Sugar Cones on My Plate

My mom could be mean.

I don’t think she meant to be but she would say things that would strike fear in my soul and make me quake and quiver.

“You are going to be just like Aunt Lorraine.” Now how many Aunt Lorraine’s could you have in a family? I got lucky, I had two. And neither of them were good candidates to emulate.

My great-aunt Lorraine was an unmarried, manly looking, high school music teacher. Can we say spinster? Yeah. She never married and I never, ever heard of her ever having a boyfriend or sex partner. She was married to her “career”.  Hindsight, I think she played for the other team but could never act on it. Damn Catholicism! She was a great person and really cared about her students and lived with my Great Grandma until my aunt passed away.

So when my mom said that I was going to follow after Aunt Lorraine, it couldn’t happen. I have no musical talent whatsoever. I cannot sing, I can’t play any instruments. Oh, and I was just a teensy, eensy boy crazy.

Oh, okay! Jeez! A lot boy crazy!

Seriously though? My musical talent? Worse than none.  Singing to JC when she was 2? She would cover her ears and say “Stop, mommy! Don’t sing!”

So I really didn’t think my mom would think that would be her, right?

Then I looked to the other side of the family, to my other Aunt Lorraine. This option scared me the most. Let’s just say the boob gene was very strong on her side of the family. And this thought terrified me even at an early age.

See, I was in 4th grade when my girls started to develop. Try being the first girl in your class to get boobs. And to top it off, my mom was against buying me a “real” bra! My first bra was this lycra, stretchy piece of shit that didn’t do anything but make them look like cones. I could have dealt with Madonna cones but these were mushy sugar cone boobs. Yeah, nice visual huh? You are welcome.

Really mom? What was your problem with this? I dreamed of buying one of those bras from the JcPenney Catalog with the little pink flower at the X between the cups. But no…that never happened. Maybe she was on to something though. The first girl to get one of those bras in my class is now reportedly a dominatrix madame in NYC. Something to think about. Probably has something to do with my obsession with cute bras to this day.

Back to Aunt Lorraine’s boobs. It was a big thing to go to their cabin in the summer. We always had a great time there. And you know what? They had a sauna. We are Finnish in heritage. We love our saunas! Saunas are best in the nude. In case you didn’t know that.

One beautiful Saturday afternoon, my cousin Patty and I were running around the yard at the cabin just being pains in the asses to our brothers and we see her mom go into the sauna. Kids are voyeurs. They like to spy on people. So what do we do? We sneak up to the window, crouched down so nobody can see us. Especially her mom. The last thing we want to do is get caught spying on someone in the sauna.

Kneeling under the window, snickering. We slowly straighten our legs, turn out faces towards the window. Cup our hands around our eyes so we can see in.

Scarred for life. I still get scared just thinking about it.

Was this what my mom was talking about? Is this what she meant when she said I was going to be just like Aunt Lorraine? Had she seen this before? I think hard. No, there is no way she could have known. Right? Why would she ever wish that on anyone? To wish that on anyone was horrible. But then, my mom was the original sassy bitch and this just proves it.

Please take it back mom…please? I will be really good. I won’t bug my brothers. Anything! Just don’t say it again. If you don’t say it, it won’t happen. I will do all the laundry, the dishes. I will clean the floor by the toilet. Anything.

Dinner plates.

Nipples the size of dinner plates. Fucking dinner plates! You could have had a 3 course meal on them and had room for dessert. She had the most massive boobs ever. They were real. Real big, real weird and really, really ugly. They had to have been at least KK cups.

You can understand my horror when I had boobs in 4th grade. when I was a C cup in 7th grade, I was even more mortified. Mortified that I was destined to be like Lorraine. So scared that I actually learned about breast reduction and plastic surgery using encyclopedias.

Just. In. Case.

I wanted to be prepared.

Just in case I grew to have dinner plate nipples.







Before and After ~ A Hairy Tale

Rambo is my oblivious half. He does not notice a lot of things. Little things, big things. They go unnoticed.

I wish I could go through life not noticing little things. It would make my brain less cluttered with useless as shit information.

We drive by a house in 2001 and I look at its door. It’s not really a memorable door, just a plain simple door to a house. A house where plain, simple people live. We drive past again in 2008? Yeah. I am the one to notice that they painted the fucking door! True story…really it is. I am that weird.

But when I am at the grocery store, totally different story! I can’t remember what the hell I wrote on that note that is still sitting on the counter in the kitchen. Go figure.

So, I notice shit. Little shit, big shit, all kinds of shit. And it clutters my brain. Thanks to Handflapper my word of the day is shit. (Click on Handflapper to read more…funny shit!)

Rambo not so much.

Color my hair from honey blonde to medium brown? Took him a full 3 hours to notice. But only after I asked “do I look different?” Cut my hair from shoulder length to chin length bob? He thought my hair was in a ponytail.

You got it? I notice shit. He doesn’t. Period.

Most of the time.

I came home after being gone a few days. I was tired. I was cranky bitchy. I am sure I was annoyed by the airlines or something along those lines. I make dinner.

We stare into each other’s eyes while we eat. Um, no not really. I find that extremely unsettling and well…freaking weird. But if you like to do that…great. Just not for me. But we talk, and I look at him. We finish and settle in for the night.

A couple of hours pass by watching tv.

“Don’t you notice anything different about me?”

I look at him from head to toe…”Nope.”

“Look again.”

So, thinking he got a haircut or something…I look up at his receding hairline forehead and then scan his face.

Oh. My. God!

“What did you do????!?!?!?!?!?”

“I slipped while I was trimming some stray hairs with the clipper.” He looks down at the floor.

He looks down because that’s where I am; rolling on the floor like a dog in bear crap…laughing and peeing my pants. Oh and I may have pointed at him too. My memory is a bit foggy on that.

I look at him…Right there. Above his eye.


Yeah. Really. He really cut off half of his eyebrow.

And I laughed, for hours. I would look at him and giggle.  Turn away, giggle. I even giggled in my sleep. I just know I did.

So Handflapper…thank you for providing me the inspiration to tell this tale. Now go click on that link up there for her.

Forever sassy!


Scoop and Serve

Yesterday was a day to wax all sentimental and shit. Well today is another day.

The sass is back!

As you know, I love my daughter and all her quirky goodness. Sometimes, I wonder where she came from.

I was tweeting away…having a grand ol’ time with my new twitter friends who also have blogs who you really should visit, when SHE came and sat on the arm of my chair. Did she come to talk about the pending move? Did she want to discuss our fun-filled weekend that starts at 06:00 am? No.

She came to fart.

She lifted her skinny little ass cheek…and farted.

She giggled. She scooped. She served.

If you have never been the target of a scoop and serve, you haven’t lived er… smelled.

So this is how it is done.

  1. You fart, preferably a dry, loud, smelly fart. Wet? Ewwww….skip those ones.
  2. Quickly, before it dissipates and is wasted, you take your hand and form it into a scoop.
  3. Place it by your ass, scoop it out and serve it up to your victim.
You have been schooled in the fine art of Fart Scooping and Serving.
Don’t thank me now. Thank me later when you are all alone with your kids and you can do something that will even gross them out!
And I still haven’t figured out where she learned THAT one from as I am always the innocent one.
Now…go to the right side. Yeah right over there————-> See blogroll? Click and visit their blogs. Why? Because I said so. And you love me.
Don’t make me Scoop and Serve.
Forever sassy!