Is Your Navel Fuzzy?

Fuzzy Navel is not just a reference to the obscure fuzzy remnants you find in your navel, after an adventuresome night of belly button foraging. To me it's the epitome of alcoholic delight and hang-over splendor. If drinking fuzzy navels required an immediate registration to 'Dueces A', then I would gladly take my anonymous seat and embark on step number 1. That's how fond I am of the fruity concoction, that is a Fuzzy Navel.

However 'The Fuz' does have one cruel drawback to her fruit-liciousness...it's tastes so great you soon forget the liquor, 2 mind you, until it's too late to recite the alphabet backwards. Thus my dilemma when I accepted a drinking invite to a local bar, with my peeps, Kat, Haley and Brooke.

Not one to veer off the beaten path, I did decide to be spontaneous and order a Pink Flamingo Martini, which was appealing because it had 'X-Rated Liquor' as the foremost ingredient. Curious over the description of chemical vulgarity, I definitely had to investigate further. One sip, and it was pretty clear the marketing genius behind such an entity...It's so strong the only word I could utter was 'Fuck', as my eyes pinched closed, and nose wrinkled up like Samantha on Bewitched.

Accepting that I was not going to be able to hang with the 'Big Boys' drinking that all night, I gladly switched to 'The Fuz'.

Relishing in gossip splendor with my peeps, "Oh" and Julie, I evidently had the "Neverending Navel', as it seemed to always be full. Not one to waste a good drink, I cheerfully continued my navel libation, drink after drink.

I mention Julie in this prose, because Julie is not directly one of my 'peeps'. She's a 'once removed peep', as she is actually Kat's friend, and due to employer and friendship, she is occasionally part of our inner circle. Julie can be..hhhmm...a Royal Biiiaatcch...to friends, family, co-workers, and especially her subservient husband, which in public arenas is quite uncomfortable for those of us who are subjected to the exploitation of his manhood. Therefore I have never been overly fond of her and her dictatorial demeanor. Hitler would be jealous of her authoritative prowess. Needless to say I somehow got paired with her on the smoking excursions outside and my friend 'Fuzzy' made it all bearable.

As the night went on and our chemical libations continued I began to realize...I was drunk. Which is not a typical condition for me, and was quite a first for my comrades as well.

Realizing we should probably call it a night, we began to make accomodations for our travel home, which for me was not going to be at my fulfillment. Haley offered to be my chauffer for the ride home and I headed for refuge in her car.

We were able to get able 1/8 of a mile from the Bar, and my liver decided it could not process that level of alcohol and nachos, at the rate I was subjecting it to, and I summarily had to engage in the 'puke in a parking lot' routine.

I did recover after much deviation from solid foods and attempt to stand for more than 5 minutes. So lesson learned here: Real Friends Pull Over When you have to Puke!

Much love to Haley for all the support and compassion (I think I heard some laughter in there too) in my time of need.

Real House Bitches of DFW

Welcome Ladies to the Newest Melange of Not So Desperate Housewomen!

The Real (some of ours are anyway)
House
Bitches (let's face it we all can be)
DFW

Two of my closest friends and I decided to initiate the Dallas chapter for our extra-curricular pleasure. Unlike the Orange County and Atlanta chapters, we don't flash our material wares, or parade our sugar daddies (husbands) at exclusive parties and outings. Oh no, we're much less eloquent than that.

We're just an adulteration of humble chicks. Including but not limited to: married, divorced, alternative lifestyle, moderate income, government cheese partakers, tall, short, svelte, fluffy. Yes we cover all bases, no one is excluded (at least not yet).

We had our first RHB night in January to get to know each other, and spend some testosterone free time eating, drinking, smoking, and getting our game on.

Based on the feedback everyone had a great time, and looked forward to many more outings, with tons of juicy revelations to come.

OH! de Toilette

Toilet Etiquette took on a new meaning one Wednesday afternoon...

A coworker and I were making our way to the ladies room for some delayed relief, discussing the better points of feminine hygiene and accouterments. As we entered the restroom, spanning 12 stalls long, we made our traditional scan of the accommodations to ensure unfettered privacy during our 'girl talk'. Choosing our throne of glory, we continued with our conversation. During the customary hand washing we noticed out of our peripheral the presence of someone in one of the latter stalls near the end. Puzzled that we missed this breach in our initial security inspection we spied further.

We quickly noticed a muddle of clothes adorning the floor. Upon the standard shirt and pants there laid a bra and shoes kicked off to the side. This conundrum piqued our curiosity..and humor. Our emotions were caught between abhorrence and hilarity. We silently questioned the motives behind such actions in a public restroom.

As we turned to leave, to exhaust our pent up laughter, Jackie feigned an expression of epiphany, which caused an unrelenting burst of laughter. She whispered the words (between laughter)...




"I think that's your daughter"....




My reproach was evident as I double-backed into the bathroom to get a closer view of the calamity...

'Looks like something Sabrea owns..' I'm thinking to myself.

Only one way to confirm our suspicion..."Sabrea?"

"Yes!" responded MY DAUGHTER...in all her glory...in the work bathroom......



I have failed as a parent.

Who thought that outlaying the do's and dont's of sex, drugs, and rock n' roll wasn't enough?...

M.I.A.

M.I.A. for me is not an attempt to honor The Few, The Proud who have gone missing in action while fighting for our country during a war, battle, or insurgency gone wrong. M.I.A. for me has a more personal connotation: Maxi Is AWOL.

Struggling with Bronchitis over the past few days, I have taken preventative measures to alleviate the emanation of urinal slippage, produced every time I cough, which happens quite frequently. Taking precautions included wearing a double 'Maxi'. Seems simple enough, right? I'm not a fan of 'The Pad', as I prefer other means of gynecological accoutrements during my monthly cyclical exploits, and thus I am apparently not accustomed to the requirements.

I carefully removed the safety strip and applied to the 'panties' as per the illustration. Thank goodness for that, it was a bit confusing. Armed with my shield of surety, I proceeded with my day.

Being ever vigilant to make appropriate visits to the ladies room to survey the situation, and make sure everything was living up to expectation. All seemed well. So I thought.

When I returned home, and proceeded with the traditional denudation ceremony amidst my boudoir, I made a shocking discovery! My little pink friend 'Maxi', had apparently gone AWOL. Oh the horror! I frantically searched the clothes I had removed, the floor, under the bed...no where. I couldn't find 'Maxi' anywhere!

The myriad of possibilities began to set in and overwhelm me. How is this possible? This is a well designed, ergonimically tested stucture, correct? It has to withstand great odds: unpredictable weather conditions, such as drizzle, mud slides, and avalanches. Ability to work in a confined space. Resistance to frictional forces. Decimation of odor. Top engineers were engaged to produce this specimen meant to withstand so many variables.

My despair over the 'Maxi' melee leaves me comtemplating the alternative.

Depends?

The End is Near

Yes folks...that's right. The end of the holiday season is near. We've almost made it through another year of gifts, glee, and gluttony. I'm not sure if my age is catching up with me or I'm just becoming a Scrooge, but they seem harder to get through. It's like a yearly colonic. You know it's coming around again as soon as it's over, and you still harbor a naive hope that it will be better the next time. Maybe the Jehoviah's figured it out years ago, and decided to nip the whole holiday pressure in the bud..maybe they're not so loony after all. Oh that's right they don't believe in smoking or drinking either, sorry what was I thinking. They are certifiably insane. I mean no smoking? no drinking? Those are the main elements that make life bearable in the first place. So much for my conversion to the black biker shorts and ten speed.

I attended two holiday parties this year, of varying degrees of decorum. The first was with my long time friend Kat, who I adore immensely. And I'm not just saying that because I gave her my blog page. No. Kat is the epitome of her name, tall, blond, inflatable chest,and a bit dingy. She is a laugh riot though, and being around her for 10 minutes always cheers me up on a sad day. But enough sentiment. Kat's party as the previous ones, are upscale events with beautiful decorations, free food, and lots of cheerful 'whiteness'. By 'whiteness' I mean lots of upscale white couples, with 2.5 kids, 2 luxury cars in the drive-way, no criminal records. You know the kind, everything I'm not. The pay-off of a white party is everybody drinks, and inevitably a soccer mom gets trashed and does something embarrassing. This party was no different. Ok so she wasn't a soccer mom, she was the girlfriend of an 'older' gentlemen, who had everything going for him including his deep pockets and desire to have her on his arm. Ten minutes into 'Beer Pong', she decides to use her boob instead of the ball and dip it into the beer cup. Swweeettt. Payoff Granted! We also engaged in the traditional White Elephant gift exchange, which tends to be quite racy, and this year was no different. My favorite gift of the night, which I tried to pry from the winner and send to my brother, was a simple little brown t-shirt, with the following phrase, which I think sums up every thought my brother has:

HUGS 25 CENTS. BUT YOU CAN SUCK MY DICK FOR FREE!

The second party was 'Ghetto Fabulous'! The event was thrown by a co-worker, who is always a lively character, and after his invitation and some thought, Sabrea, and I thought it would be a festive event, and decided to attend. His was a different type of shin-dig. Held at a local Municipal building, with fold up tables, plastic table cloth, and a BYOB invitation. Greeted by the neighborhood crackhead in the parking lot, with an invitation to 'cut the rug' with him, I knew the night was promising. Oh did I mention there was a $10 cover charge per person? That's to cover 'damages' in case someone gets out of hand...which at these parties someone always does. Hence the two off-duty police officers, who might I add were the only other white people at the party. So we enter and retrieve our 'Reserved' seating, which is a table tightly cramped next to another table with a paper sign marked 'Reserved'. Guests started to arrive around 10 or so since the party started at 9. Of course my daughter always wanting to be prompt made sure we arrived at 8:50. She hasn't figured out the 'CP' time yet. (CP time is colored people time, and relates to their inherent ability to always be 45 mins to an hour late to anything). So the guests start rolling in and WOW! A phenomenal array of varying decades and street status. We had the 60's pimp in the all purple suit, down to the purple Stacy Adams and feather in his hat, to the 70's afro-pimp in red suit, pink tie, gold tooth in the front, and 4 inch radius of afrocentricity under his hat. Mmmm,Mmmm, Mmmmm. It was awesome! We spent a night enjoying the pimps, ho's, bros, and fros. From Cognac to Coors. And that was just the men. The women sported an array of ages, shapes, and fashion ability. My two favorites, the 400-lb chocolate sista with the black mini dress, that left no doubt she was 'commando', tiger striped stilletto's, and to complete the look a modest MOHAWK. And secondly the carmel sista with a grey mini dress with sequens accentuating the neckline, displaying her unmanned F cup, proudly showing her downtroden nipplage. Apparently they were introducing the silver heels, because they were pointing to her feet all night. C-L-A-S-S-Y!


So advice to all, always except the party invite, if for nothing else than blog material.

p.s. If you need my address for future party invites, just let me know. I'm so there!

Holiday Glee

We have officially embarked on the Holiday Season. Mind you, Walmart started the festivities in September. Really? Do I need to buy Christmas lights while I'm picking up the economy 2 gallon jug of Hawaiian Tropic Suntan Oil. I think not!! (Yes it requires a lot of oil to slather this body down, but that will come in a later blog).
As another year finds us fat, happy, and worth slightly less than last year, thanks to the decline of our 401k, we begin the scramble for Christmas. For me I get to feel the pain 4 times over, since I decided to 'plan' my breeding schedule in early spring to ensure my children's birthdays would also fall during this time. Guess like 'mother like daughter', she didn't think through her ovulation schedule either, and ended up with three children born in January, including myself.
Another year of trying to find the perfect gift for everyone in the family. Fun, Right? As fun as shaving my nipples off with a cheese grater. Oh you know the feeling?
I have a unique clan with 'special' interests. So 'special' that most of the time I have no idea what to get them, and when I do decide...they already have it. Heaven forbid I get the 'wrong' gift, and then I'll have 364 days left to be reminded of my error, until I can rectify it next Christmas.

One of my sisters utilizes her free time away from her 'Medical' career, answering phones at a Doctor's office (go figure...that qualifies as a medical career), to dress HER CAT! Good Ole Mom is the worst, she is somehow dwindling away by the day, because no matter what size you buy her it's entirely too big...'A small? I can't fit that, how big do you think I am?'....really? At this rate we'll be shopping in the toddler section for her clothes in five years. Everything else she wants, she buys! I know because my dad uncomfortably brings it up when we visit, right after the 'Tour' of the house, where she points out all the 'crap' she's bought since you were last there. Ppffttt! I love the 'Tour', it's like taking a tour through a toddlers art show, that you financed. A bunch of crap you have no interest in and to add fuel to the fire, you are essentially financing the whole shindig. Those contrite objects of mediocrity will be constant reminders of all the nice 'shit' you could have bought with the inheritance money. 'Kids, sorry we didn't get to make that trip to Hawaii. Grandma needed a $4000 spoon cabinet'. Thanks Mom!

So I'm off to another great start for Christmas. Only 2 ideas, and 39 family members, 12 friends, 3 children, 3 pet-in-laws, 2 bosses, and 75 coworkers left to go.

Thanks Jesus! you couldn't have been born from a traditional conception in July, right?

Like a Virgin

Lights! Camera! Action! Welcome to my first blog. I'm a newbie (virgin if you will) to the Blog-tastic lifestyle, and have to say this is much harder than I thought. My familial counterpart 'Addi-tude', as she's known to fellow bloggers, or 'Adrienne', 'Red', 'My Bro's Broad' (as she's known by me), talked me into this whole thing. So at least if I fail miserably, I have a scapegoat to blame for my derision and ineptitude. Don't we all just love a good scapegoat? It's the reason I'm able to get up everyday and teeter through this merry-go-around called life.



I guess a little about me, to help set the scene. I'm a reverently divorced mother of 3, residing in the resplendent suburb of Dallas, TX. I work for a large company in Dallas, and in my free time try to ensure my daughters don't end up swinging around a pole or my son toting an AK to his 2nd grade class. Neither have transpired, so I guess what ever I'm doing is working. I'm dumbfounded myself. I really have no clue what I'm doing. It's all a game of Imaginif scenarios running through my head and sometimes, I guess the wrong synopsis...then pray it's not completely irreparable and going to cost me thousands in counseling bills or a rebellious tattoo (or piercing) on a conspicuous region on their body.

Cheers! To clueless parents who just want their kids to be productive law-abiding citizens, who don't beat their wives, kick their dogs, or live at home until their 34. Is this really too much to ask?


That seems like a good segue until my next blog.

In the meantime, a Motivational Moment from me to you:

"It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others"



I should not neglect to say that parental advisory is suggested for future posts. Anything I say can and will most likely be inappropriate or offense to children, bible-thumpers, faint of heart, ex-husbands, my mother, and cat lovers.



Til next time!