SassTown

All of us chickens are lounging around our troublesome telly tonight watching the silly movie What A Girl Wants. Now we don't give a flip for Amanda Bynes, it's the adorable Colin Firth as Lord Dashwood that has us tied up in knots.

We've been watching the 6 hours of the BBC's Pride and Prejudice for many years. I like to pretend I'm the vexed into a chronic state of nervous breakdown ala Mrs Bennett until my teens start throwing pillows and pelting me with ice cubes to make me stop.

I don't know why her shizzle about needing to take to her bed never works for me. My family would simply let me succumb to my vapors alone in my room and be miffed at my inability to give them a ride somewhere.

I've never mastered the art of throwing a righteously dramatic fit. When I was in 5th grade my mom took me shoe shopping. All the girls my age were bigger than me so they had graduated out of the children's shoe department. Me, not so much. My mother was not moved by my dramatic angst over being stuck in a child's fashion warp. This was a long time ago when kid's shoes were not tiny replicas of current women's fashions.

Did my mother take one ounce of pity on me? No, she was annoyed with me to say the least. Many decades later...I have often been accused of having no pity for my children's situations. The apple don't fall far from the tree.

I'm far too practical to be good a pitching fits, because who ends up cleaning up the mess? The first year of marriage I threw a jar of pickles at my husband's head. I found out it was not an effective method of conflict resolution and the momentary vengeance surge I felt upon pitching that jar was not worth the energy it took to clean up the mess (nor the continued conflict with my spouse).

Let's get back to a more intriguing subject than the origins of my personality, my Oscar night observations. Not that I have many astute original thoughts on a show that is usually a bit torturous for me to try to watch. I don't get excited about sifting through hours of viewing time for 15 minutes of juice. Twittering made it a little bit more interesting so my boredom threshold was tolerated a bit longer than normal.

Matthew Broderick & Colin Firth

I didn't realize he was nominated for his role in A Single Man despite confessing our favor of the actor. So I'm putting that movie on my to do list. The John Hughes tribute was nicely done, warming my heart and reminding me of my fondness for Ferris Bueller and Matthew Broderick. That leads me to my snarky observation about the weirdness resting atop of Sarah Jessica Parker's head. I'm thinking  The Bloggess was way ahead of the curve regarding the popularity of wearing cats as head dressing.

There were two delightful moments that stood out for me this year. I thoroughly enjoyed Kathryn Bigelow winning the best director category giving her arrogant ex-husband Mr I'm King of the World James Cameron a very cool beat down for all the world to see.

Last but not least I thought Sandra Bullock rocked the night with her look, the grace in which she conducted herself and her absolutley engaging and original acceptance speech when named best leading actress for her role in The Blind Side.

When you think about it, her win for portraying Leigh Ann Touhy in  the Blind Side and the awards associated with the film The Hurt Locker both shared the theme of courage.

One a fantasic visual on the war front unquestionably demonstating the courage of the troops in Iraq. But The Blind Side, more subtly made us all appreciate the difference one stubborn and courageous southern woman made.

She had one of the best quotes of the night when she ended her speech accepting the award for "the moms that take care of the babies and children, no matter where they came from".

SHOW ME WHAT???

Call SCI, NCIS, Jack Bauer, Law & Order because I think we are onto a new method of identification of persons of interest, dead bodies, amnesia victims, you name it!

I got the first hint of it in some magazine articles this past year and even on an Oprah show. I’ve got teenage girls, so I’m all over this sexting phenomenon. The consequences which can quickly spiral out of control and land kids being stupid, as teens have been known to be, with a felony record.

I believe my girls have been sufficiently warned and threatened: don’t ever take pictures of your boobage, don’t let anyone else take pictures of you in a comprising state, and if anyone ever sends you a questionable picture delete it and don’t forward it.

But this is something all together different. I didn’t believe the buzz about it until I asked some of my single friends. It seems fellas like to use their cell phone to take pictures of themselves. Of a certain part of themselves, a very important part of themselves. No matter if you're talking to a Chris O"Donnel type or the fattest, homeliest guy in the room it is the source of his pride and joy.

Mayor: You have got to be kidding me?

Dating friend: No. Since I got back onto the dating scene I've noticed that guys just have a tendency to keep a picture of their penis on their cell phone.

Mayor: I think you’re hanging around with the wrong kind of people. What's next, business cards with contact information including a link to their identity pic?

Dating Friend: It’s more common than you would think. It’s kind of like a pop culture thing these days. I went to have a few drinks after work and met this young hot shot stockbroker. I flirted with him and the next thing you know he’s trying to show me a picture of  “Mr President“ on his cell phone.

Mayor: I’m so glad not to be single.

I'm going to store this info in the vault and retrieve it when I start thinking the grass is greener on the other side.

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PIMPING FOR WILLIAMS-SONOMA

My husband is a pimp for Williams-Sonoma. That is all there is to it. No matter how much we tighten the budgetary belt, he still cannot resist the lure of the famed kitchen store. I’ve been able to keep a lid on his tripping to the mall, so his opportunity to be tempted has been reduced. It helps that we are down to one car between the two of us, and since I feel it’s a fundamental right for me to have my car available at all times, he usually has no mode of transport.

He needed to go to the Apple Store (another big temptation trap for him) for some help from the geniuses at the bar there. He was gone a suspicious length of time. I was not surprised to hear the familiar sound of him wrestling in some shopping bags and they sounded like they were white with a big green W on them.

 I remained tucked in the living room with my laptop, not feeling up to a confrontation. Then I thought maybe I better get my head out of the sand before packaging was wrecked or return stickers obscured. I heard the girls snickering in the kitchen. Oh, you are going to be in so much trouble Dad. If you don’t get rid of that box Mom will just take it back.

The ladies at the Williams-Sonoma store know him pretty well, he loves to buy things for me there. Unfortunately they know me almost as well because they are used to me bringing back half of the stuff he buys. I’ve been accused of being cold hearted and ungrateful, but sometimes hard choices need to be made between paying for teeth cleaning and a multi purpose panini press.

Who knew, in Europe George Clooney hawks Nespresso?

Turns out after a few minutes of hard sell, I caved.  We had been having trouble with out coffee maker. A few years ago, we had bought several espresso makers and returned them all due to disatisfaction with the product. Although I’m still not convinced that this thing is saving me any money in the long run, I have to admit I like the convenience of making my lattes at home. The little pods are easy to use and best of all no mess.

Dad, I think she likes it. We can keep it

Disclaimer: The Nespresso machine stayed, but the cute little set of porcelain espresso & saucers went back for being ridiculously priced and impractical.
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SOMEONE'S TRYING TO BUTTER ME UP

My husband suggested I go relax, take a hot bath recently after I was complaining about snow shoveling and a sore shoulder. I drew in a deep breath to argue about how I needed to attend to a few urgent matters, then I clamped my lips shut and thought...why not?

As I climbed the stairs I felt a bit of a prickle on the back of my neck. Was that a good prickle or a bad one?

I entered a warm bathroom since the extra heater was plugged in already and there on top of the counter sat my MacBook Pro playing my Blip.fm playlist starting with my current favorite new song Carry Out by Timbaland and Timberlake, a freshly made decaf latte and a few books by Charlaine Harris of True Blood fame.

I know a set up when I see one.

Don't let the irony escape you that one of the things on my counter I'm listing as my favorites is a latte made in my own kitchen with the Nespresso machine I told my husband he shouldn't have bought.

The frigid Chicago wind blew me in as I opened  the door of Bin 36. I walked  through the wine bar scanning for my query and I spotted her right away. Still tall and lanky, dark headed, subtly classy and graceful. I strode over and drummed my fingers on the tinny bar top. Instant smiles and hugs. She had ordered a Cosmo, I went for a glass of the house red. We chatted a few minutes as our grown sons arrived and scooted up to the bar.

My experienced lice picking eyes spotted a white speck in her otherwise very dark hair. Naturally I just leaned over and plucked the offending fuzz out of her hair. Right away the Prince is shocked, “ you haven’t seen her in 20 years and you’re picking her head like a mother gorilla?”  He continued, asking both of us, “don’t you think that’s a little weird?”

We just looked at each other and cracked up. It should have been odd, but it wasn’t. We were the kind of comfortable neighborhood friends who always had each others back. Peas and carrots. She’s the only thing I missed when we moved away from Chicago. And it was oh so good to share a table with her once again.

Andra & the son who is not a doctor

Ryan, no stranger to fun, tolerated my lick your mother commands

Trio of terror when they were wee tots

When my husband moved me to Chicago in the late 80’s for a climb up the corporate ladder, I was a reluctant participant. I had 3 little babies under the age of 6 and I had just lost my best friend (my mom) to breast cancer. It was the lowest point in my life. I was raw emotionally and functioning like a zombie.

It was a sunny, beautiful day when we pulled into our new neighborhood and stopped in front of our large (in my eyes) new home. I did what many crazy young mothers would do. I burst out in tears (and I am not a crier), “ I don’t want to live here with a bunch of rich snobs.”  I have to admit I fought liking anything about our job transfer. But I am, if nothing else, a practical puss. School was starting in one week and I had to deal. So, I did.

Swansway turned out to be, by far the most kickin’ neighborhood I have ever lived in.We lived, loved, fought, cock tailed, birthday partied and had pick up basketball games in each other's driveways. When we were selling our house 3 years later I remember telling buyers, “you may find hundreds of homes around here as nice, or nicer than this one, but you will not find a better bunch of neighbors.” And I can honestly say all of my 8 neighborhoods since then have been a disappointment. I’m still looking for a place that compares.

Andra comes from a big Greek family and her husband Mike was from a big Irish gang. I was fascinated by them. We had children around the same ages and we all clicked. Even Raymondo, who tends to be an introvert, couldn’t resist their magnetic pull. We were willingly sucked into their ethnic gregariousness and enjoyed every minute of it. We traded kids, recipes, ideas, secrets. When having to run out to do a preschool pick up we’d drop off the handset of the baby monitor so we would’t have to wake up napping wee ones. That’s trust!

I think I learned the art of hospitality from this friend of mine. She’s an intuitive cook capable of hosting large gatherings with amazing food. Yet she could make a party on the spot with a couple cans of tuna fish, bread and salad out of nothing. I was always so jealous she could dress a salad perfectly by shaking in some red wine vinegar, olive oil, salt and pepper. I’m still making several of her family recipes on a regular basis, and now my grown kids are repeating the process.

One night, after having had a couples night out for dinner, Andra called to announce she was in labor. We shared a history of having a baby born at home. Armed with a fancy camera and their video camera, I recorded their only daughter’s birth. Let me tell you this tall Greek knew how to get down to business when it came to birthing babies! A few hours later I was back at home in bed basking in the nuance that only comes with the smell of amniotic fluid, blood and a newborn’s cry. (Sorry if that is too graphic for some of you weenies).

A few years after our move from the Chicago area,we met up to go on a trip to California together for an extended weekend. It was March and the weather was dreary and drizzly. Not exactly what you travel to the west coast for.

We  spent one morning out in the weather at the San Diego Zoo. This is where my husband received his nick name of Rain man. He doesn’t always play well with others, forever wandering around to the beat of his own drummer. After losing him several times, Andra’s husband Mike (who is funny let me tell you) saddled him with that moniker and it’s pretty much stuck and gotten shortened to Ray and transitioned into Raymondo, in honor of the popular Tom Cruise/Dustin Hoffman movie Rain Man.

Mike was probably fantasizing being Tom Cruise while imagining my husband in the role of Ray. After 2 days we gave up and drove to Palm Springs to spend a few days in sunny desert warmth.

Thanks to the wonders of social media we have reconnected some 20 years later. You may be wondering why, if we were such similar peas in a pod, we didn’t do a better job staying in touch?

The things that we had in common got in the way of that, I’d have to say. We expanded our families since then, she has 4 boys and 1 girl. I have 5 girls and 1 boy. Both being creative, ambitious and strong women, we share having the role of being the rock of our families. That job description is all encompassing in the time and energy department and leaves time for little else. If you are the rock in your family, you know exactly what I mean.

Do we look like rocks? I assure you, we are

When your bosom buddy is not readily available at the whisper in a phone or a baby monitor... you cope and life goes on.  Considering our age, I think we’re both still smokin’ hot. After as many babies as we have had no one could blame us if we had gone to fat or taken to padding around in house dresses and slippers.

It’s given me a gift to rekindle my love for this woman. I’m flooded with memories I didn’t even remember I had.  Yet, you know how it is when you look someone else in the face and you recognize the look of pain buried deep in the eyes? The economy of the Midwest in particular, and life in general has taken a toll on the both of us. I know it without even asking. The older I get, the more I recognize that no matter how perfect someone’s life looks, I guarantee you it isn’t. Everyone has their stuff to deal with.

Later that night, cleaning up the kitchen at the pimp pad, my son had some astute observations. He was truly amazed that his old buddy’s mother and I  would still have so much in common after all these years. We have been traveling a similar and parallel path. Finally, he met another peer’s mother who is so fiercely connected to their adult children, without being overbearing. “My God Mom, she’s just like you! She likes to hang out, and you can see they like hanging out with her too! She just mans up and hops the train to Chicago on a whim, exactly the same thing you’ve been known to do.”

It’s true. Two woman whose paths crossed a couple decades ago.

I do declare the conversation between us has just begun again.

My plane landed smoothly in Nashville, TN on February 4th, which happens to be my birthday. The day had not gotten off to a great start. My lovely husband picked that as the time for him to rudely express his  frustration with me for an ongoing conflict. Like my anxiety is not all ready over the top trying to leave my family and all the obligations behind for a week.

I was determined to make a fresh start to the day. When I opened up my computer at the airport I observed a delightful amount of birthday greetings for me via facebook, twitter and emails.

Luckily, my roomie for the conference went along with the plan to stop at the nearest liquor store before we got sucked into the vortex to another time continuum called Gaylord's Opryland Resort.You'll have to check out her collection of Elvis wines and read about our finding our room escapades. Our romp through the bio domes rainforest to find our room while toting numerous bags left us moist and frazzled.

I like to unpack and organize as soon as I get in the room. But whacking our way through the jungle in the hunt for our room in the Magnolia section left me in need of an RP (rest period) with feet up on bed. Too geared up to really rest, I decide it's time to get the party started.

Ice was located. Glass tumblers (so much better than plastic or foam). Bliss (in room) bar and a refreshing beverage helped cool us down. We reviewed our Blissdom schedules and made some strategic decisions....ladies.start.your.engines!

There were ice breakers, business card exchanges, babies in strollers,lots of laughter and photogramommies run amok with their pro style cameras intimidating the heck out of my pocket sized digital. I won a cookbook by Food Network's George Duran who surprised us with a couple of cooking demonstrations at our humble gathering.

Friday there was so much to take in. People, computers, seminars. I felt like the snotty girl pulling up my twitter while my instructor chattered on, but it was what we were supposed to do. Not only is Twitter  handy for finding your roommate in a sea of women, it was up my alley to receive snarky ongoing commentary in real time (hey, it's what we do). I was amazed constantly by the creativity and genius around me.

Now the ladies (and the token men) were all a flutter anticipating the arrival of Harry Connick Jr and his band for our private concert. I thought it would be cool but in the back of my head I was all, man couldn't they have reeled in Justin Timberlake? I'm crazy for him and his sometimes sidekick/producer Timbaland. They are Tennessee boys and do gooders so I thought they would have been a good fit.

Harry Connick Jr & his awesome band

And then it happened. His handsome self took the stage and he had me at hello. Launching in to a self deprecating message of admiration for strong woman who know how to get things done. His charm grew by the minute as he spoke of the influential females in his life including his wife of 20 years, 3 daughters, his accomplished sister serving in the military. This guy was the real deal.He related how he was happy to be speaking to a group of communicators who could muster their brains, compassion and technology to make significant contributions to society.

Harry Connicks band

OK so they didn't sound like Justin Timberlake, but at that moment when it felt like they were playing individually to you it more than made up for that. The fact that the band members were each so expert with their particular instrument made them a dream team to listen to.

As Harry closed out the show and wandered around to the photo line in the back the rest of us slowly made our way out onto the dance floor with a new DJ taking over.

Our fun was so irresistible that before we knew it several of the band members had come through the middle of the crowd to join the crazy dance party that was ensuing. I'll give them a lot of credit for courage in dropping it like it's hot in a gigantic vat of estrogen fueled by some liquor and a corporate post Harry adrenaline surge. It's a wonder they didn't get eaten alive!

Who would have know that  Harry's band members enjoyed dancing to Justin Timberlake tunes as much as I do?

For decades men have abhorred having to stop somewhere to as directions. The popularity of the Garmin, TomTom, the Magellan have ushered in a new era. The very  same electronic tools may lead to the ruination of the male species.

30 years from now every male in a Sun City retirement village will have to wear a GPS necklace to make the journey from their Thursday afternoon Euchre club to the dining hall in time for dinner.

What man doesn’t love  a gadget ? So if they can have a gadget that tells them (in a female voice) where to go turn by turn its a win win. They don’t give another thought to how they are retraining their brain to be directionally dysfunctional. They will begin drooling over every new  and improved model they get a news flash on.

In my family it seems the more complicated the object, the more esteem it is held in. In 2004 my husband had the sales guy from the local electronics store come train him and install our new all in one remote which operated a whole cabinets worth of audio-visual equipment. The thing was lovely. You would have thought it was a magician in a box the way all of the male visitors to our household were captivated by it’s sleek design and seamless operation.

Bad Baby broke the remote

That was until one of the children pushed one wrong button in the sequence and there was no coming back from the remote hell it sent us to. Many a family feud was sparked by that remote and we learned an important lesson....if it requires one on one in home training to turn on my television, it is something I can live without.
 
On our recent trip to Austin we rented several cars. My husband travels a lot and earned his way to a free week from Hertz. He never leaves the parking lot without the Never Lost system. I rent my own vehicle for this trip, equipped with a trusty map and the Frequently Lost (or at least turned around) System.

We approach travel from very different perspectives. He’s usually on business. You land in your target city’s airport, pick up your car, have no idea how to get around. The GPS navigational systems allows you to plug in your destination’s address and you’re off to close the deal, viola, as simple as that. He only stays as long as the task takes and then he’s out of there.

When I travel I’m usually there for a longer stay, maybe a combination business/pleasure type of trip. I’ll do research on what to see, where to stay, where to eat, etc. I’ll read consumer reviews, make notes and click on maps for all the things that have piqued my interest. So when I arrive I already have a vague outline in my head of where things are.

I don’t have a GPS in my own car. When I rent a car I always shop around for the best deal and I hesitate to spend the extra money for the navigation system. There are times I wish I had one, like when you’re trying to see addresses on unfamiliar buildings or homes. I’ll fully admit the little devils can increase efficiency, which is important to me.

Figuring out what route to take on a road trip is like completing a puzzle, sort of a road Suduko. Sure I get turned around every now and then. I occasionally pass my exit, pass my destination or head out the wrong way. In finding the method of correcting myself I often learn things about the area I might not have known. Like the location of that hole in the wall taco stand. I learn alternate routes and develop my cache of data about my target area and into the vault it goes, to reside there until I need to recall it.

I like to think of it as exploration, not just getting from point A to point B. In the end I think you get a much better lay of the land. Not that being lost isn’t frustrating. I also don’t really like to ask for directions. According to most Austin residents, when ever I asked how long will this take the standard answer was, “about 20 minutes”. I found that not to be true frequently on my travels around that place.

I think the experiment of having one car with it, and one car without proves my theory that relying on a navigation system satisfies the need for instant gratification, but it also makes us lazy and eventually directionally challenged. By the end of the week I had a competent grasp on how to get around between Lake Travis, Austin and my hotel.

Who knows how much knowledge sunk into my husbands head, because he continued to drive around with that annoying directional bitch telling him every little thing, even though he had gone to the same Home Depot 4 times that week.

Men. Who can understand them?