False Advertising Deserves a Nose Tweak

So I got this email about a local production of the Nutcracker ballet.

Key juicy points:
1)  It was rated on a professional level as:  just below the city's Nutcracker ballet.
2)  Tickets were only $5 a person.
3)  The show was run by a Russian.  And Russians know how to dance.

Things I planned:
1)  Fun, family, Sunday-afternoon, culturalization time - for cheap.  So if anybody pooped their pants in the middle of the performance, I wouldn't feel crazy about leaving.
2)  It was a surprise for Murnice.  Beautiful costumes and fancy ladies twirling.  What 8 year old wouldn't feel like a queen?
3)  I invited Friday Friends.  That was a surprise too.
4)  Dinner all together after the ballet.
5)  Big family smiles, as we shared the day together with good entertainment, good fellowship (I hate that word - so I used it just to annoy other people who hate that word), and good food.

The way it really went down:
1)  It really cost $8 per person.
2)  There were about 37 people there.  All parents and grandparents.
3)  I don't have words to describe the horrific-ness of the actual ballet.  But I'll try.
a.  the music was crammed through ginormous loud speakers.  I use the word "cram" because there are no other words for:  way-too-loud-with-the-tone-set-to-make-your-eardrums-bleed.
b.  we were only given two clues that we were actually watching the Nutcracker.  Clue #1 they played Nutcracker music  Clue #2  the first scene was Clara waltzing around with her nutcracker, in her see-through nighty
c.  there is nothing more possibly maddening, then to be watching a performance - of any sort - only to have to watch a bunch of snotty-nosed little kids run around in circles with no rhyme or reason.  What makes it ever worse, is when the mothers scream a little louder, clap a little harder, and bounce up and down in their seats.  (Yes, that all happened)
d.  the worst part for me, was when the Arabian dancers came out.  Grown-ups.  And they couldn't dance at all.  Not in sync for a second.  They did the same 4 moves the entire dance.  One Arabian dancer put her pants on backwards.  They tried being sexy - which only made it so much more uncomfortable.
4)  Murnice cried.  She hated every part of it.
5)  Friday Friends never showed up.  Nor have they told us why they didn't show up.  It's all very fishy.
6)  The show lasted 40 minutes.  Worst $8 ever spent in the history of spending money.
7)  The place we ended up eating at smelled of moth balls and musty car oil.  And I'm pretty sure my burger was a rotting tortoise carcass.
8)  Big D and I fought the whole time.

Do I sound like an ungrateful fleabag?

Once again I'm spit-fired, flustered at the way a simple afternoon was supposed to go.  At least I didn't almost die again.

I guess it's just more confirmation that the couch is where I belong.

On a side note, I actually got dressed to leave the house.  Big D said that I looked so lovely.  And that my breasts looked lushishly large.  (That's what happens when you put a bra on for the first time in forever)

P.S.  Does anybody else love to sniff down their own shirt to smell their musty armpits?  I am not ashamed.

Fifteen Ways? Double-Time With an Extra "Ew"

 As if trying their hand at one list wasn't enough.  They had to write another list.  A lady list.  And I thought the man list was as stupid as pie.

The lady list is a joke.  I think.

And just to make sure that I'm not cold hearted, mean spirited, and as rude as a rabid turkey, I asked Friday Friends what they thought.

Prepare yourselves.  Gird your loins. . . .

Fifteen Ways to Please Your Wife

1. Hug and kiss her every morning before leaving the house.
2. Go to bed at the same time she does.
3. Brush her hair while complimenting her eyes and appearance.
4. When she's studying herself in the mirror, tell her, "You are so beautiful."
5. Evict late-night television from your bedroom.
6. During mid-afternoon, call or send her an email to ask how her day's going.
7. Try your hand at making breakfast on Saturday morning.
8. Put gas in her car, vacuum the floor mats, and clean the windows.
9. Write her a short love letter. List several ways she has blessed you this year.
10. Resurrect common courtesies: Hold the car door open. Offer her your arm.
11. Put the toilet seat down.
12. If you hear her engaged in a tough situation, compliment the way she handled it.
13. When you're together in a crowd, find a way to brag on her.
14. Help her put the kids to bed.
15. Pray with her every day. Every day!

And since I can't keep my mouth shut.  And because I'm feeling extra saucy this afternoon, here's my list to Big D.

Fifteen Ways to Please Your Extra Saucy Kitty Kat.

 1.  Before leaving the house, tell me I sparkle like the sun and smell like the moon.  And that I have the harder job
2.  I don't care what time you go to bed, but when you do decide it's the right time - make sure the house is closed up in a proper manner and the kids are still breathing.  Try your hardest to be thorough with this task.  As it drives me completely wild when "close up time" is done haphazardly.
3.  You touch me with a hair brush - I'll spank your bottom.  But you can tell me that my old tired eyes have never looked more lively and lovely.  And that my body is more magical than David Copperfield.  And out of control, sizzily. And that if I were a steak, I would be extra well done.
4.  I don't want to be caught looking at myself.  So just ignore any glimpses you get of that happening, at all cost.  But things that would be appropriate to say to me:  a)  your boobs have never looked perkier b)  your buns are tighter than an over-done meat platter c) what fine chiseled legs you have . . .  and other fine things of that sort.
5.  Bring the tv into the bedroom.  I may spend more time in bed.  I may offer my body as a love offering in a more substantial manner.
6.  DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT call me during the day.  Send me emails.  And don't ask how my day is going.  If it's that bad - you will be hearing from me.  If you don't hear from me, then the chances of us all being alive when you get home, are great.
7.  I am offended by #7
8.  Don't waste your time.  Although, I do love getting into my car and seeing a full gas tank.  (I can't remember the last time I had to fill the gas tank - don't be hating ladies.)
9.  Yes, yes.  Write me lots.  But write when you're pissed at me.  It's a lot more fun to keep track of that.
10.  Don't waste your time.  Unless I get knocked up again.  And then come pull me out of the car.
11.  If there was ever a time you didn't put that seat down, I would scoop all the poopy toilet water up and dump it on your bed.  And then you could swim your bare buns around in sludge.
12.  When I start complaining about the stupidity of some people, agree with me.
13.  When we're in crowds, try your best to keep me away from people you know.  I tend to say things that make everyone involved feel weird.  It's best to just stash me in a small corner and to bring me drinks and food.  But if it's a crowd thingy with no food or drinks, keep me home.
14.  This lady is a raging lunatic.
15.  This is all manly and such, but you should pray for me, more.  I sometimes get real itchy to throw something.  Or dump dinner down the drain.

I have no closing thoughts or comments.

The end.

I puked.

The New Man in My Life That Brings Joy

Do you know what J-man did for me?  (J-man, the pool boy that lives at Mothers)

After a special extraordinary weekend filled with obnoxious men, grumpy attitudes, refusals to poop, and lots of screaming. (Big D included)

J-man brought his fancy computer to the table at Mothers, where I was sitting and groveling in my poor attitude.  His computer has a chastity belt wrapped 2 times around the middle complete with 4 locks.  J-man unlocked all 4 locks, threw them in the meat grinder and then emptied it into the trash.  He opened the computer to reveal  (star star sparkle star star) a special button that I push that brings me straight to my wonderful blog sight.

No fancy wizard twirls and special 5 letter, 7 number, 13 special signs and symbols pass codes.  Just a simple double click.

I legitimately feel like a queen.

And what adds the luscious cherry on top - is that J-man leaves his computer in a very easy location for me to access.  No wild goose chases or bachelor pad ransacks.

Also, he patted my hand 4 times and smiled nicely.  And I half smiled back.

Take Aways
1)  Whenever possible, steal any J-manish man off the street corners and have him move in with you.
2)  31 years later, I still hate Patch the Pirate the same.
3)  Husbands don't care if J-men move in.
4)  Honestly, it makes them happy, and life easier.
5)  I think it's time for me to run away and have a break from all of these naughty men in my life.  Minus J-man