SANTA AIN’T GOT NOTHIN’ ON MY LITTLE BROTHER

"Hey, Cory…hang on just a second. My brothers are messin’ around in the fireplace and I gotta go check on them.”

The handset clicked as I set the phone down on the table, irritated, because Cory Huffman was the foxiest guy in the eighth grade and he called ME on the phone! My mom was at nursing classes. We (my siblings and I) were home after class and I was babysitting ‘til she got home. The fireplace was empty. My brothers weren’t around, but I could hear muffled rumblings emanating from the brick cavern. They must be upstairs. The two flights of stairs to the upper level of our split entry flew under my feet. Hhhhhmmmm….that’s weird. They’re not playing in the upstairs fireplace, either.

There was a ladder on the back porch, leaning against the side of the house, leading to the flat roof. Oh, crap! I flew up the ladder and looked around. Not a soul up there. No animals. No debris. Just some puffs of soot emanating from the chimney. Oh, dear Lord…I just knew I was going to have to end my call with Cory Huffman because something bad was definitely going on. I ran to the chimney and looked at the three portals that topped it. The right portal was filled with concrete. The middle one was open and clear. The far left portal was billowing black cotton candy clouds and every burst carried the tiny words, “HELP ME!” as they rose heavenward. I recognized the voice of my youngest brother (his name is Kent but I’ll call him Tink to protect the innocent) begging for help. I reached down as far as I could, hoping that I would brush the top of his head or find a tiny hand, but there was nothing. I reached further. Nothing. The arm of my beautiful new ivory-colored cowl neck sweater (these were really fashionable in the 70’s) was covered in black. That little rascal! Not only was my phone call with Cory Huffman ruined, but so was my new sweater! I ran back inside, hoping to see my brother’s legs emerging from the fireplace, but when they weren’t there, I ran to grab the upstairs phone to call 911 (or whatever it was back then). All I could picture was how much trouble I was gonna be in when my mom and dad got home because surely the only way for emergency personnel to get my little five-year old brother out was going to be breaking away at the exterior bricks of the chimney, make a big hole and pull him out. When I picked up the phone, I heard Cory Huffman’s voice saying, “Hello. Hello. What’s going on?”

“Cory! I’ve got to go! I’ve got to run downstairs and hang up the other phone and call for help! I’ll explain later. The next thing I knew, I was downstairs. Don’t remember hanging up the phone. Don’t remember running down. The image embedded in my memory is of two little scrawny legs dangling in the fireplace…just like something you’d see on TV when Santa comes to visit. Seriously. I swear on my son’s life. Tink kicked me frantically as I wrapped my arms around his little legs and started to pull. His legs were protruding from the flue, an object with which I quickly became intimately familiar. A flue only a few inches deep and maybe 12 inches wide. And that little son-of-a-buck’s legs were hanging out of it. I pulled and I pulled and I pulled and I pulled and I pulled. Looking back on it, it was probably not such a good idea to do that, but hey…I was only 12 or so and I was doing the best I could. When the flue finally birthed him, Tink opened his little eyes really wide (kind of like the weird way that Josh Groban does when he sings a high note and looks like a baby chick craning for sustenance from his mother) and his mouth exploded open and filled my face with soot! He was entirely black! His scrawny little arms encircled my neck and would not let go (it was the first time I ever experienced super-human strength…it really does exist…even in five-year olds) because I couldn’t pry him off of me, no matter how hard I tried. We proceeded to the bathtub, me and my human parasite, I turned on the water and we both got in together. Clothes and all. Years of therapy and all. My beautiful ivory-colored cowl neck sweater and all. The poor little guy was all scraped up. He had chunks of his scalp missing. I think he lost a shoe.

I don’t remember getting a hero’s greeting when my parents came home. I don’t remember them thanking me for saving their baby’s life. I don’t remember if I ever got my ivory-colored sweater clean. I don’t remember getting to pick what I wanted for dinner that night. Heavy sigh…

When all was sorted out, we learned that my two brothers decided to play on the roof whilst I was being courted by Cory Huffman. My older brother, Todd (we’ll just call him Todd), threw a Bert puppet down the chimney. Do you remember Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street? Well…Todd had a Bert puppet and Tink had Ernie. Todd threw his Bert puppet down the chimney and told Tink to go after it, so Tink complied. It’s eerily reminiscent of the time Todd threw his Dapper Dan down the outhouse toilet at the roadside rest area in Ohio in the middle of the night, but that’s another story that I’ll have to tell another time.

Back to the story…you know that saying about Karma? What goes around comes around? Well, I finally got what was coming to me…a glorious reward! My senior year in high school, I was a contestant in the Miss Murray Pageant (yes, I was young and beautiful once). During the interview segment, the judges asked me to tell them a funny story. I immediately thought of my favorite family story…Tink in the chimney…and I snorted. Loudly…in my ever-so-dainty-and-feminine manner which I am still known for to this very day (where’s the sarcastic font when you need it?). Some of the judges even snorted as I regaled the tale. They gawked in amazement when I explained that if Todd had chosen to cast Bert down the middle hole, Tink would have come out in the upstairs fireplace and it would have been much less traumatic. I left the interview segment and had such a good time backstage that I lost track of time. Have you ever spent time backstage during a performance? It is one of the most magical and fun places you’ll ever find (especially if there’s cute guys working on the stage crew)! Oops…sorry…I got distracted. Well, I had to go to the bathroom somethin’ fierce. As I ran towards the bathroom in my beautiful evening gown with my legs crossed trying to keep from wetting myself because I forgot to go to the bathroom because I was having such a magical and fun time backstage with the stage crew…deep breath…I heard the pageant officials frantically calling me back to the stage. I promptly returned to the stage. I never made it to the bathroom, but as I stood on stage and tightly squeezed my thighs together, the emcee announced that only one person got a perfect score on the interview segment and that the recipient was the proud winner of the Miss Poise and Personality award. They must have said my name because I now have a plaque in my treasure chest that reads, “Miss Poise and Personality.” I didn’t become Miss Murray. Just a runner-up. Michelle Somebody-Whose-Name-I-Can’t-Remember won. That bitch got my crown!!! It should have been mine! I, as a runner up, got to wear a beautiful and glorious tiara on that night, but only Miss Murray got to keep hers! Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh, the humanity!

I guess you can see why I got the Miss Poise and Personality award, huh?

Bert was never recovered.

BAGGAGE THAT LOOKS GOOD WITH MINE

Okay, readers...one of my dearest friends who is like a sister to me...we'll call her "Maxine" (to protect her identity)...just read my last post. She called me and said that I'm ABSOLUTELY FREAKIN' CRAZY!!! She called me a bitter and shrewish creature and she's traumatized by learning things about me that she never wanted to know. At this very moment, I have tears rolling down my face and I am LMFAO!!! I love someone who can call a spade a spade. The funny part is that "Maxine" happens to be one of my ex-husband's other wives (one of the six...funny part is that he told me I was #2 but I later found out of was #5).  She divorced him but luckily I got to keep her as a friend.

PLEASE GIVE ME A MOMENT TO REDEEM MYSELF...Although my blog is based on my life experiences, both past and present, I truly am a soft-hearted person who loves puppies and balloons...and I even have lots of man-friends who I think are exceptionally dear and precious!  I love lots of men!  And...I have not given up the hope of finding love again someday.  It's true, I've got baggage...everyone has baggage...I'm just looking for a man whose got baggage that looks good with mine. And believe it or not...I even had a true love once (no one I married, unfortunately)...don't be shocked...he was wonderful and I'll never forget him. There have been, still are, and hopefully will be again, lots of incredible men in my life. They're just not as funny to write about...but maybe I should give them some props.  In fact, let me name some of them (this list includes some of my friends' husbands, too, all of whom I really dig...they're awesome and amazing and I love them all...in no particular order):  Dad, CP, Jim, Steve B., Todd O., Todd E.,  Kent, Bruce, Craig, Bill, Dave, Jay, Steve W., Troy, Mike, Dave B., Dave Y., Ethan, Craig, J-Raz, Mike, Greg, Ellis, TLF (this will forever be an unrequited love), Basil Rupert Winthorpe (he's my imaginary friend), Daniel, Dustin, Devin, Darrin, Jason, Travis, Marshall, Otto, Clint, Jason, and there's plenty of others).

Maybe my next post should be about bitchy, bitter, women. Maybe that will help balance my karmic scales. Oh, my...I could make a novel out of that subject.

T & A

It is shameful to admit, but I have in the past checked out an online dating site or two. I’ll stab myself in the forehead before I ever admit it again. But if you’re a woman and you, too, have participated in this behavior, I ask you this…have you ever noticed how the biggest, fattest, slobbiest guys or the scrawniest, homliest guys all want the skinny young blondes? Really, guys? Have you looked in the mirror lately? Have you had your eyesight checked? And then all the regular guys want skinny, young blondes, too. Sorry, guys…but there ain’t enough for everyone. Statistically speaking, you’re all f---ed!

You see, I have this friend…we’ll call him Mike (in order to protect the innocent) and during a recent conversation, he was talking about the women he was attracted to and a potential girl that he's attracted to.  Well, I ended up experiencing a personal epiphany from the whole conversation. Unfortunately, it was not a heart-warming event…it left me feeling sad and hopeless about men and women and love and relationships. People who know me well know that I scoff (vomit) at the idea of romance (gag) and I don’t believe in true love (at least as far as men are concerned-I do, however, believe that women can experience true love). BEAR WITH ME FOR JUST A MOMENT LONGER, DEAR READER.   ALL WILL BECOME CLEAR.  I believe women can truly love men but I'm kinda thinkin' men don’t really want to love women…at least on a romantic level.  I'm all for lust!  I believe in lust!  I believe that men can experience deep and meaningful lust!  I, myself am always on the look-out for a deep and meaningful two weeks.   I just don't give much credit to romantic love.   I’m not bundling all of you men together in this one category, my dear man-friends…I admit there’s exceptions and I believe that men can truly love their mothers, their siblings, their pets and their children with a true and fierce love. But when it comes to men truly loving women, I'm thinkin' there's not much real love goin' 'round.  So...let's just try to be honest here and call a spade a spade.

Here’s what a typical male’s list of priorities for a potential partner looks like (in a very specific order): Skinny, blonde, young, hot, loves sex (especially oral), great kisser, gourmet cook, independent yet subservient, skinny, likes to drink beer, blonde, likes hunting, a whore in the bedroom, fishing, quiet, always positive, frugal, loves sex, loving (especially physically), blah, blah, blah…and then somewhere down the line you might find something about having a good heart, skinny and blonde.

Here’s the typical female’s list (in a very specific order): Honest, kind, intelligent, funny, loving, loyal, respectable, likes to talk dirty (oops…that’s from my personal list…sorry…it just slipped in by accident), handsome, generous, blah, blah, blah and somewhere down the line we ask for nice teeth and money.

The problem with the guys’ list is that for most of us gals, there’s absolutely nothing we can do to be all of those things. But for the guys, it seems like it would be pretty easy to be a lot of those things that are on our list. Plus, women are able to let go of some of the things on their list. But men...they hold on for dear life. Everything’s a deal breaker, especially when it comes to the young, skinny, blonde thing. They’d rather be alone and dreaming of their non-personality skinny blonde than be with someone who's "plump" (LOL-that is one of the funniest words I know), brunette or and amazingly witty and wondrous (and no...I don't mean to be talking about me...but if the shoe fits...)! I think women can look at all of the traits that we want in a man and if they meet those criteria, any man, no matter how he looks, is capable of becoming hot and handsome to us. But for men, it doesn’t work that way. You can be the most intelligent, loving, loyal, witty amazing woman in the world but if you’re not skinny and blonde then you just don’t make the cut. Everything’s a deal-breaker.

So I find myself very sad today. We have a population of men whose esteems are over-inflated because we as women have been too loving towards them. And we have a large body of women (no pun intended) whose self-esteems are non-existent because we feel unloveable because we’re not skinny and blonde.

Seriously, guys…how often do the skinny blondes turn out to be as wonderful as you think they are? Why do men cheat on skinny, blonde women if they're so wonderful? Well, if their skinny, young blondness is the core of what they have to offer, then men sometimes go searching elsewhere.
Seriously, ladies…how many of you have found your man running around the house naked and then they stop right in front of you and shake their “hang-down” at you and make whooping and hollering noises. Am I too bold in saying that I think we’ve loved them a little too much?  They are obviously way too self-assured or they wouldn't be doing that sort of crap.  It's very unappealing.

Can’t we all just get along? It’s 2011, for the love of God! Let’s all shake up our lists and try to be more realistic! I’ll be the first to admit that I love a man who can act like a caveman in the bedroom (did I really just say that? I think that must have slipped in accidentally, too) but I’d love to see more guys making the effort to look a little deeper and give up some of those unrealistic fantasies. And ladies, I hate to say this (not really), but give a little less love to your men. God knows they don't need it, cuz their self esteems are HUGE compared to ours.  But don’t expect them to be knights in shining armor, either...‘cuz they ain’t ever gonna live up to those expectations either and it's unfair for us to expect that from them when we are asking them to not expect us to be all young and blonde and skinny.  But...that’s a subject for another postal diatribe! Oh, sweet mother of God…just wait ‘til I get started on that one!

*this post is dedicated to my friend "Mike" (remember the name has been changed to protect the innocent) who inspired it.  He might not be too happy about it, but it makes for a good post.

Hats Off to Will and Kate!

With a little duct tape and one of those lids from the giant insulated drink mugs that people get from the corner gas/convenience store...you, too, could be counted amongst the fashionistas of the world (make sure it's attached directly to your forehead or stylishly cemented to your temple)


Despite the horrific head attire of some of the wedding attendees, the ceremony, I hate to admit, was quite lovely!  Congrats to Will and Kate!

BOYS BEHAVING BADLY

Who exactly coined the phrase “boys will be boys?” Let’s see now…it was probably a man…he probably lived centuries ago…he was bigger and stronger than most people…and lazier than most. Historically, this school of thought has been advantageous to those of you who have penises (sorry, Jim, I know you hate that word but I just can’t bring myself to call it the d word), but I humbly suggest that it has been a great disservice to you, as well. While this has been a quick and easy “umbrella” excuse for naughty activity, it has also given men a bad rap (which they don’t deserve). Almost any male behavior can be easily brushed off with this simple sentiment, but it’s also left them with the stigma that they are lazy, uncaring, unaccountable, stinky, selfish, out-of-control, lust-crazed, mean and nasty creatures. Dare I say that this is not true…this strange phenomena only occurs when men choose to be this way.


The last time I checked, I, too, was capable of all of these same traits. But what’s my excuse? Well, let’s see…for me to get off the hook for behaving badly I’ve got LOTS of explaining to do. Where’s my easy out? Where’s my get-out-of-jail-free ticket? Where’s my I-don’t-have-to-be-accountable-for-my-behavior pass? Why do the guys get to have all the fun without consequences?

Even my father, whom I view as one of the most liberal, non-chauvinistic beings on the face of the earth, counseled me as I grew up, that it was the girls, not the boys, that had to be responsible for not getting pregnant. Why? Because boys couldn’t help themselves. They had “special needs.” They couldn’t be expected to control themselves. To that I say “POOFAH!” I’ve had plenty of “special needs” throughout my life and managed to keep from getting knocked up. (Oh, yeah…there was that time when I was 33 and got knocked up. How embarrassing! I was old enough to have known better. Now my “girls-will-be-girls” moment has grown into a 13-year-old who is handsome and bright and stinky and he’s my gift from God.)

There are some allowances for my first husband. I won’t give him the “boys will be boys” angle, but perhaps a small stretch…the “Satan will be Satan” excuse.

And then there’s my second husband (my son’s dad-the one who knocked me up and then I finally caved-in to marrying (under duress) because I was hormonally challenged and needed the health insurance) whose excuse was simply that he was raised by parents who bought into the whole “boys will be boys” concept and let him get away with all sorts of naughtiness, so he’s just simply beyond the point of redemption and will forever remain a behavioral zombie.

When did we all come to accept this theory as gospel? I personally refuse to accept this!!! I expect more out of the men in my life! I have known men who are capable of more than this! Those of you who know me well know that I am, by far, the most jaded and cynical person in the world when it comes to men and romance (I still throw up a little when I hear that word but I’m desperately trying to get in touch with my inner Juliette). However, thanks to some very dear “friends with penises” (aka FWPs) that I have come to know in the past couple of years, (this includes some of my dearest friends’ husbands), I have come to appreciate men more than I ever have. I love their qualities that ARE different than ours…they’re bigger and stronger and more handsome and can make us feel sexy and they feel nice in our arms (I think I need a moment alone with these thoughts) and can make us see the world from a totally fresh and different perspective…AND NO ONE WILL EVER CONVINCE ME that they are not capable of being loving, selfless, nurturing, intelligent and valuable companions…not to mention bigger, stronger, more handsome…heavy sigh (you’ve already heard my laundry list)…no matter how many times you try to convince me that “BOYS WILL BE BOYS.” How ‘bout we start a new saying…something along the lines of…”boys can be men and men can be our heroes.” Hhhhmmmm…maybe that’s a stretch. Oh, crap…there goes that cynical, jaded part of me again. Oh, well…cynics will be cynics. Right?