WWSCD??

Tonight, don't expect a poignant message or enlightening words of wisdom.  I'm blogging because I feel it's necessary to stay in front of the seven people who've decided to "Follow" me. I mean come on! Seven lives hang on my every blog!

Now, these seven people may decide that my message is one of great bearing and may decide to bear witness to my illustriousness...or not...regardless, I'm telling a story.  Like to hear it?  Here it goes! (channeling my Calhoun Tubbs...).

As many of you may know, I occasionally stir up the shit.  Well, maybe that's not the right way to put it - I just don't take much shit - that's a more accurate statement.  Like flipping off the teenage punks a couple of weeks ago.  Childish - yes.  Fun  - definitely.

Well, this morning while driving to work my co-pilot and I (Yes, I carpool.  Mainly so I can drive in the fast lane, but also because I'm a tree-hugger.) witnessed a bout of road rage. 

Admittedly, I'm not a fan of people merging in front of me, but if they will drive fast enough to get in front of me and continue at that speed so that I don't have to reduce MY speed, it's all good.  Merge on, merger.   Well, the idiot in the yellow truck this morning decided he'd much rather show the 87th Street on ramp how much of a douche bag he is instead of let the car merge in and enter the highway in front of him.  He accomplished this task by tailgating the car in front of him and practically forcing the attempting-to-merge car off the road.

The "A-T-M" driver took it much better than I would have.  They entered the highway and ended up in front of Pee-Pee Truck anyway.  I was one car behind "A-T-M," so I had full-frontal view of the action as it went down.  When I passed Mr. Fancy Yellow Truck, he apparently thought I was the driver of said "A-T-M" car because he flipped me off!  I didn't see it (my eyes were on the road, thank you), so my co-pilot suffered the wrath of Tweety Bird. 

Needless to say, we had a good laugh while I secretly wished that he'd spill coffee on himself or choke on his powder donut.  Let's be honest, though, anyone who is that angry at 6:30 am isnt going to have a good day - period.  My bad juju wishes just added to the bad karma he racked up while showing his ass. 

The moral to this story, kiddies - if you're man enough to drive a yellow truck, don't drive it like a pussy.   :)

Super Cala Blog-a-Licious. Expi Bloga-docious.

I have no idea where that bologna title came from.  It just popped in my head like most of the random thoughts that I have.  I bet you won't be able to stop humming the song, though!

After an almost confrontation with a teen Emo punk this weekend, I realized that as much as I like kids, I really dislike teenagers.  Sorry if any of you are reading my blog...wait...it's highly unlikely you'll take any time away from your video games or texting to read something, so I'm good.

Why don't I like teens?  I was a teenager once.  I was a BITCH of a teenager once.  Once you say?  Suck it.

But seriously, I guess it's not that I don't like teens, I just don't know how to relate to teens as a "parental figure."  That's the problem in a nutshell.  I have no problem being the cool lady, but I think I'm at the age where I should be less of the "cool lady" and more of an adult.  It sucks.

So, what brought this blatherskite on, you may ask? I had a little "run in" with a couple of teenage punks at McD's this weekend.  I was backing out of my space at the same time that they were backing out of theirs (apparently) and the d-bag thought he needed to honk at me just in case I didn't see him in my super-high-tech rear view backing mirror with backing sensors (did I mention that I love my car??).

Well, I actually didn't see him, but Maynard hadn't started beeping so I knew that I was no where near his car.  He honked, I stopped, looked out my drivers side window to the vacuous stare of a teenager.  So, being the adult in this situation, what did I do?  Well, I flipped him off.  Yep, I flew the bird.  Gave him the one-finger salute.  Showed him which way was up.  You get it.

Now, the second after I did it, I thought, "What the fuck did you do that for?"  Unfortunately, once the bird takes off, there is no reeling it back in.  The damage was done. 

So he pulls out, I pull out and start to leave the parking lot.  When I rounded the corner, the idiot had pulled over and gotten his scrawny, too-tight pants, floppy skull-cap wearing ass out of his friends car and started walking toward my car.  No way in hell was I going to pull over and have it out with Emo Teen Wolf, so I kept driving while waving and blowing kisses. 

He wasn't too happy.  I, on the other hand, was quite amused.   Now, is this the action of someone who should be a parental figure?  I literally could have been his mother and instead of "acting my age," I flipped him off, waved and blew kisses. 

I'm awesome.

Advice from a Spiffy Chick

It's time for a little sage advice from Spiffy Chick (background music...jazz hands...).  Don't try to seek out your rebound fling on Facebook and especially don't seek me out to be your rebound fling!

Last week I mentioned some things I'd like to do or do again.  Well there is one thing for sure that I will never do again - and that's be the ass-end of a rebound fling.  Sure, I'm all about having fun, hanging out, getting to know each other and figuring out what's going to happen next.  No need to rush things, right?  What I will not do again is mend some douche bag's broken heart so he can kick me to the curb and fall in love with his next fling. Not. Gonna. Happen.  Been there, done that, own the t-shirt, bitches!

Spiffy advice #2 - if you want to pick up a girl, don't use the line, "I just broke up with my girlfriend and I don't like to be alone."  The only thing less appealing to me than a co-dependent man with a bad pick up line is tongue-kissing this dude right after a night of binge drinking and shoving his face with Funyans.

Makes me shiver and throw up in my mouth a little just thinking about it. (gagging noises)...

Spiffy advice #3 - spend some time alone getting to know and learning to love yourself (however you feel fit, friends...wink, wink).  Afterall, if you can't love and take care of yourself, how can you really ever love and take care of anyone else? 

Once you've mastered self-love, look me up. :)  Maybe then you'll be ready for me.

Things I want to do...or do again

• I want to learn how to play an instrument.  I'd say the drums, but I don't have the coordination to keep my leg and hand action independent of each other, so it may be a futile effort.  Seriously - you should see the train wreck when I try to play the drums on Rock Band.  It's like someone let the gimp loose and gave her drum sticks.
• I want to go muddin'.  Yep, I want to ride around in an 4x4 and sling mud all over the place and holler, "Get it! Whoo!!" (yes, I said holler).  Maybe I'll get stuck in the mud, who knows.  Shit happens.  I used to participate in said act of "muddin"  all of the time with my friend Chappell back in the 80's and it was a HOOT!  The memories...
• I want to go on a cross-country motorcycle ride.  OK, maybe not cross-country...I'll start with cross-city.  I'm not sure my ass could take the country. (that's what she said....HOLLA!)
• I want to slap one of the members of the Phelps family in the face.  One actually works at my company and I fight the urge to slap him up side the head every time I see him.  The entire family is a waste of good air and space.
• I want a guy to send me an MMS text picture of his penis. It has to be clear and easily discernable.  If you have to ask why then you should find another blog to read.
• I want to drink a really expensive bottle of wine, like an Opus.  I love wine and I'm sure that there has to be a difference between the $12 bottles I can afford and the creme-de-la-creme of vino.  Which leads to...
• I want to meet a guy with a lot of money who thinks I'm fabulous and wants to give me whatever I want - like a picture of his penis and an really expensive bottle of wine...
• Now, something I don't want to do again - go to a piano bar.  Not a fan of some old, washed out musician singing Casio keyboard versions of Bon Jovi songs while he picks you out of the crowd and tries to get you to sing a solo.  I don't want to sing along, douche bag, so step off!  Sorry...I had to vent.

There are a lot of things that I'd like to do before I die; most of them much more important than any of the previous bullet points.  After surviving the taxi ride from Hell yesterday, I'm thankful to be alive and visualizing all that I have to experience before I make my way to the other side - like the penis picture text messages I'm going to get after I post this blog... : )

Whoo!!!

She's a Super Freak, Super Freak, She's Supa Freaky!!

I fantasize a lot.  Not always sexually (although a lot sexually...wink wink...wait till you turn 40 and your sex drive explodes!), but I do fancy myself a dreamer.

I dream about what I would do if I won the lottery (too much to list right here, but it includes paying off my bills and the bills of a few select friends and family members while providing a college fund for a few select friends kids since I have none of my own right now and traveling and buying a nice house and a new car and opening my own business...and exhale...). 

I think about what I would say if I had the chance to talk to Hot Dad (let's just say it wasn't what I actually said when we spoke because I'm just that much of a lame chicken shit).  I think about who I'm going to be in 10 years and whether I'll be married with a family or some old maid living alone (dear Jesus, please NO!!). 

I sometimes picture myself in life-threatening situations and pretend that my friends are sad that I may have almost died and all come to visit me in the hospital and that this may just be what that guy needs to finally realize he really likes me...  I told you, I'm a freak.  But I'm pretty sure I'm not the only freak with a wild imagination, right??

That's always been one of my problems.  I constantly think about the future and what is going to happen and what I need to do to make sure what I want to happen, happens.  Or, I worry about how I'm going to handle something that I don't want to deal with.  I have a very hard time living in the "now" reality.  I don't always think that's a bad thing because sometimes my "now" reality really sucks!

Last night I was giving smooches to my dogs before bed and I had a nice long look at my baby girl, Asia.  She's getting up there in age, so I started smelling her chubby cheeks and squishing her beautiful face and trying to imagine what life is going to be without that face every day.  It makes me so sad to think about life without her, but the reality is that one day, I'll have to deal with it.  Just like I'll have to deal with the reality that my life is going to be what it will be.  I just have to do my best not to be blinded by my fantasies when reality hits me in the face.

In the meantime, I like to imagine myself as a winner, like that Asian guy who eats all the hot dogs, or Rue Maclanahan, you know, from the Golden Girls.

...wink, wink...

I've Picked Up a Stalker

I have to vent for a minute.  I've said it before (ok, maybe not here, but I've said it, trust me), people and their narrow minds never cease to amaze me.

Men, in case you're wondering, just because a woman is 40 doesn't mean she can't "breed."  Remember the saying when we were stupid teens, "if she can bleed, she can breed!"?  Well, it still applies, idiot. 

Get ready for a string of cliches:  age is just a number;  you're only as old as you feel; 40 is the new 30; once you go black, you'll never go back (OK, I threw that one in there to see if you were paying attention...), but you get the picture, right?

I am smart, successful, funny, sexy, caring, giving, and I'm 40.  If you're into me, my age won't matter...and if I'm into you, your age won't matter, either.

OK, I feel better now.  I had to get that off my chest.  Now, onto the stalker.

So I've bitched for a while that I never meet any hot guys at the gym.  I'm at the gym A LOT.  I go there to work out, not for a fashion show and not to pick up guys, but I always thought it would be CONVENIENT if I met a guy who happened to have one of my interests - staying fit.

You know what they say, be careful what you wish for...well I've picked up a stalker - Cyrus.  Cyrus seems nice, but I think he may be a bit of a water head.

He works out a lot and seems to be in pretty good shape.  He's always sweating profusely and wears a headband to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes...(pause for the visual).  He talked to me a few weeks ago, which I thought deserved props because most guys don't have the balls to talk to me; not sure why.  Anyway, we chatted, I left and didn't think much of it.

Now, Cyrus makes a point to loiter around the gym before my kickboxing class, pretending to stretch out, attempting to chat me up, telling me that he's been to the gym twice that day so he can get in shape like me...(pause for the bullshit). 

I will never claim to be in fabulous shape.  I'm fit and I'm healthy, but I've got a few to lose and I'm OK with that fact.  Cyrus was very sweet to attempt to bullshit me on that level, but come on!

Now he appears out of no where when I'm walking through the middle of the gym and taps me on the shoulder while I'm talking to other girls.  It's kind of creeping me out and I'd like it to stop, please.  I want to be able to go to the gym and ignore people in peace. Thanks.

See how we girls are?  We're never satisfied, are we?  Someone is interested in us, we're not interested in them.  We're interested in someone, they aren't interested in us.  It's a fucking mess, I tell you!

Peace out!

Plan B

Ask my friends, I've lived all over the place.  I used to move about once a year.  Wasn't really anything that I planned, it just sort of happened. I got bored or my roommate left or I got divorced.  Pick any of the above.

I've lived in some shit holes and I've lived in some really nice places.  Currently I'm in a pretty nice place, except for the fact that some douche bag thinks he needs to set his alarm on his Tahoe at 5:30pm...and it keeps going off.  I'd like to remind him that we're in Lenexa and he's more likely to see a Johnson County MILF take it in the back door than anyone try to take off in his piece of shit, but whatevs.  And, in case you're wondering, it's highly unlikely you'll find a JOCO MILF who will take it in the back door...

I lived in a really kick ass apartment in my early 30's with my friend Kris.  We had a lot of fun, threw a lot of parties, and drank a lot of beer on our patio.  We lived across the street from the KCPT tower so every winter, we'd play "dodge the ice shard" when big sheets of ice would fall thousands of feet to the ground and crash into pieces.  It was a hoot.  We had this really cool lesbian named Julie who lived below us.  She helped us get rid of a mouse who was unfortunate enough to make its way into our sticky trap, and she threw loud lesbian parties where they all stood outside and sang "The Tide is High" by Blondie at 3am.  We loved Julie.


I lived in a not so nice place in Roeland Park after I got divorced.  My pipes burst twice in one winter and flooded my apartment both times.  Like water pouring out from underneath my doors down the driveway flooding.  It was nasty.  While residing in said shit hole, I came home from class one night to find two young "gentlemen" loitering outside of my building.  I tried to walk inside and pretend I didn't see them, but my super hottness attracted them, apparently, and they started chatting me up.

I played along, chatted back, said goodnight and walked inside; freaked out that they knew where I lived and I had no idea who they were.  So, what did I do?  What any single girl SHOULD do - I called the cops. 

Not like a 911 call, just a call to the local po po asking, "Hey, if you don't mind, would you send a car through here to make sure all is well? Thanks..."  So I went to bed and about 5 minutes later, 3 cop cars came blaring in, full spot lights and bullhorns - no shit.  Like these guys couldn't figure out who called the cops on them!!  Seriously?!

The cops questioned them and then they left and left the guys there, so who has two thumbs and was freaked out all night that I was going to get gang-raped?? THIS GAL!

The place I live in now is nice and has one really nice perk who I like to call "Hot Dad."  There used to be two "hot dads" but one moved.  Luckily this one is still around and he gives me much pleasure.  Not that kind of pleasure, (unfortunately), but pleasure while I watch him my window from time to time...(can you say stalker??)  He's bald and rides a Harley and has two cute little girls - thus the name "hot dad."  Without the kids he'd just be "hot dude," pssshees. 

I moved here because it's nice and I thought I should live somewhere nice while I track down my next husband.  I'm not really sure how well that plan is going, so I may have to work on a Plan B... :)  But who knows.  I still have my super hottness.

Peace out, bitches!