Tonia and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by Tonia

After spending a month in Rosarito, Mexico, with two girlfriends and our five dogs, the day came to drive home. I crammed all my personal belongings, house-keeping items, dog bedding, souvenirs and two gooberhead dogs into my overfilled car and headed to Tecate where I hoped for an uneventful border crossing and drive home. The month had had its challenges so I didn’t need an exciting trek to add to my life story. 

Thirty minutes into my drive I got pulled over for a “random” search by the Mexican police (Fun Fact: that’s the kind of police they have in Mexico). Terrified, my stifled nervous giggle wanted to turn into crazed laughter when one of the policemen leaned into my car with his butt in the air. My contorted facial expressions somehow drew suspicions and I ended up also getting my purse searched. Satisfied I wasn’t an aging American drug lord, they waved me on my way.

 

Using my GPS, I continued my journey and arrived in the town of Tecate where I hoped to find the line for the border crossing. Now, let me say, GPS and I have not always had the best relationship. I don’t like her nagging and bossing. And, on this day, Hansel and Gretel could have done a better job navigating. She demanded I turn down a one-way street IN THE WRONG DIRECTION where I was IMMEDIATELY met by yes, again, the Mexican police. In my panic, I started to flash my boobs to escape trouble and infuse some humor, but was boob-blocked by the damn seatbelt. They said I owed a $125 fine and had to go to the police station. I objected and the dogs nodded their heads in agreement with me. The police didn’t speak English or canine but they knew they were outnumbered and finally waved me on my way. 

 

I crossed the border into the USA thinking my worries were over. Wrong. I drove through a blinding snow/sleet storm in the mountains, blustering, car-shaking winds in the desert, and five lanes of hellish you’re-never-going-to-get-home-in-time-for-dinner traffic. That bumper-to-bumper traffic became my bumper ON bumper. The driver in front of me slammed on his brakes so fast that I crashed into him and then the driver behind me crashed into me. Our three-car pile-up left my RAV4 like an accordion. When the Arizona police arrived (yet ANOTHER run-in with the law) I realized the damages were more than duct tape could fix. 

Enter the tow truck driver who loaded us up and dropped us off on the curb of a car rental lot - me, the dogs, a mountain of suitcases, sacks, blankets, dog beds, dog food, metal art, cleaning supplies and ….. my VACUUM. Waiting for my rental, I resembled a homeless woman looking for a janitorial job. 

 

It was then when the dogs did their intervention. They looked me square in the eyes and told me this day had been my odyssey (they’re familiar with great works of literature); I had survived twenty-first century cyclops, lotus-eaters, shipwrecks, and whirlpools. They said I had passed the Universe’s tests and it was time to GO HOME. So I waved myself on my own damn way and drove that rental car like a motherfucker ‘til I arrived in Ithaca ….. otherwise known as Santa Fe (home). 

For your next girlfriends' get together I'd suggest an Amtrak trip.

Swiping Right, Right, Right

By Tonia

“Is it hot in here or is it just our fevers and shortness of breath?”- Twitter @ThunderFerret

I'm single. Really single. So, over the years, I've been on a few (OK......TONS of) dating websites, swiping a little to the right and a lot to the left.

But, in these times of perpetual boredom, I've found myself stalking the sites, swiping myself into a case of severe carpal tunnel. 

While I'm generally pretty selective in my right-swiping,desperate times call for outrageous measures. I mean, it’s such a weird time for all of us, I might as well make it weirder, right? So I've been swiping right just to get a little ….. uh ….. social interaction.

·      Doesn't look homeless? Swipe right.

·      No crotch pictures? Swipe right.

·      Background doesn’t look like he lives in his mother’s basement? Swipe right.

·      Doesn’t have a crazed, psychotic look in his eyes? Swipe right.

·      Spelled more words correctly than incorrectly? Swipe right. 

·    Doesn’t have a pic of himself with 6 kids in the back seat of the car? Swipe right.

·     Smiles in at least one of his pictures? Swipe right.

·     Looks like he has survival skills for the Apocalypse? Swipe right.

Of course there’s no meeting. I mean, I’m not even supposed to touch my own face, much less someone else’s ….. or any other body parts for that matter. Not that the guys aren’t trying to meet! Offers during quarantine:

·      “Can’t spell quarantine without u,r,a,q,t, Wanna meet?”

·      “Hey, do you need toilet paper? Because I could be your Prince Charmin.”

·      “Let’s do drinks at my place before we all get the Rona.”

·      “Whose flat screen is better for a little mutual confinement?”

Since carnal knowledge with new people doesn’t flatten the curve, sexting has become my entire love life now. But, let me tell you, if autocorrect doesn’t spoil the mood, my own ineptness does. Several years ago I accidentally texted a super risqué picture of myself to my daughter. I think she may still be in therapy…..

I also tend to poke fun at the wrong times. An “I want to kiss you all over” text gets “Like all over the house? All over the yard? All over the neighborhood?” as a response. When asked for pics, I can't seem to stop myself from sending the nude meme above and the pic you see here. I truly suck at this (and not in a fun way). Is there a class I can take somewhere? Sexting for Dummies?

But, I guess I’ll keep swiping (should I be wearing gloves?) and see how many men I can continue to terrorize. Ya gotta do something when under house arrest!

So, or your next girlfriends’ party, consider sharing the cheesiest pick-up lines you’ve ever heard. Then maybe admit to your own romantic faux-pas. That may take a few drinks, though.

Bonjour from Quarantaine

By Tonia

Anyone who knows me knows I love to travel. I love to see new places; I love to meet new people; I love to have adventures and tell stories about them afterwards. I recently went to Panama and was planning a trip to Spain and Morocco but…..well…..The Rona.

Living alone and being housebound is kind of the antithesis of all that I love. But I’ve tried to make the best of it. I’ve now counted all the change in my change jar, removed the dog hair from every piece of clothing in my closet, exfoliated my face and feet, read the backs of all my canned goods, plucked all the hair within an inch of my eyebrows…......

So I decided to take a trip. In…my…own…house. Destination: HME

I put on one of those dog hair-free outfits, grabbed my backpack and told Remington to get ready for our vacation (which, by the way, meant that my dog hair-free outfit now had dog hair). We headed straight to the museum (living room) for a viewing of the art.

It wasn’t exactly the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC. Hell, it wasn’t even like the Dog Collar Museum in England. It’s theme was more like Affordable Art for the social worker on a budget. As we strolled around the room, I found myself more fascinated by the new cracks in my walls than the art. Remington wanted to know if the pictures of trees were available for peeing.

Next we went to the beach (bathroom). I put on my bathing suit and went for a swim. I couldn’t really swim very far out but Remington kept an eye on me from the beach (bathroom rug). Fortunately I didn’t get my hair wet.

After all that activity we were pretty hungry so we stopped by a little bistro (back yard) and had a snack and some wine. Remington doesn’t usually drink wine (especially out of a glass) but he did don his French beret and try to bark in French. It was a fabulous ending to a very constricted vacation. But, hey, I’m doin’ the best I can.

For your next girlfriends’ get together, hop on Zoom and share your most hilarious vacation experiences!

And don’t forget to wash your hands and clean your keyboard before logging in……

Isolation Madness

by Tonia

Like everyone else right now, I’m living the Corona Life. But I live alone so it’s just me, myself and I. For short spurts, me, myself and I get along pretty well but, as an extrovert, this ongoing social distancing thing isn’t working too well for me.

Being ALONE so much, I’ve become poignantly aware that:

·      My tongue doesn’t know exactly where to rest inside my mouth

·      I blink every 6 seconds  

·      My fingernail beds are lop-sided

·      Crossing my left leg over my right leg isn’t as comfortable as crossing my right leg over my left

·      One nostril is different from the other

I’m also noticing some technical difficulties with my brain. Not having ANYONE to talk to, I’ve begun obsessing about every little twitch, itch, bump, spot, ache, pang, cramp, irritation, and tingle (and, hey, I’m 65 so I get a LOT of these). Yep. Pretty convinced I’ve developed several frightening and repulsive diseases in the last two weeks.

I felt a tickle in my throat the other day so I spent hours swallowing every three seconds to see if it really did hurt because, you know, that’s how the dreaded virus starts! Then I worried that all that saliva in my stomach was going to cause stomach cancer.

Later I felt a heaviness in my chest. OMG! Heart attacks run in my family! I immediately ran around the house leaving post-it notes on all my crap and shit for after my death.

All of this would be great fun in a doctor-patient role-play fantasy where I get to be the patient, but I’M IN ISOLATION!!! So I don’t have anyone to play doctor! Maybe I could pretend that my grocery delivery guy is making a <ahem> medical house call…..

But I digress. Back to my social distancing-induced hypochondria. Even my poor dog isn’t immune from my disease delusions. We were cuddling in bed (don’t judge) and his stomach starting growling. My mind immediately jumped to how he caught stomach cancer from me after my overzealous saliva episode. I then had a weepy talk with him about how much he has meant to me.

This is just not going well. My brain:

Hypochondriac Me: This is bad.

Reasonable Me: You’re fine.

Hypochondriac Me: But I have all these symptoms.

Reasonable Me: You’re fine. It’s all in your head.

Hypochondriac Me: I’d better google this.

Reasonable Me: DO NOT google! Get off Web MD. GET OFF! For the love of all that is good and decent, back away from the computer! Don’t do it!

Hypochondriac Me: I’m gonna’ die….

A very old recommendation for the treatment of hypochondria (from the 1600s – yes, I’ve been doing my research) is: Do not be solitary or idle. So basically, I’m fucked.

For your girlfriends get-together while we’re all in quarantine, get on ZOOM so you can chat and go HERE to play Cards Against Humanity online. 

And stay well!

Grading Hell

by Tonia

I’m a teacher – a college professor, to be exact. And this last semester I took on a record number of courses because of a colleague’s illness (when did I start being so damn nice??? Grrrrr…..). All was fine until the end of the semester when I entered ….. <insert menacing music> ….. the Five Circles of Grading Hell.

In the First Circle of Grading Hell, I was greeted by an old enemy, Procrastination. With over 150 papers and exams shadowing me like a stalker, all I could do was log on to Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Words with Friends and watch Netflix. I even answered 2 year old emails in my inbox. My house was never cleaner, my tax receipts never so organized and my eyebrows never so meticulously plucked.   

In the Second Circle of Grading Hell, I was met by the twins, Drudgery and Tedium. I corrected the same mistakes over and over and over….and over again, until I wanted to tear my eyes out and hang them like giant dice from my car’s rearview mirror. Here, at the edge of the abyss, I could feel my brain atrophying. If only I could be a bit snarky on a paper or two – THAT would entertain me – but nooooo, I think there’s a policy against irritable snarcasm.

In the Third Circle of Grading Hell, I was overpowered by Drowsiness (can one “catch” narcolepsy?). Words spiraled around in my head, disassociated from their sentences, hanging somewhere between caffeine-addled consciousness and sedation – THIS is academia’s replacement for Ambien. Got insomnia? Grade! They say that 3 am is the hour of writers, painters, poets and other creative people. Uh.....did you notice that teachers/graders didn’t make the list?

In the Fourth Circle of Grading Hell, I was engulfed by Disheveledness. Bloodshot eyes, greasy, matted hair stuck to my scalp, and a 3-day old, coffee-stained shirt - I made zombies look like Ms. Universe contestants. Colleagues who saw me would simply say, “Grading, huh?” There’s just not enough make-up to cover up this kind of ugly.

In the Fifth (and FINAL) Circle of Hell I was strangled by Self-doubt. As I read final exam essays I swung wildly between, “OMG, these exams are awful. I’m a terrible teacher. The students got nothing from me. I suck” and “OMG, these final exam essays are fabulous. I’ve made this far too easy. I’m a terrible teacher. I guess I REALLY suck."

And just when I thought I had made it through Grading Hell, there was yet a new degree of agony waiting for me …… a faculty meeting.

For your next girlfriends’ party be sure to make this fabulous Lemon Meringue Pie Martini. I give it an A.

LEMON MERINGUE PIE MARTINI

1 ounce vodka

2 ounces Triple Sec

3 ounces half-n-half

1 ounce powdered yellow lemonade 
Extra yellow lemonade powder to rim the glass

Whipped cream and lemon slice to garnish

Rim the glass with powdered yellow lemonade. Shake up the first 3 ingredients in a shaker. Pour into glass and top with whipped cream and a lemon slice.

My Spanish Dildo

By Tonia

“It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression, ‘As pretty as an airport.’” - Douglas Adams

I recently went to Spain and Morocco with my Boy Toy  (OK, he’s only 5 months younger than me, but we like to call him that). We had a great time sight-seeing while gluttonizing on tapas, paella, Iberian ham, grilled sardines and gazpacho - and drinking more Sangria than our combined weights. 

There were, of course, a few hick-ups along the way. International travel is never without them. For example, there were unmanned highway toll booths every friggin’ 10 miles with more slits, buttons and levers than an Apollo control panel.  Two advanced-degreed brains working together couldn’t figure them out.  Other drivers had to stop and get out of their cars to assist us. 

And the ferry that I was SURE only took 30 minutes to get to Tangier took 90 minutes – mostly because we were off-course from our intended destination. We ended up at a Moroccan industrial port that looked like a thriller movie scene where creepy things happen. Boy Toy casually remarked we would probably end up kidnapped, stripped naked, chained and beaten (and not in a good way) on a cold cement floor in a Turkish prison. I reminded him we were in MOROCCO – not Turkey. And, fortunately, after one shuttle, one hike to the highway and 2 taxi rides, we made it to our hotel with our clothes on and no bruises or chains (we saved that for later).

But we really did have a wonderful time. One of our favorite destinations was the Love Stop Sex Shop – not really listed in Rick Steve’s travel guide, but definitely worth visiting. Unlike the seedy, dark places I.…ahem….have accidentally fallen upon, this place was well-lit, well-staffed and tastefully decorated. Ya gotta' love an elegant, sophisticated store in debauchery – kinda’ like an Apple Store of sex shops - a Sex Fifth Avenue. Of course, I wanted a souvenir! Tired of using my electric toothbrush as a vibrator, I decided something new and exotic was in order. And I discovered The Delight. Not only did it vibrate, it SUCKED.  I couldn’t pay for my shiny new Spanish dildo fast enough. After all, it certainly doesn’t suck to get sucked.

But all good things must come to an end and the time to fly home arrived. Looking forward to a good groping (pat down) from a handsome Spanish airport security guard, I instead found my carry-on bag getting all of the attention. After its ride through x-ray, the guard angrily pulled me and my bag aside and dug through its contents like a Gestapo on a 1944 train. He threw out some argon oil and kept excavating until he discovered….you guessed it….The Delight. Waving it high in the air like a sword in battle and shrieking Spanish accusations at me, it seemed he thought it was some kind of taser…..or weapon of mass destruction.

To avoid getting arrested and going to that Turkish prison Boy Toy warned me about I needed to explain myself. I didn’t know how to say “dildo” in Spanish and I was pretty sure it wasn’t in mini Spanish-English dictionary. Under other circumstances, I would have used charades and gestures to communicate, but I was afraid this kind of charade/gesture might be interpreted as a feminist-foreign-fuck you. I thought, “I’m fucked. And, worse yet, this thing is never gonna’ fuck me.”

While all this was going on in my head, a female security guard approached Dickomero (I’m pretty sure that’s Spanish for “male security guy”) and muttered something to him out of the side of her mouth and, though I can only imagine what she said, she had a knowing look on her face and a little twinkle in her eye. He slowly lowered The Delight and gently put it back in my bag. I think he may have even zipped it for me. And, like that, we were on our way back home – The Delight, the Boy Toy and me. But, somewhere in Spain that night, I bet there was a wife getting a LOT of questions…..

If you can't get to Spain this year, at least enjoy some Sangria with your girlfriends. It’s a fabulous beverage for your next girlfriends’ get-together. Maybe after a few glasses you'll want to practice flamengo! Here’s the recipe we love. Cheers!!

INGREDIENTS:

1 750 ml of red wine

1 lemon, sliced

2 oranges, sliced

1 apple, sliced

1 squirt Stevia

1/4 cup brandy

1/4 cup lemon cello

2 cups ginger ale, club soda or sparkling water

DIRECTIONS:

Pour the wine into a pitcher and toss in the fruit wedges (leaving out seeds if possible) along with the Stevia, brandy and lemon cello. Stir and chill overnight; add ginger ale, club soda or sparkling water just before serving. Poor over ice into glasses. Don't worry if some of the fruit drops into the glasses.