"When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained."

It’s time for Spiffy to reflect on the year that has come and gone. Take inventory of her failures and, of course, her successes.  You know what they say, "failure is success if we learn from it."  Well, I've been a sedulous student this year, my friends!

BUNGLES :(

• I killed at least three plants. I over watered my rubber tree plant and have no idea what I did to my other plants, but the last one to make its way to foliage heaven is featured below. In lieu of sending flowers, please make a donation in my name at Bank of America. Thanks.

• I lost one of my crowns. I like to chew gum and I chewed it right off of my back tooth. Luckily I didn’t swallow it…that was a first… 
• I didn’t snag a boyfriend. I had some prospects, none of which panned out and I’m OK with that. I believe that everything happens for a reason, so I’m moving this one on to a 2011 goal. If worse comes to worse, I still have my stun gun and I’ve been working on my knot tying skills.
• I still can’t do a yoga headstand without leaning against the wall. 
• I didn’t run a marathon. Or a half marathon. Or a 10k. But…

BOOMS :)

• I ran a couple of 5k’s and, let’s just be frank, I ran – period. I’m good with that.
• I turned 40 this year and didn’t spend the day curled up in a fetal position sobbing hysterically. I thought it was going to be the most traumatic thing to happen to me since they canceled Arrested Development, but on a scale of “Meh” to “Holy Fuck!” I’d say I settled right in the middle at “What’s that burning smell?” 
• I bought a new car which I’ve named Maynard after the best front man ever to walk the earth – Maynard James Keenan. I’m at least 100 feet away from him and there was nothing in the paperwork about naming things after him, so everything is fine. Relax.

Maynard James Keenan - so incredibly hot.

• I bought some new furniture so I don’t feel as bad about living in an apartment. I have to remind myself that on the coasts, apartment living is typical and not looked down upon. Unfortunately, in the Midwest I’m still expected to own my own home. Fuck off. 
• I transferred to Park University and will soon finish my degree. This time next year I’ll have that piece of paper that says I can do what I’ve been doing for years, except that now I’ll have thousands and thousands of dollars of extra debt to prove it! Yeah me.
• I saw a shit load of live music.  I dubbed my summer the "Summer of Concerts," and I lived up to it.  See above photo for one of the artists I saw twice this summer; all within the guidelines of the restraining order.
• I started this blog. I’ve thought about it and talked about it most of the year and finally, with the encouragement of my wonderful friend Courtney, I did it. It feels good to share my twisted alter-ego with the tens of people who read my blog! Thanks, Court!

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I like to put a surly spin on everything, but I’m actually pretty happy with what I’ve accomplished in 2010. In addition to the “things” I’ve gained this year, I’ve also gained a new appreciation for myself. I don’t put as much pressure on myself to be something or someone else any more. I will never have a perfect body (without liposuction), it’s doubtful I’ll ever be rich (without the lottery or a sugar daddy), and not everyone will like me (fuck them if they don’t like me), and I’m OK with all of this. Like my friend Tim said this week, 2011 is the year of Spiffy so look out, bitches!

I found this poem that I'd like to share:
For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
~T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"

Happy New Year and I hope you all have a fucking fantastic 2011! 

Paging Christmas Spirit. Are you here Christmas Spirit?

Those of you who know me know that there isn't much about me that you'd consider "traditional."  Natural - yes.  Traditional - not so much.

I would like to feel all warm and fuzzy about the holidays, but truthfully, this time of year hasn't really held many special memories for me in many years.  Maybe it will again one day, who knows.  I promise you that my attitude about the holidays has improved greatly in the past couple of years.  I actually bought a Christmas tree - granted it's 2-feet tall and lit by fiber optic branches, but it's a start for eff's sake so get off my back!  But I digress...

Regardless of my lack of "traditionalness" (yep, I made that word up), there are a few things that I look forward to around this time of the year and I'd like to share them with you...in no particular order.  Ready?

1) Seasonal blend coffees.  I love the pumpkin spice and gingerbread and peppermint blend coffees.  Love, love, love.

2) Christmas candy.  My Grandma used to make the best Christmas candy like peanut clusters and peanut brittle, but my absolute all time favorite - cherry mash candy.  I know.  Some people find it disgusting, but I love, love, love it!  Miss you Grandma. xoxo

3) Playing in the snow.  This is something that I love to do, but I haven't done it in years.  My brother and I used to make the most kick ass snow forts in our front yard.  Seriously, they were like igloos and we'd hang out inside.  I love having snowball fights, but I haven't had a good one in a few years.  My dogs don't really find it amusing when I throw snowballs at them.  They don't quite get the concept...  I also love to go sledding.  I remember being little and going sledding with my dad and brother.  He'd drive us to the same hill every year, put us on our snow saucer and toss us off so we'd fly in the air a bit before sliding down the hill.  It was AWESOME!  Trying to shove my adult-self off of a hill on a tiny saucer just doesn't have the same effect...

4) Boots.  I really like to wear boots and it's much too hot to wear them in the summer.

5) Christmas lights.  I used to love to sit in a dark house with nothing but the Christmas lights turned on and just relax and think.  It was very peaceful.   I also really enjoy looking at lights on houses around town.  It's nice that people take the time to show their own Christmas spirit, although I still haven't quite figured out what the correlation is between lights and baby Jesus, but whatever.

6) Christmas songs.  Not necessarily the "traditional" tunes (go figure), but I've always liked The Little Drummer Boy.  I think mainly because I dig the drums.  Other that that, a few of my faves are Blue Christmas by Elvis,  Last Christmas by Wham, and 2000 Miles by The Pretenders. 

7 ) And last, but definitely not least, this SNL skit is something that I look forward to every year.  If ever I feel gloomy around the holidays, I watch this skit and the world falls back into place.  It makes me super happy.   By the way, I had to search and search for this and could only find it on Hulu, so deal with the 10 second commercial.  It's a small price to pay for the happiness you're about to feel!

Merry Christmas, bitches!

Pucker up!

Most of you probably don't know this, but I'm a really good kisser.  At least I think I am and 90% of doing something well is thinking that you do it well, right?  Although, I will admit, it is much more important to ACTUALLY kiss well than just think you kiss well.  What the eff ever, I'm a good kisser!

Moving on.  My stellar smoochers haven't seem much action lately.  Eight months and a couple of weeks to be exact.  Now please don't pity Spiffy Chick.  It's not like I couldn't be making out like crazy, but I have standards.  
I've considered lowering my standards a bit, but we'll leave that craziness for another blog!

Why do I bring up my lack of lip action?  Well I saw the trailer for the new Jolie/Depp movie -The Tourist.  I'm sitting on the couch, minding my own business when all of a sudden, Johnny Depp's beautiful tongue makes his way into Angelina Jolie's beautiful mouth.  It was that very moment that I realized how much it sucked to not be able to rewind live TV.  The kiss was hot people.  HOT! 

That same kiss reminded of me of some toe-tingling kisses I've had in my life and then BLAM!  Reality.  Cold shower.  Blog fodder for my 8 fans to enjoy.

Kissing is, like, one of my five favorite things to do.  Seriously.  How can anyone who has a boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife not make out with them all of the time?  You have a steady supply of lip loving, ready and waiting.  TAKE IT!

I've told you before that I have a vivid imagination.  Well, sometimes I have little 'fantasies' of walking up to men, telling them that I like their shoes or their watch something along that line and then sticking my tongue down their throat for a little face smooshing then and walk away.  Do you think I could get away with it or would I find myself in cellblock 3 with Ginger and her buddy Sexy Lexi?  Personally, I think it would be a great way for me to pay it forward from that nice lady who bought me lunch last week, but maybe I'm delusional. 

Yeah, you're right.  Probably not the best idea. Spiffy Chick is a freak, but she's not a pervert people. 

Shut Your Effing Potty Mouth!

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Crush, crush, crush

I had a conversation over the weekend with a couple of my guy friends.  They wanted to know which star I have a "girl crush" on and would have a lesbian fling with, should I ever find myself in the mood for a lesbian fling and in the presence of a star.

One of my buddies had no problem listing off at least five different guys he has had "completely plutonic" male fantasies about.  I'll preface this by confirming that he's not homosexual, but I got the feeling that he'd put a little too much thought into this particular topic.  A few of his choices:  Johnny Depp, Matt Damon, Sean Connery, and Matthew McConnaughey.

Now, I've had my share of very non-plutonic fantasies about Johnny Depp, but the others don't do much for me.  Not even McConnaughey and his killer abs. 

Neither of my friends believed me when I told them that no one came to my mind immediately.  I really hadn't put any thought into having either a girl crush or a lesbian fling.  They continued to goad me until I came up with a few girl crush possibilities that I will share with you now:

- Gwen Stefani - I like her fashion sense, she's my age and is totally hot and yet cool at the same time.  I really wouldn't find it hot to make out with her because of her fire red lipstick (it doesn't wipe off easily), but she'd be fun to have a few drinks with and talk about music and boys.

- Shakira - That girl can move like no other.  Again, not feeling any sexual urges toward her, but I'd like her to teach me how to belly dance.  In exchange, I could teach her to talk less like Kermit the Frog.

- Shirley Manson - Are you getting the theme to my crushes here??  Musicians.  I dig musicians.  Shirley is just bad ass - period.  She's a red head with super pale skin, just like me.  I think we're kindred spirits, although she got the cool Scottish accent and I got the boobs.

What about you?  Any girl/boy crushes?  Don't worry - I won't judge...much... :)

Excuses, excuses...

I awoke one morning in late 2008 with the revelation that I wanted to run a marathon.  I thought, "Why not?"  Afterall, I believe in myself and, let's face it, if I want something, I usually find a way to get it or make it happen.

Fast-forward to November 8, 2010.  Let's take a look at the list of things I wanted to accomplish, an annual bucket list of sorts: win the lottery (nope), get a new car (yep), wrangle up a boyfriend or even an occasional date (skant), new furniture (yep), run a marathon (hells no).

I've run a few 5k's and I'm proud of that, but I've since discovered that running just isn't my thing.  My boobs are too big and my knees are too shot to find much, if any, enjoyment in the activity.  Although I'm pretty sure my big boobs and shot knees should offer me some type of advantage in the boyfriend category, but maybe that's just wishful thinking....

An even bigger kick in the teeth to me was the news story about the Chilean miner who was stuck miles below the surface for over two-months, trained by jogging in place wearing steel-toed boots, and just finished the New York marathon.  Kudos to you, Mr. Miner, but suck it sideways for upstaging me!

Maybe I'm just making excuses.  Maybe not.  I really wish I enjoyed running and could find my "zone" as they call it.  I've gotten better; I'm a master "wogger" and I no longer suck air and think I'm going to pass out while jogging up the street, but I doubt I'll ever run a marathon.   And I'm OK with that fact.

What I'm not OK with - the lack of sex in my life.  Not that I haven't had offers.  I mean, come on, have you seen my rack??  Unfortunately those offers while tempting- come with baggage.  The only baggage I'm looking for right now is one with a Burberry label, thank you very much.

*Disclaimer - if anyone from my family reads this, I apologize for the potential mouth-vomiting after visualizing my rack.

"Bad people are sent to Washington by good people who don't vote."

Now, you may think that Spiffy Chick only likes to talk shit and drop "f-bombs."  While both of those assumptions are true, there is much, much more to good ole' Spiffy. 

Tonight, I'm going to balance on my tippy toes on top of my soap box.  Tomorrow are the mid-term elections and I wonder how many of you will actually get off your ass and go out and vote.  I'm guessing, not too many.

As much as I dislike the redundancy of the political ads spewing lies and negativity over the past few months, I really hope that everyone gets off the couch and takes a few minutes to make your opinion known.  Even though you may not have the same opinion as me, you should have an opinion and should care about who represents your voice.

Realistically, this mid-term election will temporarily energize us, lull us into the false hope that things will be different. It would be awesome if we all took some time to educate ourselves about what's going on with our economy and in our country and, heck, in the world!  Learn to understand that what we're spoon-fed by the media isn't always (is rarely) the complete truth.  

Wouldn't it be nice to understand the noises coming out of the gaping hole in that talking head on TV?  To know whether they were telling you even a partial truth or spinning something into a neat little package that you will surely gobble up?

OK, that's all.  My legs are tired from all of this soap-box standing.  Live long, prosper, and make a difference!

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!

Thinking About You...

I've made a point to not watch TV this summer.  I got rid of cable and decided I was going to feed my brain with books versus mindless, meaningless television.  I've done a pretty good job; I've read no less than 12 books this summer and will start on 13 tonight.  I've only watched TV for the news and for my Sunday morning politics fix, and Redbox movies, but that doesn't count. :)

Well I decided to flip on the tele Friday evening and what was on?  The "Stand Up to Cancer" special.  One thing you may not know about me; I get super emotional when it comes to TV fundraisers.  There is something about a large group of people who get together to support a cause that makes me weep like Jim Bakker when he got busted in a sex scandal.  Friday was no different, except that this time it was almost instantaneous weeping. 

I lost my beautiful, sweet, funny, step-mother to cancer earlier this year.  I've never experienced anything like watching her fade away.  I didn't spend every day with her like my dad and step-sister and step-aunts did.  They had to watch this awful disease take away pieces of her every day until there was nothing left to take.  They are so much stronger than I will ever be and I love them for their strength.

So I sat there for a good 5 minutes with tears streaming down my face, thinking about Paula Sue and telling myself, "Just turn off the TV, dummy! Why are you doing this to yourself?"  I did it to myself because I want to always remember this pain.   It's the least I can do for the pain she went through and the pain family went through and still go through.

Then, the next day was September 11th.  I don't need to say much more than that, right?  We all feel that pain and we all know where we were that day. 

Don't worry; I didn't sit around and cry like a baby all weekend.  I had a lot of fun, too.  I toured the Boulevard Brewery, had lunch and dinner with friends, I laughed a lot, watched some little league baseball, and enjoyed the weather. 

But I thought about you a lot this weekend, Paula Sue.  I love you and I miss you.

Shootin' Blanks

I know this may be hard to believe, but I have nothing witty to say tonight.  I've lost the wit-factor.  I'm witless.  Lacking of wit.  The big wit goose egg. 

Basically, I've got nothing to say tonight, so I'll just tell an off-the-wall story.

This one time, in high school, I was at a party (gee, imagine that...).  I don't remember who's party, but I think it was in the Platte City area for some reason.

Anywhoo, a very large lesbian woman tried to trap me in a room and grope me.  It scared the shit out of me.  Literally.  I think I may have wet my pants.

I have no idea why she thought I wanted to be groped by her, but I didn't.  Not in the least.  I mean, there was probably a young hottie there that I would have offered a quick feel to, but she was certainly not on my list of grope-potentials.

OK, that's all.

Awful Foxy...

Why do I find so much pleasure in dropping the "f bomb"?  It is so un-ladylike and yet I just don't give a flying fuck! 

I was at a Labor Day party last night participating in a rousing beer pong tournament and I stopped for a brief moment when the words, "cock sucking piece of shit" came out of my mouth as I rimmed a cup and missed a shot.  I thought to myself, "wow, that was quite possibly overkill," but then I realized that I actually felt a little better post-expletive.  How can something so wrong, feel so right, right?

I like to tell the story of how I learned my favorite phrase, "for fuck's sake."  Back in the day, I hung out briefly with a couple of Scottish guys who were working on some kind of foreign exchange work program.  I couldn't really figure it out other than it was something their company offered and I was really pissed that I couldn't score a gig like that.  I would be a HIT in Scotland, I'm almost sure of it!

Anywhoo, they spoke really fast and had really heavy accents (which were really sexy I might add) and they would alway say, what I thought was, "awful foxy!" 

Turns out they were actually saying, "Aw for fuck's sake!"  Now, that makes A LOT more sense!  I'll never forget those guys (whatever their names were) and I'll never forget my favorite expletive, either!

I know there is a time and a place for cussing, and I also know that I may possibly scare off a potential hottie with my potty mouth.  But, then I figure if he can't handle my potty mouth, he couldn't handle me anyway, right?  Fuckin A!

What about you?  What word or phrase really helps you blow off steam?  Lay it on me!

Spreading Seeds...

The weather has been perfect his weekend, which has taken away some of my surliness; deal with it! 

Instead, my usual smart-ass opinions have been replaced with thoughts of appreciation.  I appreciate my life, the person I am today, and what it's taken me to get here.  I'm here to spread seeds of appreciation...since I'm not spreading any other seeds right now...but I digress.  : )

It is hard for me to keep my mouth shut when I see people take others for granted.  I see it between two loved ones.  I see it at work.  I see it between friends.  Appreciate the people in your life.  They are there because they want to be there and you want them to be there. (Well, maybe not at work...they probably have to be there, but appreciate them anyway!)

Even while typing this, I know that I'm a huge hypocrite when it comes to appreciating my mother.  There is years of water under that bridge and I'm trying really hard to wade through it.  I swear that I am.  It's just a slow process. 

OK, enough with the boo hooing.  I celebrated one of my oldest best friend's 40th birthday this weekend.  With me at the party was another one of my oldest best friends. Oldest isn't really the right word - these two girls have been in my life longer than most of my other friends - that's what I mean.

It was so cool to look back on our lives and think about all of the fun we've had together and, in my case, all of the fun I've forgotten that I had in my life (my memory SUCKS!).  We are all in great places in our lives and really great people - see more appreciation!! 

Speaking of "fun" that I've forgotten about, another one of my friends brought up a story about my youth that made me laugh because I swear to God, I don't remember one bit of this. 

I was living with a goon in my early 20's.  This goon was verbally and physically abusive and an all around worthless piece of shit.  I was young and stupid and eventually moved on, but while we were living together, apparently the FBI was watching our house because of all of the "activity" at the house!! 

She reminded me that I had to go to FBI headquarters and answer questions about this goon and his friends because they thought our house was a possible drug house.  Seriously, don't remember anything about that.  How crazy is that?   Oh, and by the way, I swear I was not living in a drug house.  If he dealt, I didn't know anything about it.   But now it makes me wonder whether my name is on record at the FBI for some stupid goon that I lived with in the early 90's!!!  Geez!

Love yourself, love your friends, and hug a tree.  Peace out, bitches!

Yoooouuu, you got what I neeeed...

I'm not feeling super Spiffy tonight, but I feel like I need to blog anyway.  I started this monster, I better keep on riding it, huh?

Dating someone new and trusting them not to stomp on your heart like a little tomato isn't easy.  I've been single for 4 years now and I've had my heart chopped into pico several times, but I've picked up the pieces and moved on.  I've learned that it's his fucking problem, not mine! : )  Seriously, I'm a pretty kick-ass chick and I refuse to let someone else's opinion of me bring me down...but I digress.

Will I ever get to the point that I'm tired of being disappointed by the actions of others?  Tired of putting my faith into someone that "this time, it will be different," and it never is?   Seriously, no shit, among other let-downs, I've been stood up on 3 dates in the past 4 months by two different guys. 

The first guy I let walk on me twice because he was a long-time obsession of mine and I really wanted to find out if I was missing anything.  Turns out I wasn't missing a damn thing because he flat-out ditched me.  No call, text, no apologies, and obviously, no clue what he was missing.

The other guy was just an idiot d-bag who apparently got too drunk to pick up the phone and tell me he hadn't left work. (yes...I used the words drunk and work in the same sentence...)  Instead he let me sit at the restaurant by myself, looking pathetic for 20 minutes until I just walked out. 

Now, you may be asking what the eff my problem is with my choice in men.  I only tell you to judge not lest ye be judged, my friends.  You don't know what it's like out there!!  The pickins aren't as abundant as they were in my 20s! : )

So, do I let the actions of these two schmucks keep me down?  Hell no!  I use them as fodder for my blog!  

In the sage words of Curtis Mayfield, "Keep on keepin on!"  My heart is open to the possibility that something better is out there.  Not every guy will be afraid of commitment, or like someone else more than you, or think you may be too old to give them a baby, or stand you up, or decide to join the Army, or...my list of "ors" can go on and on. 

One day, someone will live up to my expectations and be all that I know I deserve, and I'll be the same for him.  I believe that.  

Now, being the Spiffy Chick that I am, I can't end this blog on too fluffy of a note, so I'll end it with this - no sleep till Brooklyn, bitches!!

(ok, that's really a load of horseshit...I'm usually in bed by 10...) ;)

Sweet Dreams are Made of This...

I have very strange dreams. I'm not really sure what it says about the thoughts floating around in my head, but I just had another doozy last night.

I don't remember many of the details, but I was breast feeding a baby.  Seriously.  The girl in my dream didn't really look like me, but it was supposed to be me.  I vividly remember looking down at the baby that I'd shoved under my shirt feeding away on my little, tiny, misshapen boob.  Like I said...the girl didn't look like me.  : )

I remember thinking, "Hmm. I can't really feel anything," and, "why do my boobs look like little white, floppy triangles?"  Like I said...the girl didn't look like me.

That's all I recall of that dream, but that's not even the weirdest of the dreams that I can remember.  I had a dream once that I was at my grandparents old house and I'd brought my boyfriend with me, who just happened to be Bill Murray.  Bill and I locked ourselves in my grandma's back bedroom and I proceeded to lick his lollipop like he wanted it to be licked.  Ugh.  It was HUGE too! 

Then, once I had a dream that I was working at McDonald's when my friend Britney Spears came in and invited me over to her and Justin Timberlake's house (now you know the time frame of this dream). 

So, of course I went over and proceeded to hook up with some faceless guy.  Not like the skin was falling off of his head or anything; I just really couldn't see his face.   Then, in the middle of sex with this faceless guy, I stopped because this large, bloody mass fell out of my nether-regions.  Yeah, I know...buzz kill.

I picked up this bloody mass and pulled it apart and out fell a little baby sweater!  What the fuck is wrong with my head??!!!  Geez!

Any interpreters out there, have at it.  Tell me what's wrong with my dome!

Oh, and to top it all off, I came home tonight to find two flies FUCKING on my door frame!   I've got photo proof - prepare to be amazed...

Who Has 2 Thumbs and a Hangover? This Gal!

Drinking is fun when you're about one-and-a-half margaritas into the night.  You are pretty sure that you are the funniest person in the room, and that you've never tasted anything quite as fantastic as the cool, sweet, salty margarita sitting in front of you. 

Fast forward to the next morning after at least three of those fucking fantastic margaritas followed up by 5 of a 'mix a 6-pack' beers and you realize that drinking is not near as much fun as that first margarita made you think it was.  Bleh.   Thankfully, I kept my shirt on....that's all I'm saying.

So I updated my profile pic because I wanted to show of my SPIFFY new purple glasses!  Unfortunately, my profile pic is so small I'm not sure that the fucking fabulousness of my purple frames comes through, but trust me - they are pretty effing spiffy!

I met my dad at the casino today for lunch and penny slots.  I'm not a gambler.  Never have been and never will be.  For every dollar I spend, I think about what I could be purchasing and/or paying for and it sucks all of the fun out of pushing the little button on the slot machine.

Regardless, I had a great time hanging out with my dad.  We didn't always have the best relationship, but I love and appreciate him for who he is now and that's all that matters.  He's a sweet, sweet man and I love, love, love him. 

My current state of mind (aka hangover) is blocking all creative thoughts, so I'm just going to post one of my favorite pictures instead.  Meet my girls - Asia and Zoie.

Deuces...

S-A-T U R-D A Y NIGHT!

Sing it with me, hipsters!  That's right, it's Saturday night and I'm not going to spend the entire evening on my couch.  Can I get a "hell yeah!?"  (crickets chirping)...I guess not.

I'm meeting my "Gardner buds" at Torreon for some tasty Mexican food and margaritas.  Doesn't get much better than that combination - friends, food, and foreplay! (margaritas...get it?...).  I kid.

So I picked up a Redbox movie this afternoon - The Backup Plan.  Jennifer Lopez is a successful woman who just happens to be my age and she decides she's not going to wait around for 'the one' anymore - she's going to take the bull by the horns and have a baby all by herself!  Enter (stage left) hot dude with kick ass abs and a killer smile who just happens to be charming, sweet, sensitive (but not too sensitive that you would want to JUST have tea and jam with him and talk about your feelings), funny, and just aggressive enough to make your girly bits tingle when he looks at you.   She is inseminated the day their paths happen to cross, they fall in love, he decides he loves her enough to raise the babies as his own, he shows off his killer abs a few more times, and....scene.

I poke fun, but I thought it was a cute movie and it always makes me wonder if I'd make that choice one day.  Would I throw caution to the wind and decide to either have a baby on my own or adopt?  I don't know.  I can't say right now, but I think about it a lot.  I don't really know if I'm cut out to be a mom, let alone a single mom.  One of life's many questions...right up there with "can I get a what-what?"  Yes Jay Z, I'll give you a what-what.

Speaking of Jay Z and his what-what's, did you ever want to be a rapper, maybe just for a day?  I used to listen to that song and try really hard to flow like that chick, "...You ain't gotta be rich but fuck that, how we gon' get around on yo bus pass?  Fo I put this pussy on yo mustache.."  My favorite part; that I could never quite flow as well as she did was "..when you produce a rock, I let you meet momma and introduce you to poppa."  She made it sound so fucking cool and I just sounded like a stuttering idiot!  Damnit.  I'll never be a rapper.

Peace out.

It's on, Bitches!

OK, you'll probably guess by my first blog, I am not politically correct, nor will I be.  This is my blog, I'm laying it on the line.  You can read it or not.  Whatevs...

I haven't fully decided how I'm going to do this.  I've got a lot of stories.  Some funny, some not so funny, but I think that you will enjoy my stories...my memoirs.

I recently turned 40.  It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be, but it was pretty surreal nonetheless.  I couldn't imagine I'd be the woman I am today when I was in my 20's and even in my early 30's.

I think most of us - women mainly - believe that we need to fit into that "womanly mold" of married with children by a certain age.  I've been married - twice.  The first one doesn't really count in my mind, but it was legal, so I have to mention it.  The second one, well that was...I'm not really sure how to explain that one so I won't right now. 

Why did I mention this?  Because I think that there are a lot of us who recently turned 40 or are soon-to-be turning 40 who are taking a hard look at our lives and wondering, "Hmmm....really?"  I don't have children and I'm not sure whether I will.  I love kids and I think I'd make a fabulous step-mom, I'm just not sure my uterus is prepared to bear child.  That's all.  We'll see.  Who knows...Bristol Palin is on DWTS, so Hell can freeze over!

I've been divorced for 4 years (the second time).  Four years tomorrow to be exact.  I remember my "divorce-a-versaries" easily and I can't remember what I ate for lunch two days ago most of the time...go figure.  Too much dope in high school I guess....but I digress.

I've been on a lot of dates since my divorce.  Some good, but a lot of bad.  I am amazed at the amount of douchebaggery there is out there.  I'm pretty sure that I'm a douchebag magnet.  I'm not really sure how I acquired that talent and I'm working hard on passing it off onto someone else.  I've paid my dues!

OK, I've muddled on...let's start the memoirs, shall we?  I'm going to start with my first boyfriend, Matt (I'm leaving last names out...sorry!).  Matt was a couple of years older than me, tall, dark hair, and bright blue eyes.  He had a unibrow, but I didn't care, I was in 8th grade and didn't understand the concept of plucking myself. 

I can't remember how I met Matt because he was a Freshman when I was in 8th grade, but maybe it was at the pool...who cares...we met.   Matt took away the fruits of my virginity, well, I gave him the fruit, he didn't really 'take' anything.  I bet my dad $5 that I'd marry him one day.  Thank goodness I lost that bet.  He's turned into a Bible-beating weirdo, but he's happily married himself with two cute kids, so kudos to you, Unibrow! 

How was your first "experience?"  Can you remember back that far?  Ha!  I was scared out of my mind and I remember specifically feeling like my girly bits were ripping in half and I wasn't sure that my ass would be simply a "hole" when I was finished.  NO!  I didn't get ass-fucked for my first sexual experience you sickos!  It was just very painful in my nether-regions.  So there.  

We "did it" once and never again until 4 years later when I was a little more "legal" shall we say... It was just as crappy the second time.

What about you?