here. She is going to get me in trouble with my credit card. Thanks Carole! Have you heard of  The Chocolate Shoebox? It is a vegan shoe store. Any name with chocolate and shoes? Good thing.

To show you how much of a shoe slut I am, I cleaned out my closet last year and parted ways with shoes that I grew tired of. I counted the pairs of black shoes…just black mind you.

How many pairs of black shoes do you think I had? If you guessed 10, you would have been wrong. 15?

Nope, still wrong.

I had 23 pairs of black shoes. You would think I had aspirations of Imelda Marcos. All total, between flops, sandals, boots, athletic shoes? 56! No wonder I hide my new shoes in the car until hubs is gone.

The worst part? I live in winter wonderland for 6 months of the year, work from home and don’t have any places to wear fun shoes. That is so fucking unfair! Not that it stops me or anything but it does slow me down.

So, I add to my boot collection and these are my favorites…got them for a steal on Ebay and I am truly sad that winter is over. They are Anna Sui FitFlop boots! They are cute, comfy, warm and tone my ass at the same time. Can it get any better? 

Yes, you can call me the shoe whore. I fully wear that crown with pride. I have lovingly passed the princess crown to JC and she too, wears it with pride.

Anyone else have a shoe whoring problem? Let me know and we can virtual shop together! Find me on Twitter @sassyblondbitch !

Forever sassy!