A day in the Life of a REAL Housewife of (Insert small town here)

6am: Hubby is sneaking out of the house with all of his gun gear to go shooting. He thinks he is being quiet but I am up now wondering why he is leaving at 6am for a 9am start time. (He tells me later he thought it started at 8am- I think he was just excited to get out of the house, his penance: helping set up the whole shoot.) When I didn’t hear him start the coffee I stayed in bed and tried to fall back to sleep.

7am: Trying very hard to fall back to sleep with no success. I am designing my dream house in my head which usually does the trick)

8:10am: Just as I am beginning a good dream about soapstone counter tops, the phone rings. Because I think it might be my Mom, I jump eagerly out of bed not bothered at all. When I finally find the phone, 10 rings later, I see that it is a collection call. I am now very bothered. There goes sleeping.

10am: I have managed to watch every single show that was recorded over the week in fast forward. Drank a cup of coffee and had a bowl of cereal. No more putting it off – time to clean the house.

11am: I have managed to bribe one child into helping me by promising her new boots (that I know are on clearance and only $9) I am cursing the two other kids who are still peacefully sleeping, and the hubby who is still out having a good time. Jealousy is such an ugly look on me.

12pm: I am shaking from caffeine overload and aggravation at the stuff I have to clean on my day off of work while the people who I live with are wondering why I fly off the handle so easily. My blood boiling, I have now opened all the windows, forcing the little people running for hats and gloves. I am also immersed in switching the winter clothes with the summer clothes, leaving them defenseless against my hot flashes. Determined to find things that fit for our Spring Break trip, knowing we can’t afford a shopping spree, my daughters and I fall on the floor laughing when the 15th pair of pants come up way too short and way too tight. (This is called the hormonal stage of cleaning- lots of downs and a few ups)

1pm: I am begging everyone not to drop one single crumb of lunch on the clean floor. Asking if they really need to use the sink and wishing it was warm enough to send them all outside to eat. I want my house to be clean for at least an hour. It’s all I ask in life!

3pm: The hubby is coloring my hair. I have been a raging lunatic so now he is in angry hairdresser mode and I am threatening to go to a hair salon like normal people which would cost us at least $125.00. Does he think I enjoy having him see up close and personal every gray hair on my head?

4pm: Showered and feeling like a normal person again, excited to find pants to fit, and looking forward to picking out summer-wear. We are about to head out for a little shopping at the luxurious Target. I decide to check the bank account and then promptly put my pajama pants back on.

6pm: I have a hand-full of gold jewelry that is either broken or hasn’t been worn in years. I am certain there is enough to pay for groceries and gas for the week, plus pay the bills that are due. Taking a page from the hubby’s generosity book a week ago when he took the necklace from his neck and turned it in for $200, which paid for new shirts and spending money for our son’s school trip to D.C.

7pm: Breakfast for Dinner instead of restaurant food. A much better idea.

8pm: Playing Dominoes with the kids. Better than walking around some dumb mall carrying everyone’s bags and coats and sweating because they forgot to turn off the heat in the stores.

11pm: Thinking that no matter what the Real Housewife of a small town near you experiences life in ways the fancy housewives never could. Good, Bad or otherwise.

Does Shaking your Fist even Work?

Don’t you just hate it when you are doing something nice and something crappy is the outcome?


For example: the hubby was changing the windshield wiper blades on my car. We were on our way out to the store so I was sitting patiently in the passenger seat (like that image?? – that is a slight exaggeration), Restart.  I was angrily changing the radio channel from talk news, BACK to my music station and the kids were in the back already complaining about where we were going which was annoying me.

On the other side of the glas, the hubby was patiently putting the final touch on the passenger side blade, he smiled at me through the windshield, I imitated a smile at him. Life was good. (Getting better)

Until the blade escaped his hand and smacked into the windshield. HARD. Two tiny lines appeared before my eyes.

You know that moment of horror when you feel a strong need to smile? WHAT IS THAT?? Why do you have the urge to smile when something horrible happens and you are seemingly the only one wanting to do that too??

I kind of half smiled/cringed at him and he just gaped at me.
It did ruin the evening. Kind of hard getting over a $300 mistake when you were trying to be nice.

Makes you want to shake your fist at the sky, doesn’t it?

It Could have been Worse

Those two little cracks are making a slow trek up the windshield each day- competing with each other for length.
The real irony here: Bonus = $300. Cracked Windshield = $300. Savings for vacation = $0

Nice.

If I said Lynyrd Skynyrd liked Spaghetti, they would Care More

I now understand exactly why I write.


I’ve realized that when I talk, the person who is supposedly listening is always doing something else and by the time the story is getting really good that person has moved on from listening to me, to now operating on their own agenda. They are forming the question seconds before they ask it, so I have not only lost them when they speak, but well before that moment.

Who am I kidding? I thought I was writing to be recognized for my wit, my ability to tell a story, to entertain.  Instead, I am just writing so I can complete a sentence without being interrupted. Sometimes that doesn’t even go well for me. I am always reading back what I wrote realizing my errors were the result of constant interruptions.

Tonight I was relaying why I had a bad moment at work. It was a great story. A story of – “holy c$#@, I can’t believe I did that”, to sheer panic, to worry and then immense relief. There was even a math lesson in my story. But even with that, it was a GOOD story.

There I am, telling it, feeling like I have avid listeners, they were making eye contact (well, I got a glance anyway) when the hubby begins to ask who wants ricotta cheese on their spaghetti, and all of a sudden my avid audience is now focusing on their food and asking each other questions about school.

How I Felt

I was just at the good part! No one even wanted to know what the outcome was! They all had moved on. I hadn’t even closed my mouth yet from the last sentence and they had moved on.

They didn’t even realize I was upset, let alone the story was hanging in mid-air, slowly evaporating into the steam from their food.

Even as I write this, someone has just asked me if I know why Lynyrd Skynyrd is called Lynyrd Skynyrd.

WHO THE HELL CARES! I have a story to tell over here.

(it was their gym teacher Leonard Skinner –who had a strict rule against long hair) I figured you would want to know and wouldn’t be able to pay attention to my writing until I told you…..

Leonard with Lynyrd

To make matters worse, the story, now in its incomplete, untold stage, kind of sucks. There is no point in starting it over; no one will quite understand it now.

That my friends, is why I write.

(and have small internal baby temper tantrums)

A Shoe Story

While in college I went to the closest mall and got the first job I could find, because as you may have read in a past post, I was taught to get a job right away and take the first one that calls.


As my “luck” would go, rather than a trendy clothing store I found myself working at Thom McAn Shoes. If you are not familiar with this name, it was a shoe store that specialized in Men’s Dress shoes. (Try climbing a ladder in a skirt in the back room reaching for size 14’s on the very top shelf. Not only is the men's dress shoe box unwieldy, it weighs at least 5lbs.) They also sold Keds in every color and pattern, women’s high heels that could be dyed any color you desired for weddings and proms and little kid shoes. Needless to say, we saw all walks of life and feet and I spent the majority of my time on my knees.

While working there I learned how to lace shoes,(not a fun time for a lefty – if you are not left handed you will never understand- makes NO sense but it’s true) and measure all types of feet, (we were required to measure every single person’s foot before they tried on their shoes – YOU try telling a women she measures a size 10 who insists she wears an 8.)

I learned how to convince people their boats looked amazing, that the color puce was no problem to match, and learned patience – which meant bringing out every size 12 in a certain style on the shelf and jamming a size 13 into it, until it fit.


Thom McAn was not high-end. It wasn’t glamorous working there, my managers were not college students, but it was a job, and I liked it, up until the day I walked out and swore I would never sell another pair of shoes as long as I lived.

One thing I do not remember ever really stressing about was commissions. I did earn commission, but I don’t remember competing with the other sales people. We all got along well and had fun with it. However, this was a long time ago, times weren’t as tough, and I didn’t have to feed anyone but myself.

So on Friday night I found myself at a department store shoe section, intent on buying my sister in law some fabulous shoes for her birthday present. As soon as I picked up the first pair of shoes a sales woman approached and asked if she could help me. I told her that I was waiting for my husband before I chose, so I was OK for the moment. She gave me the look that meant – “Don’t try to blow me off girl, I’m selling you some shoes tonight.”

I really WAS waiting for the hubby. Believe it or not, he has amazing taste in shoes. All of my best shoes are ones he picked out without me present.

When he finally arrived, he of course said the pair I selected were ugly and steered me in another direction. The same sales lady approached and we were still semi-arguing, so I told her to try back in a bit. She then turned around and told every single other person looking at shoes that she would be back in a minute to help them, then continued to bring boxes of shoes out to the people she was already helping.

Once we had made our minds up, we politely waited for our sales lady. And waited. And waited.

Another very nice sales lady approached and this is when my old shoes sales memory kicked in. I asked if they worked on commission, and she then knew what the deal was. I told her I was so sorry but we were being helped by the lady over there, who was now lassoing several more shoppers in her growing circle. This nicer sales lady stepped back and said she understood but gave a glare to the customer hog and slowly backed away.

Of course the hubby caught on fast and started to joke with her about losing her commission to the sales lady who circled customers like a shark and made them afraid to say no. This nice sales lady told us she was sick of customer hog lady and she had just gotten done telling her so in the back room.

“Why make people wait, when other sales people are available,” she said with passion. Both the hubby and I were on the same page, and said we didn’t mind, and could wait a bit. (I mean we had the kids with us and weren’t really into introducing them to them true meaning of cat fights just yet)

You see customer hog, sales lady looked like she could beat all three of us up and sell 10 pairs of shoes while doing so.

We waited. We argued about me wanting to buy two pairs of shoes and he thinking that one pair was plenty. Finally we were able to toss the size and color out to customer hog sales lady while she passed with a mountain of boxes.

Nice sales lady came back and said a few more words about customer hog and we knew a storm was brewing.

Now hubby gets the brilliant idea that why not get two pairs of shoes. I mean yes, let’s please create more drama (But I’m not arguing = yeah for birthday girl!) We would buy one from customer hog and one from nice sales lady.

Sure enough customer hog came out with every pair of shoes in the size we needed, leaving nice sales lady in the back room searching.

I slowly backed away from the approaching storm. Grabbed my girls by the hands and intently looked at perfume across the aisle, while hubby was wrangled into buying two pairs of shoes from customer hog before nice sales lady even made it out of the back room.

As we left the department with our bag of shoes, nice sales lady approached. “See how she done me?” “See what I’m talking about?” We sympathized, and felt ashamed. She said, “Now I would have shown you those shoes over there, which are cheaper. Instead you have two pairs of the same shoes in different colors.”

We followed her to the shoes she mentioned and discovered that they were shoes right up my birthday girl’s alley. So we made a secret transaction all the way in the far corner cash register. Returned one pair of shoes and bought another pair from nice sales lady.

I don’t think I am going to buy shoes in a department store for a very long time.

I used my little girls like bullet proof vests and slunk out of there as fast as my shoes could carry me.

But the good news is that the birthday girl got two pairs of shoes. Both sales “ladies” will make some money.

The bad news – we somehow ended up with the wrong size of one pair and poor Birthday girl is on her own to return them. Whoops!

A Before and After Story

BEFORE:


My skin is pale. I’d compare it to this:

BEFORE

It hasn’t seen sun for more than 30 minutes at a time since early October/late September. I no longer have tan lines.

I am visiting my parents who relocated to Florida, in about 4 weeks. I have freckles and I burn easily , so to go from my current state of pale to my Florida 3rd degree sunburn, is a health hazard.

My much younger and gorgeous sister in law left for Italy this week with a healthy glow from a spray tan.

She gave me the number and I made an appointment. To get SPRAYED. I wanted to try it out before I make the decision to head to Florida with some color. For the last few trips I have spent the journey home heavily medicated from severe sunburn and last year, my Mom sent me home with Tucks pads to relieve the pain.  SERIOUSLY.  She read somewhere that these used for completely OTHER purposes were great skin pain relievers. She was right.  I now own a jar of them and use them on burns, paper cuts, bug bites, scratches etc.... If you try this, just remove the label and no one will be the wiser!

I couldn’t wear any lotion or deodorant today and I am working, so logically I did wear deodorant, but I forced myself to not apply any lotion. White dry skin is slightly worse than pale moist skin.

My other equally as gorgeous sister in law is coming with me so we can potentially support each other as sister Oompa Loompa’s tomorrow if needed.

Apparently people don’t wear bathing suits while being sprayed (the receptionist SCOFFED at this question when I asked) I packed black under things that I hope will do me justice when I am standing there with a shower cap on my head looking OH SO ATTRACTIVE.

I’m praying for a hideous looking technician.  It would really ease the ego, you know?

I am so thankful spray tanners are not equal opportunity yet and a man is not spraying me. Although I bet a man would have better aim –(they like hoses and painting, right?)

Needless to say I am a little anxious. I have been practicing sucking in my stomach while at my desk all day and worrying about my under things being both supportive and concealing enough.

I’ll be back with the AFTER …….



AFTER:

While waiting in the lobby of this very nice high-end salon, my stomach sank just a little bit more as each annoyingly attractive stylist walked my way. Remember I am also sitting next to a gorgeous sister in law. The owner of the salon, who is male, looked like he had been spray tanned minutes before we walked in. His teeth and the whites of his eyes were glowing. I started to panic that this might not turn out so well for me.

Of course the spray technician rounds the corner and she is as petite and adorable as she is sweet. I had to bend my body very close to her mouth every time she spoke because she had this tiny whisper voice. I followed all of her instructions as best as I could hear them and found myself standing on paper feet in a booth with nothing but a shower cap and under things. It was a little awkward when I would misunderstand her directions and she had to maneuver my body for me. At one point while standing in an awkward position so the inside of my thighs were exposed, I thought to myself –

“Why do you torture yourself in these ways, Kristen?”

She sprayed me like she was washing a car.

Putting my clothes on over wet spray tan was a little disturbing – that and being told not to get any type of water or liquid on me whatsoever for at least eight hours. Even brushing my teeth could potentially leave a white ring around my mouth.

I sat in the waiting room for my sister in law, trying not to stare into the mirror. I stood as naturally and casually cool as I possibly could. You know, like I do this sort of thing all the time kind of stance. A really nice lady did come up to me to tell me that I looked SO MUCH BETTER, which made me ecstatically happy to hear.

When my sister in law and I discussed our experiences afterward I learned that no, she did not have to wear the shower cap and it took her longer because she stood in front of the fan to dry herself. WTH, did I miss those instructions?? ("Oh yes, I like shower caps – please let me wear it- it will make me feel so much less awkward")

I haven’t done a full body exam because I am a little streaky and am told that it will go away by tomorrow after my luke warm shower. (For the next week, luke warm showers are my rule- this is going to be pleasant at 5am in our below 20 degree weather.)

I will admit that I do have actual TAN lines. Something I have never truly had. I think I might turn into Snooki someday and do this more often. It sure beats waiting to be tan the last week of August when my sunburn finally turns to some actual color.

AFTER

I’ll keep you posted, but for now, I’m pretty satisfied. It may even motivate me to work out a little harder so I don’t feel so self conscious in my under things in front of a 90lb twenty year old. (Don’t talk to my sister in law- she gave me the bad news that our girl wasn’t twenty at all – more like in her thirties which made me feel OH SO MUCH BETTER!)

Loser Confession Time

On the way to work I was listening to the radio and the girl was saying how lame her old roommate was because she would rip out calendar pictures and frame them as art.

Loser Confession Time:

I have a Thomas Kincaide Calendar in my bedroom. (intact, but hanging on the wall in a wooden frame)

I pulled out the kitten pictures from a calendar and hung them on my little girl’s bedroom wall.

My office was so plain when I moved into it at work, that I pulled out all the pictures from a vintage truck calendar and hung them on the walls.

Today, the blessed virus was still attacking my computer at work and I spent several intimate hours with an IT guy. After awhile he asked me which vintage truck from my office wall I had in the garage at home.

Loser Confession Time:

“None, I just like vintage stuff, my office walls were too plain and I haven’t gotten around to painting, so I hung these.” "I do like the blue and yellow truck the best though…"

He then turned on my computer and asked me if the kitchen picture on my desktop was mine.

Loser Confession Time:

“No, that kitchen is not mine, it’s just a picture I like to look at – kind of putting it out there in the universe that I would like that kind of kitchen.”

He then told me that he knows someone selling a vintage fridge.

I told him that I like the ones that are new, but that look old.

He started to sink lower into my desk chair as a way of escaping the crazy office lady.

HAVE I TURNED INTO THAT CRAZY OFFICE LADY?? - Like the lady who decorates everything with cats, or the one who has hand knitted mouse covers???

When he was all set repairing my computer he noticed that my icon was a vintage travel trailer and this time he didn’t really say anything, just kind of looked at me.

 “No, I do not have one, in case you are wondering, but if I did, it would look like that”, I said before he could ask.

He left pretty quickly after that.

I have never felt like such a LOSER. (in the last 8 hours anyway)

I swear my house is NORMAL!

If you consider THIS normal!

Excitxious

This is a mixture of Excitement and Anxiety. Which pretty much sums up the last 3 days:

I told you about the poor abandoned house that we looked at several weeks ago. It had been written off as not a suitable option, although a great deal, just not big enough for our family. It was fine, but the hubby and I were slightly disappointed to see the opportunity to own our first home slip through the cracks.

But all of a sudden the house came back to us – we were not pursuing it. It just sort of happened to us.  Saturday morning at a mere 16 degrees, but sunny (not quite the same as saying, "but it’s a DRY heat") found me walking the property, checking out the lake in the back, and finding the silver lining. A new plan was developing to potentially still get this house.

By noon, we were touring the house with an Amish contractor, planning a new bathroom/bedroom, new kitchen, new mud room, and living room big enough for us to fit. The quote was in-line with what we could afford even, and the silver lining was turning platinum. The neighbor was even making plans with my hubby that was making me believe when we moved in, it would be the last I would ever see him.

Let me fill you in right here. We have toured MANY homes. We have RENTED all of them. We have fixed up every single one of them because that’s just how we are as renters. We rent like we own, and we have experienced many, many housing dissapointments.  But NEVER have we gone so far as to meet with a contractor (Amish or otherwise) and get this close to planning our home.

By Saturday night, we had well thought out plans, and I cleaned my current house while decorating and deciding where I would put each item I cleaned, in my mind.

At 8pm our power went out for no reason at all. It was out for two hours. Inspired by our Amish friend, I lit a portable emergency lantern and took down all the snowmen/winter items and cleaned my house because I was intent on getting my house in order so I could concentrate on the what if…. (all while coming up with theories as to why we and three other towns had no power – maybe it’s ALIENS??)

By Sunday, more plans were evolving, an offer was written and the hubby and I snuck out to Home Depot to just “look and see.” (We kept reminding each other WE ARE NOT emotionally invested – if it happens it happens, if it it’s meant to be…. Yada. Yada. Yada.

We covered every aisle. We found the floor we would put in the finished basement, we agreed on paint colors, we looked at storm doors, we marveled at the new Formica that looks like granite. We discussed how to split up the kids furnture because no one would have to share a room anymore. We agreed on cabinet color, agreed on wanting to replace the hollow interior doors, picked out a plain faucet and then laughed about the faucet and sink we would much rather have but knew we couldn’t afford. We even looked at toilets. (the kind that DON’T clog)

On the way home from Home Depot, we were giddy and I think also amazed at how well we AGREED on everything. I know that we both have been dreaming about our OWN home for several years, but I had NO idea that our dream's mirrored eachothers.

As we drove home, we even swung into an open house for a DREAM HOME that will never be on our radar, but because we now had our own much simpler dream it was easier to look FOR FUN.

This “looking for fun house” was AMAZING. You remember that movie - Sleeping with the Enemy? How the crazy husband wanted everything perfect – from the cans with the labels in precise alignment and the hand towels in perfect order? Well, I never really got why that was such a problem because in the world where it is just me all alone, my cans and towels would look like that.

Every closet we looked into (at least seven of them) were filled with clothes in order by color and style. (My goal in life) The basement floor was heated, they had two cats and three dogs and the house smelled brand spanking new. The new landscaping was $35k alone.

Needless to say it was a NICE house. But we just had fun seeing it and not one time did either of us say, “How lucky are these people?” Because we felt lucky ourselves at the slight possibility our little abandoned dream home might be ours.

They accepted another offer.

I have to drive by this house every single day.

The neighbor is devastated too. ( I may have to take the hubby to visit)

I am actually going to miss its peculiar smell, random trash, odd bits of furniture and serious potential. Even the inspector said it was a gem. (From his make-shift office in the bathroom with a portable heater to keep him warm) He said the windows were hand crafted, the roof in perfect condition, no structural damage and very well built at one time.

I got this bit of news at 8:30am today. At 8:15am my computer at work crashed from a virus that made it look like I had downloaded porn. At 3:30pm for 15 minutes my daughter was missing (no worries, she failed to tell us that there were additional CHORUS practices, but I do now own 5 additional gray hairs)

What a difference a night can make.

No worries, my day will come…..

If only Life were this Simple.....