Desperately Dirty Housewives...A Repost

*The following is a Re-Post-originally posted on The Daily Dandy on Friday, March 6th 2009. It was one of my favorites then and still is now.

I have led a sheltered, sheltered life. Now bear with me here for a moment and you will understand what I'm getting at.

I stopped by the local quick-mart yesterday to pick up some milk on my way home. The gas station/mini mart is located on the main thoroughfare, no more than .5 tenths of a mile from my street, smack dab in the middle of two affluent, suburban communities. I stop in there regularly; to get gas and last minute items and the staff and I are on a friendly, first name basis. We always take a few moments to chat about daily events, and often times they will share a story or two about what goes on in the quick-mart. Yesterday the story was focused on the amount of condoms that are sold in this particular store. The owner asserted that of the four mini marts he owns; this particular location, by far, out sells the others in condom purchases. He added that the purchases are made mostly by women-who appear to be just like me, apparently-and by that he meant your ordinary, every day mom.

Another staff member then proceeded to tell me about these same suburban women; the ones buying the condoms, propositioning him for a little discreet, extra-curricular activity,*wink, wink*. Now they had my attention. We then discussed it a little more. They said well dressed men in business suits also make numerous condom purchases and we all marveled over the frequency of this taking place in an affluent community such as ours. Who'd have thought? Interesting. Wealthy, successful business men and their lonely, neglected wives.

On my way home, armed with this new revelation, my mind went directly to a memory of a similar sort. About 5 years ago, I was waiting at home for a service man to come to turn on my irrigation system. This is a twice yearly appointment, and the homeowner must be present in order for the service tech to have access to the pump located in the basement. The company always give you a 3 hour window for the arrival of the tech. My window was from 9am to 12. I jumped into the shower sometime close to 9, and sure enough, I heard the doorbell just as I was getting out of the shower. I quickly threw on my bathrobe and slippers, wrapped a towel around my head, and rushed to the door.

I told the tech he was welcome to come in and go find the pump in the basement on his own, but that I would just need a few moments to get dressed before I could show him. The tech immediately put up his hand, beating a hasty retreat from the door and said, "I'll do what I need to do out here first. When you're dressed you can come and get me and I'll come in." OK, fine. I get dressed and go find the guy and walk him down to the basement to show him where the pump is. He then says to me, "I hope I didn't offend you by being short with you earlier. It's just that I have learned the hard way never to enter into a home when the lady of the house is dressed in a bathrobe."

Really. Forever the journalist, I pressed him for more information.

"You're kidding me, right?" I said.
"I wouldn't kid about that," he replied.
He proceeded to tell me the stories about how more often than not, the robe and the towel quickly drop to floor. He said he could write a book about the propositions he's received over the years and that despite his warnings, some of the younger guys he works with have actually messed up their relationships over their indulgence in this offer of an"afternoon delight". I was speechless.

Let me go on record here as being fully aware that this could take place anywhere in the US of A, and it is certainly not limited to affluent communities. I just need to wrap my brain around the fact that it actually does happen in real life and not just in Hollywood.
I have lived a sheltered life, for sure, because this stuff never ceases to perplex me. The service guy? The UPS man? The plumber? Not to imply that there is anything wrong with any of those professions. I just don't equate an afternoon quickie with my major kitchen appliance being returned to working order.
I just don't get it. And I'm glad I just don't get it.
Herein lies the point-these women "just aren't getting it" so they're getting it when ever and where ever they can, on the sly. The allure of the forbidden fruit.

This is just one woman's opinion is all, and to each his own, whatever floats your boat and every other seemingly appropriate cliche. I just think there needs to be some sort of connection, chemistry or history before engaging in the act. Call me old-fashioned, call me a prude even, all I'm saying is that I just think there are better ways to float that personal boat, if that's what you're looking for.
It certainly gives new meaning to the job title, service man.

The Art Of Story Telling

So I watched Lee Daniels' The Butler last night and I give it a Daily Dandy two thumbs up! While I thought the story was compelling and thought provoking, what's really amazing to me is that segregation of that kind took place during my lifetime. It's so hard for me to fathom. I guess it's a good thing that today I live in Dr. Martin Luther King's Dream....

In any case, let's talk for a moment about the acting in this movie.

What I really loved was the who's who game that was played throughout the story. From Mariah Carey, Robin Williams, James Mardsen, a prosthetic nose-wearing John Cusack as a young and old, battered Nixon, it was almost like a Cracker Jack surprise in every box! Then there was Alan Rickman, (Prof. Snape himself), Jane Fonda and a commode sitting Liev Schreiber, (My Ray Donavan) I kept calling out the names of the actors like a rousting game of "who's who?" Lenny Kravitz??? Brilliant casting. Cuba Gooding Jr once again making me fall in love with his talent. Oprah Winfrey was a joy to behold and for someone who doesn't act for a living, she was fantastic. Then there's Forrest Whitaker, who absolutely takes a role and wraps it in his hands like a modern day Rumpelstiltskin then spins the straw into gold. His compassionate portrayal of Cecil Gaines, based loosely on a true story, is a testament to the significance of the subject matter and the moral fiber of the character he portrays.

Now let's talk for a moment about the civil rights movement.

For me, I couldn't help but be enthralled by the character of Lewis Gaines, Cecil's son, the freedom fighter. The courage and dedication of a man to fight for what he believed in almost cost him his relationship with his father. He was a hero but at what expense? The scene in the Gaines dining room when Lewis comes to dinner with his afro wearin' girlfriend was one of my favorites. The moral struggle between father and son played out between blacks and whites and society serves to highlight the courage it took to become a freedom fighter and to stay one. I couldn't help but think about where we would be today if people like the character Lewis Gaines hadn't found the strength and courage to fight to end segregation.

Now I'd like to talk for a moment about Cecil Gaines himself.

Although Cecil Gaines is a character written for the big screen, Forrest Whitaker's elegant portrayal of a man who served eight presidents during his tenure as a White House butler exemplifies that this character represents so much more about being a black man in a white world. The character represents pride. Cecil took pride in his job and his family and while he may not have agreed with the politics that were taking place around him, he continued on. While he served, his goal was to be "invisible" in every room he entered, and he contributed to his world with the best of himself. But that same pride and invisibility later came around to haunt him and the passion he had been suppressing for years by being "invisible" is what ended up saving him.

Of all the questions that this cinematic treat left me pondering, there is one left to ask here:

Who is Lee Daniels?

Warts And All

There was a time, back when I was in junior high school, when I didn't always feel as confident as I do now. I know, it's hard to believe judging by the size of my ego as an adult, but back then I was bullied. My experiences during those years definitely served to shape me into who I am today and despite the pain, I find myself grateful for having endured it. Yes, I am somewhat grateful for having been bullied.

It was 7th grade and in our school district all of the elementary schools in the town converged together for 7th and 8th grade in one building. It was an exciting time to be a middle schooler, as lots of new fresh faced Tweens, awkward and bright eyed, met for the first time in the halls of our "junior high". It was a definitely a time of "firsts". It was the first time we had used lockers, the first time we didn't have to march single file in a line in the hallway between classes and the first time the new boys and girls got to check each other out.

In junior high, we had homeroom, which was assigned alphabetically and somehow lies at the crux of this story. I don't remember exactly what happened, but a boy in my home room, one I did not know, decided I would be his victim. Looking back, I might have responded to his first interaction with me flippantly, and he decided that my punishment would be to hand pick me for his special brand of torture.

I remember in those first few days hearing the name echoing in the hallways. I wasn't quite sure what it meant, or who it was meant for but it was undoubtedly a nasty, ugly name and it's sole purpose was to demean and punish its recipient. I soon figured out that I was the beneficiary of this horrible name because it started to follow me wherever I went. At first, the boys were having a field day using my new moniker against me, and I was quickly ostracized by the "coolies" in my peer group. But I was ok because I was the last of five in an entire family of "coolies", which made me a coolie by default. Or so I thought.

I had the "coolie" girls for friends, as we were just beginning to form the social groups that would withstand our high school careers. Soon the coolie girls began to make excuses and go to great lengths to lie to me about parties and play dates. I remember being invited to a friend's house with about 5 other coolies after school. We were jumping on her trampoline and having fun when the head coolie came out and made an announcement, "I have to go to gymnastics class, so everybody has to leave now."

We all looked at each other, and since I was the only one to ride my bike, I rose to leave. Feeling suspicious, I asked, "How is everybody else getting home?" I was told that her big sister would be driving everybody else home, pronto. They even took the ruse as far as to march out to the driveway, where my bike was parked, and pile all five coolies into the car. Waving goodbye, I drove away, but the feeling that I was being duped nagged at my psyche. I traveled a bit further down the road and I turned to look back, thereby confirming my suspicions. I caught all of them getting out of the car and going back into the house.

I continued on my bike ride home, tears stinging my eyes against the cool afternoon breeze, and as I turned to corner I spied two coolie boys from my grade, riding their bikes up the same street approaching me. The pending doom I felt at that moment was instantly lifted when they both waved enthusiastically and called me by my proper name. Instantly I had been vindicated and I felt a sense of triumph,albeit only briefly. Once we passed each other the smiles faded and I was reminded that I was not entitled to feel social grace of any kind. They screamed out my horrible name and laughed as they continued on.

I have thousands of stories like that one, most of which comprise my middle school years. My own brother was ashamed of me and if he really wanted to hurt me, he would pull out the name to sink the knife deeper into the wound. By the grace of God I survived and somewhere along the way, during the summer of my entrance into high school, the swan blossomed. I got my braces off, I had a great summer camp experience that helped to bolster my self esteem and I got noticed once I entered high school.

I left the name behind back in middle school and I never heard it again. I say I am grateful because I'm not sure I would be who I am today without that experience. It made me a better person. It taught me compassion and it made me see people through different eyes. In high school I was lucky because my bullying experience allowed me to navigate my way through every social group effectively. I was accepted for who I am because I had at one time been where no man had wanted to go and I survived.

Those coolie girls, the ones who were indifferent to my pain in middle school? I still call them my friends today and the one who pulled the ruse to get rid of me is today part of my inner circle. Crazy? Maybe, but what I learned through it all was that people make mistakes. I can't control other people's decisions, good or bad. We all survived high school and they have since made restitution for their sins, because they might have won the battle, but I won the war. I am the lucky one because they gave me a gift.

I am so grateful that it didn't turn me to a dark place that I may have never came back from and grateful that I was strong enough to withstand what I was handed. But I am most grateful for the effect it had on me as a human being. If I could say one thing to anyone who is experiencing bullying today it would be...hold on...the message will be revealed and you too will have your redeeming swan moment. And somewhere, some how, there is a reason you have been chosen to receive this message. I pray for you to be be a lucky one, too and accept yourself for who you are. Warts and all.

The Epilogue

Now that I've had some time to reflect on this tale and go back in time, I thought I'd wrap things up with the "where are they now" part of the story. Upon closer reflection, I realized that out of the 7 other people in this story, I no longer have a relationship with 5 of them.

K and J, my dear college friends, are still my dear friends. K and I went to undergrad together and we always had each other's backs. That night just solidified it. He caught the garter at my first wedding, and we spent a lot of time hanging out in college. We've seen the years come and go and through those years, done some crazy, fun things. His wife J, has always been my friend, but more recently she has become part of my inner circle. K and J are my peeps and I hope I never have to go through life without their friendship.

L and A, my dear local friends, are a little more complicated. Both Russian Americans, we became acquainted when our children went to the same Montessori school when they were little. Land A were never at a loss for money, ever. They were the kind of people that didn't hear the word "no" a lot and if they did, they didn't like it. We somehow became pretty close; probably because I established my boundaries early on and I think they respected that. We experienced a lot together. L and A's marriage disintegrated at precisely the same time that mine did, and talk about crazy? L and I experienced some crazy shit at the hands of our Ex Asses during the first few years. Let's just say that BOTH our boys were never really on the up and up. For all the madness, I always had a soft spot for A (and not in a sexual way) Around me, he was kind of a gentle giant. I got to know his soft side; the father who adored his children, the intelligent side (he was a successful man and had a inventor deep within his soul) and he even showed me his extensive gun collection. It was the first time I had ever seen a real gun up close, much less an AK-47, and they scared the hell out of me.

A was found dead by his girlfriend in 2007 at his summer home on Cape Cod. Police said it was a suicide, but we have our doubts, and that's all I'm going to say about that. L decided in July 2010, just before my wedding, that she no longer wanted to be my friend. We were at the Foxwoods Casino in CT celebrating my bachelorette party with several of my friends and family members. I spent the last hours of our time there with L and another friend in their hotel room, ordering room service and giggling till 3am. The next day she decided to text me to tell me that she wouldn't be coming to my wedding "after the way I had treated her that night". I was floored.. Something tells me that the date of my wedding was too inconvenient for her scheduled trip to Moscow, so she must have decided to pick a fight with me, get out of the wedding, then work it out when she came back. Her plan had one fatal flaw; she picked the wrong girl to do that to. Forgiveness is not my strong suit. What I realize now is that she did me a big favor.

Which brings me to C and T, ah yes, my neighbors who we had become very close to who were at the crux of that fateful night. C and T were always pompous. I live in a very monied community, so pompous people are a dime a dozen, and one is only interested in the next if they think you have more money than them. I suspect that is what C and T saw in us. They wanted to impress us with their summer home, their country club, their charity events, their fancy parties and gain access to my inner circle. Thing was, I liked them. They were fun and hip and they had kids the same ages as my kids. We live right down the street from one another, and we spent some time together, good times, but I never rally saw their true colors until that night.

The day after the debacle of the Ex Asses birthday, C came to my house in tears. She apologized profusely and blamed the alcohol (I hate that) and begged me to forgive her telling me she "loved me and hoped that this wouldn't effect our friendship". I don't remember exactly what I said to her, but I forgave her even though I would never forget. I never saw C nor T again, socially. Occasionally, I will see her or him drive by. I always wave and they do too. I heard they are now on to these other, ludicrously rich people in the neighborhood. Good luck to those people cuz they are going to need it. I even heard that my down on his luck, criminal, bad karma Ex Ass has been seen hanging out with them recently, which does not surprise me at all.

Which brings me to my Ex Ass. Oh My, where do I begin?That's a story for a best selling memoir and while it was happening to me, I kept repeating it like a mantra. I will tell you that the story will be written someday soon. It is one heck of a story, too. I like to think of myself as intelligent and smart; someone who has heart and compassion, but all that was called into question in 2005 when he decided he could no longer keep up the charade. It's a lesson in what happens when you believe in love only to find out that what you thought was love was really just lies. And what happens when your carefully constructed house of cards comes tumbling down.

This Phoenix rose, rest assured, and I lived to tell the story.

Part III:The Eye Of The Tiger

This is the third and final installment of the Daily Dandy trilogy entitled "Why I will never discuss politics in mixed company." As has been previously stated, all of the events described in Part I HERE, Part II HERE, and Part III today, are factual events, and I have the police reports to prove it. If you missed any of the trilogy, scroll down to the beginning and get caught up, or click on the links above. You'll need the background for what lies ahead.

"Oh no she didn't," was my first thought. "Ok, maybe I just hallucinated," was my second. Did she really just? Truth is, she did, and the instant my brain recognized her words, my foot spiked the perfect pivot and spun me around to her direction in a flash. Why is it that when evil strikes, its always preceded by a smile? Because when I walked over to Little Miss Jean Jacket, the exorcist I had hours earlier expunged, was now present and flashing a big, wide-ass toothy grin.

"Oh, you said that cuz you think we're old," I quipped sarcastically . "You're hilarious," my blood now coming to a steady, rapid boil. I then got myself good and close to her and I went there. Yup, I went where no man should ever go, and I'm not proud of it. But the Italian/Irish Catholic girl, born and raised in Beantown, not very different from the ones I've shown you in those "Boston girl" videos, reared her racist head and she spoke these fatal words:

"Listen doll, why don't you go back to Thailand or wherever it is you belong and back under the rock from where you came."

She jumped down from the stone wall and stood in front of me and said, "Really?"
My face now so close to hers, I could smell the brand of vodka she had been drinking. (Stoli) Stone faced and calm I replied, "Really..."
For the record, I think what I said was more to sting her quickly, and I admit, it was below the belt, but I don't want/like to think of myself as a racist. Anyway you look at it, what I said was wrong and it set into motion the next set of crazy events.

Little Miss Jean Jacket, clearly insulted, stepped back and sent her tightly clenched fist flying right at my vulnerable left cheek, fast. I got lucky and managed to pull back just far enough to dodge her punch, but as I was pulling back, my left hand grabbed a firm hold on the t-shirt she was wearing under the jean jacket. All is fair in love and war, because as I was dodging her punch, I pulled back further and further, taking her t-shirt with me; ripping it right off her body. I don't remember much else, because at that moment I sort of felt like I held the coveted brass ring in my hand.

I think my Ex-Ass grabbed me and pulled me away and I then saw the guys getting into the melee; both hers and ours. I saw A take a swing at what he thought was Little Miss Jean Jacket's guy, but he ended up hitting Little Miss square in the face, and A is a 6'3, big Russian dude. At this point, the rest of the group had broken the whole thing up and we each went in our separate directions. The six of us quickly continued down Boylston Street, even more incredulous than before at what had just taken place. We could not believe our luck because all night it was consistently bad. Was there a full moon tonite, we wondered? I now couldn't wait for the evening to end and to get the hell out of there and go home. No one was laughing any longer, in fact, I believe we all were in different degrees of shock.

We turned the corner onto Dalton Street and got about half way down, just in front of the multi level parking garage where our cars were parked. All of a sudden from out of nowhere, about 6 screaming Asian youths came running and screaming around the corner. It was like a bad production of West Side Story, and the Jets were clearly gunning straight for us. One of the guys yelled, "Get inside, NOW!!" which was meant for us girls because we were standing just in front of the glass doors to the entrance of the parking garage. J, L and I ran inside the glass doors and watched helplessly as the guys literally fought off the youths in the street. Needless to say there was a hell of a lot of screaming going on.

Now we were in the middle of a raucous street brawl! It turned out, that there were about 5 of them, but those three "f*cking forty year olds" were kicking some serious ass! They were each in the middle of the street, brawling and punching and I saw my Ex Ass punching one in the face and kicking another that was down on the ground.(which I later found out is a felony because in MA the foot is considered a dangerous weapon) J ran out to the middle of the street where her husband K was now on top of an Asian youth, pounding the shit out of him. She was trying to pull him off of the kid, and we then tried to pull her off of him. Quickly, the Jets started to retreat and soon, they all hobbled away, except for the one Ex Ass had kicked in the head. He was still down on the ground.

We ran for the door and took the stairs to the floor where the cars were. So we thought. There was blood and screaming and craziness still going on between us, and for the next few minutes we walked around lost. There was no logic or sanity amongst us at this point. We then heard the sirens. And the thing with the sirens was that they were suddenly getting louder and louder. I can only speak for myself, but I know that my pulse was near triple time it's flutter capacity, so panic was not far off. By some miracle, we arrived at our cars parked side by side and I watched A take a gun (none of us knew he had) out of his holster and stash it in his trunk. (incredibly, he never once pulled that weapon during the events of the evening) We stood together and debated our next move.

We were cognizant enough to realize that the police would be waiting for us down below and because there was no escape, we decided to walk down the stairs and confront our reality. Sure enough, when we got downstairs the flashing red lights were blinding. There were 3 cop cars and one ambulance, blocking the front of the garage and I saw Little Miss, standing in front of the ambulance, in her jean jacket and bra (completely visible) with an ice pack on her face. A few members of the Jets were sitting on the back of the open ambulance, ice packs in hand and bloody bandages, but the one that had been kicked by Ex-Ass was lying on a stretcher.

The police were waiting for us and two cops came directly for us, intent on keeping us a safe distance from our enemy. "You wanna tell us your version what happened here?" the cop said. All of us, now stone cold sober because adrenaline and fighting will do that to you, looked at each other and the Ex-Ass began to talk.( he was always the best liar) I then heard the cop say that this was a racially motivated incident and that the Jets were going to press assault charges on the guys and that Little Miss wanted to press charges on me.. We went forth with the, "she struck first" thing and for the next hour there was a lot of back and forth between the cops that were talking with the Jets and the cops that were talking with us. Finally, they let the Jets go, they then took the kid on the stretcher away in the ambulance and they let us go. They told us they would be contacting us tomorrow about the charges.

Who the hell knows what time it was when I reached my home, but I was never more happy to see my house than that night.

That fateful night.

What we all decided later was that all of that craziness would have NEVER transpired, had the scene with C&T in the restaurant not happened.

We never heard a word about the charges, nor heard from the cops again.

And that, my friends, is why I will NEVER discuss politics in mixed company.

Part II: Me Love You Long Time

This is Part II of a three part Daily Dandy trilogy entitled "Why I will never
discuss politics in mixed company." As I stated before, the following events are
both true and unbelievable. The further you get into the story, the harder it
will be to believe but trust me, it all happened. You don't want to miss this
one, so to read Part I, scroll town to yesterday or go HERE.

I stood alone at the picnic table, red faced and fuming, as everyone watched T&C slink out of the silent restaurant in shame. Once they were gone, all eyes turned to us, or me rather, as I had just pushed the exorcist that had momentarily invaded my body back down into submission. The volume quickly returned to the restaurant, and I sat down to ponder what the hell had just happened. I think some one of us even said, "What the hell just happened? "but I can't be sure because the adrenaline that was pumping furiously through my veins was drowning out any sounds from inside my head. All I could hear was the steady pace of my quickened pulse.

I was still shaking and so was everyone else. God love him, A grabbed the check immediately and paid it without asking questions and we got the hell outta there as soon as possible. It was spring time in Boston, which meant it was a gorgeous night, but after the events that just took place, no one was ready to go home. We decided to walk up Dalton Street to Boylston Street where there were lots of bars to choose from to try and salvage the evening. While walking, we passed by lots of watering holes until we decided on Abe and Louies, an old gentleman's kind of steak house, complete with dark oak tables and floors and red velvet upholstery seating. The bar at Abe and Louis was, and still is notorious.

We got a table and immediately the hard liquor stated flowing. Now six of us, we could talk of nothing else but the events that had taken place with T&C. Had that really just happened? We did a shot. Did they both just act that way? We did another shot. Did I just act that way in public? We did still more shots. What the heck was that? Shot after shot, the conversation kept trying to make sense out of what had happened. Several hours and several shots later, it didn't matter because we had successfully numbed any of those bad feelings from our bodies. When it was time to rise to go home, we as a group, were now comfortably blurry and grateful to have survived the night.

Little did we know we hadn't seen the half of it.

We leisurely strolled out into the mild evening, the burden clearly lifted and with a new spring in our step. As we walked back to Dalton street, where our cars were parked in the multi level garage next to The Summer Shack, we might have even been laughing; dare I say it, we were clearly enjoying ourselves. We were walking in twos on the sidewalk, and we soon passed the Rattlesnake Bar, another famous Boston watering hole with a much younger crowd. Outside the Rattlesnake sitting up on a stone wall, was a young Asian girl and her guy. They were dressed casually; she in a jean skirt, t-shirt and jean jacket and he in flip flops and ripped jeans.

They were talking really close, almost kissing and to tell you the truth, I hardly noticed them, but J did and she playfully said, as we walked by, "oh go ahead, kiss him." Little Miss Jean jacket didn't find this to be playful or funny at all because she yelled out as we passed by, "Fu*k you! Mind your own business." She then added. "What are you, like fu*kin' forty?"

It was as if the record of the sound track of my life had just audibly screeched to a halt. Her words hit me like some long painted nails down a chalkboard and I stopped dead in my tracks. Any other night, I might have quipped a snarky remark and kept going, but not this night. She picked the wrong night to mess with this group and more specifically me, because I was ready for her.

I'm not proud of what happened next. I'm not even going to try to reason that tensions were already high, so I'll just take responsibility for my actions and tell you that what happened next had to be seen to be believed.

Part 3 Tomorrow: When You're A Jet, You're A Jet All The Way.

Why I Will Never Discuss Politics In Mixed Company: Part 1

Today I'm going to tell you a story.

This story is so legendary that I'm thinking it's going to take three blog posts to complete. The subject matter so unbelievable, that I know you'll be coming back for more over the next few days. What I'm about to tell you is 100 percent true. I may color an outfit or an expletive or not remember the exact words that were used, but the facts are the facts, both true and unbelievable. I couldn't make this shit up.

This story begins 8 years ago in May 2004, back when I was married to an asshole. It was said asshole's birthday, and being the Queen of the birthday celebration that I am, I decided to mark the occasion with a proper celebration. EX-ASS's birthday falls in May and I planned a dinner out with some of our closest friends. I decided to go to a new place in Boston called Kings, which is a bowling alley with a nightclub type atmosphere. You can get drinks while you bowl and listen to music under disco balls and black lights. At the time it was waaaay cool and very busy, so the plan was to have dinner first, directly above at Jasper White's Summer Shack-a great seafood restaurant, then go down to bowl.

I had invited 3 other couples: We will call them:
K&J, very dear college friends:
L&A, very dear local friends and
C&T some new friends with whom we had become VERY close with, who lived in our neighborhood.

I invited all three couples to my home before heading into Boston for margarita's and chips and dip. It was a spectacular warm spring evening and needless to say there were a lot more margarita's going on than chips and dip. I might have even had a heavy hand with the tequila because by the time we got to the Summer Shack, we were all having a grand old time and feeling GREAT. Let me just set the scene: The Summer Shack is one of those celebrity chef restaurants with great food, but the Summer Shack has a casual, beach like atmosphere. The tables are picnic tables with table cloths and benches. Mini tin buckets are on the table tops so you can discard lobster shells and crab legs and bibs are a pre-requisite. The dress code is flip flops, t-shirts and shorts.

We, on the other hand, are all dressed to the nines. My friend L, of L&A, is a Russian and NEVER is dressed down. Casual is a dirty word in her vocabulary. Her winter boots are Christian Louboutin 7inch heels, and that night she was wearing skin tight leather from head to toe. We sat down to eat; girls on one side of the picnic benches and boys across from their spouses on the other side and immediately ordered more margarita's.

The good times were flowing. We were laughing and talking and just when you thought things couldn't get any better, someone brought up the P word. POLITICS. This was right around the time of the Iraq prisoner abuse scandal, and what transpired next is true. Whether you agree with me or not is irrelevant to the story and not something I choose to debate at this time.

These are just the facts:
I was sitting in between J and C, with L on the other side of C. J says something about the Iraq prisoner scandal like:

"You know, we don't really know what motivated the Americans to abuse those Iraqi soldiers," she said. "They could have said things about killing and torturing other American soldiers that possibly provoked the abuse."
To which C responds,"Are you kidding me? What are you a FUC*ING moron?"

The table goes silent.

Now remember, I'm sitting in between the two ladies, on one side of a picnic bench. These ladies don't know each other, having just met for the first time this evening. I could hardly believe what I just heard. As hostess, I calmly say to C, seated on my left.

"Whoa, whoa..no need to name call here, C. Calm down. We are just having a discussion and I believe J is entitled to her opinion."

To which C responds, "What? Are you a FUC*ING moron too."

I think the blood drained form my face as I then looked over at C's husband who launches into a whole, "don't tell me you are a Bush supporter, because if you are than you are a FUC*ING MORON too." J is speechless, and I let this sit for a brief moment, because I think I was in shock, when I see L, looking like a Russian Lolita, get up and walk over to T to ask him to not make a scene and ruin the night. I am now sitting between K and J and K is spewing forth all this bullshit about what a moron J is for saying what she said with her finger pointing in J's direction.

To say I was SHOCKED would be an understatement. With my face contorted into an angry expression I did not recognize, I launch into a tirade on C about how this is a free country and J is entitled to her opinion and who the hell does she think she is. Out of the corner of my eye I see T and L fighting and I hear him say, "you're a FUCKING MORON too. You're all MORONS." And with a wave of his hand he says, "Now get the fu*k outta my face."

Not a good move. At. All.

I snapped. And, like my big brother, I never snap unless provoked but get me there and it ain't going to be pretty.

Just as the table is about to erupt into some kind of ugly, fist-a-cuffs bar brawl, I stand up, completely red faced with steam coming from my ears, and I slam both of my hands down onto the table as hard as I could. The entire restaurant is now silent and all eyes are on me.

I look over at T an C and with my entire body shaking with anger and my mouth scrunched into an evil scowl I say:

"I WANT YOU TO LEAVE." I then added so that there was to be no confusion, at all. "AND I WANT YOU TO LEAVE NOOOOW!"

Not another word was spoken. No one moved, except for T&C who quietly got up from the table and left the restaurant in complete silenced shame with everyone watching.

My heart was racing and everyone was in shock. Including everyone in the restaurant.

Part II tomorrow: Just the tip of the iceberg.

Divine Intervention

So I was at my store the other day and one of my favorite customers and I were having a chat. We were talking about marriage and spouses and such, seeing as I'm heading down that path again in just 5 short weeks. We talked about longevity and commitment and how marriage is work. I was telling her that my mom has been complaining that she is really frustrated with my dad lately, for one reason or another. My customer then relayed this story to me, which I found to be quite amusing, indeed. I then, immediately relayed the story to my mom. True or not, this is one I will remember.

She told me that she had seen an interview with the Rev Billy Graham and that she always calls it to mind when she is feeling less than amorous with her spouse. She said it gives her peace.
The story goes like this:

The Reverend was asked by the interviewer if the Lord had ever spoken to him directly. The Reverend response was, "Only once." He went on to say that he had been arguing with his wife one day and while shaving his face alone in the bathroom, still stewing over the specifics of their argument, the Lord spoke to him and said, "You're no bargain, either."

I couldn't help but think it was genius.

Whether or not the higher power actually intervened and spoke those words of truth to the Reverend is completely irrelevant to the point, which is, so true.

"You're no bargain, either"

Damn, ain't that the truth.
This is not an endorsement of the Reverends teachings, or a religious or political agenda advancement. It's just a simple take on that age-old commitment of marriage.

It sure puts things into perspective doesn't it?