All posts by Gigi

Love, Part 1

I met my first husband in line for the bathroom at a St. Patrick’s Day themed frat party twenty five years ago this month. With such an auspicious beginning, who would have guessed that it wouldn’t last? I nearly didn’t meet him at all, as I was about to leave the party because some drunk frat boy had just smacked me on the butt. I realized my cup was empty when I went to throw my green beer on him. I ended up shaking my cup at him and yelling, “Not nice!” while he laughed and shrugged like, “Whoops, my bad!” It was time to go. I didn’t want to ride the subway with a bladder full of green beer, so I got in the long bathroom line and the guy in front of me turned around, smiled and said hi. I was going to smile vacantly and look through him, but I noticed that he looked kind of like Lloyd Dobler from the movie Say Anything, which is a stupid reason to fall for someone, but I was 20 and it was a good time to fall. I opened my mouth and something super sexy came out, “I really have to pee, so don’t stink up the bathroom or use up all the toilet paper.” I was such a sweet talking devil. How could he resist? He laughed and was waiting for me when I came out, so we sat on a couch and started talking. I found out that he was not one of the frat boys, but was home on spring break from his college, which was four hours away. Frankly, this made him even more attractive to me, as I tended to be far more enthusiastic about romances that seemed like they would be excitingly short-lived. It soon became clear to the fratties that Lloyd (not his real name, but let’s just go with it) was not one of them, and they not-so subtly asked him to leave. He and I, along with my sweet roommate, who had been waiting while I chatted up Mr. Say Anything, got into a cab headed back to our dorm. My roommate went to bed and Lloyd asked me if I wanted to get coffee. I always say yes to coffee. It was a magical night, lightly snowing and cold with a big bright moon giving off a glow that gave the trees and sidewalks a sparkly luminescence. I am not made of stone. How was I not going to fall in love with him? We walked to Harvard Square together and sat at the counter of The Tasty and had coffee and talked more. Elton John’s Rocket Man came on the radio and he said his dad used to call him the Rocket Man and made him a t-shirt with the nickname emblazoned on it that he wore all the time when he was a little boy. After our coffee we went into the Store 24 and bought gummy worms and other candy that you can eat at 2 AM when you are 20, yet still avoid heartburn and belly fat. I saw a card that had a picture of a chubby guy sitting at a diner counter and inside it said, “missing you” and I told him he should buy it and send it to me and he bought it. Then we walked back to my dorm and sat in the lounge watching MTV and eating gummy worms and milk duds, and we talked on and on all night. When it was light out, we wrote our phone numbers on the back of a jello box (I seriously had eaten jello for dinner that night. How was I even alive with that kind of diet?) and then I walked him out. At the door he leaned in and kissed me and I remember it being this monumental thing, where I thought, “Whoa….something big is happening.” Maybe it was lack of sleep and too much sugar, but that was the first kiss I’d ever had where I saw fireworks.

We spent nearly every day and night of the next week together and then he had to go back to school. I was sad that he was leaving, but it didn’t seem sensible to try a long distance relationship. The morning he left, we said that maybe we’d get together next time he was in town and kissed goodbye. I was a little relieved that it was over, because the week with him had been way more intense than anything I’d ever experienced romance-wise and I felt like I needed to catch my breath. I was watching tv with my friends that night, when the phone rang and it was Lloyd, drinking at a bar near his school. He said, “I was wrong, I think we should give a long distance thing a try. I don’t want to wait and see.” I was surprised, but thrilled. I threw caution to the wind and said yes.

Everything about love was so new to me. I’d had a couple of boyfriends before, but it had never been like this. It all seemed like magic. He wrote me letters from school and would draw me funny cartoons and write silly poems. He took a train and a bus, traveling a ridiculous amount of hours just to come see me every couple of weeks. We were crazy about each other and never seemed to run out of things to talk about. We came up with silly ideas and stories and laughed like maniacs. We made each other mix-tapes. Plus, we were both young and adorable and having the type of sex that people with endless energy from a diet of 80% sugar, who are limber and need very little sleep have. Lots and varied. Ah youth. I found a way to stay in Boston for the summer while he was home from school (four part-time jobs) and we spent all of our non-work time together. We loved taking long ambling walks through Boston. Sometimes we’d ride the subway to a stop we’d never been to, then get out and walk around for hours. The first time he asked me to marry him, we were on a late night walk, just four months after we met. Our summer together was ending in a matter of weeks and we were both starting to get anxious. “We should get married!” he said and I just laughed. But he stopped and spun me around so he was looking in my eyes and said, “I’m totally serious. Let’s get married.” “But we can’t! We’re too young!” I said. I adored him more than I’d ever adored anyone in my life, but I had no interest in being a wife. I still had two more years of college. He said we could do it and still finish school. Maybe we could just secretly get married, and we wouldn’t even have to tell anyone? That idea actually appealed to me. I like secrets and I am prone to doing ridiculous things on a whim. We didn’t do it, though. Before he left to go back to school he bought me a gold ring with a little heart-shaped amethyst stone in the center. “Will you wear it on your left hand?” he asked. “I want everyone to know you are mine.” He was always saying crazy shit like that and I just ate it up.

We should have done it. We should have made that spectacular mistake early. Gotten it out of the way and been divorced before we could do any major damage to each other. Instead we had a long distance relationship while we were in college, then moved to Texas together so that he could go to graduate school. He asked me to marry him again when we’d been together six years. This time it wasn’t romantic. We’d been growing apart and fighting more and more. And then he had a health scare, something minor that seemed major, and when we got back from the doctor he said, “Maybe we should get married?” And I said, “Sure, why not?” And we tried to plan a wedding, but neither of us was really interested, so we flew to Vegas and got hitched in the Chapel of Love. Maybe it was an attempt to get back to the days when we were younger and frivolous and did wild things together. Eloping in Vegas is some wildly crazy fun. Sadly, I’d say it was the last time we ever had crazy fun together. Things quickly went to shit after that. The jealousy and possessiveness I’d mistaken for passionate love in him was starting to smother me. He seemed to disapprove of everyone in my life: friends, family, anyone that took my focus off of him. I somehow thought that marriage would make this better, that he would feel more secure and loosen up a bit, but it seemed to make it worse. Two months after we married, we had a huge fight where he was angry at me for talking on the phone with my sister when he wanted me to watch tv with him. He yelled at me and punched a wall, and I grabbed our car keys and took off. I drove around aimlessly thinking, “I’ve made a huge mistake and I am going to need to get out of this marriage.” But I stuck it out for two more years. I always loved him and I kept hoping that the stress of both of us being in graduate school was our biggest problem. We still seemed really compatible, as long as I didn’t spend too much time away from him. And working full-time while going to grad school didn’t give me much opportunity for a social life, so things just went along for a while. He was at the point in his academic career where he was teaching his own classes, while working on his dissertation. He seemed restless and unhappy. He began telling me salacious stories about a colleague who was having an affair with a student and I was fascinated and repelled. Somewhere in the back of my mind it began to dawn on me that he knew way too many details about this affair. One day I came home from class and he smelled like a fruity shampoo that we didn’t have. He left to go play basketball that evening and without thinking, I logged into his email. I’m not sure what drove me to do it. I’d never done anything like that before, but it was easy because his password was my name. I found a chain of his emails with a college friend of his, whom he was supposed to be meeting in New Orleans that weekend. It was all about keeping a secret from me. It said, “Don’t worry, I’ll tell her I’m with you if she calls.” And it ended with “Fuck your brains out this weekend!” So then I knew.

I’m not saying I was perfect. I know I can be petty and mean. Conveniently, I can only remember two instances of my egregiously bad behavior towards him. One was in college when we’d had a fight and I hung up on him, then got all dressed up and went to a party. I met a guy and ended up making out with him in a bathroom stall, standing on a toilet. I thought it was hot at the time and now I can’t believe I didn’t get flesh eating bacteria. The other thing is shitty, but not nearly as gross. Once he was sitting on our bed, shirtless and I went over and poked him in the belly and made that “hee-hee” sound like he was the Pillsbury Dough Boy. This seems way meaner to me now that my stomach will never be flat again, due to having three babies. These days, I’d cut somebody who poked me and made the Doughboy sound. Then I would cry. But at the time I laughed maniacally at him while he stared at me in horror.

Also, that amethyst heart ring he bought me? I lost it. He had another one made for me a few years later and I lost that one too. I was appallingly careless back then. But it may have been symbolic. That ring and that relationship sometimes made me feel smothered and I would take it off for a while to breathe and be myself again. I think I knew it wouldn’t last, but I still hoped it would. Maybe he felt the same way.

When I found out he was cheating, I was devastated and furious. I kicked him out of our apartment and proceeded to cut all of the crotches out of his pants and underwear, then folded them up in a box for him to take with him. Surprise, asshole! I threw out all of the love letters he’d written me in college, including the “missing you” card from the night we met. I gave him back my wedding ring and told him it didn’t mean anything to me and I never wanted to see it again. I held on to being angry, because when I wasn’t angry I felt more lost and desolate than I ever had in my life. I divorced him, even though I still loved him, because I thought that he’d end up ruining me if I let him stay. I don’t think it was the wrong decision, but it was one of the hardest things I ever did.

I wish I hadn’t thrown out all of our love letters. I wish I hadn’t let my second husband convince me to throw out the three wedding pictures that I had from my time with Lloyd. I wish I hadn’t lost the heart rings. I have no physical evidence left of that relationship and sometimes it feels like it never really happened. I’m writing it down now, while I still have the memory to do so. It’s already flawed and missing pieces, but I can still remember that feeling of first real love, long before things got so sad and ugly between us. It was a pure and beautiful thing.

He and I aren’t in touch today. I once ran into him at the gym a few years after we split and we had a nice conversation. I haven’t seen him since then, 12 or 13 years ago. I’m not really interested in knowing him now and I don’t want him to know me. But I am glad that he was my first real love and also that he was my first real heartbreak. The love we shared opened me up to so many good things. When you’re in love, I think you learn to be generous, kind and vulnerable in ways that you never have before. Maybe that’s why we keep doing it, taking the leap even though it can turn on you. It makes all good things even better. But the heartbreak from that relationship taught me that I was strong, brave and resilient and that I was capable of picking myself up and moving forward on my own. It has been immensely helpful to know that in my life. I am grateful for all of it.

 

Share Button

Transcending the Slumps

Nearly two years ago, my life took a painfully dramatic turn. My primary focus for nine years had been creating and maintaining a stable marriage and family and I’d poured everything I had into it. But suddenly I was faced with the reality that this life I’d been building was based on an illusion and not sustainable anymore. My world pretty much shattered at that point. But I needed to pick myself up and go back to full time work so I could support myself. Then I could start patching myself back together, while still being a stable and loving presence for my boys. It seemed impossible at the time, but somehow I got lucky and found a steady job in my field with benefits for me and my kids. It was a huge break and I am very thankful for it.

It’s definitely not ideal to be learning a new job and meeting new people when your life is falling apart. It makes small talk excruciating. You don’t want to be the freak who unloads all kinds of weird personal information onto your new coworkers during month one. Or ever, really. So I mostly kept to myself. Now I’ve been at my job over a year and have a pleasant relationships with my coworkers, but I don’t know any of them very well. It was too much of a minefield to talk about anything personal, especially at first. I never knew when I’d just burst into tears. But it turns out you can actually cry discreetly at work or pretty much anywhere in Austin, because there are always allergens in the air to explain away your red watery eyes and the way you go through a box of tissues a day. I learned to carry big sunglasses, eye drops, mascara and tissues with me at all times and I would head out for a walk if I felt like I was going to burst into tears. I think it’s pretty hard to tell if someone is crying when they are walking at a steady pace and wearing big sunglasses. You can run and cry as well, because sweat obscures the teariness, but eventually it is hard to breathe, so I can’t wholeheartedly recommend it. Crying in the car is a bad idea, but who can help it? Use caution. Luckily this phase does not last forever.

Sometimes I feel like I feel like I am doing really well and have my life back together. But so far it hasn’t seemed to last for very long. I fall into tailspins where I’m filled with self-doubt and I don’t feel strong anymore. Last week was a rough one: my ex acted weirdly and put me in an uncomfortable situation, my children were angry and sad and I didn’t know how to help them, some guy I don’t know very well said something rude and careless to me. All of a sudden I felt every crack in my broken teacup of a life. And everything felt wrong again. So that’s where I am right now. In a slump, I guess. I’ve been here before, so it’s not like it’s unfamiliar territory. All I know to do is keep moving. I’ll take walks at lunch. I’ll run when I can. I’ll try not to dwell on the feeling of things being wrong. I’ll move my thoughts to something else when I get too focused on sadness. I’ll throw myself into work. I’ll try to write, though as you see, nothing funny comes out. But I’ll do it anyway. I’m writing this now, on my lunch break because it feels like I’m doing something productive to get it out.  And I know a lot of you have been here, too. Maybe you’re in a slump right now. If so, I’m with you. We’ll just keep moving forward.

I’ll see and talk to the people I trust. The ones who know that this is where I am sometimes and they still accept and love me. The ones who help me see that I’m not doing everything wrong. That I am moving forward. It’s just taking the time it is taking. I am incredibly lucky to have a group of these people who help pull me up when I am falling down.

My kids’ hard time is the roughest thing for me. I want to make it better, but I want to give them the space to move through what they are moving through. My middle son is the one who is most obviously struggling these days. Last week he said he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be happy again. He’s eight. He reminds me that I can’t sink into any of this, because I have to show him how to pull himself up. I remembered an article I read that suggested that you can find “thin slices of joy” every day if you look for them. You can notice how nice the breeze feels on a walk or savor the first bite of something delicious or hear the beginning of a song you love or really notice how cute that goofy pug in a sweater is in the Facebook video your friend posted. Maybe you aren’t going to be happy all the time, but there are always little joys you can notice and that may help you get to a better place. I talked about this with my son and we’ve started trying to notice the little happy things in our lives. He’s been mentioning to me when he notices something good and I’m trying to do the same. We all got excited about the big full moon the other night. Maybe it will just become second nature to us. We’ll start automatically noticing all the little joys we are so lucky to encounter and things won’t seem as wrong anymore. We’ll learn how to be happy again. Maybe this is the beginning of the next phase.

Share Button

Potential Names For My Fictional Male Strip Club

As previously reported, Shakira and I once did some, er….investigative reporting at a male strip club in Dallas called La Bare. Right from the start we thought La Bare was a dumb name. Does it mean ‘the nude’? In French? And why the Frenchiness, anyway? Is it supposed to class the joint up? We never found out. But that experience made me consider the possibility of having my very own male strip club. I pictured a scenario where “the talent” and I would become a quirky family, like in the movies The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas or Boogie Nights. With less prostitution and porn, but much more sexy Burt Reynolds. Now that I’m the mother of three, that dream can (most likely) only live in my brain. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking up excellent names for my fictional strip club. Here are my current top 5:

1. The Man Shack on Manchaca – This only makes sense if you live in Austin and are aware that we have a street called ‘Manchaca’ that is pronounced ‘Man-shack’ and then it’s perfect! I’d have to find a space on Manchaca Rd., but it’s a pretty long thoroughfare, so it’s not impossible. I think the word ‘shack’ implies a casual and unpretentious atmosphere.

2. HQ 450 – If you are a librarian, you might recognize this as the the Library of Congress call number for the erotica section. My fictional male strip club is full of naughty librarians! I also love that it begins with HQ, as it’s like the headquarters for erotica. Sexy!

3. Penis Las Vegas – My friend’s daughters misheard things when the Elvis impersonator we saw sang Viva Las Vegas, which is hilarious in itself, but also fortuitous for me because how awesome a strip club name is it?!? How could you not have fun at Penis Las Vegas? It would be impossible. I’m picturing lots of neon lights and a stage area that is referred to as ‘The Strip’.

4. Coq au Vin – I picture this as a fancy wine bar where the wait staff wears banana hammocks and bow-ties and does dance numbers every hour. Upscale, because as La Bare has taught us, French = Classy.

5. EASY D – Who would have thought that anything Donald Trump tweeted would inspire me in any way? Not I. Nobody really knows what he meant by EASY D in his tweet, but if he was thinking it’s a great name for a male strip club, he is totally right! This place would be laid back and serve frozen beverages and pigs in a blanket, with a side of sexy menz!

That’s all I’ve got for now, but I have a feeling I will think of more. I’ll keep you posted!

Share Button

End of the Year Questions

Five years ago, I found an end of the year wrap-up quiz on a really good blog called All & Sundry Mourning. I thought the questions were interesting and it seemed a good way to remember what happened in the nearly-over year and prepare to move forward into the nearly-here one. This is a mildly tweaked version of her quiz, which may be a mildly tweaked version of someone else’s, if I read her explanation correctly.

So here is my 2016. What was yours like? If you want to share your answers, I’d love to read them.  Either way, I recommend taking some time and thinking about the year that was.

1. What did you do in 2016 that you’d never done before?
So these things may not seem like a big deal, but as I haven’t been much of a traveler in my life (so far) they were novel and exciting for me.

I went to Scottsdale, Arizona with Shakira, her hubby and another fabulous friend for our 20 year ‘Friendiversary’. In Scottsdale, they sell liquor in the Walgreens, even on Sunday and there were many apartments that looked like they were right out of the Three’s Company 70s. It was fabulous.

I took all three of my kids on a plane trip by myself to visit my family in Florida. None of them were experienced flyers, so it was exciting for us all. Please note that Southwest Airlines makes a fine Bloody Mary.

I stayed in a hotel room by myself for the first time ever on a work trip in September. One of my all-time favorite things to do in life is watch tv in bed, but I don’t have a tv in my actual bedroom, because I suspect it would encourage my latent agoraphobia to blossom, so I especially adored this part of the trip. It’s the little things, baby.

Unrelated to travel: I saw the movie Elf.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I didn’t make any New Year’s resolutions at the end of last year, since 2015 was a shitstorm for me. But I’m feeling stronger, so it’s time to make goals:

I’m going to spend time with the people I adore.

I’m going to spend time alone.

I’m going to write and work on things I love.

I’m going to keep running regularly and participate in some races.

I’m going to try not to say yes to things I don’t want out of a warped sense of obligation.

I’m going to say yes to things that sound like fun to me, even if they scare me a little.

I’m going to ask questions and seek answers.

I’m going to say what I need to say.

I’m going to keep working on building myself and my boys back up.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
A dear friend had the most wonderful, smiley and cuddly baby in April. I’m so glad I get to know this little girl!

4. Did anyone close to you die?
David Bowie, Prince and George Michael. Plus Carrie Fisher. Ugh, this year was brutal. And yes, I’m aware that I did not know these folks personally and the actual year didn’t kill them. And yet….there are still a few days left in 2016 and I’m hoping that all of the Duran Duran guys and Judy Blume are taking their vitamins.

5. What countries did you visit?
I kept my magic to the good ol’ U S of A! I did go to Canada in my head for a while in November, though.

6. What would you like to have in 2017 that you lacked in 2016?
Optimism. The year 2016 may have killed my optimism. And my faith in humanity. I hope those things can be resuscitated.

7. What dates from 2016 will remain etched upon your memory?
The day I started my job. The day I got my second divorce. The day I ran the half marathon with my sister (that one’s easy, ’cause it was my birthday).

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Getting my high school prom picture etched in glass to create the “I’m So F*cking Impressed” award. It’s best idea I’ve ever had. Looking forward to celebrating the ISFIs in the near future. It’s gonna be bigger than the Oscars!

9. What was your biggest failure?
My morning routine with my boys is a colossal failure. It does not go smoothly AT ALL. EVER. I need to rework it in 2017.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I had a couple of colds and some allergy issues, but nothing major. KNOCK ON WOOD. The year isn’t over yet.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
My house.

12. Where did most of your money go?
See 11. The rest goes to HEB, Target and Trader Joe’s where I buy all the foods that come from mythical creatures, plus cheap wine.

13. What did you get really excited about?
I was extremely excited about my Friendiversary and Thanksgiving trips. I was very excited to eat and drink with abandon after I ran the half marathon. And I was pretty excited to return to Stars Hollow, via my couch, to watch the Gilmore Girls update. The dorkiest thing I got really excited about was catching the Pikachu with the Santa hat while playing Pokémon Go with my son.

14. What song will always remind you of 2016?
Phosphorescent’s Song for Zula. It didn’t come out this year, but I listened to it a lot. I mean, these lyrics:

“Some say love is a burning thing
That it makes a fiery ring
Oh but I know love as a fading thing
Just as fickle as a feather in a stream
See, honey, I saw love. You see, it came to me
It put its face up to my face so I could see
Yeah then I saw love disfigure me
Into something I am not recognizing ”

and

“I am not some broken thing
I do not lay here in the dark waiting for thee
No my heart is gold. My feet are light
And I am racing out on the desert plains all night.”

Yep.

15. Compared to this time last year, are you:


– happier or sadder? Happier. Wow.

– thinner or fatter? A little fatter. (Why? Why?!?)

– richer or poorer? Considering I didn’t have a job last year, I’m much richer!

16. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Playing outside with my kids. Going to the movies. Sleeping.

17. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Worrying. Crying. Reading internet comments with mouth agape at the level of stupidity, unkindness and atrocious spelling contained in them.

18. How did you spend Christmas/Hanukkah/Major Holiday of your choice?
I drank all the booze and ate all the food. Hmmm…wonder why I’ve gained weight? On Christmas Day I had my boys in the morning, then I went to a great party and got to spend time with some of my dearest people in the evening. We had an impromptu George Michael dance party, possibly to the chagrin of some of the men in attendance. It was a good one, except for the part about losing George.

19. What were your favorite TV programs?
Stranger Things. Offspring. Fargo. Catastrophe.

20. What were your favorite books you read this year?
The Book Thief. M Train. The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck.

21. What was your favorite music you heard this year?
I went to see/hear way more live music in 2016 than I have in a long time and those experiences have been the highlight of the music part of my year. At one show the band did a cover of David Bowie’s Space Oddity and it was sublime.

22. What were your favorite films you saw this year?
Keanu and Bad Moms. Comedies for the win! I didn’t go to the movies enough this year, though. Gotta put that on my list of resolutions!

23. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
Ugh…I turned 45. Just typing that makes me want to lay down. My fabulous sister came to town and we went to Houston and ran a half marathon together. Then we had dinner and many margaritas with Shakira and her hubby. It was a truly great birthday, except for the whole being halfway to 90 part.

24. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
The first female president being elected.

25. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2016?
Librarian up to no good.

26. What kept you sane?
Who says I’m sane?

27. Share a valuable life lesson you learned in 2016.
I learned that I am stronger than I thought I was. And I have a voice that may be rusty from squelching it down for so long, but it is still there. I feel unsure sometimes, a residue from years of feeling like I was all wrong, but I am learning to trust my instincts again. Even though it has been painful at times, getting the chance to rebuild my life and make it my own is an amazing thing. I am lucky.

OK, 2017, let’s do this! Happy New Year to one and all!!!

Share Button

Holiday Soundtrack

There is a local radio station that plays Christmas songs continuously for the entire month of December. As soon as I found it, I decided to tell my kids that we could no longer listen to anything else until Christmas is over, so that we can ensure that we are ALWAYS in the holiday spirit. I was lying, of course…it’s really because they drive me crazy with their constant arguing about what song to listen to while I’m trying to drive. You’d think they would realize I’m not actually Ms. Holly Jolly if they looked at some of the contextual clues in our life. Our main Christmas decoration is a tiny fake tree, with pre attached lights, decorated with little plastic dragons and candy. We eat and replace the candy weekly. I also keep it festive (and classy) with a reindeer that sits on our mantle and poops out jelly beans. I own exactly ONE Christmas album and it is the only one I’ll ever need: John Denver and the Muppets: A Christmas Together. I have been listening to that glorious album every holiday season since I was a kid and I will never stop loving it. I would just play it on repeat all month, but the CD player in my van is broken and the stereo system is so old that using newer musical technology is impossible. So the All-Christmas station it is! Unfortunately, there are a lot of hits and misses with the holiday tunes. I had no idea that there were so many that are just…insane!

Let’s start with the obvious: Baby It’s Cold Outside. Surely everyone recognizes the creep factor of this song, right? It’s a sexy holiday song about coercive tactics to bed someone who seems less than thrilled at the prospect, with a possible spiked drink thrown in just for laughs? Oh hell no! I mean seriously dude, she’d rather freeze her ta-tas off then spend another moment by the fire with you. Clearly you are the worst!  When you read the recently reworked lyrics that emphasize consent, it only highlights the creepiness of this song. If you are on a date with some who says that this is his/her favorite Christmas tune, I highly recommend that you go into the bathroom and immediately summon a car with the rideshare app of your choice. And for God’s sake, DON’T finish that eggnog!

All I Want For Christmas is You is another stalker anthem, albeit a peppy one.  Who obsessively wants a person for Christmas, when there are so many great gift card and liquor options? A psycho, that’s who. If you are dating someone who loves this song, I personally think you should dump them before the holidays so that you don’t end up spending your Christmas chained in their sex dungeon, sporting a latex elf suit.

How about Holly Jolly Christmas? This song seems all rollicking good fun, until that part where he says “Ho Ho, the mistletoe, hung where you can see.  Somebody waits for you. Kiss her once for me!” Uh, what? I have to admit, that song kind of makes me want to run up to someone and give them a great big surprise kiss, like “MWAH! This is for Burl Ives, baby!” Would anyone get it and laugh before I got deservedly punched and/or arrested?

Then there is Santa Baby. Who came up with this song? It’s awful! I mean, am I misinterpreting or is this a grown woman singing in a baby voice about sexing Santa up so that he’ll give her furs and diamonds? Gross!

We Wish You a Merry Christmas starts out with good intentions: just some happy carolers at your door, singing a merry tune and wishing you good tidings. Then it turns dark when they DEMAND pudding and suddenly it becomes a full blown stand-off! Horrifying.

I personally hate The Little Drummer Boy, because I loathe nonsense lyrics like Pa-rup-a-pum-pum. Gah, just typing that upset me. I know I may be on my own with that one as many people just adore that sort of thing. I once got screamed at by a fellow Girl Scout when I refused to join in the singing for a horrible song called Dum-Dum Da-Da. That song’s title represents its only lyrics. Even as a child, I simply could not. It’s the same with Pa-rup-a-pum-pum. No can do. (Strangely, I’m totally fine with sayings like “no can do.”)

And just to throw in more sacrilege I hate both Paul McCartney’s Wonderful Christmastime and John Lennon’s Happy Xmas. Those titles are ironic, right? The former is surely on the soundtrack to at least one Christmas-themed horror movie and all of my Christmas-themed nightmares. It gets stuck in your brain and won’t let go. And the latter starts out really judgey, “So this is Christmas and what have you done?” Well I don’t know.  Jeez.  Now I feel like an asshole. Then the chorus punishes you for your inaction with a shrill “A VERRRY Merry ChristMAAAASSSS….” Oh my God, please stop hurting my ears. I’ll do better next year, I swear.

I do like some Christmas songs – I’m not a total Grinch (probably). Elvis’ Blue Christmas always makes me happy and anything Christmasy at all by Neil Diamond fills me with joy. But my absolute favorite is Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas from my favorite (only) Christmas album, the aforementioned John Denver and the Muppets masterpiece. Rowlf the dog, with his low, growly voice is perfection. He sounds like he’s had a couple of drinks and he’s feeling sentimental. He and John Denver, whose voice is clear and true, sound like real friends, just hanging out at the piano. They’re saying that times are tough, but we have each other, our faithful friends and loved ones, and that’s what’s important during the holidays and always. I could think of no better sentiment with which to end 2016.

Share Button

Morning Routine

Rudely awakened by the bleating of my first alarm, which goes off at a ridiculously dark hour. So strange to not feel refreshed and energized after 5 1/2 hours of fitful sleep! First I put the coffee on, now the day can begin. Oh my God, who is that mug shot in my mirror? Nick Nolte? Oh shit, it’s me. Stupid 40s, why do you hurt me? Shower, then put on my pink fuzzy robe. Grab my coffee cup and buckle up. It’s about to get real.

Second alarm is 12 minutes later. That one plays “Don’t Stop Believin’” for extra motivation. I need it ’cause it’s time to wake the children.

It is unfortunate that only one of my children is a morning person. That child, while not thrilled to be getting up, will generally smile at me and get out of bed and possibly start getting ready for school. The other two are in no mood for pleasantries. They are burrowing, they are growling. They can only be lured from their beds with promises of pop tarts. They don’t know that my pop tarts aren’t the real deal, but some facsimile from Trader Joe’s that claims to be “organic” and therefore full of nutrition, right? But really, how can something called a “toaster pastry” be organic, or healthy, or even considered food? That is one of the many mysteries I will not be solving this morning.

After I have thrown food at the kids, I grab my coffee and attempt to make myself look like the competent professional I aim to be someday. Not hungry yet, but I will likely be chowing on trail mix at my desk later this morning. I eat a lot of trail mix for someone who is not particularly outdoorsy. I read and admired Wild, but I’m going to have to go another way with my transformative journey. The way that doesn’t include wildlife or sleeping on the ground. As I dry my hair, I multitask by barking orders at my sons. Is it possible that they will someday figure out that they have to put clothes and shoes on their bodies and brush their teeth EVERY day without my telling them? Hasn’t happened yet. Won’t happen today. They are screaming at each other and eventually one of them throws a hardcover book at his brother’s head and there is more screaming and a little bit of blood. I wipe up the blood, do some consoling and scolding and direct the children to the next steps in the getting ready process. “Brush your teeth or they will all turn green and fall out of your face! I hear that the Tooth Fairy charges YOU to haul away the green ones.”

Oh crap, I’ve got to put on real clothes! Luckily, I have a dress I found at Ross for $14.99 which miraculously makes me look 10 pounds thinner. I don’t know if it’s the material, the cut, or the print, but it’s magical wizardry! I need to find six more of these dresses.

Grab my youngest son’s “sack lunch” as Kindergarten has a field trip today. I have no sacks, so it is in a paper wine bag from Trader Joe’s, because I stock up on Three Buck Chuck when I purchase my organic pop tarts and trail mix. The bag has a wine bottle on one side and a wine glass on the other. Awesome.

Time to go! Each minute that passes after my set to-go time buys me exponentially more minutes in congested Austin traffic.

But wait! Shoes! I tell the boys to put their shoes in a bin by the door every evening. But do they put them there? Occasionally. Right now, five out of six feet are shoed. Nobody can find the sixth shoe. I search around frantically while about a third of the hundreds of “dammits” and “shits” in my head come out of my mouth. I consider that a victory. And I find the shoe under the couch and consider that a victory as well. Roar up to the school in my vaguely-colored minivan and practically push them out of the car. Now it’s time for traffic hell.

Did you know that things are just magnetically drawn to vaguely-colored minivans? Cars come at my van like moths to a vaguely-colored flame. And nobody wants to be behind a vaguely-colored minivan, least of all Dodge Ram drivers. They seem to think that their penises will fall off if a vaguely-colored minivan passes them, so they are on high alert and do their damnedest not to let it happen. If I get cut off or somebody is practically driving up my butt, that person is most often piloting a Dodge Ram. Hey guys, I don’t think the penis thing is true! It doesn’t seem like real science. Please stop trying to kill me.

I live 10 miles away from my job, but it takes me at least 40 minutes to get there. Luckily this morning I have a sweet Neil Diamond playlist going. “I AM, I CRIED! I AM, SAID I!” Hell yeah, Neil. I AM the bitch driving the vaguely-colored minivan you are stuck behind, Mr. Ram. Suck it.

I eventually get to my parking garage, which is three blocks from work. Not terrible, unless it is raining. The thing that IS terrible is the garage stairwell. It smells like a whole lotta urine and at the bottom there is often some sort of weird surprise like old pants, or empty cough medicine bottles, or dead crickets. Today I realize, after exiting the stairwell, that I have forgotten my badge in my car. I have to run back up four flights of stairs, causing me to breathe heavily and suspect I am huffing a urine cloud. That can’t be good.

Alas, the harrowing times aren’t over. The three blocks to work are filled with crazed Austin commuters and I must make my way across the streets like I’m playing a live version of Frogger. I am almost run over by a guy in a Prius who didn’t see me in the crosswalk because my magical dress made me look so incredibly thin. We stare at each other in horror for a second and then he smiles apologetically and gives me a wave, like “Glad I didn’t run you over! Have a nice day!” Whew. I’m finally at my building, the courthouse, where there is usually a line to get through the metal detector at the entrance. Courthouses are one of the few places in Texas where your concealed weapons are not welcome. Never fear, you can still bring them to the state mental hospital or your film studies class at the university, where they are totally appropriate. I don’t make it through without setting off the buzzer and must be “wanded” by a police officer. Not gonna lie, that was the best part of my morning.

I make it to my desk, just barely on time and breathe a sigh of relief. My cube-mate smiles the serene, well-rested smile of a child-free woman and says, “Good morning!” I say, “I’m gonna need to go to Starbucks and drop six bucks on a ridiculous beverage with syrup and whipped cream. Need anything?” I think I deserve it.

 

Share Button

Six Sexy Single Mom Pick-Up Lines

Hey single moms, let’s do this!  We’re all gonna get back out there and get some hot dates for the holidays.   Why not? Life is short!  Get ready to scoop up some top notch fellows with these amazing lines.

Note: I haven’t tested any of these, so I cannot guarantee their effectiveness.

1. Do not send me a dick pic!  OK, so this is more of a warning than a pick-up line, but I said the word “dick” so 87% of men will register it as a pick-up line.  Seriously, men, do not text a single mom a picture of your penis.   Our children sometimes use our phones. We do not want them ogling random peni.  And nobody really wants to see a photo of your penis, anyway. Unless it’s wearing a glasses or a jaunty hat, but even then e-mail it, don’t text! I’d probably still never want to see it in person, but I’d appreciate the whimsy.

2. Wanna see my C-section scar?  Too bold? Possibly.  Also, to be honest, I’m never showing anyone my C-section scar. I like the audacity of saying it, but it just seems weird and mood-killing in practice. My mouth would be writing a check that my brain and body did not intend to cash.  I’m going to put this one in my back pocket. I will never take it out.

3. I’m not gonna pop a melatonin until after  9:30 if you wanna hang out.  Now this one is more my speed.  Just vague enough that there’s possibility, but I’ve made no promises. Except for the promise to myself of a good night’s sleep.

4. Do you like muffins?  How about muffin tops?   Oh that one is gold!  Definitely going to use it.

5. Get in the van!  There’s lots of room in my van and I think the seats may recline.  And it’s got a dvd player! It’s practically a Holiday Inn Express on wheels.  Sexy, amirite?  Should I throw in something along the lines of “If the van’s a rockin’, don’t come knockin’” or is that excessive?  I’m all about subtlety.

6. I just opened a box of wine…. Yep.  Enough said.

Share Button

I h8 the way u text

On the first iteration of Gorgeous and Sassy we had a section called “Rants” where we’d post our complaints and pet peeves for the whole internet to read and then correct itself accordingly.  I believe I wrote a rant about a similar subject in the early aughts, and things have become exponentially more horrible, so clearly nobody listened. At that point I was mainly complaining about creative spelling and grammar in email. But I loved email as a form of communication. People thought about things before they spouted them off and wrote in actual sentences that mostly made sense. They punctuated! It was like letters, but faster. Bad spelling in email was pure laziness, because of spell check. It was a glorious time. Possibly a golden era of communication for me. I still have a few sexy/romantic emails that old boyfriends wrote to me and it is fun to go back and reminisce about the more literate men of my past. And I’m totally going to publish that shit if any one of them gets famous or runs for political office. Now that many people do the bulk of their communicating by text, creative spelling is eye-burningly common and laziness is OUT OF CONTROL.

At first I hated the whole concept of texting, because I’m an introvert and texting felt like somebody was rudely interrupting me and demanding my immediate attention, then coercing me into a usually uninteresting and unsatisfying conversation, riddled with weird abbreviations. Hateful. And frankly, it still can feel like that. But I came around when I realized that it would practically excuse me from ever having to talk on the phone, which I often hate and try to avoid whenever possible. These days I don’t enjoy it when people call me on the damn phone when that they should know that thing is for texting. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. Spoiler alert: It is unlikely that I will call.

The point of this rant is that I HATE the abbreviations/funny spelling that people tend to use when they text.  For example “u” for  you.  U should never, ever do this. U are not the real Prince. He is dead and u are an asshole. Or how about “k” for OK? I mean, sweet Jesus, are you the laziest person in the world? It’s just one more fucking letter. And it’s a nice round one. Use it.

I don’t like creative spellings like “tonite” for tonight or “wat” for what, because really? How much time did that save you? Was it worth making me vomit in my mouth? Also, when you add 50 emojis to the text, it defeats the purpose of all of your stupid abbreviations.  I don’t even hate emojis, I just hate too many of them. Unless it’s the poop emoji, then by all means add 50 of them. I get it. Or all of the cocktails. Totally understandable. I will never complain about the cocktails, as I too want them all.

I used to hate LOL. I’m still not wild about it, because it’s disingenuous. You are not laughing out loud. You may have chuckled, but come on. You didn’t really LOL. You didn’t. And if you are ROFL(Y)AO, I am going to call a medic. Because I think that’s called a seizure, my friend.

Now that I’m single, I’ve made a mental note to never get into a drunken make-out session with a bad texter. Once you send me a bad text, you’re in the no make-out zone. And that is truly your loss, because I am an excellent drunken make-out partner. I never lead with the tongue and I always carry Altoids. Just saying. And I’m sure you’re not just losing the super sexy chance of making out with me, bad texters (although it may be the most tragic consequence). Your stupid texts are probably causing you to miss out on all kinds of other great things, because your text is like a smack to the eyeballs and that is very unappealing. Or maybe it’s just me. That isn’t impossible. I’m twice divorced, so clearly I am difficult.  But you know what? I’m glad I said it and I stand by it! Down with horrible texting language! At least in your texts to me.  Can we just agree to that?  Please?

On a positive (and hypocritical) note I absolutely adore Bitmojis. I know I probably shouldn’t admit to it after all of the bitching I just did, but they are delightful!  Some of my dearest friends (like Shakira) and I communicate almost exclusively through Bitmojis and they are always a whimsical joy.  Especially the unicorn that farts a rainbow. Honestly, that one says it all for me.  I may never need to send anything else.

Share Button

Lady Killer: Review/Recap of a Lifetime Movie

From 4.03.2003

Gigi and Shakira are on the couch at Shakira’s Purple Palace. Drinks have been poured and are being sipped daintily. Ha, just kidding, we’re gulping them down! We’re ready to watch this movie so that you don’t have to. Here goes:

The movie opens with what sounds like porn music, but with trepidation. We can already tell this is gonna be good. We see Jack Wagner, former soap star and crush of a teenage Gigi. My, he’s been working out since his days on Melrose. We find out that Jack, who is either an architect or a doctor (unclear) has been having a torrid affair with Judith, who’s married and sporting an extremely ugly mushroom-shaped hairdo. It’s like a shroomy Pacey pompadour. Not that we watch Dawson’s Creek. Oh wait, we totally do.

Jack loves the more mature ladies. He relates the story of his first sexcapade: seduced by his mother’s best friend, when he was seventeen. Oh, Jack, you stud. Judith is loving the attentions of the young and randy Jack. “I feel alive again!” her voiceover tells us. “His long fingers turned out to be a very good omen.” Some girls have all the luck! But Judith is married and alas, she must spend her birthday with her boring husband instead of in a hot tub all weekend with her lover. Jack writes a her a note saying that he understands, but he’ll miss her. Signed with a “frowny face.” First indicator that this guy’s a psycho.

Judith and her husband have it out. “You make me feel like a wife!” she tells him. Oh the humanity. She wants him to “unlock her secret door.” Is that in her pants? ‘Cause Jack done stole the key. Her hubby valiantly “unlocks” all weekend long. Judith decides she loves him again and resolves to end her affair. Hey, the girl just needed some “cozy warm sex.” Ugh, why does that sound unappealing? And we’re sorry, but was it chilly in the tub with Jack?

She and Jack take a walk in the park and she borrows George Costanza’s speech: “It’s not you, it’s me.” Jack squints in confusion. Squinting is really Jack’s forte. He has the Happy Squint, The Pissed-Off Squint, and our favorite: The Squint of Sexual Prowess. That squint prompted Gigi to write a fan letter to Jack when she was thirteen. On jungle-print paper misted with Love’s Baby Soft. No response. Bastard.

Shakira thinks it would be hilarious if Jack yelled, “Who’s the Boss, Judith? I’m the boss!” in sort of a meta-tv moment. Tony Danza could come by and heroically scoop Judith up in his van. But no. Instead, Jack just squints some more while Judith walks away. And his hair has the gelled “wet look.” Gross. It’s either wet or crunchy to the touch and neither choice is good. No wonder Judith dumped you, Jack.

Judith goes to her volunteer job giving tours at the planetarium. Whee. That sounds fascinating. She has to wear a hideous polyester uniform in Nancy Reagan red. Surprise surprise, Jack shows up and he’s hoppin’ mad! The squint is out of control. Take cover, Judith! She foolishly runs right back into the planetarium while the one security guard is busy flirting with planetarium-hoochies. Some girls just love astronomy. Jack is in hot pursuit and tackles her. Whoa!! This has gone south quickly. Luckily the attempted rape is finally interrupted by the security guard. Jack flees.

Now Judith is in the hospital. Tracey Gold arrives on the scene, much to our delight. She’s Judith’s daughter. Wow, this movie just keeps getting better. It may be a coincidence that we’re on our second bottle of wine. Tracey vows to help her mother through this drama, but first she has to go to the bathroom. Lo and behold, who works at this very same hospital? Our favorite plastic surgeon/architect Jack! He directs Tracey to the bathroom. Later he’ll be directing her to his bedroom. Ewwww.

Judith and her husband head off to the Frozen Tundra for some R & R. Where the hell are they? Who vacations in Siberia? Judith has ditched the mushroom ‘do in favor of a sexy, feathered Kip Winger style. Uh, Judith, the 80s called… She stares forlornly at the lighthouse. Phallic symbol anyone? Meanwhile, Jack is ferociously rowing. Is he rowing to the Tundra in search of Judith? He will not be deterred from his true love! Huh, Gigi’s stalkers usually give up if there’s rowing involved. So lazy.

In a shocking turn of events, Tracey brings her boyfriend to meet her parents at the Tundra Vacation Home. Well, well, lookie here: it’s Jack, squinting smugly like a guy who bagged both a mother and daughter. EWWWWW! He’s wearing a hideous Cosby sweater. Judith looks horrified but manages to hide her revulsion. She could always use the sweater as an excuse. It’s making us nauseous.

Jack won’t stop squinting and smirking as he fondles Tracey at the dinner table. Ew. Later, Judith stands outside their bedroom door and hears giggles and groans. And grunts. Judith, that’s disgusting! Get away from the door! Please! Jack hops out of bed for a bathroom break (please be getting a condom for Tracey’s sake!) and runs into Judith. She tells him to stay the hell away from Tracey. Uh, Judith, that ship may have sailed…

He informs her smarmily, “You’re much better in bed than your daughter.” Jack is a sweet-talking devil. How can that not win her over? Judith responds by slapping his squinty face. Jack squints in shock. Well that’s a new squint. He has such range.

The next day Jack and his lover’s dad/former lover’s husband go out hunting. This is a terrible idea! How stupid are these people? Judith immediately begins covering the furniture with sheets. What the hell? Is this some Tundra custom for the removal of unwanted guests?

Naturally, Jack almost immediately shoots Daddy/Hubby and zips back over to the Tundra Vacation Home on the snowmobile. Tracey is conveniently out shopping. At the Tundra-Mart? Where did she go? Not important. Jack starts enthusiastically putting the mack down on Judith, trying to woo her with sweet nothings about her dead husband. God, this guy’s so smooth. Tracey interrupts them and is shocked to see her boyfriend pawing her mom. Years of therapy for Tracey.

Judith proclaims her innocence, but also confesses to the affair. At first, Tracey isn’t having any of it, but then suddenly out of nowhere she changes her mind. Maybe the middle of that scene is on the cutting room floor? What the hell? We don’t know. She jumps on the snowmobile and tears off in search of her dad.

Meanwhile, Judith runs for her life, towards the big penile lighthouse. That seems sensible. Oh God, Jack is chasing her up the lighthouse. That’s naughty symbolism, right? Running up a big penis and breathing heavily? Wait, we’re drunk.

Anyway. Running. Penis Lighthouse. Panting. A scuffle. Confusion (us). Drunkenness (also us). Somehow Jack is hanging off the edge of the roof and Tracey has reappeared and is also climbing the lighthouse with Jack. Interesting? We can’t tell anymore. Judith crushes the long fingers that once gave her so much pleasure and Jack falls from the lighthouse to land onto the Tundra like a psychotic little snow angel. Oh Jack, your erection was your destruction! This may be the message of most Lifetime movies. Roll credits.

Share Button

Birthday Half Marathon

Pre-dawn wake up in a downtown Houston hotel with my sister - We actually feel good, because we drank too much and stayed up too late two nights ago, so we were tired enough to get a really good night’s sleep pre-race. We might be geniuses!

Starting Line - We take a “Before” photo. There probably won’t be an after photo, because nobody wants to see a picture of extremely sweaty people who may or may not have just barfed. I’m happy that it is overcast and fairly cool out. Before the air horn goes off, signifying the race’s beginning, my sister muses, “There were probably other ways we could have celebrated your birthday. Maybe a spa or a cruise?” Hmmm….  (Blaaaaaaarrrrrr!) That was the horn.  It’s too late to turn back now.  Better start running, so we can get to post-race drinking.

Mile 1 - Ugh…12 miles to go. This might have been a dumb idea. At least there are a lot of people in Halloween costumes. Maybe this will make it seem more like a festive celebration than hours of grueling exercise? Lots of dinosaurs and Pokemons to keep me entertained. If I do this again, I should dress as a doughnut.

Mile 2 - Hey, I feel great! Wow, I am an amazing athlete! Why did I think this was a bad idea? This was my best idea. I could do this forever! Only 11 miles left! I feel like I’m running like a gazelle, but I suspect I’m more like one of those miniature horses.  Kind of ambling and clompy.  I’m the Little Sebastian of road races.

Mile 3 - Feeling ok. What a great playlist! So happy I had all of my friends suggest songs. Each song makes me think of a fun time with the friend who suggested it and that is making me happy. Also, I should listen to Don’t Stop Believing once an hour, every hour. I will never stop believing! Never!!!

Mile 4 - Eastbound and Down is a really great running song. It’s also a great road trip song. It’s just a great song. Smokey and the Bandit is a great movie. Really anything with Burt Reynolds is gold, because he is a national treasure.  I need to write him a fan letter as soon as I finish running.

Mile 5 - Do I have to pee? No. Maybe? So many cons to peeing. I will lose time, the porta-potties are disgusting, etc. etc. I can hold it. Right?

Mile 6 - Ugh, porta-potty break. So gross. Stupid bladder.

Mile 7 - I need more Benny Hill style music on my playlist! That would be fun to run to. You know what would be a great race? One where “pervy uncle” types in tighty whities jumped out at you from bushes and chased you with a feather duster to a Benny Hill music soundtrack. I would run so fast! They do zombie races, why not something like this? Could this be my million dollar idea?

Mile 8 - Starting to get tired. Maybe I can motivate myself by thinking of what I will eat and drink after the race. Waffles, tacos, Bloody Marys, margaritas….yes, this is totally working! I will eat all the things! I will drink mucho booze! It’s my birthday and I will celebrate. After I run for another 45 minutes or so. Ugh.

Mile 9 - Um, is that a guy in a button down shirt and NO PANTS hanging out at the edge of the park and staring at the runners with a creepy smile on his face? You don’t see that every day. Did I actually tell someone my Pervy Uncle Race idea? Did I transmit it to the universe and now it is manifesting? I don’t think it is a million dollar idea now that I’ve seen a pantsless creeper while running. “Did you get me a birthday stripper?” I ask my sister. “Please, I know you would have wanted a sexy cop,” she replies. We see a couple of actual cops heading his way. Fun!

Mile 10 - OK, only three miles to go. That’s a 5K and I have run multiple 5Ks. Easy. I see a woman holding a sign that says “Your feet hurt because you are kicking ass!” Clearly, I am kicking tons of ass.  I’m going to eat a few of these sport jelly beans. Maybe they are magic beans and I will float my way to the finish line.

Mile 11 - I think I’m going to die. Those sport beans aren’t magic!  There is no way I can run two more miles. I want to go lay down somewhere and not get up. Oh God, there’s the race photo person! I can’t smile, I can only grimace in pain. I hope to never see that picture.

Mile 12 - Ow ow ow ow ow ow. I hate this so much. Looks like the sun came back out and I think it is angry at us. Must. Keep. Moving.

Mile 13 and FINISH LIINE - Oh thank God! I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier to be finished with something. Maybe pregnancy?  A few really bad dates. Possibly the movie Titanic. But damn, look at our fabulous blingy medals! You don’t get a blingy medal after a bad date. And the after race party has tacos, pancakes and beer! Weird, but great. There’s a band playing KC and the Sunshine Band. This is awesome!

All in all, it was good experience. After the race I napped and then rehydrated with margaritas and tons of Tex Mex with my sister, plus my favorite H-Town residents Shakira and her awesome hubby. It’s a day later and I’m still pretty sore, but also pretty happy. Not a bad way to celebrate getting older.

Share Button