I'm Sorry You're Pissed

Nurse Betty needs to start her own line of greeting cards. It would be a Happy Bunny meets Barbie meets brutally honest biotch. And every card would end with a "K! Buh bye!" just to piss you off even more. I'm not mad at her or anything, it's just that in the last two years or so, she's become....honest. And by honest I mean no-holds-barred honest, which in the Single Girl land of happy kittens and puppies means that she's become a bitch.

The thing is, though, that if you tell her this, she revels in it. She laughs at your compliment and thanks you! Which makes her a bigger bitch! And the fact that I'm pointing this out may run me the risk of being one, too, but since she and I are practically joined at the hip, there's a good chance that her behaviors have rubbed off on me.

You see, once upon a time, in a land far, far away, I was once a bowl-stacking, watch-wearing, never-be-late-or-I-shall-perish sort of girl. I might as well been called Drill Sargent - Nurse Betty did once - and it wasn't because I was donning a cute Halloween costume for a party at The Hef's. If I had to be someplace, I was there 5 minutes early come hell or high water, or even Princess' tears of agony. This annoying need to be on time and have every dish in its place stems from my divorce. If I couldn't control anything going on with my life, I could damn well control how I existed. Enter Nurse Betty.

I'm not sure if the theme music to my life at the moment Nurse Betty and I began being friends would be some sappy Dionne Warwick song about friends or something more like Let It Be by the Beatles. My life definitely changed when I met her, though. Imagine being a tough, rough and ready New Yorker with places to go and people to see...like, yestehday already, eh? And enter in the Alabaman, complete with sweet tea, sweet disposition, no concept of time, on the eternal Sunday drive of her life. Take those two polar opposite personalities and meld them together. Did you see hell freeze over? Yep. There...it just happened.

I stack the bowls. She haphazardly throws them in the cupboard, devil may care or be beheaded by a flailing ceramic bowl toppling down upon you. I like to be 5 minutes early to my destination. She's just getting into the shower 5 minutes before we have to be there. At the checkout line, I literally sprout grey hairs and exude steam from my ears like Frankenstein at his boiling point when the checker wads up my newly purchased clothes and throws them into a shopping bag. She helps the checker wad them up and throw them in the bag. Notice a pattern here? She just does, because these little things that get my panties in a bunch she finds useless to her overall life. No drama, no fakeness, no unnecessary.

All this lack of drama, fakeness, and unnecessary allows her to live her life as she sees fit, which includes telling it like it is. So it's no surprise that in the "I'm Brutally Honest" department, Nurse Betty's mug is right there, smiling at you. I've been told that if you look really hard, you can see her horns coming through her angelic blonde hair.

Saturday started off like any other glorious weekend day. I stayed in my PJs until I was damned well and ready to get out of them. I drank coffee on the couch and watched anything and everything I damned well wanted to. And just about the time I was texting Nurse Betty to nag her into waking up, she texted me. We have this sixth sense that way. It's ESPN.

We got to texting back and forth, and eventually got on a subject that hit a nerve. It wasn't so much the subject, but what Brutally Honest had to say about it that hit the nerve. And since I had my PMS gun cocked and loaded, I let her know that she had irritated me. Several times. And I fired some really bad bullets.

But that was short lived, because she sent me the funniest damn text I've ever gotten. It was shit your pants and giggle til you pee funny. Four words: "I'm sorry you're pissed." I laughed so hard I cried. And then I sent her a text apologizing for being mean, explaining my temper, and told her that I respected her opinion and that just because I got pissed doesn't mean I don't still care for her. And I commended her for her Hallmark-esque approach to diffusing the situation. We laughed about it and got through our little tizzy. That wasn't the best of it, though.

My PMS gun had a few remaining bullets and they were aimed at all the unfortunate stupid people that I encountered the rest of the day. I can't remember how long it's been since people pissed me off so badly. If I hadn't had Princess in the car, I'd have been using each middle finger - and Nurse Betty's - at the idiots on the road driving 20 mph in a 45. Who cares if I have to steer with my toes? Middle finger pointing at stupid people is more important when your PMS gun is cocked and ready to fire!! And all day long I had to do Lamaze to keep from hyperventilating at the sheer magnitude of frustration. Damn Nurse Betty had to sit next to me the entire time saying four little words to salt the wound. She smiled her angelic smile, the one that makes her horns pop up just a little bit more through her golden locks, and said it...

"I'm sorry you're pissed."

Top Ten Reasons OK Sucks!

I wrote this post almost a year ago and never published it. And since I laughed at my own experiences, I thought you might, too.

From August 2009:

I promise I don't have a bad attitude. I am simply currently locationally-challenged. Because I have such a strong distaste of my whereabouts, I have created a "Top Ten Reasons OK Sucks" list. Here goes...

10. Mapquest doesn't even recognize this place I'm in as a real town.

9. The two hour time difference is causing my eyes to look like I've been crying for days on end. (Memo to self...no amount of mascara can shield the crimson shade that the whites of my eyes have become.)

8. For a town that has more churches than Starbucks, there are no other radio choices than Black Sabbath and Li'l Wayne...and country music.

7. Day 2: I look like Diana Ross, or Monica Gellar when they all went to Bermuda. Am thinking of getting braids and beads so that I can make music, too.

6. I have the choice of fast food, fried fast food, or barbeque to eat.

5. Tornados. Or at least storms that look like they could produce tornados.

4. Torrential rain, oppressive humidty, lightning, and thunder. AT 2 AM!

3. Being called ma'am. Don't make me bitch-slap y'all.

2. Freeway offramps go for 3 miles and then make an abrupt U-turn without notice. Fun times in the rental car.

1. It's freakin' Oklahoma. And since there's nothing worse, I'm going to stop right here.

New Do, New Day

Over the past week, Princess and I have been settling back in to the norms of our existence here in Single Land. We've practiced getting up at our usual time when she's actually in school, and she's practiced being a full-fledged middle-school-er by complaining about it and falling back asleep. Something tells me that Mamma is gonna have to get a little creative with getting this little girl up for school come next Wednesday. I'm thinking foghorns and buckets of ice and maybe a worm on her nose? And she's been so clingy that I'm thinking about forging a small crowbar that I can hang from a large gold chain like some sort of rapper. I'd be pretty hot, too. All I'd need is a grill with my name in it. And a cool gangsta name. ...Yo!

The past week hasn't been without its own drama, sans moody pre-teen angst. I found out just this morning that my dear brother is heading to the other side of the world to be a contract fireman for a year. And my parents are relocating out of state so that they can have a steady income before their layoffs become finalized. All the world is in this persistent state of change, and despite appearances, my first inclination is to: A) eat an inordinate amount of donuts; B) drink Vodka and drunk text; or C) sob like a baby under the covers holding my teddy bear (i.e. a bottle of vodka and box of donuts). I promise I did none of these. Really, I swear I didn't. Okay, I might've fantasized about donuts. And I might've purchased the ingredients to make a funfetti cake but didn't follow through. And I might've barraged Nurse Betty's Facebook page with a multitude of puns and one liners in a futile cry for help, but it was all done completely sober!

It's no surprise that when I awoke this morning, upon realizing that I have a hair appointment, the prospect of a little pampering lifted my spirits. Plus, my hair is the one thing that I have the power to change and manipulate at my every whim, so the devious person inside of me was getting more inspired as each minute wore down to my appointment time. My mind raced with all the possibilities. Would I get some deceptive blue streaks underneath all my chocolate brown? How about getting all over blond highlights for some pizazz? Or maybe I should just cut it off? I toyed with each of these options, and as for color I decided a lighter shade with some highlights. Still gotta look professional for work, you know?

It wasn't until I got that fated text from my brother this morning detailing his urgent departure to elsewhere that I decided I needed to remember I was an adult. Life is going to change every day at varying degrees for the rest of my life. How I deal with it is up to me. I can choose to comfort myself with fried pastries of yummy goodness and an alcoholic beverage, but in the end, I'm only going to feel worse about myself. I need to remember that I am strong, I have a solid family, faith in God, and friends that kick ass in helping me get through the sticky stuff. I may be scared for what is in store, and I may shed a tear in response to that fear, but ultimately my friends, my faith, and my God will get me through it. So, resigned to be a kick-ass adult who faces change with optimism, I decided I needed a cut to go with it. I went for a blunt bang and lopped off a good 5" from my length a la Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada. These feet aren't wearing anything Prada-based, and I'm not carrying any Fendi bag complete with bad attitude - in fact it's more like BCBG and Nine West on a good day - but the renewed sense of self is definitely worth the transformation.

In My Life

My baby girl came home yesterday after three weeks of being with her dad. She shared laughter, love, and good bonding time with him like never before. And when it was time to leave him she said it would be very hard to let him go. I can understand all of this and my heart aches for her.

Princess had not seen Princess 2 for a whole month, and for them that might as well have been eternity. Their reunion last night brought tears to both my eyes and Nurse Betty's. Princess hugged her non-sister as if they had been separated at birth and finally met again. She cried and although felt embarrassed at her reaction, she was elated to be back in Princess 2's company.

I couldn't blame her, for I felt the same way. Princess is like my little side kick. My mini-me. My other half. And being gone from her for three weeks was like having a piece of me missing. I was restless and mopey. Now that she's back I can't help but kiss and hug her every second.

For some reason, I started singing the Beatles song, "In My Life", and thinking of the line "In my life, I've loved you more". Each line of that song holds special meaning for me, and every time I hear it, I think of her. Although I have many people that have passed through my life and brought me memories, and although some remain to this day, none compare to her.

So here's the full song in written lyric form. Feel free to sing along in your head. I'm sure you can hear the piano now.

The Beatles, "In My Life"

There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more

Dangerous Hygeine...Or Adding Insult To Injury

"I really need to clean the floor in here." I giggled as it dawned on me that I must be crack-brained. Who critiques the cleanliness of their bathroom floor as they lay on it, incapacitated and suffering excruciating pain? My laughing leads me to hurt more, but Nurse Betty finds the whole scene quite funny as well, and so she starts to giggle. And I giggle again, and start to cry because I'm in such pain. It was this whole mess of giggles and pain, giggles and pain. She tells me to stop, but try as I might, I can't. And so I continue, and cry, and she laughs because the whole scene is quite hilarious.

Her BFF is on the floor, can't move, and yet she's bellyaching that the floor could be a tad more clean. Leave it to me.

I guess I should back up 20, no 25, minutes and get you up to speed on the whole scene.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning just one week ago. Yes, birds were chirping and the sun was shining and big puffy white clouds with happy faces were in the sky...or some shit like that. I was sitting on my couch, coffee cup in hand, watching HGTV and the Food Network. Princess was at her dad's, so I didn't have any 11 year old voice in my ear asking me what we were going to do that day or bugging me about any other 11 year old problem she could generate to take my attention away from the TV and place it on her. I was finally starting to feel better after a brief bout of a stress-related illness and thought it was best to get back on the working out wagon of doom. Here's where the suspenseful music would begin to play in the movie of my life, warning of the impending danger. Da dum, da dum, da dum.... (Who would play me? Maybe someone fabulous like Drew Barrymore? Of course she does have that whole stroke-victim mannerism in the way she talks and I don't, so maybe not. I do look similar to Tiffany Amber-Theissen, but the entire time I watched the movie, I'd be thinking "Why is Kelley Kapowski playing me? Shouldn't she be worried if Zack and Slater are going to be getting into trouble with Mr. Belding?")

Ahem...moving on.

I was texting back and forth with Nurse Betty and had decided to be lazy and not go jogging, despite the fact that I swore to myself that I would. Enter self-deprecating guilt. One minute I was vowing to sit on the couch until 12, drink another pot of coffee, and then maybe get up when I was damn well inclined to do so, the next I was up, getting into workout attire, texting Nurse Betty that I changed my mind, and was in the bathroom brushing my teeth. (Suspense music becomes louder. "Da dum, da dum, da dum" goes the Jaws music.)

Once I decide that I'm going to work out I can't put it off even five minutes otherwise I'll talk myself out of it. So I'm in the bathroom brushing my teeth and suddenly I hear a POP! and I was down on my knees. In pain. Excruciating pain. I'm holding onto the counter and sink like I'm hanging off the side of the Titanic. My back. Is it there still? I think it's become detached. Am I suddenly Mr. Potato Head and someone simply pulled it off? I feel, but it's still there. Damn! It must be that nun chuck-wielding tooth fairy of hatred again, out to inflict pain on innocent people! Get the flyswatter! I grab the phone that I had brought into the bathroom and slither to the ground, kind of like when a cartoon character gets flattened and slinks down to the floor like paint drippings.

I'm scared. I can't move. Legs won't move because my back won't support them. My mind raced. And I called Nurse Betty in tears while clutching the base of the Titanic-esque toilet for support. I ask her to come over as soon as possible because I can't move. She races over in her jammies and stands over me trying to assess my vitals. Should we call 911? Should we let me just take a few moments and try to get up myself once the spasms subside? We decide on the latter option, but more so because my stupid pride wouldn't have any part of me being carried out on a stretcher for all my nosey neighbors to see.

The entire time I was on the floor waiting for Nurse Betty to get to my house, I was thanking myself for having an annoying, OCD-like need to carry my phone everywhere. Had I not had my phone, I might've spent hours on that floor. It was bad enough that the Stupid Baby Cat - she's literally stupid, but oh so cute! - was positioned on the seat of the toilet with her white paws, pink nose and fat face hanging over the side, staring at me as if to ask "why you no get up and plays with me?"

                                                                I's dead to world
No phone equals no lifeline. Would I be stuck there until someone figures out that I've been awfully quiet for two days? It's not as if the cats can exactly warn people of my predicament, and I don't own Lassie. It's like that one episode of SATC where Miranda chokes on her dinner in her newly purchased apartment and she goes into freakout mode, worrying that she'd die and her cat would feast on her remains, thus leading her to overfeed said cat. The phrase "I've fallen and I can't get up" suddenly came to mind, and I was scared.

And this brings us to the giggles, pain, tears, and more giggles. In my time of need, Nurse Betty was there to take care of me. She got me to the ER, harassed my nurse into giving me pain meds after 30 minutes in a bed with no attention, turned off that stupid blood pressure machine that chooses to squeeze my arm off every 10 minutes, and picked me up in my clouded haze of pain meds 3 hours later when I was discharged. She filled my prescription, brought me back to her house to sleep and tucked me in her bed. That night, she roasted a chicken for me. Who does this? Who takes their Saturday plans and throws them out the window for you when you're in need? Your BFF.

We all have them. They have been with you through thick and thin - ah, thin - and they know things about you that no one else does. They know. And they don't just know, they know know. They know without telling anyone. They laugh with you, fight with you, and stand by you and your decisions. They push you to do better, push you to succeed, push you to become your better self. But along the way, they are there. There congratulating you, there consoling you, and there to laugh.

I have to look at my life after this event and realize how lucky I am. Nurse Betty is a kindred spirit; a sister. And when I have to use it, I have insurance to pay for emergency services. The fact that these emergency services lead to some outstanding pain meds that make you dream of happy puppies and kittens is simply a bonus! I'm also lucky enough to own a broom and Pine Sol to mop my bathroom floor, which I promptly did on Sunday night in a drug-laden fit of insomnia and hyper-reaction to Benadryl.

At least the next time that the nun chuck-wielding tooth fairy of hatred decides to club my back, I'll have a clean floor to land on. It's all about priorities, superficial and crack-brained as they may be.

I'll Have What She's Having

Today the Princess left for three weeks with her dad. Yeah, I cried. Yeah, I wallowed. Yeah, I'm sitting here in bed, in sweats, eating cake, watching When Harry Met Sally dwelling on the fact that it is quiet in this apartment and I can't stand it. I might just be sad enough to go get another cat. What's one more when I've already reached creepy cat lady status? They're just so cute!

Nurse Betty will be out of work in three short hours and she's promised that we're gonna barbecue hamburgers and get liquored up on cranberry vodkas. I might be able to convince her to play some dominoes with me so I can give her a good ol' fashioned ass whoopin' and perform the "subsequent dance". It's all in the name of making the BFF feel better. Want to know more about the "subsequent dance"? See below!

Definition of "subsequent dance":
Player stands up with legs shoulder-width apart and squats slightly. Elbows are bent slightly at hips. One hand is brought toward the front of the body palm-down as if to push something down (your opponent's ass). The other hand is waved back and forth following the rhythm of whatever music is currently playing in a fashion likened to spanking. Facial expressions may resemble exuberance, satisfaction, or glee. Feel the rhythm. Laugh like a villian. Gloat. Tell your opponent they're going down in the next round.

Anywho....

Every time Princess leaves for her trips down to her dad's, I get this way. I mope. I cry. I reminisce. So, as I'm sitting here finishing off some cake - hello, luvvah -I'm watching that part of WHMS where she fakes the...uh...you know. And when she's done, the lady across the room says "I'll have what she's having." Classic part of the movie, and so many parts of it have been immortalized in my brain. ("You made a woman meow?") I'm like Sally in so many ways. I order my food the way I want it, don't want the man I dumped but still don't want him to be happy with anyone else, and I believe that men and women can be friends. But so many of us women epitomize the phrase "I'll have what she's having."

We look at each other and based on a 5 second glance decide whether we are envious. Sure, some of us may have more money (hate those bitches), some may be skinnier (really hate those bitches), and some may have THE guy (gonna feed those bitches some of my cake so they'll get fat and he'll dump their asses). But what we don't realize is that appearances can be deceiving. We always want what we can't have, and when we can't have it, we find ways to knock each other down.

Why must we do this? One word: insecurity. If we were strong enough to stand up and admit that we are envious of someone else because they possess something we don't, we would actually have to face our fears of inadequacy. (Insert "bom bom bom!" music when a character in a movie comes to a realization.) I, for example, am envious of lots of people. I am envious of Nurse Betty's ability to talk to anyone and forge friendships easily. I am envious of Mamma Bestie's ability to keep running despite the fact that she's growing a 10 lb balloon at her midsection. Okay, so I can't look at these women and see anything faulty about them on second glance. Let's face it - they're damned perfect. Bitches.

Sorry...my envy got the best of me.

Ultimately it's up to us to police our envy. I see no wrong in wanting more for yourself and if you find it in someone else, consider that envy a challenge to create a better you. I, for one, find it a challenge when Nurse Betty tells me that "it's on like Donkey Kong" before our game of Mexican Train dominoes. She can't help it if she's envious of my excellent, impressive dominoes skills. Bring on "subsequent dance"!

Come Along For The Ride

These days, most of my friends are out discovering America while their kids are on summer break. Because I travel with my job, I have staycations. Yesterday I chose to drive into Napa and partake of the world's most blissful version of serendipity: The Roadhouse Buck Tri Tip Sandwich from the Buckhorn Grill. No, this isn't the famous Buckhorn Steakhouse in Winters, CA that I'm praising. (So great, but not as great as this place!!) This is the Buckhorn Grill. For all you friends out their discovering the Seven Wonders of the World, let me just tell you - this is the only wonder there is, besides of course, the donut. (Don't get me started on that roller coaster ride. Before I know it, I'll be three dozen in, one gallon of milk down, and twitching while Nurse Betty talks me down from my donut-crazed addiction. Donut places all over town have my picture up and are warned not to sell to me.)

The Roadhouse Buck Tri Tip Sandwich is not like any sandwich you have had the pleasure of ingesting yet in your life. I had to perfect Guy Fieri's Triple-D hunch-over method just to eat this mammoth of a sandwich. Allow me to strap on your leash and take you for a walk down the road of meaty-goodness-meets-fried-food-meets-snobby-cheese-heaven. (I'll let you stop for potty breaks along the way.)

Start with a roll. Easy now, before you start snorting that a roll is so elementary, and how could this make such a special sandwich, because I'll go all Roadhouse Buck up in the heezy and...sorry, the sandwich made me do it. This roll is special because it is soft on the inside, but the crust is so very crusty on the outside that it can easily hold the most insane contents - of which I'm about to ooze out into seductively suggestive words like some hot sex scene in a romance novel. Food is my porn these days.

Inside the roll, you get something I can only describe as nirvana in a sauce: Red Ranch. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh....(the Single Girl makes that sound that the creepy restaurant owner made when he asked Monica if she was going to slice the carrots, and she said that she was going to do them julienne.) The sauce is essentially ranch dressing and barbecue sauce mixed together to form the epitome of an orgasm. But wait - it totally gets better. As if it could, right? Keep your leash on. We've still got a few blocks to walk.

From here, they add tri tip. Ask for it sliced thin unless you want the meat to come sliding out of the bun each time you try to bite into the sucker. (And we all know how horrible THAT is when that happens.) But what happens next is nothing more than a foodie's wet dreams come true. Add the thinnest, most deliciously battered and crispy-fried onion straws (which totally don't taste good burping up, unlike donuts, which taste like heaven!) AND sweet, tangy crumblings of bleu cheese strewn about over the whole package. What you have left here, my friends, is a sandwich so good that it should be illegal. It will truly be the best meat you've ever had your lips around. (Yes, I went there.)

Never mind the piddly offering of fries that come with the sandwich. It's almost an afterthought, really. Like asking if you want a corn on the cob with your bacon-wrapped, garlic herb butter reduction sauced filet mignon. No thanks - I'll pass. So anti-climatic.

How could this get any better, you ask? Well, well, well mon cherie! If you want to take this whole thing up a few thousand notches, ask for a bowl of the au jus. But be careful. Dunking your sandwich in this elixir just might send you over the edge. If I smoked, I'd offer you a cigarette after you were done eating. There are simply no metaphors that could explain how beautiful the whole experience is.

If you're ever in my neck of the woods and have a hankering for this sandwich, let me know. And I won't say a word if you make me stop at a donut shop on the way there! I get my own box, though.