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March, 2010:

Biden did it… Why can’t I??

As coincidence would have it, I’ve been trying to work the F-bomb into my everyday life. As a reformed religionist, I’ve decided it would be empowering to assert my right to use words of all lengths, including the 4-letter variety.

Years of religion and parenthood have had me mentally saying one thing, but verbally spewing another. Though I’ve perfected the art of euphemism, inside my head I swear like a sailor. Now has come the time to semi-merge my thoughts with my tongue. I will no longer remain profanely repressed!

However…. This is harder than one might think.

I’ve become an astute observer of others and how they work it (the F-ster) into their sentences. Kudo’s to Biden, THAT was a good one! I wish I were as smooth.

As Biden demonstrated, there are daily opportunities to work the f-ditty into my daily vocab. I work 40 hours a week, I am a parent of a teen aged daughter, I have dogs who the dog whisperer could not whisper to…. there are opportunities! Alas, it is a struggle. .

On a typical day….

Mentally: FUCK!


Mentally: Damn-it-all-to-heck?!? Really?!? That was fucking weak. Try again!

(next chance to let it drop)

Mentally: FUCK!!!

Verbally: Frickin Hell!

Mentally: oh jeezusfuckingchrist! It’s f-u-c-k.

(next chance)

Mentally: FUCK!!!

Verbally: That was really….. Fff…

Mentally: You paused! Why are you pausing?!?

Verbally: Fuck*choke*ed up

Mentally: What was that? You choked on the word! You fucking wussy!

It’s not easy….. fuck no, it’s definitely not. Perhaps I will just keep with my euphemistic ways… After all, as my daughter once oh-so-wisely told me, “Mom, we KNOW what you’re reeeeally saying….”

Leaving the Nest…. without going splat!

“Oh gawd, she’s not ready!”

Last Christmas my sister gave me a beautiful incense holder. It was a tall wood tower that you lifted off of a platform. In the platform was a small hole where you’d place the incense. Once lighted, and the tower in place on the platform, the incense smoke would stream out of the holes located on the roof of the tower. Lovely. Well, it WAS lovely, until I went away for a weekend leaving my 17 year old daughter in command!

I noticed it right away. As I walked in the door and placed my bags down on the living room floor, my peripheral vision and the eyes in the back of my head were all a flutter checking the place out and narrowing in on the table which holds the incense burner. I walked over and KNEW something about it was askew, but since it was newly acquired I couldn’t quite figure out what was missing….. Then I saw it! I turn to Sonora and ask, “What the heck happened to the top of my incense burner?!?!?” To which she calmly replied, “It sorta burned off….”

This is the first time I found myself uttering inside my brain, “Oh gawd, she is not ready….” A thought I’ve been repeating, like a mantra, several times since what is now referred to as the ‘incense incident’.

My heart races… the panic has set in…. it’s the last inning and while it appears that team Competent Parent is ahead, the inning is not over with yet…

The realization that my BABY girl is months away from being legally old enough to vote, buy tobacco, get married, get divorced, rent a house, work full-time, finance a car, get a tattoo, or bungee jump out of the nest WITHOUT parental consent…. is enough to make me hyperventilate, let alone question if I’ve really done a good job in the life-prep-work called parenting. I find myself throwing at her “last minute” tid-bits of “life lessons” that has her no doubt convinced that I’m preparing to change all the locks the moment the clock strikes midnight on her 18th birthday….

The race is on to impart all of that knowledge that must have slipped through the cracks. I mean, if I never properly taught her to light an incense (SONORA…. you BLOW OUT the fire on the end of the stick!!!) what else have I neglected to share?!

Perhaps I should prepare a Final…. A test she must pass in order to earn her 18-year-old-I-am-an-adult-and-don’t-need-no-mamm’s-signature status? I think this is a good idea!

I will quiz her on candle lighting, dishwasher loading, turning off the oven remembering, do not spill bleach on the carpet technique-ing, and how-to-keep-your-animals-alive multiple choice questions….

Oh gawd, she’s not ready!!

Cougar-ish Town

Coworker: Sandy… can I ask you a nosy question??

Me: Sure, what??

Coworker: Your boyfriend is younger, right??

Me: Why yes…. yes. he. is. (smirk)

Coworker: Sooooo, have you watched ‘Cougar Town’?? (smirk)

Oh gawd, is he looking for a fact-checker?!? Because I am NOT a cougar!

Confessions of a reluctant cougar….

Confession #1

A year and a half ago I joined an online dating site. During the initial setup, I set my age perimeters to younger than my (then) 39 year old self. Oh-yes-I-did!

When my sister found out that I was talking with a (then) 28 year old, she gave me a tongue lashing for setting my age preferences at an unrealistic range. I pointed out that my age range was only 5 years in either direction and that the 28 year old must have set HIS age preferences at an unrealistic range. (ha-HA!)

Confession #2

When I went on a date with the unrealistic-age-range-setter, I did NOT know it was a date.

It started with a billion hour IM session. I had never IM’d for longer than 10 minutes. I found it boring. Then, along came Scott. He initiated it with a comment about Morrissey and I was hooked. I was literally falling asleep at my keyboard, because I didn’t want to end the conversation. Eventually the IM session ended, but only for the night. A few days later, in an email, he said I should size him up over drinks.

I don’t know why I didn’t know it was a date, but I didn’t. Perhaps I was afraid if I went in thinking it was a date, it would turn out NOT to be a date and I’d wind up disappointed, or worse yet embarrassed.
Confession #2.5…. I tend to over-think things! In the end, I told myself that I was just meeting him as a friend….. UNLESS….. he kissed me.

Confession #3

He kissed me.

As he leaned in for a kiss, my first thought was, “Yesssssss! This IS a date!” But ever the conscientious fact-checker, I ever-so-smoothly brought up my doubts. No, not DURING the first kiss, but shortly afterwards. He laughed and confirmed our date night status.

Confession #4

I believe in signs.

We walked laps around Sausalito that night. It was while we were walking up a long set of stairs that he casually points at something and says, “Look”. I follow the direction of his finger, expecting to see a shooting star, a cat, or a pretty building…. but no…. it was a floor to ceiling bedroom window and through that bedroom window there was a man, standing like Leonardo Dicaprio… this man WAS king of the world! But, unlike Leonardo, this man was standing naked, at the end of a bed, pounding the hell out of some woman!

If that’s not a sign of good luck on a first date, then I don’t know what is!

Confession #5

Dating someone younger does NOT make you feel young. However, being with someone who “gets you” makes you feel ageless.

I’ve been dating Scott for over a year now. I’d be lying if I said that it’s only when other people bring up the age difference that I remember that there is one. I have my moments where I can practically feel the fine lines sprouting around my eyes. Then there are the mornings I go into the bathroom, take one look in the mirror and internally shriek…. Class-5-tornado-hair AND fine lines is enough for me to want to permanently install a keg of Oil of Olay over the bathroom sink. But then, I stop… take a deep breath, brush my hair into a ponytail and remember the wise words I once read from an interview of Antonio Banderas. He said, “Wrinkles are beautiful too….They are like carats, the more the better….” It’s even more affective if you can imagine him saying this with his accent…. Mmmm…. Um, sorry… I just got distracted for a moment. ANYway, I’m not sure if my fine lines will ever be sparkly, like diamonds… perhaps that’s just a Hollywood thing. Regardless, it’s a nice reminder that age can be beautiful too.
So yes, I’m dating a younger man…. But does that make me a cougar?!?? Hell no!  Anyone who know-knows me, KNOWS I’m a dog person! And, as fate would have it…. He’s a dog person too!
Lucky-lucky- me….. RAWR!!!