Me, uncensored.
I often hear my fellow moms say they just want to go to the bathroom alone—that they want some privacy when nature calls. Honestly, I can’t really relate to this predicament at all. I’ve never had that wish.
Because I’ve never gone to the bathroom alone. Not in my entire life.
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Recently my teenage daughter asked us to join her in GISHWHES (the Greatest International Scavenger Hunt the World Has Ever Seen). This was a BIG ask. It required me to leave my house. To put on pants. To people. (I don’t people well.)
But my teenager asked so the only answer was, “Of course I will!” Which is probably what the creators intended. To bring people together and get them out of their comfort zones.
I approached this hunt like I do many things: reluctantly LABES OUT.
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Everyone needs a brand-new dress every once in a while, right? Something special and fun that makes you feel fabulous? Like glitter and rainbows? (That’s exactly why I’m in the market for a new dress, not because I’ve gained five… okay, ten… FINE, I’ve put on fifteen pounds sitting on my ass writing a book and drinking wine for the past two years.)
Now, we all have certain styles that look better than others on us. Me? I’ve got a straight waist and a flat butt so I tend to look better in empire waisted and/or fit & flare dresses so as to give me the illusion of a waistline. And an ass.
I’ve been doing some online shopping at Nordstrom, of course. Why would I actually go to a store when I can peruse the racks in my pajamas while drinking wine? I mean, I guess I could do that at the store too, but the last time I did, Security asked me to leave.
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While I’m definitely too old for Vegas, I’m not too old for a Vegas-themed party.
Fortunately, at the beginning of every new year, my freighbors (friends who are also neighbors) throw an epic rager (I know, I’m even old for using that word). You come in costume, equipped with a short performance, according to a designated theme. Past themes have been Television Stars, Dead Celebrity, and Matchy-Matchy.
This year’s theme, as you probably guessed, was Vegas.
As soon as the theme was announced, Mr. Foxy’s costume was obvious.
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The holidays are a joyful time to celebrate loved ones and family traditions. To give thanks for all of our blessings and good fortune, right? Sure. But it’s also a time of family bickering, passive-aggressive comments, colossal fuck-ups, social faux pas, and domestic disasters.
My husband and I have hosted holiday dinners for the past sixteen years, and we’ve experienced all of these things firsthand. To stay sane during these annual “celebrations,” we have developed our own coping strategy. We call it the Dysfunctional Family Drinking Game. It is a secret game that only the two of us play, and it is designed to make us laugh at the foibles and follies during Thanksgiving and any holiday gathering. Wanna know how to play?
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I’ve been good to my female parts all of my life. I go to the doctor regularly and keep a tidy house. I’ve been in a monogamous relationship for over twenty years, and my lady garden has not received many visitors—either foreign or domestic. And because of my mother’s nightmare-inducing warnings about Toxic Shock Syndrome, I fastidiously clean “down there” and obsessively change all of my feminine hygiene products.
Recently, however, my vulva betrayed me. She allowed passage to a very unwelcome guest.
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Are you sick of hearing about the drought in California? Want all of the whining to end? Just wish we would stop flushing and let the yellow mellow so it would be over?
Yeah, me too. Sadly, it ain’t over until the fat lady sings. Or at least until she cries enough frozen tears to replenish our snow packs and reservoirs.
Whether you love California or hate it or you live here or not, our drought is your problem too. Why, you ask? Because we feed you. California produces about half of the fruits, veggies, and nuts (hehehe, I said nuts) grown in the United States. We also provide about a quarter of the country’s cream and milk. And we need water to produce those things for you.
You like to eat and drink fancy coffee beverages, right?
We Californians are all facing mandatory 25% water consumption cut-backs. (This is serious shit, people.) In an effort to help conservation efforts across the entire country, I have come up with my own list of helpful water-saving tips.
You can ridicule me thank me later.
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Exercise. It’s a dirty word. I hate it with the fiery passion of a hangry Jillian Michaels. I have no choice though: I have to exercise. Mostly so I don’t end up killing anyone. Also because I can’t afford new (larger) pants.
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No one will love your kids quite like their grandparents. No one will listen to (and actually enjoy) your children’s endless prattle. No one will be as (obnoxiously) proud of even the smallest of accomplishments.
And no one—NO ONE—will indulge your kids quite like their grandparents. Especially when the kids are under their care and supervision.
I hope you enjoyed your kid-free time because after you pick the kids up from Grandma’s house, their whiney, cranky, sugar-infused, over-indulged asses are going to be a pain in yours.
I call this irritating phenomenon, the Grandparent Hangover.
Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)
You need to trust me on this one…
Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)
