Bridal Insanity

I always say that anything can be fun with the right company. This theory was proven Saturday. I attended the Houston Bridal Extravaganza. I think I attended one long ago in San Antonio. I must have mentally blocked it out or something. Because I certainly did not  recall the sheer chaos.

Bobby dropped me off at the gate to wedded hell. I teased Nicholas. He has never been to a wedding. I don't think he fully grasps what a bride is. But I told him, come with me and I'll buy you anything in there, thinking he'd say ok. Nicholas grabbed his daddy, tried to hold back his tears, and begged him to make mommy go alone. So much for raising a sensitive male. No I didn't make him go… but it was funny torturing him.

First the good stuff. My son's godmother found the most beautiful wedding gown. Although that was annoying because no bride-to-be should look good in every damn dress she tries. Lindy did. I started mentally nit picking so I could leave without a crushed ego. So we got the dress, the dj, the photographer who was a college buddy which is very cool.

Does anybody remember the book Where's Waldo. Lindy, her sister, Lindy's future mom-in-law and I played Where's the chocolate fountain. There were 6 chocolate fountains booths spread throughout the convention center. May I brag? We found all six. Have you seen these fountains, just like Champaign fountains, just spuing warm chocolate. They are awesome. I'm going to rent one for Bobby's 50th.  I know it's a ways away but it'll give my poor husband something to look forward to. Anyways that was a fun game, but boy those booth people start getting testy after your 5th, 6th sampling. And trying to fill up an empty cup with chocolate, is a definite no. incase yall were wondering.

We had fun and I'm honored I went and all that. That being said, it was almost like visiting another planet. It was packed, I honestly can't remember the last time I was in a people's traffic jam. There were many beautiful brides but I was surprised to see how many teeny-bopper brides there seemed to be. You could always pick them out. They were the ones bitching about the "open" dressing rooms. Come on, it's a convention center, not Neiman Marcus.

You forget how many things you can get for weddings. I'm sure there were at least 500 booths filled with dresses, musicians, bakeries, photographer, dj's, florists, caterers, center piece makers, limo rentals,  make up folks, hair dressers, tux rentals… lions and tigers and bears… I'm definitely eloping my next marriage… oh I'm kidding!

I'm very excited about this wedding but I think the bride's gonna kill me. I'm thinking about taking Nicholas to the wedding, than ditching him. but he's her Godson. Blah. Blah. Blah. This reception is like the event of my year, which shows how pathetic my social life is. I plan to get the cutest black dress ever. Maybe even, God forbid go shopping at the galleria… Get my husband drunk at the chocolate fountain. And dance all night. <squeal>.

As I walk through the valley of writing rejection...

I apologize in advance. Two or three people will appreciate this column but I cannot write anything else until I ponder my delinma in writing. It was easier when I could share my deepest, darkest, questions at The Gingermen. They were never solved back then either but the atmosphere was intoxicating and so was the company. The column tomorrow will be a hoot. It's how I came close to taking out 47 bridezillas over the weekend. til then let's see if 30 hours of college philosophy has taught me anything. I doubt it.

A few questions have been stuck in my head lately. Is there a fine line between using your assets (some brains, some boobs, my cripness,) and completely selling out. And if I'm selling out, what is my price? A pitcher of magaritas? A new computer? A used camper? A new van? A vacation home on the beach?

Are we allowed only a certain amount of happiness in life? And can God sue you over a oral contract? 4 years 63 days ago we had a family crisis. Which is very different from a personal crisis because I have those maybe once, twice, an hour. Anyway I prayed, harder then I ever have. And I told God if he made my niece well, we would be even on this born handicapped thing. So was that my big miracle? If it was, it was worth it because today my niece is beautiful, smart, healthy, and tall… although I could do without her tallness. I'm just thinking God should like smack me And say "Hello? Remember? You used your big Miracle.. now leave me alone and please, I'm begging… Stop setting yourself up for the miracle job you so ain't getting." And I'll stop driving myself crazy with harebrained business ideas and get a hobby I can obsess about like golf. Yes, my God has a sense of humor. I think I'm living proof.

I'm at a professional crossroads, no I ain't going to jinx it. Although knowing my luck, I just did. But that's fine. Because I think almost everything in life is a whole lotta work, a little bit of timing, and a ounce of luck. And if I used up all my luck on finding my husband and having such wonderful family and friends, so be it.

I'm sure I can return my new notebook, the popup and the new bedroom set I bought yesterday… ok, I just got them "mentally." Watch, Bobby and I are now going to have a theoretical fight. I can hear him now. "A bedroom set? You'd waste money on a bedroom set when there are other toys we want, you're pathetic."  If y'all wanna see his head explode, threaten to buy him clothes. I can buy clothes. I can buy Nicholas clothes. But if I offer to buy him clothes, them are fighting words.

As I walk through the valley of writing rejection, I do feel better even though this was a weird column. I do apologize. I'm just in one of those wacky moods… Can you believe Bobby accused me of obsessing. I don't obsess. What a nut…

I don't. obsess. Do I? Naw… Gotto go check email for my rejection and the final nail in my writing coffin… Good thing I don't obsess at all.

Everybody's a loser!

Allegedly there was this little league coach who paid a kid $25 to throw a ball at another teammate so his teammate couldn't play. It was a big game and the kid who they wanted to sit out had a disability. Here's what I'm thinking… I'm thinking, the hitboy should have gotten at least $50, $100 if it was in the playoffs. Hell, give crip boy $100 and everybody's a winner! Yes, I'm growing cynical in my old age. (Seriously, if the coach did this, he should be fired, at the very very least. It's so offensive, it's funny)

On the other side of the coin, Nicholas started playing soccer this spring. My college roommate came with me to one game and kept whispering "You're head's gonna explode…" I'm a yeller… I'd say I was competitive but I'm just not skilled at any one thing to be. Every few weeks we have a game night. Bobby and his evil twin, as I like to refer to his buddy, are twice as smart as I am. I figure the only way I'll win is if I yell and talk trash til they get a headache and quit. Aside from my 5 or 6 black eyes, which I probably deserved, I can feel I'm wearing them down… I should win a game any day now.

The organization that Nicholas plays soccer with doesn't believe in competition at all. "Hello?!" I screamed… then whispered as Bobby smothered my mouth. You can't keep score. You must make everything a positive statement. There's even a rulebook for parents. Talk about appropriate bathroom material. On their behalf, the games were well run and I liked every single parent. Nicholas had a blast. I was just thrilled if he ran the right way.

We are hoping he'll play again in the fall. He has fun, gets his heart pounding. So here's what I'm wondering, should I look for something in the middle? I don't want a hitman taking him out if he misses a kick, but if he's picking his nose and misses a goal, I think its my god given parental right to yell at him… Hypothetically of course.

All kidding aside I would much rather a friendly game for Nicholas then a high stung, must-fight-to-the-death coach. But it's rather unrealistic to teach Nicholas everybody wins all the time. Damn, do I know this from personal experience.

Now I'm all wound up. I'm so happy we called a last minute small game night. Bob will be distracted by a half naked Starbuck on Sci-fi. I'm taking him down! (If Evil twin & beautiful girl are free… Hey, did you know Starbuck is a girl? a silly girl... who smokes cigars...) And so begins my trash talk :

The Ten Year Tick

A recent survey shows that most couples break up after 10 years together because the cuteness factor wears thin and all that is left is socks on the floor. Most people find this survey depressing but not me. I’m a glass is half full kinda gal. I’m impressed if anyone thinks I’m cute for longer than a week. I guess those pills I’m slipping Bobby every night are working.

There must be something in the water because my girls and I have been snippy all week. This is bad because we usually like to take turns flipping out. We always need one girl rational or for like 3 minutes we really believe that us girls are moving to Alaska... Hey it doesn’t have to make sense, we are temporarily insane… just a few minutes, a whole bunch of times…

(don’t worry L, I’m sure I’ll be over it by the bridal show… If not, won’t I be a frackin joy!)

I got to thinking that we have to renew everything from our driver’s license to insurance policies. Hell I have to even apply for a new handicap parking plague every few years, which is cool. I always think maybe the Texas Department of Transportation knows something I don’t. and sometimes in July 2008 I’ll be healed.

Wouldn’t it be funny if we had to renew our wedding vows every ten years? Not a big thing, pay your $5.50 at the courthouse and receive a gold star. Although next year I do wanna renew our vows as it should have been. In Vegas, Elvis, 3 matrons of honor and my best guy-man… all in short dresses. We had a beautiful wedding. Now I want a zany one.

Everybody talks about the 7 year itch but is there also a 10 year tick? Or are we looking for an easy explanation. And is fighting always bad? Because let’s face it, making up rocks. and isn’t anything that is great worth the work?

Carebears, Girls, and Satan

I'm trying to raise Nicholas to be very accepting, all races…  Creeds… Religions… Homosexuals… Republicans… (Yes, that's a slam against one particular gay and one particular republican…) so imagine my horror when he told me he hated… GIRLS!

And the boy is already in denial, he's like, "but mommy I'll make exceptations." I always tease him because every night he rides his bike with this cute older chick named Jenny. She's 11. I feel the need to repeatedly remind him that Jenny, in fact is a girl. He just rolls his eyes and ignores me… like all good males in my life do.

I keep pushing it because Nicholas's cute when he's all worked up, just like his daddy. Every night about 8:45 he gets super lovey with me. I ask him if he's afraid of getting cooties and he says "mommies don't have cooties." And he continues kissing me. I fool myself into think it's because I'm an awesome mom. And Nicholas tries to resist me all day but the affection builds up until he just can't stand it anymore… Kill joys, I know he's know its bedtime and I can't be mad when he's hugging me. Thanks for bursting my bubble. 

Another thing, the boy seems to have a deep, hateful prejudice, against… Carebears. Where did it come from? You know how they say prejudice is pass down. May I say that's crap. From the age of 9 months to 4 years old, I told Nicholas, Barney was Satan…. Still he worship the purple devil once a day, twice if I allowed it.

I never pushed Carebears one way or another. But about 7 months ago he came from his cousins all uppity, younger Dylan was watching Carebears and Nicholas was totally offended. I thought a cute story would help so I told him Carebears made mommy smile because the only nickname that my friends call me… that I can share… was Clairebear… this of course sent him over the edge.

Nicholas actually told me he'd rather be spanked then watch a Carebear Movie. So what did I do? Ran out and bought a few… just incase he is ever really bad. Sigh ~ There's such a fine line between cruelty and creative parenting.

P.s. I just had a deep revelation, holy shit, if Barney is a dinosaur and Barney is satan and Nicholas wants to be a paleontologist… Think about it.

Oh no, she's gonna blow

I'm writing under protest today because I'm in a really bad mood. First I just found out in 12 weeks, I'll be in a new age group. I was filling out this form and was asked are you 25-34 or 35-49? What's that about? The good news is I'll be drunk the entire month of October so it won't matter. Ok, my friends know I'm lying. I'll drink vicariously. I'm too wild sober, you can't handle me drunk, Got a rocking bridal shower, the renaissance fest. And a trip to New Orleans which Bobby owes and if he doesn't put out, I'll have "people" who can make him see the travel light. Its good to have girlfriends in the martial arts.

Last week I'm watching tv and I see this thing on Government grants. It's gets into my head. Ok here's what pisses me off. If the government is dying to give money to a 6-ways-to-Sunday-minority like myself. (crip, woman, asian… I got it all baby) Why the bloody hell do we have to pay for the info? I've been on 400 websites and every single one wants $29.99. Hello? It all seems too hard.

I know that's pretty reasonable but I'm just not ready to make that commitment. Because I should have an idea first. Do I want money to promote my book as an "understanding Crips"? open a game store? Promote/help teach the disabled self defense… (Actually I just thought of that…) My head hurts with half-baked ideas.

And then something happened Saturday. At first it was flattering then it became weird. Bobby's Aunt was flying back to Dallas from visiting family in Kentucky. She had a layover in Houston. We went to the airport looking pitiful so she would buy us lunch. Have yall eating at the airport lately? Good stuff. Anyway we have a family friend working at the airport. She got us passes so we could see her off in the terminal.

I haven't flown tons, maybe a handful of times since 9/11. No security problems. Bobby walked through, Nicholas hopped through. No biggie. I get pulled over, which is normal. Usually one woman pats my thigh and sends me happily on my way. This time, not one, not two, but three people were searching me. I hear my husband laughing hysterically. As he puts it "What's a 95-pound-cripgirl gonna do?" which I just realize was an insult and now I have to kick his butt… after he goes to sleep tonight.

I'm not upset about the search. One of the security folks was a guy. Very friendly. I thought he was flirting with me. Oh, it's ok, Bobby and I get flirted with so rare, it becomes a family holiday, high-fiving each other… Pathetic maybe but that's a decade of being together.

I smile because I think security guy is flirting with me. He has all these corny lines like: "Body searched often?" and "I am not always this thorough." Then he gets very serious and goes, "I need to swipe you for explosive…"  The boy wasn't flirting with me. He was scared of me…

Now that I think about it, how cool is that? If my boys only feared me that way, life would be so much easier.

The Amazing Thing-a-ma-jig

Is there anyway I can mute my inner voice for a while? I really need to. I found a thing I want to buy. Being a crip, I'm always looking for stuff that will simplify my life and those helping me. If it's under $100, I don't usually have to clear it with Bobby, not that he cares. I just like telling him. There's about a 50/50 chance that the invention works for me. In my backyard, there's a deep, deep, grave of broken "thing-a-ma-jigs"…

I found the coolest thing ever… Bobby and I have been going fishing a lot. It's fun and it keeps us out of the malls. So I started to think, which Bobby strongly advises against because thinking usually gets me in trouble. But in a fleeing thought I pondered how awesome would it be if I found a thing-a-ma-jig that helps me cast my line…

Thank god for the internet where naked guys, unlimited shopping, and expensive thing-a-ma-jigs are just a google away. Within 2.3 seconds, I found my newest obsession, and his name is Jon Luke, no I'm kidding…

It's called Van's E-Z cast.  It claims it attaches to any wheelchair, Cast and reel work independently even with no wrist or finger movement and casts 40 feet. How cool is that? Now if I can find a hook that lets me stab the bait instead of having to thread it on a hook, I'll be virtually an independent fisherwoman. And I just heard my husband scream "No Claire, don't even go there"… from his office… 20 miles away. He gets so negative when spastic me plays with sharp things, geez.

So here's my dilemma, Van's E-Z cast is a little more than my fun money. Van's E-Z cast is slightly more than one weekend spending if we really played hard. In another words, its pretty damn expensive for a experiment. But did I mention its wiggy wiggy cool. (crip dictionary: wiggy = really when I'm trying to be cute and irresistible.)

Bobby never tells me no, which is ironic because sadly, that's all I tell him. He just offered a warning that it may not work and he knows he and my friends don't mind casting for me at all. And since they automatically bait my hook… (at least for now.) casting is no biggy.

After carefully processing his thoughtful explanation I must confess, I still wiggy want this. If it shows up at the door next week Bobby will just shake his head, I'll be extra friendly before bed and it won't cause any major fights.

Here's where it gets sticky. I figure we will fish maybe twice a month til late November, that's about 10ish more times. If my thing-a-ma-jig works, time will fly by. Now if it doesn't work, I'm screwed. My beloved will never yell at me but with every messed up cast I try I can hear him asking, "How's that $300 rod working for ya sweetie?" and because I'm stubborn beyond belief, I'll grin saying its way cool even if we are 20 feet above the water, and the dumb thing only release 17 feet of line.

If I was smart… well, I should say if I was less dumb. If I were smart, this column wouldn't exist. If I was less dumb, I'd wait til late October to buy this. That way on the off chance that it doesn't work out as I imagine, it can be "misplaced" as we store fishing gear for the winter.

Did I mention it's really really cool… just three clicks on my computer and it could be here by Friday… yup…

Eating Jellyfish

Saturday Bobby, our friend Theresa, and I decide to take Nicholas to the beach. I had planned to sit in a lounge chair by Bobby. The beach isn't really my thing because it's difficult to get around on and for weeks after the fact I find sand in the most particular places. But when friends go, it's all good.

Bobby is a different story. He hates the beach. Married 9 years, together 10, I think this was our first real trip to the beach. About once a year we would drive by a beach, I'd suggest we get out and Bobby would hold his breath til I said never mind. The only reason Bobby went was because a beautiful woman asked him too, regretfully the woman wasn't me. Hell no I'm not offended. She's gonna use her charm to get Bobby to drive us to florida next year. Hey whatever non-smoking method that works, but that's in itself is another column.

Theresa and Nicholas ran in the water as Bobby and I sat in the sand. I don't know if it was the beautiful day. The intoxicating sounds of my little boy's laughter. Or just wanting to hang out closer to Theresa, I wanted in that murky brown water.

"I'm going in." I said.

"You forgot your life jacket. I'd prefer you didn't." he said, not taking his eyes off of Nicholas. My first thought was that's cute, he doesn't want me to drown… Yup, pretty darn cute… maybe just a tad arrogant… then I let it stew in my brain. 10 minutes later I could feel my olive skin turn bright red. Voices in my head were screaming. I married a bastard. How the freak did I wind up here? Oooo won't mom be proud, I just realized, I married God. He'd prefer I didn't. What is that? I don't want to swim a mile offshore. Two, three inches in the waves. The only thing that might freak me out is if I got stung by a jelly fish… But that won't happen.

"I'm going in." I finally snapped. Bobby knew I had made up my mind. He extended his arm and guided me to the water's edge in pissed off silence. I did a knee drop from his arm… I hit the water and I swear the second my butt touched a incoming wave, I hear this blood shrieking scream. Nicholas.

Looking back, maybe I was married to god because within 7 seconds he had swoop me back to my chair and had reached where Theresa had brought Nicholas out of the water. My poor baby was stung by, let's all say it together a jellyfish. I'm not sure what hurt more, his arms or my ego. 20 minutes later we were relieved to see Nicholas' smile again. 15 minutes after that he was using his injuries to get chocolate milk, which I gladly bought. I am so lucky we weren't near a toy-r-us.

Man when shit comes around it sure bites you hard in the butt. Although technically I wasn't verbally horrible to Bobby, just slightly feisty in my head…so I guess I only kinda owe him an apology, here's goes, as I grind my teeth.

Bobby… Bob… Sweety… I sorr… I sincerely apolo… oh hell you lucky bastard, thanks for not leaving me in the water. You don't completely suck as a husband, although I still think you're dead wrong about the jet ski and go-cart I want… And I'll prove it soon. No worries babe!

(It's because I'm cute and utterly charming when I'm not trying to drown myself… for those of you men who were wondering why Bobby puts up with me.)

Just Add Water and Poof!

Does anyone know anything about these websites that advertise earn $1500 a week filling out surveys? Hell if you do, and you hook me up, I'll give you my 2nd paycheck, after my first check clears. I'm dead serious.

After vacation I'll start a search on the net for a new gig but I can't help but wonder about these surveys for cash offers. I've always been taught that if its sounds too good to be true, it probably is. I guess for $49.98 I can find out. Because that seems to be the going rate to buy the top secret information for this amazing career.

Three words come to mind, Roll-N-Grow. Or is that one word? Anyway, I shamefully got hooked on an infomercial. You'd think I'd know better because in a former life, I produced one. It was for one of those computer dictations systems. I'm not saying the product was less than perfect, but when the cutting room floor looks like a sea, ya gotta wondered.

But this one was surely different. Roll-N-Grow was pretty. And only $29.95 + shipping and handling. Although after seeing my final charge on my credit card I'm curious as to why they are handling plants with silk gloves?

I was too lost in my fantasy to worry about it. Hypothetically Roll-N-Grow would solve all of my gardening problems. Short summary: looks like green carpet, you lay it out on flower bed, water daily and poof! It's a weedless English Garden. Bobby was kind enough to lay it out, Nicholas watered it religiously… and absolutely nothing happened. Not even one single droopy flower… I was devastated. My boys were amused to say the least.

So pardon me if I'm not on the phone telling my favorite lawyer quit your job girlfriend, we'll buy two cheap computers, fill out surveys, eat yummy flat noodles, and get filthy rich. My husband is probably wondering why I wouldn't make that offer to him first. Can you image us together 24/7? I didn't think so.

That being said, I'm off on my vacation. If any of my buds are thinking of surprising us but are worried that we want to be alone… We really don't. Trust me. Really really don't. We have enough food for an army and Bobby will be grateful for any adult conversation other than me.

I hope he likes my first surprise. I sorta had to rent an Uhaul for all the stuff... Yup, gonna be a long 10 days for us…