No Longer "New"

First, welcome to Follower #8!!! Well have to hang out more so I can properly nickname you. Otherwise you'll be stuck with a boring one like "Jersey." ;o)

In the midst of this crazy heat, our family has gone from one play date to another for the last week. We have seen Skinny Bitch and her family twice, Boo twice, Pinky, Peggy and the Wood’s, Ultra and her family… and Sugar is with yet another friend today. Every day we have done something fun, only to be rudely interrupted by commitments like working for a living.

On Thursday night we met Pinky, Boo, Peggy and some others for ice cream. It was so hot that the ice cream turned to soup between the pick-up window and the picnic tables. Despite the heat, we sat and chatted for two hours. On Friday, the girls and I checked out our brand-new Hobby Lobby. I haven’t been to one in years and truth be told, I was completely overwhelmed. I didn’t buy a single crafty thing to do as I had intended… I bought the girls each a small something and got out of there quick. I was on overload-so many pretty items, so many cool things to do, where do I begin? I honestly have no business starting anything new until I clean my house first. Until then, I’ll blog, play games on Facebook and read books-those are the current activities keeping me from cleaning!

On Saturday, I took the girls blueberry picking with Boo and Ben. We were supposed to meet Boo at 8:45 and Sugar walked into my room at 8 am and announced (gleefully) that it was thundering and raining so we couldn’t go. I texted Boo and we decided to wait until later. Later came and we met at the farm at noon… because only smart bitches pick blueberries at high noon. I sweat more there than I did on that elliptical. Sweat ran down my back and butt and pooled in my pants until I looked like I had peed myself. Then Sugar had to have her annual Blueberry Picking Meltdown and lay on the ground screaming and crying that her belly hurt and she was going to throw up and she was so hot. I might have taken her seriously and been more sympathetic had I not seen that fit every other time we’ve gone.  Seriously chick, you hate blueberries and you hate blueberry picking, WHY DO YOU INSIST ON COMING ALONG? I finally said exactly that to her, “why do you come with me?” She had no answer, so we agreed that she will never again enter a field of blueberries with her mother.

We went home and literally spent the rest of the day in the pool. Yup, even I jumped in. Refreshing? Not so much. Given that the weather was triple digits for three days, the pool heated up to a balmy 88 degrees. At first it felt nice, but then felt a bit like swimming in soup.

On Sunday we joined Skinny Bitch and her family at a nearby lake where they are spending a week of vacation time. Crazy Bitch came out for a bit and impressed us all with a level of OCD that even surpassed my imagination. I’ve got nothing on her. Other than a bit of excitement between Crazy Bitch’s grandpuppy and Skinny Bitch’s dog (think puppy porn) a wonderful and restful day was enjoyed by all. The four little girls played together for hours on end with no fighting between sisters or between friends. My favorite line of the day came when I asked SB’s daughter a question when she said something about Spice and she answered, “I know my Spice.” I love seeing the girls so in love with their friends.

Monday brought a spur-of-the-moment dinner at TGI Friday’s with Ultra and her girls. I don’t know if the girls ramped up their energy in the cooler temperatures, or if they were just excited to see each other. Ultra and I were stuck at a table full of hooligans. No one sat through the meal, they stole each other’s food and they talked non-stop. The other patrons of the restaurant may not have appreciated their antics, but I’d say that the girls thoroughly enjoyed seeing each other. Ultra and I hid down at our end of the table and pretended like we had never seen them before. We totally should have sat at the bar by ourselves.

I think back over the last few days and find it interesting that suddenly, in my old age, I am putting together a circle of friends that I like, people that are mine. They aren’t friends of EN’s whose advances I have to fend off and haggish wives I have to put up with, they are in my life because I want them to be. I haven’t had a circle of friends like this since I was in the ninth grade living in Omaha. Back then we talked about movies and boys. Now we talk about childbirth, lazy husbands, transvestites and sex. I’d be willing to say they my friends are perhaps a little older and wiser than that group of ninth graders was. Opinions differ as to whether we are more mature.

Thanks to all of you that crossed my path recently… whether in person, via text, email, or even just a random post on Facebook. Finally after 20+ years in this area, I no longer feel like the new girl. 

xoxo

Ice Princess

Tante Inge

People randomly pop into my head at the weirdest times, usually when I’m in the shower. If you ever want to make someone feel completely uncomfortable, mention that you thought of them in the shower. What I really want to know, is what the hell is everyone doing while they’re showering? I’m washing and shaving if I feel like it. If I’m missing out on something good, somebody really needs to clue me in.

Yesterday, WHILE I WAS DRIVING TO WORK, I thought of a woman that I haven’t seen in well over 20 years and probably haven’t thought of in forever either. I don’t know why she popped into my head, but I was sitting at a stop light and suddenly there’s Tante Inge’s face. I saw her so clearly, it was like she was standing in front of my car.

Tante Inge was actually married to my maternal grandfather’s brother, so she’s really my great aunt, not my aunt. When we lived in Germany, there was some family battle, so I never met Tante Inge as a child. When I took my Vacation Extravaganza at the age of 16, I became acquainted with Tante Inge, my cousin Britta and her siblings and I felt gypped that I hadn’t known them my whole life.

At 16, I traveled to Germany with my aunt and uncle, who had never had their own kids. We stayed with my grandmother, who must have been in her early 80s by then. Do you see how this is going to take a bad turn? Yes, there I was surrounded with people that basically had no idea what to do with a 16 year old. The two weeks in Germany while my uncle was there were bearable because we had each other’s backs. My aunt made him diet and complained about his smoking. So we’d head off to the downtown area together. He would hit the bratwurst stand for lunch and a beer, we’d smoke cigarettes, and then he would take me out for ice cream at the Italian place with the hot waiters. You may be thinking that my uncle was a bad sort, drinking and letting me smoke, but times were different then, everyone smoked, especially in Europe. I’ll have to blog about my beloved uncle another time, but suffice it to say that I begged him to take me with him when he left. And I still had another month with Rich Auntie and my grandmother.

There is nothing wrong with Rich Auntie or my grandmother. They’re wonderful women, but they were anxious around me. I tried to be the perfect ‘child,’ and would hit the local Army base bookstore and would read all day long. However, my funny ideas about showering and washing my hair daily and wearing clothes only once before washing them baffled my grandmother and aunt-even though my aunt had been in the US for 30 years by then. I’m not sure why she was so surprised by my spoiled American attitude.

My cousin Britta tried to include me when she went out with her friends and we had some fun times. Things started to go badly when I met up with a group of young Army guys. There was nothing bad going on, but Army guys stationed overseas generally have a bad reputation. They aren’t allowed to drink at home, so they tend to go a little wild when they’re in a country that allows them to consume alcohol. It was only natural that I would want to hang out with my fellow countrymen, and they wanted to hang with me as well. It worked as a band aid against the homesickness.

My desire to hang out with these Army guys caused quite the scandal and had my aunt and grandmother calling my mother regularly. It really was quite ridiculous, but I think my brilliant aunt finally decided it was ok if I met up with the guys if I was with a group and they were in a group and we waved from opposite sides of the street. Despite that buffoonery, I ended up keeping in touch with one of the guys for a few years.

While my aunt was busy pitching her fits to my mother, I would escape to my cousin’s house and hang out with her and her mom. Tante Inge completely understood my need to shower and wash my hair regularly and may have even let me do laundry there. She also cooked and baked all the time. She made a dessert with kiwi and meringue that was delicious. I’ve never had it again and I’ve never seen a recipe that sounds like what she prepared.  She even bought these funny little bags that she would fill with water and make “Eiswurfel” (ice cubes) for my soda.

Tante Inge thought I was a crazy girl with my long purple fingernails, bouffed-out 80’s hair, incessant chatter and bad dance moves. She shook her head and laughed every time I was around.  I realized yesterday when I thought of her, that I never thanked her for giving me what I needed when I was so far from home: a mom.

Tante Inge died more than ten years ago and I hope that she knew how much her kindness meant to me. I find it so strange that she popped into my head like that yesterday. I immediately sent an email to my cousin Britta to let her know, and also to say to her what I should have said to her mother all those years ago… thank you for everything.

I hope I wasn’t such a brat at 16 that I left Germany without telling her I loved her. When I left Germany after that visit, it was the last time I would see many of these relatives. I wish I had known that then.  

xoxo

Ice Princess

Senior and Stepmommy!

Though I really would like to keep my man-hater cap on for one more day, I worry about being mistaken for the President of the She-Woman-Man-Haters Club. I leave behind the discussion about what jackballs we are married to and move on to other stuff.

We were very excited to see EN Senior and Stepmommy over the weekend. I’ve seen Senior a few times, but haven’t seen Stepmommy since I went to spend time with them in November 2009 while Senior was undergoing chemo and radiation. The preparation for the visit always starts with drama, because Senior  tries to get our family together with Sissy’s. As I have blogged before, Sissy is extremely inflexible and any get together needs to take place at a time and place that is convenient for her (provided she has to put forth zero effort and no money). Given the recent drama I’ve had with my own sister, I wasn’t feeling so charitable. Besides, I’m always the chick who does the entertaining. We should all be invited to Sissy’s and I’ll pull one of her moves and offer to bring one cookie per guest as she is known to do.

As it worked out in the end, Senior and Stepmommy spent Thursday and Friday afternoon with Sissy and her family, and Friday evening and Saturday with us. A perfect solution as far as I’m concerned. I was amused when I heard that Sissy wouldn’t let her own father come to her house because it was messy. I told Senior and Stepmommy that next time they really should give more notice before visiting. Two weeks is simply not enough time. I was downright giddy when I heard that Stepmommy had actually spoken up to Mr. Sissy and told him that maybe he should consider selling his ridiculous number of motorcycles and cars and buy one or two cars that are in good running condition. I mean really, couldn’t a grown up come up with a logical plan like that on his own? Mr. Sissy, probably not… he’s the same guy that gave up the management position at the store he works at because they expected him to do hard stuff like adding up time cards. All those fractions and shit, who knew management was so tough?

Our visit with them was uneventful, but a lot of fun. We went out for meals to some of my favorite places. EN introduced our favorite waitress to “his parents” which is hilarious, given that Stepmommy is only about a year older than he is. EN and I laughed like hell while Stepmommy pretended to be mad. We got to shop (damn that Build-A-Bear and those stupid Smurfettes!) and hit Dueling Pianos again on Saturday night.

Stepmommy had said she wanted to see the show after hearing about how much fun it was, so I bought tickets when they said they were coming. I was a little disappointed in the well-behaved crowd, because that show is so much better when people get their drink on in a bad way (and not the Tambourine Man either!). They played some of the same stuff, also added in fun songs like Total Eclipse of the Heart and Freebird. I’m beside myself that Stepmommy is NOT a fan of either Freebird or Sweet Home Alabama. Don’t you face jail time or something if you are FROM Alabama and you don’t like Sweet Home Alabama? Us Yankees really dig that song and I may or may not have once been involved in playing that song on repeat in a bar for over an hour. Guess what? Every one of those drunk Yankees danced like hell the entire time.  

It should be said here that Senior is a VERY NICE man. One thinks twice about swearing in front of him, he’s so nice. I wondered how he would take the bad language that often comes out during these shows. That man lit up like Christmas when they played Cee Lo Green’s song and when the crowd started participating in The Right Stuff (I’m not sure what the goes on exactly, but it sounds like the crowd yells “Burn that mother fucker down”). He was like the good boy hanging out with the party crowd for the night. I do believe he had a lovely time. I know I caught him singing along to songs like American Pie and The Gambler.

This is what family visits should be like: fun, easygoing and drama-free. We hung out together and did a few things, but there was no set schedule. We had time to just talk and we had time to play, both with and without Sugar and Spice. Maybe that changes when you live closer to one another and feel more comfortable getting into each other’s business. All I know is that when the visit was over, I was happy with the time I spent with EN’s family.

And a big "Cee Lo Green" to the husbands that don't appreciate their wives singing. I will NEVER stop singing The Gambler, even if it does cause my own children to break down in tears and beg for mercy.

xoxo

Ice Princess

Husband is Another Term for Rocket Scientist

I wanted to blog about our weekend visit with EN Senior and Stepmommy, but recent conversations with several different girlfriends has given me inspiration to blog instead about the idiocy we encounter within the marital homestead. So girlfriends, sit back and enjoy and know that everything that is said in this post will be done without naming names. You alone will recognize your personal contribution.

I think the heat is getting to us all. We are less patient with our menfolk and itching to deliver a well-deserved dummy slap to our husbands’ foreheads. At least three friends have called, emailed or texted within the last week to bitch about what dipshits they are married to. I read and respond delightedly, knowing that I am not alone in this. I’ve gathered information from multiple reliable sources and these are the issues driving us crazy:

Money: Typically, there is one partner in the relationship that seems to be a little smarter with the check book. This means that one person looks like the controlling bitch, while the other spends money like he owns an entire orchard of money trees. Cars, motorcycles, recreational vehicles, livestock, tools… in any of those categories, having ONE is never enough. Husbands are firm believers in the saying, “He who dies with the most toys wins.”

This leads right into boys buying shit because they’re going to “fix it up and make money.” I’ll wait a moment while you stop laughing… This statement is totally and completely false and anyone with boobs (man boobs don’t count) knows it. The piece of crap that you want to buy is going to join the rest of the junk you’ve already purchased. Give a little time, rust and spiderwebs and the project is so much bigger than they thought it would be. Which means nothing will be done. The girlfriends now have basements full of broken stuff and garages they can’t park in. Our cars will be pelted with hail and covered in snow, but damn it, that pile of shit goes undisturbed in the garage.

Inability to Perform: I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about the level of incompetency displayed by men when it comes time to clean a house, prepare for a party, or God forbid, run to the grocery store to pick up a few items. Here are a few of my favorite stories:

-The husband that says, “Perhaps you’ve gained a little weight” when the wife asks if he washed the laundry in hot water.

-The husband that is sent to the grocery store for four items and texts his wife at least four times and still comes home with the wrong stuff. This is further compounded when the husband that comes home and says, “This item doesn’t even exist.” He is then so belligerent about being right, he will go back to the store with a diagram of where to find said object so he can take a picture to prove it’s not there. No words are spoken when the husband returns home with the non-existent item in his little paws.

-Several friends have shared variations of this story, so I gather this behavior is universal and doesn’t change even after you’ve been married or lived together for a long time. This behavior will occur during the preparations before a big party. Your partner will be so eager to help that he will follow you around so closely that if you stop suddenly he will crash into you. He will incessantly chirp, “I want to help. What can I do to help?” Seriously? This is the 15^th fucking Christmas party we’ve had together and you still don’t know what to do?

-Alternatively, there is the husband who watches his wife run around, preparing for an annual party while he “stays out of her way.” She’s seething with anger and ready to catheterize him with a garden hose when he sweetly says, “Looks like everything’s coming together great. Need any help?” Yes, thank you Ass Monkey, go open the door for our guests.

Using Their Words: I hate hearing a mother say that to a child, but I can totally see a wife saying to her husband, “Don’t use your words. Ever.” If you, as a man, feel like giving your wife well-intended advice and you need to start off with a modifier like, “Not to sound like a dick, but…” or “No offense but…” it’s probably in your best interests to keep your stupid mouth closed. As soon as we hear those phrases, we go into planning mode. We are giving careful thought as to where and when your funeral will be and what fabulous outfit we intend on wearing.

And then there are the stupid questions like, “Do you want a divorce?” Who is dumb enough to ask that? Even better, is the offended look they get when you don’t answer, “NO” fast enough (because you spent a moment daydreaming of said divorce and post-divorce cougarish activities). Just for asking that dumb question, they deserve to be told YES! Please, just stop talking and sit there and look pretty. That’s one of the two reasons we married you.

I thank my girlfriends for thrilling me with their recent experiences. We all know that NONE of this ever happens at my house. Life is all cupcakes and magic wands at the Ice Castle. Surely you are mistaken if EN wanders by and you think you see that magic wand firmly planted "where the sun don't shine."

xoxo

Ice Princess

Going Upscale

Now that I'm part of Blogher, I've decided to go even more upscale. Oh yes! I've had several complaints from my twelve readers that even when they follow, they don't get notified when there's a new post.

I'm happy to say that I found a tool and installed it on the blog. Look to the right of your screen and you will see a spot where you can enter your email address and be notified every time I post. This is directly above where my  merry band of followers is listed. Now if I could just get the Blogher stuff to show up properly... sigh.

It was a crazy fun weekend and I will blog about it... probably tomorrow. Lots of good food and drink, fun company and yet another round of Dueling Pianos. My brain is feeling a little melty and unable to string together words that make sense.

I'm spending today playing Mahjongg Dimensions on Facebook. It remains to be seen whether this will help my brain feel less melty...

xoxo
Ice Princess

Fairy Tales

I don’t mind saying that I’m insanely jealous when I leave every day and the husband, girls and dogs are all still snoozing away. When I walk out the door, I’ve already been up for an hour, getting ready for work. One doggy eyeball might pop open to watch me leave, but generally everyone is still sleeping. A quiet morning is what I like, even though I’m really pissed to be leaving the house full of sleeping people.

The girls have spent the bulk of their summer in the pool. I fully expect that they’ll turn into the mermaids they pretend to be any day now. Their fingers and toes are permanently pruned and they are blissful. They get along spectacularly in the pool and encourage each other to learn all sorts of new tricks. Sugar jumps off her boogie board and tries to do flips. Spice does some weird thing and ends up looking like a turtle stuck on her shell. They shout “Watch this!” over and over again until I’m ready to scream, but in reality, if all I have to do is glance up from the smut I’m reading, life’s pretty good!

I’m not a fan of the pool and almost never get in, maybe one annual chunky-dunk after I get liquored up, but that’s it. I really wanted a gorgeous, expensive in-ground pool but the number of zeroes in the estimates made me drop that idea quickly. The girls love their little above-ground soft-sided pool and so do their friends.

I remember how much fun summer was as a kid, no obligations, no schedule. Life was good and you played outside until you were forced to go in. I’m so jealous that I’m stuck at a desk every day while the girls play. Perhaps that’s what made me do what I did during dinner last night. I was looking at the girls and realized that Spice’s ear looked a bit like the inside of a seashell. She caught me looking at her and our conversation went something like this:

Spice: What are you looking at, Mama?

Me: I was looking at your ear to see if I could see the snail.

Sugar: What?!

Me: Oh yeah, you have snails living in your ears. You didn’t know that?

At this point, Sugar’s eyes were wide with horror and intrigue. Spice said, “Mama is telling stories.” So we talked more about it and I said that the snails only poked their heads out at night and I figured they would have noticed that since they spend every summer night sleeping in the same room. Spice starts feeling around inside her ears…

Spice: Yeah, I can believe snails live in my ears.

Me: Oh yeah? Why?

Spice: Well, it feels like a little food dish right here (points to the inside of her ear). That’s probably why we keep potatoes in our ears, so the snails don’t go hungry.

Me: That’s right. Snails are HUGE fans of potatoes.

Later on as I was getting them ready for bed, Spice stopped what she was doing and said, “Shhh, Mama! I can hear the snails!” When my children start talking about the voices in their heads, I totally take the blame and we’ll say it’s snails and not schizophrenia due to bad parenting.

A big bunny delivers eggs and candy every Easter. A fat guy brings presents every Christmas and some crazy broad collects their old baby teeth. Now snails in their ears. What’s next? 

xoxo

Ice Princess

I Heart Books!

I have always loved books and will read every chance I get. That was the worst part of being a student over the last several years. I never had a chance to read for pleasure. Since I finished school in December, there’s no telling how many books I’ve read.

Many years ago, Fly Girl told me that I should become friends with Ultra (formerly known as Payton’s Mom. Name changed because she’s the only person I know besides me that drinks Michelob Ultra because she LIKES it!) because she is a huge reader too. Our friendship was really cemented over Water for Elephants. We’ve swapped book ideas many times since.

I have been a fast reader and have enjoyed books since I can remember. The Air Force school I attended in Germany was huge with kindergarten through second grade in one section, with their own library. If memory serves me correctly, I read all of the books in that little library well before the end of second grade, so I got to go to the big kid library by myself every week. I can’t confirm this to be true, but I remember being very little and going upstairs by myself a lot. It could just be that I got kicked out of the little library for being obnoxious, both situations are equally likely.

I read all through junior high and high school as well. I started with Sweet Dreams romances, then Sweet Valley High, then moved on to Danielle Steel novels.  When we were given books to read in school, I’d read them in the first week and have nothing left to do for the rest of the term, except examine said books for symbolism, imagery, etc. I really should have insisted that the teachers give me all the assignments up front. Everyone else only had to read those dumb books once, I had to reread them multiple times to do the assignments. Totally unfair.

When I started working on my Bachelors a few years ago, I was excited to see that I needed a Literature class and tried to fulfill those credits with a  Popular Fiction course. I was told by Sarah Smiles that I could do that, but would still need an additional course to fulfill the “global marker” requirement.  She told me to take World Literature instead. I told her I would hate it, she told me to take it anyway. I psyched myself up for it by deciding that I would write a term paper (still hadn’t read the syllabus at this point) about Jackie Collins. She writes literature (I consider smut to be literature) and comes from a different part of the world. In my head, I was already justifying any criteria set forth by this professor.

I went to pick up the required text and was complete alarmed by the THREE VOLUME SET. Holy shit, we have to real ALL that? Once I read over the syllabus I settled down a bit. While some weeks required heavy reading, we certainly weren’t expected to read every single page. And here’s the biggest shocker of all… She, who enrolled in this class kicking, screaming and foaming at the mouth-loved it! This course ended up being one of my favorites. Some of the stuff we had to read, I intensely disliked, but I loved Medea, Oedipus and One Thousand and One Nights (short versions of all). And the pieces I didn’t like? Well, I had to respect those too. The professor made everything wonderful and gave great explanations about the readings. I propose that everything be rewritten with modern language so it’s easier to understand. I was also shocked (SHOCKED, I say!) by the sexual innuendo in the poetry written centuries ago. If you get stuck taking some class on interpreting poetry and you just can’t figure it out, think sex and it’ll all come together (no pun intended).

I almost always have a book going, and I almost always finish anything I start. That’s when I wear my rose-colored glasses. I’ve read some really stupid shit, hoping that something great will happen. Many a book has been tossed across the house, and still others have been put in the freezer (you must be a fan of the TV show "Friends" to understand this reference).

If I read a book that I like, I will read everything that author has ever written, usually back to back. This is never, EVER a good idea as you can really get sick of an author’s style and end up hating them. If I hate one book written by an author, chances are, I won’t read anything else they’ve written. I HATED Back Roads by Tawni O’Dell and my mother beat me with Sister Mine to get me to read it. In the end, she was right and I enjoyed the book.

I have not read anything in the currently-popular vampire genre. I have zero interest. I need books based on some level of reality. I have tried to get into the Sooki Stackhouse books, but I simply can’t. I’ve heard there are some incredibly steamy sections and the promise of reading that still doesn’t do it for me. I wouldn’t be opposed to someone grabbing a copy of one of the books and paper clipping the good parts though.

Last week, I reached an all-time low with regards to books. I was in the middle of a book and it sucked. Like a junkie needing my fix, I started looking around for something better to read. At the very same time, a Facebook friend posted something like, “Harlequin Romances ain’t what they used to be.” Oh really, I thought… so I did a little surfing and came across several interesting sounding categories. I might have to dig in, just for fluff reading of course. The minute Fabio goes ravishing some violet-eyed, raven-haired chick with heaving bosoms, I’m out.  

xoxo

Ice Princess