Archive for April, 2007

The nice thing about working two jobs is that, in a sense, you get two Fridays every week.  The flip side of that is that you get two Mondays, too.  I believe I am having both of them simultaneously today. 

I read an article recently about making a career change, and it suggested that to find out what you want to be when you grow up, you need to consider what it is you would do to occupy yourself if money were of no issue.  Then that’s your passion and that’s what you should do if you want to make a career/life change. 

Somehow I don’t think there are any jobs out there that would write a check to me for puttering around the house all day long. 

— Mox

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Conversation with my six-year-old in the car yesterday afternoon: 

“Mom were you sexy in high school?” 

“Um. Erm. Um. I dunno… what does ‘sexy’ mean?  Do you know?” 

“Yeah.  It means you’re hot.” 

“And what does ‘hot’ mean?” 

“You know… it means you’re pretty and stuff and the boys like you and they say ‘hey, babycakes, you wanna go on a date?’ and then you have to decide which boy to go on a date with… and why’d you have to marry Daddy?” 

(skipping for a moment the fact that I didn’t meet my husband until college)  “What’s wrong with Daddy?” 

“Was he handsome?  Was he sexy?” 

“Well, yes, I guess so.” 

“He acts like a great big kid.” 

(and really, I’ve got no answer for that because it’s true)

— Mox (aka Babycakes) 

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Let’s face facts here:  my spouse does not meet all of my needs. 

Oh, sure, I love him and all that stuff, and in 20 years together we’ve managed to cobble out a system that mostly works for us.  There is a security in a relationship like that, knowing that you’ve got something/someone waiting at home for you. 

But I need more. 

There are certain things that he can’t do for me, and while I remain committed to him, I have begun to look elsewhere for my comforts. 

And as such, I have begun a relationship with Ben. 

Oh, I mightily resisted it at first.  I avoided Ben for a long time, even though it seemed he was always around.  I made up my mind early on that it was in my best interest to stay away from him.  I told myself I didn’t want to be associated with him, that I didn’t like the way he smelled, that his many charms weren’t going to sway me. 

But when your husband isn’t giving you what you need, sometimes you find your comfort in the strangest places. 

I didn’t mean for it to happen, but one day, Ben was there right when I needed him.  The tingle I got from his touch started to break through my resolve.  I allowed the contact that day, but vowed nothing more. 

Then I found myself starting to crave his company. 

I’d think of him at all hours.  In the morning, at night, during my shower, at the gym.  I wanted his cool touch, his warmth, his way of making me feel better.  And the more we were together, the more I wanted from him.  And the more he’s given me, the better I’ve felt.  He’s gotten under my skin, and oh, it’s felt so good. 

It’s been everything I’ve needed. 

I am now at the point that I can’t go more than a day without Ben.  He’s become part of me.  I don’t know how I’ve made it this far in my life without knowing Ben. 

Guess it’s a good thing he’s Gay. 

— Mox

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1.  I don’t know shit. 

2.  I am always right. 

3.  Those two things can exist simultaneously in my world. 

4.  Half of being smart is knowing what you’re dumb at. 

The end. 

— Mox

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Cute shoes

I have reached a point in my life where qualifying statements about me have been used, and these qualifying statements are all along the lines of “for a woman your age.”   

… the hell…? 

I am not accustomed to thinking of myself at this point as a woman of any certain age, though there are times when I definitely feel my age and then some. 

The other day I got a catalog in the mail (as I often do, they seem to come in bundles these days) and while I usually toss about 80% of what I receive, there are catalogs that bear a second look. This particular catalog had a pair of cute shoes on the front, and because I am genetically predisposed to love shoes, I thought “ooh, shoes!” 

So I started to flip through it.  Pages one to five had some pretty cute shoes in it, mostly sport shoes, which I would wear every day if my wardrobe allowed it — Tevas, Merrels, Birkenstocks.  Yeah, I’m a little bit crunchy-granola.  But by the time I got to page nine, things had taken a decidedly ugly turn.  Bunion relief, hammertoes, corns, heel supports, you name it.  Then the offerings moved up from the feet to the calves (support hose), knees (braces), back (posture support).  The further I got into the catalog the worse it got.  Poor circulation.  Diabetic socks.  Tools for ingrown toenails.  Granny comfort shoes

Is this what a “woman my age” has to look forward to? 

I hope I die before I get old. 

— Mox

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A man asked his wife what she’d like for her birthday. “I’d love to be six again,” she replied. On the morning of her birthday, he got her up bright and early and off they went to a local theme park.What a day! He put her on every ride in the park: the Death Slide, the Screaming Loop, the Wall of Fear, everything there was!

Wow! Five hours later she staggered out of the theme park, her head reeling and her stomach upside down.

Right to a McDonald’s they went, where her husband ordered her a Happy Meal with extra fries and a refreshing chocolate shake.

Then it was off to a movie, the latest Star Wars epic, a hot dog, popcorn, Pepsi, and M&Ms.

What a fabulous adventure! Finally she wobbled home with her husband and collapsed into bed.

He leaned over and lovingly, asked, “Well, dear, what was it like being six again?”

One eye opened. “You idiot, I meant my dress size.”

The moral of this story: Even when the man is listening, he’s still gonna get it wrong.

I’m posting this old gem today because I know a little of what it’s like to try and be six again. 

Over the weekend, we went to our first street festival of the year.  In a situation like that, when you’re the mom to a six-year-old, there’s a bit of being six you have to do yourself.  Except, when you’re pushing 40, it takes a lot longer to recover from being Six than it used to when you were, say, six. 

Being Six means riding a lot of equilbrium-distrupting rides like the Tilt-a-Whirl, the Ferris Wheel, the Whirl-Around Swings, and the Scrambler.  Being the Mom of Six means that you get to do some of that, too. 

And then it’s time to eat.  Cotton candy, Italian ices, nachos, ribbon fries… all the things that Six loves and Mom of Six finds herself regretting four hours later. 

Footsore, sunburned, dyspeptic, and off-kilter.  Welcome to Monday. 

— Mox

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For a while now, a regular feature on my blog has been the posting of a photo at the end of the week.  Sometimes it was a photo found through Google Images, sometimes it was a personal snap.  I enjoyed doing it, searching for a way to illustrate my topic, or conversely, hoping that whatever it was I posted would launch a few words on a subject.  Sometimes I would just post a photo of a margarita and that would pretty much sum it up for everyone. 

But I got found out (again!) by a certain someone searching Blogger for the name of that feature (which I am not posting here because frankly I’m just jumpy about it).  And so I wonder:  do I continue with it, here, or not? 

I’ve considered renaming the feature but have yet to come up with a moniker that has the proper alliteration and to-the-pointness that the previous feature had. 

Not to mention, it’s not as easy to do as it was with Blogger. 

Or does anyone really care what I do about this? Really, with all of the craziness in the world today, what is there about this quandary that’s all that important? 

You know what I think?  I think there should be a pox on all blog stalkers. 

— Mox  

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