Jacking with Packing

by Tonia

"Home may be where the heart is but don’t ask me which box it’s in.” – me

I’m relocating to Santa Fe in a few weeks. Moving was such great idea ….. until I started packing. Holy Hoarder! For every one box I pack, 3 more boxes worth of crap appear. My moving date is approaching faster than a speeding bullet and there’s no Superman here to save me from this cardboard crisis. I guess I’m going to have to quickly make a LOT of new friends before my moving date (preferably really buff ones from a gym). Then I can have a packing party. I'll serve alcohol but it will have to be BYC (Bring Your Own Cups) because I can’t find mine.

I tried to get rid of some of this crap at a Yard Sale a few weeks ago but every time a friend dropped by to see how I was doing, I had to grab an item she had given me and hide it. I ended up with a huge pile of gifted crap in my shed. People can be so touchy, ya know?

A few years ago I had a house fire and lost most of my possessions. Frankly, that sounds pretty damn good about now. Maybe when I get just a little more tired of packing I’ll convince myself that I really don’t like the rest of my things and just leave them.

The other day I was packing up some of the crap and heard my cell phone ring from inside a box. It took me 30 minutes to figure out WHICH box because ….. of course ….. it quit ringing after a few seconds. And god only knows where I’ve packed the dog’s leash. I had to improvise with packing tape wrapped around his collar…..even made myself a cute little handle. 

I think I’m developing symptoms of Relocation Psychosis (RP – not RIP…..yet): auditory hallucinations of popping bubble wrap; nightmares of boxes climbing in the windows to entrap me; complete disorganization; difficulty staying on task. Is there medicine for this?

For your next girlfriends’ get-together……well, crap, I have no ideas. I’m too busy trying to stay away from the creepy boxes trying to get me........

Angry Birds

by Tonia

For several years sparrows have been nesting under the eaves of my roof. This “home inside my home” may be home-grown but it is NOT homey! It is an intrusive declaration of war - a survival of the fittest.

Those fucking birds are like dive bombers coming through the patio. I’ve had injuries trying to take cover.

And the incessant chirping of hungry baby birds at 4:00 a.m. is enough to make me want to be a gun owner.

And did I mention the bird poop all over my patio furniture? It’s like my patio table is an avian shit magnet!

And, my favorite fowl remnant - the occasional “dumping” (splatting) of a least-favored newly hatched naked baby onto the patio – usually in the early morning hours - so that I can step on it as I start my day. Yes, I’m a bird hater.

I’ve tried to keep those birds from nesting. Really. I’ve tried -

-- I’ve stuffed tubular inserts into the cracks of the eaves. RESULT: tubular inserts removed  and tossed on my doorstep as humiliating evidence of my defeat.

-- I’ve taped reflective psychedelic flapping-in-the breeze ribbons to the eaves to scare them. RESULT: wild dance parties with a disco ball and loud music.

-- I’ve put garlic and other bird-repelling herbs under the eaves. RESULT: garlic-belching birds flying by thanking me for the new bird food recipe.

-- I’ve tacked wire mesh over favorite nesting spots. RESULT: wire mesh reconfigured as a barbed wire fence to keep ME out.

-- I’ve left them notes that they are going to have to start paying rent if they don’t leave. RESULT: shredded notes as part of the nest.

But this year, with unseasonable warm weather for February, I decided I’d better declare war early. With just a few pieces of straw protruding from the eaves, I climbed up on my shaky ladder and caulked every single tiny GD space I could find under those eaves. It now looks like my roof has been glued to the house by a 2 year old.

After my caulking frenzy, I looked up to admire my handiwork and there were two birds sitting on the guttering near their former nesting spots. Glaring. No, SERIOUSLY glaring. I mean, PLOTTING REVENGE glaring. I ran into the house as fast as I could. I’ve created my very own angry birds. God help me.

For your next girlfriends’ get-together, have a slumber party and, in the middle of the night, instead of TPing someone’s house, move those bird nests to your arch-enemy neighbor’s eaves!

It's Music to My Vagina

by Tonia

Have you heard about Babypod? It's a small speaker inserted into the vagina so pregnant women’s little uterine occupants can listen to music. Yep. A musical tampon. (I thought one of joys of pregnancy was NOT having to use tampons!) I know lots of women who GOT pregnant with music, but I’ve not known any to stick music up their va-jays-jays AFTER they got knocked up.

But it’s nice to know that the vagina can be so functional …. since it’s mostly an unused, empty space - and so conveniently located. Just jam a couple of speakers up there and turn up the muzak! Maybe it could also be used for other kinds of storage as well. Snacks. Household items. Cleaning supplies. How about a pez dispenser to reward a partner for a little cunnilingus?

Supposedly Babypod was invented after several ultrasounds showed fetuses responding to music by moving their mouths and tongues – you know, like fetus lip syncing. Can’t wait for that new show. The makers of Babypod also assert that music improves in vitro fertilization (no vagina needed for that, BTW). You know, cuz sperm like to try their best dance moves as they move to the beat of the music while approaching the ovum.

A definite advantage of the Babypod would be to get a little vibration going in the ol’ hoo-ha. Kind of like those hands-free vibrators. Which I guess means staying out of the public eye while playing Beethoven to Cletus the Fetus. But it would be kind of fun to walk around Walmart and confuse people about the faint music sound. If anyone asked where the music was coming from, I’d simply say, “Yea, its my vagina.”

For your next girlfriends’ get together, forget the Babypod and just have a sex toy party. You’ll especially like the hands-free remote-operated vibrator! You’re welcome!

My Footnote about Football

by Tonia

“Football combines the two worst things about America: violence punctuated by committee meetings.” – George F. Will

 

Ugh. It’s football season - professional football, college football, high school football, pee wee football, prenatal football (OK…..maybe I went too far). There’s Sunday nights, Monday nights, Thursday nights, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and all of January – and, of course, the motherload of football, the Super Bowl. I know that there are women who like football but, frankly, I would prefer the zombie apocalypse.

How is it that a 60 minute game can take over 3 hours??? And, if running and passing are the primary ways to advance the ball, why is it called FOOTball?? And why do tackles look more like collisions? Maybe I’d like football more if the players wore Chippendales outfits as uniforms and danced the ball to the goal line.

I looked up the history of football (can always find humor in history!) and discovered that when the snap was first introduced players were allowed to hold on to the ball indefinitely. In a game between Yale-Princeton each team held the ball for an entire half, resulting in a 0-0 tie. Needless to say, spectators were NOT happy. Reminds me of the kind of action I get on some of my dates.

So here are some things I would rather do than watch football –

-- Rearrange the items in my frig in alphabetical order

-- Pluck the hair from my armpit

-- Clean out the 3 years of clogged hair from the bathtub drain

-- Pick up the mountains of dog poop in the back yard

-- Complete FAFSA forms for all of my granddaughter’s senior class

So if you and your girlfriends are avoiding football, have an anti-football party by cheering for your girlfriends. Decorate with pom-poms. Serve champagne and finger sandwiches. Dedicate songs to each other. Have each guest write her name and a goal on a poster board; then have everyone write on each poster why they think that girlfriend will be successful in accomplishing her goal. And, most of all, hug – don’t tackle.

Is There a Mood Whisperer in the House?

By Tonia

"When I was a boy, my mother wore a mood ring. When she was in a good mood it turned blue. In a bad mood, it left a big red mark on my forehead." - Jeff Shaw

Confession. Recently I was a bit grumpy……OK, more than grumpy….. bitchy. I’m not usually a mood swinger but I definitely had a foul-assed mood when several home disasters hit me one right after another. I was so irritable I didn’t want to be around anyone, including myself. I just didn’t have enough middle fingers to truly express myself. I fantasized about putting barbed wire around my office and a voice message on my phone saying, “I’m having a really bad life right now. Call back in 2 years.”  And you know that whole “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade” idea? I just wanted to squirt that damn lemon juice into someone’s open sore.

Most women know something about irritability – when the Mood Contaminating Fairy spreads her bitchy dust. It’s usually because a significant other isn’t listening to us, or when no one is grateful for our hard work or when we’ve got too much to do.……and, well…….and when we have a bad hair day and feel fat and have a new zit….. 

So what does one do to feel better when a mood makes Grumpy Cat look like Little Miss Sunshine?

Experts recommend exercise. I guess it’s hard to feel blue when your face is all red. Or maybe all that heavy breathing makes us smile when we remember other adventures in heavy breathing!

Doing something novel is also supposed to be a good pick-me-up. I don’t think driving blindfolded would be a good novel activity for me (too much like the way I drive already). Maybe decorate my vibrator in various “outfits” to leave messages for the boyfriend…..

Professionals also suggest humor to combat irritability. When bad things happen we’re supposed to ask ourselves, “How can I see this as funny?” OK. I’ll give it a try. When the tornado blows my roof off I can say, “Guess that whirlwind romance did some damage!” and when my sewer collapses I can say, “Well, shit!” Uh. Guess I’ll work on that some more. Maybe I’ll just imagine a T-Rex trying to masturbate instead.

And, finally, counting one’s blessings is supposed to be helpful in lifting our spirits. I’m seriously thankful for my girlfriends and how they have inspired and supported me through ALL of my moods!

OH! And I’m also thankful that I’m not pregnant…..

For your next girlfriends’ get together take a hike together (remember: exercise) and talk about all the irritating people in your lives who you’d like to “take a hike!”

The Never Ending Asphalt Hell Story

By Tonia

"He who hesitates is not only lost, but miles from the next exit." -- Unknown

Over the holidays I drove to Ft Worth to spend time with the grandmunchkins. I was excited to see them, but the drive down is more tiresome than a texting fanatic date. It is a mind-numbing, spirit-crushing endurance test of Never-Ending-Asphalt-Hell.

Unlike the boring meetings at work, when I’m driving I can’t answer emails, update my dating profile or google naughty pictures. So, after flipping through every friggin' radio station, picking at all the skin blemishes I could locate, and finger combing my hair until sparks flew off the ends, I thought I should engage my mind in something. You know, something besides my typical pornographic thoughts. I could think of a story line for the next great American novel…….Nah.
I could revise my life goals…….Nah.

I could plan my will…....Nah.

I finally decided on thinking up pranks. Things like:

(1) Rigging my medicine cabinet so that marbles fell out if someone opened it during a party

(2) Scraping the icing out of Oreo cookies and replacing it with toothpaste

(3) Pouring water in my hand, pretending to sneeze and throwing the water on someone

(4) Super-gluing the lids on people’s plastic water bottles

(5) Taping a small piece of duct tape to the bottom of a faucet (it creates quite a spray when turned on)

So what do you think? Give me YOUR best pranks in the comments below!

And, for your next girlfriends’ get-together consider playing The Joys of….. game.

Directions:

Pass out one index card to each person. Ask everyone to title their cards by completing the phrase The Joy of….. using a current uncomfortable situation from their lives. (Examples: The Joys of Living with a Two Year Old; The Joys of Being Fifty and Single; The Joys of Working Retail, etc.) After writing their titles, have everyone number their cards 1-5 in a column on the left side of the index card (as if they were going to take a spelling test).

Then direct everyone to pass their cards to the person on their right. That person must fill in #1 with a humorous statement about the title. (Example: for The Joys of Living with a Two Year Old, someone could write, “I can add Temper Tantrum Tamer to my resume;” for The Joys of Being Fifty and Single, someone could write, “I now have a closer relationship with my vibrator,” etc.)

After everyone has written something on another person’s #1, instruct everyone to pass cards to the right again. The next person then writes a humorous statement on #2. Continue until 5 people have each added one humorous statement to 5 different cards. Then return the card to its owner. Encourage guests to post these at home when they need a distraction!