Riding the Bus

The PORCELAIN BUS that is...urghhhhhhh. If you're not familiar with that reference, Google it or read on.

Saturday night! Finally, after more than 6 long months, I get let out of the cage! Hubby and I are all set to attend a 40th birthday party celebration for a dear friend. And the care of our little guy is being entrusted to two cousins of a dear friend of ours. He couldn't be in better hands...well unless those hands were familial. So, no guilt!

We get there. We sit. I consume my first plastic glass of pink wine. Big party=Cheap wine (for the most part). From a box. But tasty cheap wine. We're meeting old friends. Making new friends. I'm hugging babies, charming grandparents, laughing at jokes. Telling jokes! I'm rocking my $200 black rocker studded tank top, black tights (yup, you read that right) and high-heeled black shoe boots. I have "Mommy, you have pretty black eyes" eyes, the hair is straight, the nails are fushia. I'm killin' it. Damn, I feel good (and I knew that I would). I'm still avoiding the chocolate cake after a plate of meat. You know when you're on your like 4th glass of cheap wine and the world is your oyster? Well at least you believe it is and you've convinced yourself everyone you meet believes you believe it and they, in turn, believe in you?

And then invincible, incredible YOU polishes off a gin mixed with some form of energy drink. And you're 33 years old. You don't MIX your drinks. But amazingly, because your rocker chick outfit is obviously hiding a tight spandex unitard with the letter "S" emblazoned on the front, you are still feeling awesome with a capital A. So you head on over to the drink table and discover a bottle of VODKA. Remember the drink you said you wanted to drink before you even got to the party cuz it was lower in carbs than the rest of the drinks? And it says "Absolut", which is not-so-code for "Absolutely!" Down the hatch she goes.

And from that point on, the rest of the evening gets fuzzier and slurier (new word alert). Auto pilot quickly turns to mayday and before you know it, Miss Energetic (which was what I was voted in high school) has her chin to her chest and is silently pleading for the party to stop bloody moving. At some point, you get escorted by your "dissapointed" husband to the back of a cab with some friends. You hear voices and people directing words at you. You.need.the.car.to.stop.moving. Relief. The friends have been dropped off somewhere and you're on your way home. Minutes now. Your hubby's phone rings. It's them. They left something in the cab. You have to turn around and GO BACK. You're dying. You want to raise any part of your body in protest but you've lost the ability to move and worse, you're afraid to open your mouth.

This is the time that can be likened to the time between asking for the epidural and when the nurse arrives with the epidural. If you know what that's like.

I managed to call the girls to let them know we would be there in 30 seconds, to be ready and to say that I was in bad shape. They left. We entered. I fell into the bathroom to hug my best inanimate object friend. I shared all of my drinks with her. Actually, I gave all of them to her. Every last drop and then some. Because I'm so nice.

I can't remember the last time her and I got together. But it was a LONG ass time ago.

So you can imagine my WAJ for Saturday night and all day Sunday, right?
Saturday night was a given.
Sunday was my pity party. Actually it was also a kid's birthday party that I managed to show up for with hubby and little man in tow. Pancakes for brekky, handfuls of candy, fruit and birthday cake for lunch and spaghetti for dinner. Exercise? ha!

But today I brushed myself off. It's all about the bounce back right?
Brekky: Egg salad
Lunch: Tuna salad + Green salad
Dinner: Weiners + Green salad
Exercise: A swift kick in the arse with the Butt Blaster and Ab work-out.

Comments: She may have been down for a day but she's back. And I feel like an idiot. 33 years old, married, mother, stepmother, pillar of the community (k, that's not true), and the next morning I wake up to find my clothes scattered around the house and a bathroom that needs cleaning and a "dissapointed husband" (like he's never been there...ha!) and spotted, somewhat embarassing, memories of my big evening out. LOL.

7 Secrets to a Happy Marriage

Hubby and I will be married for seven years tomorrow. Yup, I’m all stocked up on calamine lotion in case I need to douse him with it to relieve symptoms of itching! Wow, 7 years of...

bliss, fighting, vacations, separations (as in business trips, not actual on-the-way-to-divorce separations), fighting, bliss, hand holding, other intimate things, eating, housework, drinking, loving, celebrating anniversaries, motherhood, fatherhood, fighting, longing, moving, more moving, ok: country hopping, fireworks, public holidays, birthdays, friendships, fighting , kissing, hugging, strangling, dishware throwing, swimming, laughing, socializing, dinner parties, pretending you didn’t fart, blaming farts on the dog, dressing up, getting dressed, undressing, fashions, cleaning up vomit and poo, foolishness, stupidity, growing, ageing, deaths, births, presents, more presents, surprises, crying, supporting, stroking, doing dishes, doing more dishes, dancing, doing INSERT HOUSEHOLD CHORE, hair styles and colours, pets, in-law, out-laws, Vegas, Italy, Dominican, Montenegro, Croatia, Serbia, Ontario, Nova Scotia, PEI, Sweden, Vegas, airports, airport pick-ups, airport drop-offs, so many countries and cities, learning, working, pretending to be working, faking headaches or stomach cramps or INSERT SYMPTOM, pretending to be asleep, gaining weight, losing weight, gaining weight but pretending to have lost weight, gossiping, placing bets on how long your friends’ marriages will last, swearing and always, always, praying...and everything in between, for better or for worse...from that day forward, seven years ago.

So after all this, I figure I’m an expert at marriage. Yup. Have marriage problems? Drop me a line. I should hand myself a degree. Maybe I’ll whip up a quick one using PhotoShop and frame it. Here they are, the 7 Secrets to a Happy Marriage, in no particular order.

1. Never go to bed angry. Go to bed with a smile on your face as you plot how to make your spouse pay for the mistake he just made, and the duration he will pay for said mistake.
2. Share the housework equally. When that doesn’t work and his dirty socks are still at the end of the bed, just do it all yourself and play martyr.
3. Listen and respond thoughtfully to your partner’s needs. I heard what you just said and I am thoughtfully pointing out that the suitcases are in the hall closet.
4. There is no “I” in Team. But there IS an “I” in Idiot.
5. Pay your partner a compliment each day. “This is good but could use more cumin” is called a backhanded compliment and could result in the back of my hand coming into contact with your face. “You look thin in that dress” implies that I look like a lardass in every other piece of clothing I own and warrants an extremely expensive shopping trip for a new wardrobe of thin clothes.
6. Take some time out to rekindle the spark each week. Setting fire to the stash of love letters from old girlfriends he kept all this time does count.
7. Make sure your partner gets time for themselves. Privacy in the bathroom, running to the store to get milk, taking the garbage out and SLEEP do not count. Oh and neither do weekly weight watchers weigh-ins or time at the gym. Neither does surfing questionable websites. Yeah, I know the signs: Sudden increase in mouse clicking, rapid screen flashing, fast-talking while mouse clicking and screen flashing and pathetic, but often successful, attempts at distraction, “Is that the baby I hear?”

Disclaimer: Not my Real 7 Secrets. I don’t have 7 Secrets. I don’t even have 1 Secret. But I’m still happily married after 7 years, so I (we) must be doing something right. Please don’t call me or write me with your marital woes. The only certificate I’ll be Photoshopping is one that says, “We made it another year”. We’ll let you know if we ever figure out how we keep making these milestones. Happy Anniversary My Love and Here’s to Another 7! xoxo