1. We are at a bar, and we’re there to have fun. I repeat, it’s to have to fun, not suddenly realize how depressing our lives are. Please select upbeat and fun songs, make it a good time for all.

2. With that being said, ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ should never EVER be selected.

3. I think it’s great that you have such a great voice, and for some strange reason you never got the break you always dreamed of. And I realize because you spent so much of your life chasing your dream that now the only job you could get was working days at the local 7-11. And yes, I realize that this is your one night every week to shine and fall back to your glory days. However, this does not mean that you have to sing every other song. If the bar is packed, sit back and wait your turn, and do one song, MAYBE two, max.  Again, I don’t, and no one else in the bar, cares how good you are.

4. You have got to know if you can sing or not (and don’t use the drunk excuse because you still have to know). If you suck, it’s okay, but figure out a song where you can have everyone laughing with you, not at you. Get a group, or pick a fun dance song, where drunks will jump from their chairs and dance, not giving a shit that you suck. Insert the ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ comment for this rule too.  If you pick the right song, your voice doesn’t matter.

5. You’re not Britney Spears so take out the pig tails and the school girl skirt and the knee high socks.  That was 10 years ago.  Well, I guess it doesn’t even matter the time frame.  You’re just not Britney Spears.

6. At least know the chorus of the song you’re about to sing, and if you can know more, it’s helpful and makes for a better listening experience.  (I actually made this mistake once myself, selecting ‘Bump and Grind’ by R. Kelly.  I thought I knew it, but it turns out, not so much.)

Shit, it’s Wednesday already. How does this happen? Next thing I know it’s Friday and then the weekend is over. Life.

Yet again, I have more family coming in town as I type this plus the family that has yet to leave from the holidays. Europeans, what can ya do.

On a side note, I have upped my sexy factor with hubby. My perfect eyesight isn’t so perfect anymore and I got glasses. Just imagine the chick from the Van Halen “I’m Hot for Teacher”. That’s now me because I am TOTALLY horny lately and the glasses seem to add just a little more.

Ok, off to play Stepford mom.

I’m taking my son and his girlfriend to Cabo for his 18^th birthday.  I think that is cause for a tiny celebration on my I’m Still Cool Chart, right?  It’s disheartening enough to say that I’m the parent of an 18 year old (as of March) and it has caused me to create my I’m Still Cool Chart.

However, as many points as I’ve earned by gearing up for the Cabo trip I lost last night watching the Grammys.  I felt more like a Granny Sunday night than a Grammy fan.  I watched it with my 15 year old daughter who has now entered the phase of her life where she vacillates between setting me on fire versus crying because her boyfriend is at the movies with her best friend.  15 is so hard for kids!

It all started with Ke$ha.  Are you asking yourself who that might be?  Then you are riding in the Granny/Grammy car with me.  When E! interviewed her I was lost.  I leaned across the couch and tapped my ever texting daughter and asked, “Who’s that?”  The answer came with an eye roll.  It just went downhill after that.  Who was that woman that sang with Bon Jovi?  My daughter told me, but I forgot.  All I remember is saying, “When I was your age we called her Leather Tuscadero”.  To which she replied, “Bon Jovi is screwing her song up.”  Living On A Prayer is not HER song!

Then Taylor Swift took the stage and during her 2^nd song out came Stevie Nicks!  And my daughter leaned over and tapped me and asked, “Who’s that?”  Awww!  Sweet revenge!  That’s Stevie Nicks, Baby!  Who’s that old Mexican?  That’s Carlos Santana, Baby!

And then, with half an hour left, my daughter got up and said this was the worst Grammy display she’d ever seen and she dismissed herself from what used to be an annual event for the two of us to watch.  She informed me that it was total crap that Taylor and Beyonce were shut out by that dumb group and she was tired of groups.  And it left me wondering if our days of sharing in shows like the VMA’s and the Grammy’s and the Miss USA and Miss Universe pageants are over, or are we just on a temporary holding pattern until she ages out of the 15 year old program she’s on right now?  When will I be cool again?  It’s a thought that is frightening to me, so much change all at once.  I’d like to think that I’m still youthful and fun!  I’m taking my kid to Cabo for pete sakes!  With his girlfriend!  Did I mention that?  Listen to me say it again – with his girlfriend!  But I have noticed the new wrinkles below my eyes and for some reason, it’s as if my body has an internal clock and it suddenly imploded – my back hurts.  What the fuck.  My back hurts.  And my bangs are too long.  My life is never right when my bangs are too long.

Damn Grammys!  What a shitty way to start a week.

I don’t think today is actually my day to post. Could be, who knows. But whatthefuckever.

Just wanted to say that I noticed that today 1 year ago I introduced myself to all of you fabulously loving, supportive, snarky, sometimes self-rightious readers.  It’s amazing what this blog has done. I have flown a flight simulator, learned to pole dance, had my hair lasered, been poked in the face with needles, and witnessed a hilarious Frisco bitch fight. Most of all I have been able to hang out with my glorious housewives.

As for this next year, I have BIG things in the works. B.I.G. If I say what it is, it will jinx it all. Let’s hope it all works out so that you guys can hear about it.

So hubby wasn’t coming home for a while, and after my little shot night out, I decided I needed to lay low for a while. Last weekend I had lots to do, work wise.  So I just planned on getting lots and lots done, starting on the taxes, etc. You know, a great, fun filled weekend that would make anyone jealous.

So Saturday began with great intentions, but here’s how it ended up:

9-10: Walked the dogs (yes, that was productive)
10-12:30 – Got swept up in the stupid movie ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’. Yes, the Sarah Jessica Parker 80’s movie.
12:30 – 3 – Drove down to Legacy Books to shop a little bit and do some work in the cafe.  However, the 80’s song ‘Dancing in Heaven’ consumed my mind, and I wasn’t able to concentrate.
3:30 – 6 – Turned on TV to see that ‘Titanic’ was on. I only saw this movie 3 times in the theater and 100 times after it came out, but I watched it again. Oh, and of course I cried as she pried Jack Dawson’s frozen hand from hers and dropped him in the ocean.
6 -7: Watched the most horrific SAG Awards red carpet coverage on TNT. I could care less about the SAG Awards, but for some reason I sat watching at the ugliest guy in the world asked the dumbest questions ever. I guess I spent that hour intrigued, wondering how in the hell he got that job.
7 – 9: Watched ‘The Wrestler’ from my TIVO and got very depressed.

Yep, that was my productive day.

Sunday, I did make it to church, but then spent the rest of the day watching football. As Brett Favre threw his last interception (and in a conflicted state, I laughed and cried) and the Saints kicked the winning field goal, I made a pact with myself. I was not going to watch TV for a week.

Yes, that’s no Oprah, no Seinfeld re-runs, nothing.  Two years ago, this never would have bothered me.  However, now, I had suddenly come addicted.

So I’m on Day 4, and it’s a great success. I have gotten more done than I ever would have imagined, and I’m thinking this needs to become a habit in my life.

Yes, I’m boring, but this weekend has a husband, a friend’s birthday, and a limo all in the plans. So I’ll be back off the wagon in no time, my friends.

Screwed.

I guess I haven’t told y’all. Hubby and I are looking to move. Not too far. Just a place that fits us and our needs better. We have found the place, a WONDERFUL place. Unfortunately the people who live there already know it’s a great place and are very proud of their old houses that they have meticulously kept up. Because of it, they have priced their houses a bit too high. And since these houses pretty much never go on the market there are no comps to tell them that it is too high.

So Hubby and I have waited patiently. We found 2 houses that fit our needs. One, has been on the market for ages, showing that it is over priced. We have been in talks with the elderly owner who just won’t let it go. And then there was another house, priced the same. Same everything. We saw it, loved it, thought it would sit there for at least a month. NOPE. Sold the very day we saw it, with 3 alternate offers that day!

Hubby asked me if I was upset that we didn’t get that house. No, not upset about that. What I am upset about is that 4 fucking people came out of the woodwork and bid on an overpriced house! They fucked with our comps and probably screwed any chance we had of buying the elderly mans house. (The house that I have already pictured growing old in and serving Christmas dinner to my kids and grandkids.) Where did they come from? Are they going to be screwing with me on every house that comes up? I knew it was a desirable area but shit, it looks like I might need to get nasty.

Is it wrong that I want to knock on the new owners door, knee ‘em in the balls and scream, “YOU FUCKED ME!,” then run?

That might be a bit extreme.

I’ve been debating whether or not to write about this, but this morning it hit me – of course I’m going to write about it, why wouldn’t I?

So I’m updating you on my Match.com experience.  (I kinda wish I hadn’t paid for 3 months of this thing, but in the end, I thought I would get some good posts out of it.  And I’m a sucker for you readers!)  The first guy to contact me was, how should I say this and still let Jim know that I love him…an older looking gentleman wearing a cowboy hat.  After further inspection of his profile he said he was 58 years old, but he looked older.  And I would soon learn that I had given him the “gentleman” title too soon.

I’m sitting at my computer and I have several browsers open when I hear a sound I’d never heard before:  Plink.  First thing I think of is that someone is IM’ing me on Facebook, so I go to that browser, nothing.  Then I realize I have Match up in another browser, Plink.  I go there.  This “gentleman” herein referred to as “MCG” (Match Com Guy) had typed the following (and I’ve copied it straight over, this is not my grammar, it’s his):

MCG:  Hey Sabrina!… ,  Love you eyes!/Swoon!… , I know Ima be too old for you but I just had to say I could make your toes curl!

MCG:  You need your toes curled?… ,

ME:  No.  That sounds…painful.

MCG:  That’s because no one hs done it right to you.  I could do it right to you!?

ME:  Thank you for the compliment on my eyes.

MCG:  What do yoi7ur toes look like?

ME:  Not curled.

MCG:  Oh baby!!@!  They need some curlin!

ME:  OK.  I gotta run now.  Thanks for the IM.  Take care.

MCG:  Are you gonna take those sweet ass feet with you when you run?/??

ME:  Yes, they’re sort of attached if you know what I mean.  They leave me no choice but to take them with me.  Gotta go now.

Two days later, almost the exact same conversation takes place.  So now I’m scared to even log on to Match because they’re obviously not good at weeding out the creepers.  Like – did he forget he’d already asked me about my toes?  Was his cowboy hat on too tight?  Was this an isolated incident?

No, this was not an isolated incident.  My husband pissed me off one day so I gave another Match my cell number.  Dumb.  Dumb.  Stupid ASS ME!  Initially he was very sweet and talked about my heart and where it was leading me and such.  Then he began his sexual hail storm.  This guy is one year older than me and has very cute pics on his profile.  Then it turned ugly Sunday night.  I will be referring to him now as NMCG (New Match Com Guy)

NMCG:  That’s it!  I’m going downtown to meet a squirter!

ME:  Well have fun with that!  Let me know how it goes! Lol

NMCG:  I have to!  YOU WON’T FUCK!

(So, obviously my knee jerk reaction is to say OH YES I DO!  I’m the fucking-est person I know!  I have the iFuck application on my iPhone!  I was insulted.  Then I realized I was insulted not because I do fuck but because he had just belittled my intelligence.)

 ME:  What do you want with me?  You’ve got a “squirter” waiting for you.

NMCG:  Well I could wait for you if you just say WHEN!

(like how he’s yelling at me in ALL FUCKING CAPS?)

ME:  I’m afraid I can’t/won’t work in your timeframe.  I am really trying to get back together with my husband.  This texting was fine before you went coo-coo on the sex talk.

NMCG:  What the hell do you want?

NMCG: HELLO?!?

ME:  I just want friendship.

NMCG:  OK.  Friendship.  Let try that!

ME:  Ok.  I gotta get up early tomorrow.  Night.

Nothing for 2 days, this afternoon:

NMCG:  HELLO!?

I am so not responding to this guy.  What a total douche!  And a total Stage 5 Clinger!  If I were reviewing Match I would give it 0 Collintini’s right now.  I feel really bad for the people on there that are actually trying to find someone – it’s CRAZY out there, man!  And yes, I did mean to yell CRAZY!

NMCG just texted me again:

“How about you sit on my lap and we talk about the first thing that pops up?”

G-ross!

So I decided that my parents truly did a number on me, and I’ve started going to a head doctor. I’ve been enlightened, challenged, and overall, am very glad that I am going.

So as I was going over the original questionnaire, it asked how much alcohol I drank a week. Typically, I have a glass of wine close to every night with dinner. Then by the time you add in our Thursday housewives gathering, a few happy hours, and maybe one night during the weekend, my cocktails add up.

So, honestly, I was probably low balling it when I wrote seven. He looked it over, and said ‘whoa, how many drinks per week do you have?’

Hearing the shock in his voice, I immediately started trying to explain. ‘Well, I have typically have a glass of red wine each night.’

So my question is, am I a raging alcoholic to the outside world? What is normal?

So I’ve mentioned her before, the ‘friend’ who competes, and really wasn’t a friend, but I still called her ‘friend’.   The ‘friend’ who I closed the curtain on once, she apologized, and so I tried again.  Of course I tried while keeping her at arms length. 

So we chat every now and then.  She lost her job, just as she was about to have a baby.  And so she decided that real estate, which she had been slightly playing with, was going to now be her career of choice.  So she had the baby, and a few weeks later she had a Christmas party.

So the night of her Christmas party, I had just had the worst discussion with my husband EVER, and I really thought we were at the end of the marriage.  I also was in between my doctor’s visits for the lump I had found.  Needless to say, I really wasn’t in the party mood.  She only lives a few doors down, so I ran up there so I could see the baby, drop off the gift, and simply and quickly say hello and then go back home to wallow in my own self pity.  We chatted for a bit.  I let her know what was going on, and that was that. 

Then Christmas Eve came.  I had to run to Target for a few last minute grocery supplies.  That was the day we were in a crazy blizzard, and I had a little incident  in the parking lot (which was me screaming at some idiot driver).  So jokingly,  I updated my Facebook status to the following: Finding a way to move back to Phoenix as quickly as possible.  Snow makes me crabby.  Yep, even on Christmas.

So weeks go by, and I don’t hear from ‘friend’ until I got a text message last week.  It didn’t say, ‘hey do you have cancer?’  Or ‘hey, how’s the marriage going?’  Nope, it said ‘hey, if you’re planning on selling your house, I’ll be your realtor.  Or for any other real estate needs you have.’  (The second part is still my favorite.)

I stared at it for a moment and wrote back ‘????  WTH are you talking about?’

She just said ’saw your facebook and thought you were moving.’

Now mind you, I don’t need someone kissing my ass 24/7.  However, I would like to know that someone is actually my friend versus just another way to get a client.

I’ve now closed the curtain on the friendship for good.  Oh, and yes, I will be sticking with my old realtor, in case I ever need to sell my home.

Dear Jim,

I promised you Hubby’s collection of old porn. I was going to drop it by your house, ring the door bell and run. But, life got in the way and Hubby gave it away last week.

Who did he give it to? The random heavy freight delivery guy that dropped off his new woodworking tool. Somehow, and I’m not sure how this happened in the 5 minute conversation, porn came up. The guys side job is selling it on the internet at a huge profit. So, as the driver’s tip, Hubby have him all of our porn.

So sorry Jim.

Please forgive,

Twila