Unlatched

Estrofests is thrilled to host guest blogger, Rachel Reedy. Rachel is a party thrower/party attender extraordinaire. She is an inspiration to Estrofests as you’ll see from the many party awards in her bio. 

by Rachel Reedy

“Whoever said ‘there’s no use crying over spilled milk’ obviously never pumped six ounces, then accidentally dumped it.” - Unknown

After 14 months, 2 weeks, 5 days and 9 hours, my son was weaned! He quit the tit! FREEDOM!! Now I can be gone for a whole afternoon ... or a whole day ... even an entire weekend! I'm pretty sure my husband was afraid I might run away.

But instead of running away, I decided breastfeeding deserved a celebration, so I threw myself a girlfriends’ party -  "Unlatched: A Weaning Celebration." I wanted to celebrate being able to wear outfits that look good instead of outfits I can pull my boobs out of (and, BTW, what I mean by "look good" is something clean and wearable while chasing a toddler).  

I don't have to constantly have a clock running in my head of "he ate at 1:00 and will be hungry in 3 hours so I need to be home by 4:00." I can wear a regular bra with no nursing pads inside.  Someone else can put him to bed, so I can actually go somewhere after 8:00 pm! Drinking! I can drink whenever and however much I want! Well, I guess I still need to be a responsible mother, but I don't have to wait to drink that 1 glass of wine right after nursing.

For my celebration I invited my girlfriends to brunch since most of my friends are very much still "latched." I handed out goodie bags made out of my unused breast milk storage bags.  Each bag had a breast pad and candy inside.  What better way to use up the rest of my breastfeeding supplies! At the brunch I toasted my achievement and the support of my friends for not only letting me whip out my boobs in their house, but also for holding a conversation with me while discreetly looking away from my nipple.

I asked my sister how will I know when my milk has dried up.  She compared it to blowing up a balloon, letting it go, and after flying around the living room it lands on your chest. Awesome.

While there are things I miss about nursing - especially being able to eat 500 calories of Oreos - I’ll also miss starting the day leisurely nursing and ending the day quietly nursing. I’ll miss having the boob to settle him down if nothing else works.  I'm proud of my achievement.  I mean I literally grew this person! Me! My body produced the substance to literally grow him into this trotting, screaming, cat tail pulling little person! My sweet husband bought me an unlatched gift.  I think a gift should be mandatory for all breastfeeding mothers.  If breastfeeding doesn't call for a new electronic tea kettle, I just don't know what does.

I'm looking forward to being able to see my girlfriends on a more regular basis and in longer intervals and very excited to celebrate when they are finally unlatched!  I hope I have started a new tradition among my friends!

Rachel lives for themed parties, costume creations, & relay games.  Her favorite costumes include, The Artist, formerly known as Prince, Tonya Harding, Hulk Hogan, and every 80’s outfit! Her awards (of which she is MOST proud) include First Place in Get that Man Off My Back relay race, Best Pirate Name (Captain Hammer Toe), and Champion 80’s hair! In her non-party life Rachel is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker & is currently staying home to take care of her 15 month old son. She                                                            resides in Houston, TX.

Toast or Roast?

By Tonia

“We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness – and call it love – true love.” – Robert Fulghum

I recently attended the wedding of two dear friends. It was history-making - the first gay wedding performed by a minister in their denomination. And it was absolutely beautiful - not a dry eye in the place.

Dagobert (not his real name  …. seriously, who has a name like that?) asked me to give a toast at the reception. This was definitely not one of his smartest decisions. Later he accused me of doing a roast instead of a toast. Some people are just so damn sensitive…..

So I thought I would share it here and let you decide. Toast or roast?

Dagobert and I met 25 yrs ago working at a hospice. It was good to share an office with someone who wasn’t stiff ….. although Raymond <husband> might disagree. While working there death seemed better than the loooong, boring interdisciplinary team meetings we had to attend. I would stick pencils up my nose and he would lean back in his chair and flick his nipples. Somehow I always got caught but he never did.

There was also a time when Dagobert called my practice and, thinking he was talking to me, opened the conversation with, “Given any good blow jobs lately?” Five secretaries later, he’s finally learned to ask to whom he is speaking.

Over the years we lost touch, but 4 years ago we found each other again. I was so excited to catch up. But all Dagobert could talk about was this new guy. Raymond, Raymond, Raymond <think nasally whine>.
Raymond this and Raymond that. Geez.

But then I met Raymond. I instantly recognized in him, as in Dagobert, the same warmth, the same generosity, the same kindness, the same obnoxious humor …. and, of course, the same stupid fart jokes. Like one sang to the other, “You are the wind beneath my sheets.”

I don’t know if love is all you need but, if it is, Dagobert and Raymond are rich beyond measure.

I also don’t know what souls are made of, but theirs are surely made of the same stuff (partly farts, no doubt).

So raise your glasses because today love wins. Dagobert and Raymond, may your love feed each other’s souls with strength, laughter and a lifetime of happiness.  

For your next girlfriends’ get-together, grab a bottle of champagne and celebrate one another! Create toasts for each other. We all need the laughs and the affirmations! 

Tennis Menace

by Tonia

"The depressing thing about tennis is that no matter how good I get, I'll never be as good as a wall." - Mitch Hedberg

My granddaughter started taking tennis lessons this summer. Watching her brought back fond memories of my own tennis attempts in childhood. So I decided – what the hell – I like raising a racket – I should take it up again. Never mind that I’m 61 years old, uncoordinated and out of shape.

So, my first attempt was with Rachel (daughter) who also hasn’t played in years. Her first words to me were to take it easy - she didn’t want me to fall and break a hip because she’d have to take care of me the rest of my life. Grrrrrr ….. I raised brats.

This is what it looked like: both of us chasing balls on our court, on other courts, over the fence, in the parking lot and down the street. And this is what it sounded like:

-- “F**k!”

-- “S**t!”

-- “God d****t!”

Along with:

-- “Where’s the ball?”

-- “Just kidding!”

-- “Was that your Protect-My-Boobs shot?”

-- “Do you do all your own stunts?”

The grandkids went with us but, after a short time, they both hid in the car - they didn’t want their friends to see them with us. I didn't come home with tennis elbow – I came home with tennis body.

My next attempt was with the boyfriend where Love means nothing. Trying to look cute and sexy, I ran up on the ball to smack it and *WHACK!* it bounced off my forehead and took my hat with it. My stupefied look was not …. well …. sexy.

But, never one to give up just because I should, I have continued to play with some girlfriends (where looking stupefied is well accepted). The last time we played I ran to make a shot, knocked over the ball hopper and sent 70 balls into the neighboring court where GOOD players were playing. Yes, it was epic.

So, for some great exercise, lots of laughs and LOTS of personal growth in frustration tolerance, take some girlfriends to play tennis. Then go get a drink – or four.

Driving Others Crazy

by Tonia

"Until you've learned to drive, you've never really learned to swear." - Robert Paul

For the record, just because I’m sober doesn’t mean I’m a good driver. My friends remind me that they exhibit great courage when they ride with me. Recently, as I was driving with a friend down a mountain, I scraped the passenger’s door on the barrier that keeps cars from falling off the side of the road. He started to pale. Then, when we got into town I ran a STOP sign. That imaginary brake on the passenger's side went right through the floor. Geez. Some people just want to play it so safe.

A few months ago the boyfriend was following me in his car since he was unfamiliar with the area. I forgot which side of the road my exit was on and crossed three lanes of traffic in a single lane change. I thought this was a terrific feat …. except …. I. Lost. The. Boyfriend. Oops! Should have tried that with the ex!

Sometimes people do honk at me – but since my bumper sticker says, “Honk if you’re horny,” I’m never really sure if I’m getting hit on or if someone almost got hit. Maybe I need a new bumper sticker. Do any of these work?

-- “Friends don’t let friends ride with me”

-- “Don’t blame me; the dog is learning to drive”

-- ”If you think my driving is bad, you should see me dance”

-- “My bumper has been around ….. around a rock ….. around a tree ….. around a fence post”

-- “Sure, the cassis has a few dents and dings, but so does the car”

I really should give some consideration to safer driving. It’s starting to cost me. This summer I ripped the bottom off of my little Prius – TWICE! And had to pay for it. Guess a Prius isn’t a jeep.

For your next girlfriends’ get-together, try this cocktail. It’s one of Anna’s creations and we’re calling it the Ambulance Chaser.

Ambulance Chaser

2 oz vodka

4 oz t-Up

½ tsp. ginger

OPTIONAL: ¼ tsp chopped jalapeno

Shake and serve over ice

Is Your Betty Ready?

by Tonia

“My favorite snack is vagina. The only thing I hate is unwrapping all that saran wrap.” - Jarod Kintz

I recently ran across an ad for hair color –hair color for down there. Yep. Even I was surprised – I mean, who has hair on their Eager-Beavers any more? Not me! Too much hair just makes my camel toe look fat.

I guess the idea originated when someone saw hair dressers sending customers home with small bits of dye used to color their hair to use at home on the ol’ pubes - a batch to match the snatch. Carpet to match the drapes. Shoes to match the purse. Whatever.

The product is on the Betty Beauty website. It says, “get your betty ready.” Who calls their cooch “betty”? And get it ready for what? A perm? A blow dry? A pony tail?

But I was impressed with the all the available colors. Besides the typical hair colors, they also have FUN (hot pink), SEXY (lilac), LOVE (ruby red) and BRIDAL (aqua blue). Maybe I should let the lady garden grow wild so that I can use my bush as a mood ring. You know, change the color so the boyfriend only has to raise my skirt to see what mood I’m in:

BROWN – Feeling like shit. Touch me and die.

BLUE – Feeling kinda’ down, but convince me……
BLOND – Feeling like some fun.

LILAC – I’m open to anything. And I DO mean anything.

RUBY RED – Fuck me NOW!

Hmmmmmm. What are your thoughts? Go ahead and tell us in the comments below.

And, for your next girlfriends’ vagina celebration, add these two games to your party activities after looking at the ideas on our previous blogs HERE and HERE. 

--- Create cards with all the pictures of the different hair cut styles. Pass them out to everyone and ask them to write a girlfriend’s name on the style that best matches her. Post them or go around the room and explain your choices. Or do the same with the Betty Beauty colors.

--- Create a poster or comment box for everyone to complete the following sentence, “If my vagina could talk, it would say ________________.”