Driving Ditz

by Tonia 

“You know, somebody actually complimented me on my driving today. They left a little note on the windscreen; it said 'Parking Fine.'" - Tommy Cooper

I hate driving. Mostly because I’m a bad driver. Josh (son) told me he was nominating me for the Bad Drivers Hall of Fame. Rachel (daughter) asked if my car had life insurance. Ugh. Remind me again - WHY did I have children?

I don’t MEAN to be a bad driver. It’s just that I like to multi-task. Changing clothes and redoing my make-up while driving saves me time. And aren’t red lights for responding to texts and checking Facebook? Hellloooo! What else are you supposed to do while you're waiting?

And it doesn’t help that my city streets are full of pot holes and road construction. I constantly have to make sudden psychotic swerves like some kind of friggin’ crack-using slalom driver. My dog needs a seat belt!

And, while I’m complaining, I HATE it when I’m ready to run a yellow light and the damn person in front of me chickens out. Grrrrrr….

My family loves to tell the story about when my mother and I were driving cross-country many years ago. I was at the wheel and she had been sleeping. She woke up, looked around and asked why the signs were all facing backwards. Not only was I driving on the wrong side of the interstate, it was a closed road. Holy shit. That lost us several hours.

My most recent driving incident involved a STOP sign. I guess STOP actually means four tires must stop rolling without the use of the sign itself. OOPS!

I’ve also had my share of speeding tickets. I LOVE it when hot uniformed troopers with handcuffs pull me over. But, unfortunately, too many of them have the personalities of bricks (though that isn't fair to bricks). They just keep giving me their autographs and nothing more up close and personal.

But at least I haven’t ended up in parade like one of my girlfriends. She ignored a divert traffic sign and found herself between two floats. All she could do was stay in line and wave. 

For your next girlfriends’ get together consider brainstorming a list of great excuses to use when/if you ever get pulled over. Make copies for everyone to keep in their glove compartments - fun AND useful!

Fire in the Hole!

By Anna

"You know you're a redneck if you take your car keys and dig your ear wax out ya ears." – some Redneck somewhere

I'm only 32 years old but I’m pretty sure I have the hearing of an 82 year old. I noticed the funky ear problems in my 20s. First the ringing of the ears, then the ongoing battle with swimmers ear, then a diagnosis of "ear eczema" – otherwise known as Dry Flaky Itchy Ear Syndrome.

And then the small problem that I just CAN’T FUCKING HEAR! While the upside is that I no longer hear people talking behind my back and can stay in hotels on major airport flight paths, the downside is that I have to compensate. About 2% of the time I tell people I can't hear them; 3% of the time I try to move closer; and 95% of the time I just laugh and hope to God the person didn't ask a question.

I try to take good care of my ears. I clean them gently, I avoid getting my drums wet and I even use my prescription. But I also have too much ear wax. Turns out my body manufactures all kinds of things I don’t need – zits, farts, fat, ear wax…..

I’ve always wondered about ear candles. Do they work? Does it hurt? Do I need fire insurance? If I try them, will my mother be reading about my demise in the newspaper the next day: YOUNG WOMAN KILLED IN EAR BLAZE?

So I questioned one of my girlfriends about them and she booked me an appointment on her couch the very next day. She supplied the candles and I brought the tacos (NOTE TO SELF: in the future do ear cleaning BETWEEN meals). If you’ve never heard of this technique, an ear candle is put into the ear and lit with a match by a second person. The flame creates a vacuum that pulls the wax out of your ear.

So like the good patient I am, I nestled myself on her couch, head on pillow, fire extinguisher in hand. I squirmed and whimpered softly while she positioned the fire in my hole. About 10 minutes later we rushed to the kitchen sink to inspect our findings. Oh yeah, really gross but SUPER cool stuff – especially for those of us who love all things disgusting….

But no - no hearing improvement, just clean ears.

I'll be making my next ear appointment with Clear Tone. Thanks anyway, Beth!

Invite 4 of your besties over on a hot summer day & throw an earwax party.
And serve these:

Frozen Earwax

1/4 (12fl oz) can frozen lemonade concentrate
1/4 (6oz) can frozen OJ concentrate
1/2 cup strong brewed black tea
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup whiskey
1 3/4 cup water
1/4 liter chilled ginger ale soda
1/2 lemon cut into wedges

In a large container combine lemonade, OJ, tea, sugar, whisky & water. Mix well & freeze for 24 hrs.

Scoop into a tall glass, 3/4 full, & pour chilled ginger ale to fill glass. Stir & garnish with lemon wedge.

Serves 5

The Mysteries of a Woman's Purse

by Tonia

"What are the three words guaranteed to humiliate men everywhere? 'Hold my purse.'" - Francois Merency

I recently saw Love, Loss and What I Wore written by Nora and Delia Ephron. It was a delightful show; I highly recommend it. And it got me thinking about purses….

My mother always changed purses to match her shoes. I can barely FIND my purse when its time to leave. My daughters spend mega-bucks to get designer bags. I get pissed off when I have to buy one and it costs more than $25. Guess this purse thing is above my sophistication level.

Someone once suggested that a woman's choice of purses and what she carries in it reveals her personality. Uh oh. If that’s true, I’m a disheveled, disgusting, scatter-brained sugar-addicted cheapskate hoarder in need of a serious intervention. The last time I cleaned out my purse I found enough receipts to build back an entire tree and a perfume sample that smelled like Chanel Number 5 in 1985 but now smells like an dirty diapers.

My purse is a mysterious place - a place that defies the laws of physics. It can carry MUCH more than its size suggests. Yet, once I put something in it, I may not find it again for days. I’m starting to believe that it is actually another door to Narnia and that my keys, cell phone and lipstick go on adventures as kings and queens to fight evil. They come back occasionally – but at their own will.

I was fishing around in my purse the other day while talking to my Director and I plunged my hand into an opened jar of homemade lotion. I felt the cold, wet goo squish between my fingers. I couldn’t decide whether to pull my hand out and horrify my boss - or keep it safely hidden in my purse the rest of the meeting and look like a moron. My fears about other disasters befalling my hand if I left it in my purse overpowered my concerns for making a good impression, so I pulled it out and asked for a Kleenex. (There was probably one in my purse but hell if I was going to go looking for it! It was probably in Narnia anyway.)

I asked a male friend of mine what he thought of women’s purses. After his look of terror subsided, he said that even the most accomplished, most organized women have purses that look like an ADHD kid on Red Bull and sugar. He thought they should have warning labels on them and was convinced that Jimmy Hoffa’s remains were probably at the bottom of some woman’s purse somewhere. Probably so. Probably so.

We’ve suggested purse scavenger hunts for girlfriends’ get-togethers before (which is still a great idea!) but a purse swap is also a useful and fun idea. Have your girlfriends bring over all the purses they don't carry any more (hopefully, clean) and lay them out so that they can be recycled among friends! And bake and decorate sugar cookies in the shape of purses. Have fun!!