Dec 31, 2011

Keepin’ It Alive: Vagina Care

Posted by Tonia at Saturday, December 31, 2011 3 comments
By Tonia

“Charlotte: ‘Oh, my God! Vagina weights!’
Samantha: ‘Honey, my vagina waits for no man.’” – from Sex in the City

I went to the gynecologist a few weeks ago with … well … problems. Was diagnosed with “Vaginal Atrophy.” WHAT??? I mean, doesn’t a muscle atrophy when it goes unused for long periods of time? For the love of God, I may not be getting laid very often but I DO use a vibrator. Doesn’t that count for a relationship ... I mean ... for vagina use? Now I'm tempted to think of my vagina as a deteriorating, withered, cracked wasteland – a shell of its former Va-Jay-Jay glory.

I discovered that Vaginal Atrophy is an inflammation of the vagina due to decreased mucous secretions - part of the whole post-menopause thing. Guess my pussy has gone the way of my face – dry, drier, and DRYEST. Now I’m the Sahara Desert inside and out. I should have gotten a clue that I was drying up when, in the mornings, I had to pry my top lip off my teeth. I wonder if Estee Lauder has ‘gina moisturizers.

I thought that being post menopausal was going to be a GOOD thing. My children aren’t afraid of me any more; I don’t have to label things to remember what they are called; I no longer fantasize about living in the freezer. But it looks like I’ve gained all that just to suffer with Vaginal Atrophy.

Never one to moan and bitch TOO long I have researched some solutions:

(1) Water soluble lubricants. My car and I will both be getting lube jobs now. At least I don’t have to make an appointment for mine. While my partner is waiting for his Viagra to kick in, I’ll be applying my K-Y. Is K-Y cheaper if you order it by the case?

(2) Vaginally administered estrogen creams. You’ll need a prescription for this - which, of course, will mean an appointment in the stirrups. Ride ‘em, Cowgirl! But I want to know - what happens if my partner gets some of it on his penis? Does he grow breasts? Does his voice change?

(3) Regular sexual activity. Finally a solution that I can climb on…I mean, live with! Good sex = sending my vagina to the gym for a work out. I knew there could be a happy ending to this.

Girlfriend Party ideas? I say get your book club together and read Naked at Our Age: Talking Out Loud about Senior Sex by Joan Price. It’s an honest and frank book about senior sexuality - the changes, the challenges, the surprises, and the delights. Discuss it; share your own experiences. Have some fun and get some ideas!

Dec 23, 2011

Come Up and See Me Sometime

Posted by Tonia at Friday, December 23, 2011 3 comments
By Tonia

A dame that knows the ropes ain't likely to get tied up.” - Mae West

Some girlfriends and I recently went to see a stage production of Mae West’s play, Sex. It was in a funky, back street theatre that had bleachers and folding chairs for seating. We had to use the GPS to find it, but it was well worth the navigation arguments in the car. (Still love ya, Anna.) Ya gotta’ love a theatre that sells Boone’s Farm and popcorn for refreshments. Pay attention, AMC!

The play was about Margy, a prostitute, who follows her own true path. She refuses to conform to society’s demands and lives an adventure-filled life that takes her from Canada to the Caribbean to Connecticut (guess she was working on the letter C - including her her happiest place, Clitorus-ville). It’s a story that reflects much of Mae West’s (and my) own philosophy about living life on one’s own terms. 

Mae was arrested on obscenity charges the first night that Sex was performed. I was willing to go to jail once for something I believed in - but decided I didn’t look good in an orange. Not on my color chart. Besides, I wasn’t sure that my family would bail me out.

Mae was more than just a bombshell. She was one of the first women to consistently write the plays and movies that she starred in. Her second film, She Done Him Wrong, was even nominated for an Academy Award as Best Picture. At one point in her career, she was Hollywood's highest paid star and, unlike many other actresses, she ALWAYS remained in charge of her own career and her own life. She played leading ladies into her 50s and worked into her 70s (maybe there's still hope for me). She was also a friend to gays. An inspiration.

And I’ll always love her for her wit - her innuendo and double entendre that poked at a puritanical culture. Things like:

--“I do all my writing in bed; everybody knows I do my best work there.”
--“When I'm good, I'm very good. But when I'm bad, I'm better.”
--“A hard man is good to find.”
--“It's not the man in your life that counts. It's the life in your man.”
--“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?”

So, for one of your girlfriends’ parties, honor the spirit of Mae West by renting one of her movies and having a discussion about ways you've been (or would like to be) in charge of your own life. Tell us about them here, too! We want to support you!

Dec 12, 2011

Get Out the Ropes and Handcuffs

Posted by Tonia at Monday, December 12, 2011 2 comments
By Tonia

Go in peace my daughter. And remember that, in a world of ordinary mortals, you are a Wonder Woman.” Queen Hippolyte

Awwww…..Wonder Woman. That fabulous Amazon woman who taught us the way to success is through personal strength – not through a relationship with a man. Of course super powers are nice, too. Personally, I’d be happy with just some normal powers - like the power to match my Tupperware lids to their containers and to find my sock mates in the dryer.

Better than Batman and Superman, Wonder Woman battled injustice with intelligence and love. Gloria Steinem proudly put her on the cover of the first Ms. Magazine as a representation of brains, free spiritedness, and strength. But I also love her for her great sexual presence - both in body image and in costume design. I’m just not sure how she fought crime in those damn boots.

Actually, early issues of the Wonder Woman comic book repeatedly showed characters being tied up and spanked. Hmmmmm. Ya gotta’ love a woman who knows how to give a spanking!

The history of Wonder Woman is also a fabulous example for women’s parties. On Paradise Island (where she came from), women ruled for over 3,000 years. Their entertainment included games of dressing up as stags and running through the forest chasing each other.

So, I’m thinking that in honor of Wonder Woman - and Linda Carter, who taught us how to run strapless - a Wonder Woman party is definitely a girlfriends’ party worth having. Who doesn’t want to dress up as Wonder Woman? Seriously. Starry panties. A lasso of truth. Bullet deflecting bracelets. A boomerang tiara. An outfit for the party AND for fun and games with your significant other later at home!

Game Suggestions for your Wonder Woman party:

(1) Sock it to Me – Handcuff four guests so that their hands are behind their backs. Place a pile of six single socks in front of each one, only two of which that match. See who can find the match and fold/roll them together into a ball. First one to complete the task wins.
(2) If I Had the Power – Ask guests to write down on index cards two things they would do if they had the power to do it (one humorous and one serious). Mark each one with a different letter of the alphabet (A, B, C, etc) and lay them all out on a table. Then give each guest a piece of paper and ask them to match the letter with each guest. See who has the most correct answers.
(3) Toss the Tiara – Use tiaras instead of horseshoes to toss at a stake. Or use a wig head. Or a plastic penis.

Dec 5, 2011

Takin' Care of 'The Girls'

Posted by Tonia at Monday, December 05, 2011 2 comments
by Tonia

“Women’s breasts are like martinis. One isn’t enough and three is too many.” - unknown

Last week I decided to go bra shopping. My ‘girls’ needed a lift in spirits and, more importantly, a lift from gravity. I was losing the wrestling match to keep my strapless bra off my waist. I wanted to strip it off and shoot it across the store - but it was the only thing keeping my boobs from hanging down to my vagina. 

I decided I would consult with a “bra specialist.” It had been several years since I had been fitted and there had been a few changes. Well, maybe more than a few. You know, things like weight fluctuations …. pregnancies …. breast feeding …. hormone changes. Yea, it was time to get refitted. When the very nice bra specialist took me into the dressing room and looked at my sagging bra she said, “Oh, my.” Translation: “Lady, were your born in a barn? Why did you even fucking bother?” But she very politely measured me, holding back her gales of laughter.

Then she left to get some bras, leaving me topless under the disapproving florescent lights. (Hell, by the way, will have florescent lighting.) While she was gone, some over-sugared, hyperactive kid pushed my door open so that all the male Christmas shoppers could catch a glimpse of my newly liberated ta-tas. Certainly this was a Christmas bonus for them and for those who view the security camera tapes. I better not see this on YouTube. I want royalties.

But back to the bra fitting: I have always worn a bra in the 32-34 B/C range, but, after this bra lady’s measurement, she informed me that I SHOULD be wearing a 30 DD. Had she been smoking crack in the naughty nightgown department while I had been flashing the girls to random shoppers? These girls could NOT be DDs!

I started to argue with her but she quickly shut me up by explaining that 80% of women wear the wrong size bra. Looks like I may be one of them. And it turns out that the most common mistake women make is wearing bras that are too loose around the back and too small in the cups. Most women who wear an "average" 36C bra should actually be wearing either a 34D, 34DD, 32DD or 32E. And the cup sizes are in proportion to the band size, so a DD cup is not the same size in a 30 inch band as it is in a 36 inch band size. Hmmmmmm.......

Well, the story has a happy ending. I found some bras that keep my girls tucked in and at attention without pain, reduced oxygen, strap marks or wrestling matches. They're happy so I'm happy.

So, if you want to celebrate ta-tas at your next girlfriends get together, here are some party suggestions:
  (1) Invite a bra specialist and find out everyone's REAL bra size
   (2) Have everyone bring a bra and bedazzle them with all kinds of jewels, feathers,      decorations, etc.
    (3) Have guests write down their first "Second Base" stories (i.e. first time getting "felt up") and see if everyone can guess whose story belongs to who
    (4) Ask guests to sketch ideas for alternative uses for old bras (i.e. toe warmers, a toddler harness, a sling shot, etc.)
     (5) Do something for Breast Cancer Awareness

Dec 1, 2011

Bake Sale Drama

Posted by Tonia at Thursday, December 01, 2011 1 comments
By Rachel
“I have CDO. Its like OCD but the letters are in the right order like they should be.” – Unknown

Recently, I served as the chairwoman of a bake sale to raise money for our local women’s shelter. It was a great cause and I was happy to do it. I tend to overcommit myself and like always, I had several other obligations along with the bake sale. Now you need to understand that when I get stressed or overwhelmed, my OCD kicks in and I tend to do things WAY over the top …… and then later deal with the aftermath.
Here's what happened: people began dropping off their baked goods at my house. I could see that they were packaged in less than attractive ways – one was wrapped in 4th of July bags and a few looked like they had been tossed from the car window. They certainly didn't match my fall themed table décor. I found myself preoccupied with this disaster and HAD to fix it. So I decided to redecorate/repackage the items so that everything matched my color scheme. I got out of bed in the middle of the night and tore through all of my fall decorations. My husband was mortified when he saw what I was doing. He told me I needed professional help. If I had a dime for every time he has said that to me, I'd have $ 6,237.40. Geez. I told him to mind his own friggin’ business. (Someone needs to tell my husband that these are dangerous conversations to have at 3 a.m. when I am in an OCD rampage.)
When the day of the sale arrived, a few of us showed up early to set up the table. It was then that I realized I had gone waaaaay too far. Women asked me where their baked goods were. Shit! I pretended not to hear them or I changed the subject.  I ended up buying some of the items I had completely redone just to hide the evidence. Maybe I should seek therapy for this….
The next time you and your friends get together, make this fabulous Pumpkin Spice Cake. But don't invite me. I might do something to it. 
Pumpkin Spice Cake

1 box yellow cake mix
1 cup canned pumpkin
¾ cup light brown sugar
½ cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon allspice
4 eggs

For glaze:

1 cup butter
1 cup light brown sugar
1 to 1.5 cup chopped pecans or walnuts

Combine cake mix, pumpkin, brown sugar, oil, cinnamon, nutmeg and allspice. Beat for 1 minute. Add eggs. Beat 2 minutes more. Pour ½ cake mixture into greased bundt pan. For topping (glaze), melt butter with brown sugar. Add nuts. Pour half of glaze mixture on top of cake batter. Pour remaining cake batter on top of glaze. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 – 50 minutes or until top is springy to the touch and a wooden toothpick inserted comes out clean. Cool in pan for 15 minutes, then invert onto plate. When completely cool, drizzle remaining topping (glaze) on cake.

Nov 25, 2011

Tacky Christmas Party

Posted by Tonia at Friday, November 25, 2011 4 comments
by Tonia
What I don't like about office Christmas parties is looking for a new job the next day." ~ Phyllis Diller
I recently moved and was forced to clean out my closet which led to the discovery of many missing items - some from as far back as 1972. But the prize of my closet exploits was the discovery of my old Christmas sweaters. You have to understand - I used to wear these sweaters with pride. I had a different one for every day of the week from Thanksgiving to Christmas. (Can you say, “Conspicuous consumption?”) Even back then my kids said I looked hideous. So now my beautiful Christmas sweaters are only good for tacky Christmas sweater parties. Anna thinks I could make a fortune selling them on ebay as my sweaters are the tackiest she’s ever seen. And WHY did I become a mother?
So go ahead and have a Tacky Christmas Sweater Party for your girlfriends. Nothing says obnoxious holiday cheer like puffy snowmen, appliqué Santas, sequined bells – and, my favorite…..blinking Rudolfs. By giving a second chance to these poor humiliating sweaters, you'll avoid shopping for new holiday outfits and you’ll honor Christmas Past with the Spirit of Christmas Recycling! If you don’t already have one of these fabulous sweaters in your closet you can (a) go to a Thrift Store (just make sure that it doesn’t smell like armpits) or (b) make your own (consider a headless snowman or reindeer in obnoxious sexual positions or a picture of yourself as Santa’s Ho.) Pull it all together with a little duct tape for extra class.
And, if you want to add a tacky gift exchange, gifts like an appliquéd Kleenex box cover, printed toilet paper, a squishy brain that farts, or a nose hair trimmer are all perfect. And let your refreshments join in the tackiness. Serve fruitcake, beef jerky and decorate gingerbread men and snowmen in their own tacky sweaters. Serve hor d’oeuvres in ice cube trays and create a centerpiece that screams tackiness - Christmas flamingos, plastic poinsettias, any kind of inflatable should work. And, for activities, get an inflatable Santa and take pictures of each other in tacky positions with him. And then email them to me! I love this shit.

Nov 22, 2011

The American Female Sleeping Sickness

Posted by Tonia at Tuesday, November 22, 2011 3 comments
by Anna
"I'm great in bed! I can sleep for days." - Unknown

We may be in the middle of a global energy crisis but I've got my own energy crisis going on here. Unexplained and unappreciated fatigue. There are some mornings I just have to sit down to brush my teeth. It's too much. Shower? I can skip a day. Fix my hair? Nahhhhh. And, if I have to choose between two activities, I pick the one that let's me have time for a nap.

I do the vitamin B and slap-yourself-in-the-face "You Must Take a Walk" pep talk. I drink lots of water and take my vitamins. The roomie and I share Red Bull.....well, I drink hers, replace them way late and then drink them again. I get my triple shot iced Americano at Starbucks. Why can't I wake up???

The Center for Disease Control says that fatigue is four times higher in women than in men. I have some ideas about why this is......
<Self-talk: "No male-bashing; no male-bashing; no male-bashing."> But I will say that between family responsibilities, jobs, household duties, bleeding like a stuck pig once a month, there are lots of reasons why women feel tired. I know someone who fell asleep in a meeting recently and slammed her chin on the table. Ouch.

So, get your girlfriends together and share remedies and medical research regarding fatigue. Come in your PJs and drink one of my ol' time faves:

The Spent Housewife
Grab a glass of ice
Fill it half with Red Bull and half with Vodka
Throw in a straw and take a load off your feet!

Nov 15, 2011

An Embarrassment to My Children

Posted by Tonia at Tuesday, November 15, 2011 2 comments
By Rachel

“Like all parents, my husband and I just do the best we can, hold our breath and hope we've set aside enough money for our kid's therapy.” - Michelle Pfeiffer

I have always considered myself a cool mom. I mean, I stay abreast of what is popular; I flat iron my hair; I dress in the latest styles …. or at least styles within the last 10 years or so. I’m cool, right? Well, apparently not. According to my daughter, I embarrass her just by breathing. Hell, she doesn’t even know what embarrassing is. She should have lived with MY mother who drove us to school in her nightgown and ran out of gas. And made moose calls when my "crush" was around. And entertained my friends with her imitation of a zit.

Okay, I admit, I probably shouldn’t have yelled out the car window “your skirt is tucked in your underwear” when I dropped her off at school. Or cranked up the Sesame Street music and danced with my 3 year old when I picked her up. But, seriously, it wasn’t like I was doing underarm noises at one of her school performances.

If she’s embarrassed by me I think it’s karma - pay back for the time she shouted, “Mommy, your zipper’s down!” at a Christmas party and for the time she peed in one of the display toilets at Lowes while we were looking at fixtures.

So I guess I’ve lost my coolness factor. But I’m adjusting. Now, instead of getting her to behave with threats of lost privileges, I just threaten to call her “PoocheyWorm” in front of her friends. Works like a charm.

My new motto: If you’re not embarrassing your kids, you’re missing all the fun. Tell us how you embarrass YOUR kids!

And the next time you and your girlfriends get together, brainstorm additional ways to embarrass your kids. It’s a riot. And add these easy, delicious pumpkin spice cookies to the menu:

Glazed Pumpkin Spice Cookies

1 package Pumpkin Spice Cookie Mix
1 teaspoon Pumpkin Pie Spice

1 cup confectioners’ sugar
1/2 tablespoon melted butter
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 tablespoons milk

Mix and bake cookies according to package directions. Let cookies cool completely. Combine all of the glaze ingredients in a bowl and add milk as needed to achieve the desired consistency. Drizzle glaze over cookies. Drizzle some glaze into your mouth if the kids aren't watching.

Nov 7, 2011

Losing my ASSets: My Fight with Cellulite

Posted by Tonia at Monday, November 07, 2011 5 comments
By Tonia

When did my ass start to look like cottage cheese? It used to be nice and plump and smooth. And then suddenly one morning I woke up and discovered the Dent Dimple Demon had gone on a psychotic rampage attacking my ass with a meat cleaver. Either that or he managed to surgically insert little marbles into my thighs and butt while I was anesthetized from a Saturday night party. Where was my Fairy Godmother to protect me from this kind of assault??? Oh yea….. I forgot…..she left me a resignation letter saying my aging body was more than she could save. Like a lot of men, she was moving on to younger women..... 

Cindy Crawford and Scarlett Johansson have said that they have cellulite. Pah-leeze. My cellulite could beat up their cellulite any day of the week.

Doctors say that cellulite is fatty deposits. These are not the kind of deposits I want. In fact, I would prefer withdrawals on this account! The only deposits I want are the ones in my checking account, thank you very much.

And why do those fatty deposits gather up in little clumps? Why can’t that fat evenly distributed itself like it does on the rest of body? Did the little fat cells call some kind of little committee meeting and couldn’t leave? Come on, girls, if you have to stay, mingle and spread around a bit!

The trouble with cellulite is that you can’t even suck it in. It just hangs all lumpy. Anyone know where can I get a push-up bra for my ass? My daughters recommend Spanx but that feels like slipping into a tourniquet for a Do-It-Yourself Hysterectomy.

Supposedly there are treatments for cellulite. But here’s my take on them:

1. Creams. It's not really the actual cream that works - it's the brisk rubbing that breaks down the fat deposits. Great. How am supposed to work if I have my hands down my pants rubbing my ass all day?

2. Exercise. That all sounds well and good but the clumsiness factor weighs in for me. After falling in the parking lot recently while merely walking, I’m thinking that exercise could be hazardous to my health.

3. Liposuction. Uuuhhh, expensive! I need a DIY version - a machine for home use. Would the suction of the vacuum cleaner work?

I know that we have posted these cookies before but they are so cute! Invite your girlfriends over, tell cellulite stories and enjoy adding more cellulite with these treats (you can even make cellulite dimples on them if you want to!):

Tonia’s Special Sugar Cookie Recipe

Go to the grocery store and purchase refrigerated sugar cookie dough.
Roll out the dough 1/4 to 1/2 inch thick on a floured surface. Using a heart shaped cookie cutter, cut into hearts (duh!) and then cut off the points of the hearts. Place cookies on ungreased cookie sheets and bake according to directions. I like using the timer. Otherwise, I have to use the fire extinguisher. Cool completely before icing. 

Tonia’s Special Icing Recipe

While you are at the grocery store purchasing refrigerated sugar cookie dough, pick up different colored icing in those small tubes – you won’t need much. If you want to get really fancy buy some sprinkles as well.
Look at the picture. I think you can figure it out. Be creative!

Nov 2, 2011

Magnifying Mirror Madness

Posted by Tonia at Wednesday, November 02, 2011 3 comments
By Anna

I do not have perfect skin. Nor do I have perfect eyebrows. I’m usually able to ignore these things until ….. I look …… insert scarey music ….. in my magnifying mirror. EEEEEkkkk!

Its not like I’m not already my own worst critic. I gotta’ go under the freakin’ lighted microscope to feel like some kind of mutant? AND THAT LIGHT! The levels should read:
LEVEL 1. Night club
LEVEL 2. Doctor's office
LEVEL 3. Interrogation room

With Interrogation Room Level 3 you get to see really awesome things like millions of freckles, saggy eyelids, black circles, moles morphing, red blotches, pores like craters, the beginning of crow’s feet, eyelashes that grow crooked or downwards, crazy eyebrows that grow down to the eyelids, and a baby furry mustache that now has petite handlebars! And what’s up with this furry forehead? Is this hair supposed to be there? Is it to keep my face warm in the winter?

Let me just pluck a few hairs….oh, shit! Now I’ve plucked my eyebrows off!

Let me just do a tiny squeeze.…damnit, now my face looks like chicken pox!

But I can’t. Move. Away. From. The. Mirror. Help me! I’m telling you, dudes do not do this crap. It’s addictive and destructive and we must throw those mirrors away!!

So I say grab that devil mirror of yours, crash a girlfriend’s house and create a game of breaking or trashing them. Then drink these:

Damage Control

2/3 cup pineapple juice, chilled
1/3 cup vanilla flavored vodka
2 tbls of grenadine syrup

Pour the pineapple juice, vodka and grenadine into a shaker full of ice. Shake and strain into two chilled martini glasses. Garnish with a piece of pineapple and a cherry on a toothpick...

…..and pat yourselves on the back for a task well done! 

Oct 27, 2011

My Mom Was Like a Mother to Me

Posted by Tonia at Thursday, October 27, 2011 2 comments
By Tonia
"When your mother asks, 'Do you want a piece of advice?' it is a mere formality. It doesn't matter if you answer yes or no. You're going to get it anyway." – Erma Bombeck

Estrofests is a blog written by my two daughters and me. But there is another generation of Estrovite women – my mother. Let me tell you about her.

My mother was always cleaning. I used to try to tell her that vacuuming weakened the carpet fibers but she didn’t believe me. She not only cleaned at her house, she cleaned at my house. (They say housework can't kill you, but I don’t like to take any chances.) Sometimes she would put something away while I was still using it. If I tried to take the rag/mop/vacuum out of her hand, she would just start organizing something in my cupboards. It was embarrassing when people came over and thought she was my cleaning lady.

Crossword puzzles were like crack cocaine for my mother. I guess it’s what she used to get all that cleaning done. God help you if you got between her and the morning paper’s crossword. Then there would really be cross words!
My mother also loved to talk. Sometimes, if I was on the phone with her, I could lay down the receiver and take the dogs for a walk and she would still be talking when I got back. If she ran out of real things to talk about she would tell me about a TV show she had watched. I can tell you all about Dancing with the Stars and I’ve never even watched the show.
For Christmas and birthdays she would make things with our names on them – hats, t-shirts, sweatshirts. Someone needed to tell her that my sister and I were in our 50s now and didn’t need our clothing labeled any more. None of us (kids or grandkids) wanted to wear those things. We would rather wear dirty clothes or go naked than wear them. On the rare occasion when we HAD to wear one and then washed it, the letters would fall off and we ended up with something like this:

Tonia = Ton 
Anna = na
Rachel = ache
As you might guess, she was also addicted to the glue gun. Waaaaay too much DIY TV. Frankly, I think we need stricter glue gun laws. You know, like background checks and 5-day waiting periods on purchases. Some people, like my mother, just can’t control themselves. We suggested Glue Guns Anonymous to her but you know how addicts are. Denial.
My mother really did drive me crazy much of the time. But two years ago this week she passed away. She took care of me at the beginning of my life and I had the privilege of taking care of her at the end of hers. I had the bigger diapers to change but I also have the bigger shoes to fill.
I miss her every day. Her playful spirit, her generosity, her support for all of my endeavors, her tolerant amusement of my shenanigans, her passion and sacrifices for her family ….. and, yes, I even miss those damn sweatshirts with my name on them.
Love you, Mom. Always will.

Doris Anne Ryan Caselman 1928-2009

Oct 25, 2011

Colonoscopies: Lookin’ in the Backdoor

Posted by Tonia at Tuesday, October 25, 2011 0 comments
By Tonia

“Just when you figure you must be totally empty, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.” – Dave Barry

Recently I took one of my girlfriends to have a colonoscopy – which, in my world, means you get to be the butt of one of my blogs. It was her second ass-meddling. Not sure why one would return for this kind of procedure but she did. I was the designated driver - new role for me.

A colonoscopy is one of the fabulous perks of aging – you know, like mammograms, mole checks, bone scans, hearing tests, stress tests… ☺ I’m thinking that, since my girlfriends and I are spending more and more time at doctors’ offices these days, there should be a bar at the receptionist’s desk. That way we could order martinis with our procedures. Oh! And charge it to my card – my insurance card.

My friend was mostly worried about spurtage during the procedure. I don’t know why. It sounded like her super-turbo laxative not only cleaned out her colon, it REMOVED her colon. I reassured her that anyone who made a living with a hiney camera going through  intestines the wrong way had to be used to a little shit. She didn’t seem comforted.

The nurse called her name and had her sign a bunch of forms acknowledging that whatever bad thing might happen was not the hospital's fault. Then they took her away. I grabbed some reading material and discovered that a colonoscopy includes filling your colon up with air before shoving the butt-cam in your backdoor. That gives “blowing smoke up your ass” a whole new meaning for me.

When my friend came out she kept bragging about the drugs. I think she just used them as an excuse to make a pass at her gastroenterologist.

I personally haven’t had a colonoscopy yet but my friend is on my ass about it. She thinks they’ll find my head in there somewhere. When (if) I go, I’m going to draw a bullseye around the target. I don’t want the doctor mistaking one of my cellulite dimples for the entry spot.

In honor of my girlfriend's colonoscopy, here is our Filthy Dirty Martini recipe. Thanks to Gourmet Delights for turning us on to 1888 – created by pressing Spanish olives in order to get the true flavor of olives and not just salt water. Be sure to check out their other yummy goodies.

Filthy Dirty Martini
3 oz. vodka
1 oz 1888
Splash of dry vermouth

Garnish with LOTS of green olives

Oct 22, 2011

Camping Virgin

Posted by Tonia at Saturday, October 22, 2011 0 comments
By Rachel

“Camping is nature's way of promoting the motel business.” - Dave Barry

Our family recently went camping with some of my girlfriends’ and their families. We had four moms, two dads (2 dads backed out - begged their employers to work overtime) and 10 rambunctious kids. Since we had never been camping, we borrowed a tent from another friend - which seemed smaller than our sleeping bags. But what do I know? She explained that her larger tent’s poles were broken as light sabers during her kids’ last Star Wars battle. On the bright side, a smaller tent should be easier to put up!

Now I should tell you that my husband has spent very little time outdoors; he couldn’t even figure out our kids’ play tents at home. But when we got to the camp site he suddenly insisted on setting up the tent – guess it was the manly thing to do. Well, he finally got it upright….but backwards. The front door faced some kind of thorny bush on steroids. The kids cried every time they had to go in or out of the tent. I looked like I had been making out with a porcupine. My husband simply said that is how he feels when I don’t shave my legs. Note to self: next trip leave husband at home and rent a camper.

I guess we all looked pretty incompetent because the Park Rangers kept coming around to check on us. They must have thought we wouldn’t survive for a whole weekend away from home. However, I noticed that after a few hours the visits stopped. Maybe it had something to do with every time they came around we asked to borrow something and the kids (all 10 of them) begged for more candy. That will teach them not to carry candy in their little trucks.

As we were heading to bed a copperhead snake appeared. My husband freaked out and wanted to find the Park Ranger. I’m surprised he didn’t try to call 911. Finally got the snake out of the campsite and headed to our tent to sleep. We were so cramped I think I would have had more room if I had slept in the cooler. Woke up and thought my neck was broken. I’m hoping that someday I will be able to hold my head straight again.  

I’m thinking that my next camping trip should be with girlfriends. And, when we go, we’ll take along this fabulous snack – Campers’ Caramel Popcorn. It's delicious!

Campfire Caramel Popcorn
½ cup butter
½ cup corn syrup
2 cups brown sugar
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 ½ quarts popped popcorn

Preheat oven to 250 degrees. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter. Stir in the brown sugar, corn syrup and salt. Bring the mixture to a boil, stirring constantly. Boil without stirring for 4 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in vanilla and baking soda. Warm the popcorn in the oven and then place it in two large shallow baking pans. Pour the brown sugar mixture over the popcorn, stirring to coat. Bake in the oven, stirring every 15 minutes, for 1 hour. Remove from oven and let cool completely. Break into pieces and serve!

Oct 14, 2011

Foot in Mouth Disease

Posted by Tonia at Friday, October 14, 2011 1 comments
by Tonia

"Don't put your foot in your mouth, because then you can't talk...and you can't walk." - Milton Heide
Putting your foot in your mouth is not to be confused with shooting yourself in the foot – although, if particularly skilled, I think you could probably do both. I have done both.
Recently I walked into my hair salon without an appointment and asked if I could get a hair cut and a blow job. Embarrassing, but at least I didn’t scream out the wrong lover’s name during an orgasm. The receptionist ignored me and my hair dresser threatened to hold my head under water at the wash basin. 
Another time during graduate school, I needed an author’s permission to use a questionnaire, but found out that he had passed away. In frustration, I whipped off an email to my professors stating that I was going to have to hold a séance to get permission from the GD dead author. One of my committee members responded – she gave permission. It was her deceased husband who was the author of the questionnaire. I wanted to drop dead.
The next story didn’t happen to me – but to a friend of mine in high school. She had applied to several colleges but was desperate to get into Cornell. She thought about Cornell her every waking moment. She finally got an interview on campus, and was nervously lining out things to say. She planned on asking, “How many of your students go on to get a master's degree?" Instead she said, "How many of your students masturbate?" Needless to say, she did not get in.
If putting your foot in your mouth could earn air miles, I think it might look something like this:
Putting foot in mouth                         1,000 miles
Swallowing pride                               5,000 miles
Opening a can of worms                 10,000 miles
Picking up the pieces                         2 free trips 
I know I can’t possibly be the only one gnawing on my toes. One of the great things about girlfriends is that you can share these stories without judgment – just an acknowledged “been there, done that” laugh. Tell us your foot-in-mouth stories.
And, at your next girlfriends’ get together, ask your friends to write down some of their verbal faux pas on index cards. Make sure that they include their names. Read these out loud without the names and see who can guess which girlfriend belongs to each big mouth blunder. Create a Foot-in-Mouth Award for the biggest blunder.
And, if you’re feeling particularly creative, make some of these chocolate and peanut butter feet candies. Simply buy the mold, melt the candy (I like the microwaveable kind), pour into the mold. Stick it in the freezer for a couple of minutes and then pop them out! 

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