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!!

My Recovery from Mom Jeans

by Tonia

"The finest clothing made is a person's own skin, but, of course, society demands something more than this." - Mark Twain

I have no fashion sense. While I probably dress better than a typical Walmart shopper, after 50-something years, I still have no idea what looks good on me. I know this is true because my daughters tell me on a weekly basis:

-- “Please say that you are just working in the garden today!”

-- “Mom, that dress looks like bad wallpaper with a zipper.”

-- “If you wear that, you’re riding alone because I’m going in my own car.”

I admit that on a recent ski trip I wore Rachel’s sweater from middle school. I thought it was a very cute, ski-like outfit. Guess not. When I came downstairs for breakfast, she and Anna burst into hysterical laughter and moved to another table. Damn brats.

They once advised me to buy some really cute boots so that I would look more up to date. OK. I get it. Get people to look at my feet instead of my aging face and body. I wore them to work and thought I was going to have to call for a wheelchair to get from the parking garage to my office. I stayed seated the entire rest of the day and stayed late so that, after all my colleagues left, I could rip those fuckers off my feet and go back to my car barefooted.

One time Anna went shopping with me to get some jeans. Guess I’ve been wearing the dreaded, long-butt “Mom” jeans. Every pair she wanted me to try on felt like I was one bend-over from a plumbers’ look. She insisted that I find some where the pockets ended below the bottom of my ass. Supposedly it makes the butt look better. Honey, if that’s the case, I need pockets in more strategic places than just my ass!                                                          

Here are Anna’s “rules” for avoiding the long-butt, “Mom” jean look (now programmed into my phone):

   (1) Stay away from jeans that come in small, 
medium and large sizes – code for “Mom” jean.

   (2) Shun jeans without back pockets or where you can’t tell the front from the back. Your rear-end will look like a gravity-inflicted watermelon was shoved into the back of your pants.

   (3) Avoid jeans where your socks show while standing. Not the “Mom” jean look – just dorky.

   (4) Look for jeans with a definitive break where your butt ends and your legs begin. Otherwise, your butt ends up with an infinity effect….

   (5) Finally, keep away from a completely elastic waist. Now you’ve gone way beyond “Mom” jeans. You’ve gone to jean hell.

For your next girlfriends’ get-together, have a Progressive Fashion Consulting Hor d’oeuvres Party. Each friend whose home is used lays out her main wardrobe pieces that she doesn’t know quite what to do with. As she asks her girlfriends questions and/or tries on things for advice, everyone is able to nibble on goodies. Time limit should be 30 min. at each house. Here is a fun recipe to match the theme! 

The Party Dress Veggie Pizzas

Roll out refrigerated crescent roll dough and cut with a dress cookie cutter. Place on a cookie sheet and bake for 10 minutes. Mix one 8 oz package of cream cheese with half a package of Hidden Valley Fiesta Ranch Dip Mix. Once the “dresses” have cooled, spread the cream cheese mixture on each dress. Design your Vera Wang gown with items such as:  red bell pepper, pimento, sliced American cheese, chopped black olives, grated carrot, cherry tomato, spinach leaves, broccoli, cucumber strips, etc. 

Tell us your fashion faux pas!!

Awww, Motherhood....

by Tonia

"People are giving birth underwater now. They say it's less traumatic for the baby because it's in water. But certainly more traumatic for the other people in the pool." - Elayne Boosler

Aww, motherhood......often begins with pregnancy. Back in the days when I was knocked up we couldn't find out the gender of our unborn babies - it was a surprise. Personally, I thought it was surprise enough to see a human head coming out my vagina but then I got another surprise when I saw its genitalia slide on out. I got surprised three times -- and each one produced a child (you know how one worries).

One (of the many) problems with having children is that they are not returnable. They come. They stay. They stay for a very loooong time. I always thought I'd be the perfect mother, but that delusion quickly turned to desperate prayers of, "O God, if you'll help me not kill them, I promise to quit fantasizing about the lawn boy." I also prayed for the FDA to approve tranquilizer guns for children but that prayer was never answered. I agree with Ed Asner, "Raising kids is part joy and part guerrilla warfare."

But the years flew by. I let them live and now have three grown children - and most of my sanity (well.......). I think they may even have forgiven me. And because of this colossal accomplishment, I'd like to share what I have learned about motherhood from each developmental stage. Tell me if you agree.

Things I learned as a mom of young children:

-- Small Legos will indeed pass through the digestive tract.

-- When a child doesn't want his picture taken, give it up. It's easier to balance the national budget.

-- Diaper backwards spells 'repaid'.

-- If you run out of milk you can add baby formula to mashed potatoes. (Other great cooking tips to follow in another blog.)

Things I learned as a mom of school-aged children:

-- If you have trouble getting your child's attention, just sit down and look comfortable.

-- If vomit is spewing from your child's mouth, don't try to run to the bathroom with the vomiter... it leaves a trail.

-- There are fifty shades of pink eye.

-- Dropping off children at school in your nightgown and robe will guarantee that you run out of gas....even if you have a full tank.

Things I learned as a mom of teens:

-- Standing mailboxes are only temporary house ornaments when teaching teens to drive.

-- Eye rolling, foot stomping, door slamming and OMGing can happen in a single motion... and at Olympic performance levels.

-- Zits are claims to be absent from school. Don’t fall for it.

-- Teens only threaten to run away. They rarely do. But the thought of it helps.

 Things I am STILL learning as a mom of adult children (God help me):

-- Don't give advice.

-- Humans are NOT the smartest species - we let our children return home after they are grown.

-- Don't give advice.

-- Giving grandkids giant chocolate sundaes with Coke to drink just before their parents arrive to pick them up is fabulous revenge.

-- Don't give advice.

-- Oh yeah, and don't give advice.

A fun girlfriends' get-together is a WEARY MOM PARTY. Activity ideas:

(1) Have everyone bring the weariest-looking picture they have of themselves and create a collage to hang. 

(2) Give everyone 3 index cards and ask them to write down 3 ways they have embarrassed their children (one on each card). Post these on the walls around the room and ask everyone to go around and mark the ones that they, too, have been guilty of. See which child-embarrassing behavior wins. 

(3) Create a Mothering Mistakes Bingo game (i.e. "Let my child eat ice cream for breakfast," "Forgot to pick up my child," "Used 
the TV as a babysitter," "Lied to my child," etc.)

Anxiety Girl

By Anna 

"Love looks forward, hate looks back, anxiety has eyes all over its head." - Mignon McLaughlin

Anxiety sucks. I know, because as a child the Bluebird of Happiness flipped me the bird and the Blue-hawk of Worry descended on me instead. I worry about work; I worry about my family; I worry about my car. I worry about my health, my teeth, the crack developing in the driveway, the tiny mole I just discovered on the back of my hand.…..you get the picture.

In fact, the only time that I am worry free is when I’m having a panic attack.

And the only fear that I DON’T seem to have is arachibutyrophobia – the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of my mouth. Yea, don’t have that one.

At night I try to turn away from worry by flip flopping in my bed – but that only leads to dreams of jumping off a ship, the world ending, running from a tsunami or hiding from raining asteroids. It’s exhausting. Then morning comes.

That’s when I start worrying about what to wear to work. I'm constantly thinking what the staff and managers will think about this/that outfit, these/those shoes: heels/no heels. And, by the time I leave for work, everything from my closet is in my bed and I'm running late. And the anxiety goes on…....

Research says 40 million Americans suffer with some kind of anxiety. Guess I’m not alone.  But where are you people?? You must be hiding. I will no longer be ashamed! I’m now admitting that I’m powerless and I'm taking one anxiety attack at a time.

So, in that vein, why not have a girlfriends’ Panic Party? Create some games that let your girlfriends laugh about their anxieties, depressions and self doubt – like a Bingo Game with squares such as Fear of Teenagers, Fear of Rectal Disease, Fear of Nudity, Fear of Farting During Sex, Fear of Staying Single Forever. You get the picture. And don’t forget to fix your Panic Potion drink.

PANIC  POTION

3/4 oz. Crown Royal 

2/4 oz. Peach Schnapps 

1/4 oz. Coconut Rum 

2/4 oz. Cranberry Juice 

1 cup Red Bull Energy Drink

Qty: 2 

Directions: Grab your shaker and put some ice in it. Don't second guess the quantity no matter how much it is. Pour in the crown, peach schnapps, coconut rum and cranberry juice, and shake. It will get cold but, DON’T WORRY, your hand won’t freeze to the shaker.

Pour the mixture between 2 shot glasses. Take 3 slow, deep breaths. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Now fill 2 high ball glasses with 1/2 cup each of Red Bull. Drop one shot glass into each high ball glass of Red Bull. It's OK, you can wipe any spills up later. And, no, it won't break. I wouldn’t ask you to drink broken glass.

Then shoot the whole thing. But go easy or, yes, you will chip a tooth. Enjoy!