I am fairly certain you have not entertained this thought, but have you ever considered that you may just be the only one who finds almost (by almost, it does not include illness, unless it is projectile vomiting or diarrhea, then, unless it is chronic, it is funny as hell) everything in life funny?  I am not talking “Three Stooge’s” here, but just the random happenings that those around you appear to not have noticed…here are a few examples from my recent past:

1.  Watched a hooker walk through the drive-thru at McDonald’s, order a shake and then walk off in her Daisy Duke’s and 6” heels…(see, try not to laugh at that!)

2.  Noticed quite a few designated, “alternative fuel” parking spots at an Arby’s, which happens to be in possibly the most pick-up truck dense area surrounding H-Town…needless to say those spots were empty, but the line was ridiculous and full of monster trucks….

3.  Have reached an age or stage where “something” is absolutely going to come flying out if you laugh too hard…things used to be so simple when it was only snot.  (people WILL stare if you do as I do and lock you knees while trying to make a run for the border)

4.  Realized that you are the only one laughing (then, because you are so clever, the person you are with becomes convinced they can now do a stand-up routine, solely based on your wild reaction, which just ramps up as they plod along)..

5.  Have waited more than 45 minutes for a booth at, “The Red Lobster” on a Valentine’s Day (you know who you are, bitch, own it!)

6.  Wanted desperately to let the person in front of you know that their wedgie did NOT go undetected (nor their attempts to remove it with discretion, until they gave up and just went on a treasure hunt…)

7.  Just can’t help but find bicyclists funny as hell…(it is the spandex, I swear)

8.  Wondered how everyone around you can keep a straight face (who did not hear that fart, seriously…?)

9.  Been told repeatedly that you are the only one who finds that funny (and you still laugh, even if it is out of pure spite)

10.  Regularly heckle…(uh, this is a blanket statement, but if you did not attend your High School reunion, chances are, you got heckled)

11.  Wonder how in the world you ended up with your mate..(many reasons for this one, but to just brush the surface:  they are so much smarter than you are (or think they are), they are all around better people in general (they remind you often), you have not given up on trying to find what makes them laugh (some people are just “un-crackable”, give it up), or when you look at them the only thing you can think of is, did I drink the punch?)

12.  Wonder how in the world you ended up with your mate (they are SO not your type, where the hell is their sense of humor, can they spell “narcissist”, do they really think you want to look in the toilet at their accomplishment,  they watch, “Swamp People”, “Billy the Exterminator”, and every other sick as shit show you can think of…literally boggling your mind as you watch them pass up great programming to watch, “Locked Up: Abroad” for the fourth or fifth time?)

13.  They feel the same way when you insist on watching, “The Jersey Shore”…

It is that time of year again in my son’s internship that an end of summer party is held.  (Any reason to party, I will take it gladly)  The food has been decided (everyone knowing we bring one thing and one thing only, Chik-Fil-A Nugget Platters, a huge hit) and we bring the funk.  (Oh this is just tremendously BAD)  The party is held in my idea of a heaven, of sorts.  There are gadgets that I have not fiddled with (always fun), I am like a Labrador with a Kong full of peanut butter.  I even asked last year about their toilet.  It was imported.  That bad boy was sweeeet, fully loaded, it basically did every thing (including having a radio) a car did, only you, well you get the picture…the year before that I rode this horse type thingy, it was supposed to strengthen your “core” (if by core that means a spasm/charlie-horse that was so debilitating that I had to rub my left butt cheek on and off for the next 12 hours)  that thing from Sharper Image (no longer sad they went out of business) threw me like a mechanical bull at Gilley’s.  While other’s managed to look dignified and even like there was an actual workout happening, my best was to giggle in a maniacal manner that was borderline insane.  It may be a “you had to have been there” kind of thing, but I doubt it.  The only plus, it was not on camera. 

The other exciting part, (as if butt cramps and admiring a toilet are not too much excitement to take in all at once) is they have ROCKBAND…the first party (they have three or so a year), I managed to allow the younger group to have their fun before I made a leap for the bass guitar and set it to “Expert”…I was riding the wave.  My grin was from ear to ear and every so often, just to make sure he was watching, I would shoot my son a look that said, “See?  Aren’t you lucky to have a mom that ROCKS?”  I never quite caught on that the strained smile was utter humiliation.  (He had been a good sport regarding my toilet assessment, but watching his mom head bang was just taking it too far)

Then, just when things were winding down and every one who wanted to take a turn singing (you know where this is headed) had done so (so I jumped the line a bit, don’t judge me) and had been cheering others on, I made my move.  I took a sip of water and confidently grabbed the mic (Yes, my mother kindly did point out that I should have known better) and I confidently said, Lita Ford.  I could easily have said Simon & Garfunkel, they all had blank stares.  Their version of dated was grunge.  Oh, I was going to have to educate them.  (Musically only, as they are WAAAY more intelligent than I can even understand)  I watched the songs click by as if I possibly was holding the winning lottery ticket.  Where was Lita?!  Pat Benatar?  Alanis?  And then the traitor spoke (confident in his pack that I would feel enough pride to attempt something outrageous), yes, my son, who was there when I got a closer look at the pimped out toilet and had heard my screams of fear on the “gallop”, he turned me in.  I heard him say, “AC/DC”.  Oh no, anything but that.  The kid has a memory, as I had unintentionally worn my family down on a road trip several years before, as I sang LOUDLY, (forgetting that the iPod ear buds did not quite drown out my voice for the rest of the car) and badly.  I make no excuses (when sober), I absolutely can’t sing.  I should not sing.  I should be banned for life from even attempting to sing.  I, long ago, had begun mouthing the songs in church, but give me a few pieces of chicken, a couple of rounds at the dip table (I must have a magnet in my cleavage, as I drop more than I eat…who knew anyone watched while I licked it off?)  that somehow, surrounded by all of this energy and camaraderie, I would had the courage to throw off all inhibition (bad, bad move…) and when my son uttered the words that had been literally BANNED from discussion (I may be the only person who can make someone loathe, “Back in Black”, I guess it was the number of times I hit rewind) I cringed in sheer terror (obvious response from being laughed AT for four days, straight), but I thought my chance at redemption was at hand.  (The car trip had obviously been an anomaly; I mean surely they exaggerated SOME...) So when the guy in control put it on songs by AC/DC, when I should be making excuses (I need to give that toilet a test drive) I heard myself say, alright.  (Okay, it was more ALLLRIIIGHHHT!!!) Then he picked a song that I defy a mature woman to be able to sing, with not only a straight face, but with an audience, “Dirty Deed’s”.  I gave it my all.  I did not epically fail.  The only reason I know this for certain as the game did not stop.  But I made sounds that even to me were alarming.  I have a rather, husky voice.  Not quite a full on Demi, but close.  So the notes that are in that song are ridiculously high and, well, it was….EXACTLY what my son had intended it to be!  He knew, without a doubt, that at future gatherings, I would avoid singing at all costs.  He was willing to be completely shamed, JUST THIS ONCE…

For the past year just about every time he has an opportunity, he not only tells that story (his version and I am sure it is just the ramblings of a child who has never quite felt the sting of sheer and utter humiliation in the past, whereas, humiliation and I are old friends) but he even puts on a slightly operatic voice and does an imitation.  When he began starting each voice mail message to me with these shenanigan’s, I got him back.  I SANG it again.  On his cell phone.  To be heard by callers and that I was fairly certain it would take him weeks to figure out.  Worked like a charm.

 My previous work had been done in the mid-eighties when answering machines were the size of VCR’s and totally novel.  I had waited a little too long for my friend to get ready to go out on the town, so I began tinkering.  I mentioned I adore electronics, no?  It took her quite some time before anyone asked her why she chose to sing Madonna’s, “Like a Virgin” on her answering machine.  Thank heavens she has a sense of humor! 

Now, this party is coming up shortly and I have been practicing.  It has only made things worse, which was not the point, but now I find hilarious. 

 I am taking requests…….

Oh, grasshopper, you have stumbled upon this by an act of God (or your wife/husband tried to read it to you and gave up).  I am here to help you (other’s are thinking you may be a lost cause, look she/he is staring) keep the spark in your love life lit.  How do I, a simple city girl with a whore-ish past know these tidbits (ask my husband he is the one who needs to read this) and why would I pass them along to you? (I have seen your kind in action, trust me)  It is because I care. (Oh sweet Jesus don’t make me have to housebreak another man)  I care that you are happy and in return (because you are selfish and there has to be an intrinsic return on your investment) I will open the vaults and let the skeletons come flying out (that is right vaults, even a walk-in closet could not contain my shit) all in the name of love.

I am assuming you fall into one of several categories: 

1.  Married and have not gotten any action in so long you feel like a virgin.

2.  Married and know that you are getting “pity” action (which we all know does not quite count)

3.  Unmarried and still whoring around (pathetic, grow up and be miserable like the rest of us...quit seeking out the tramp stamp and realize you are over-the-hill, she/he will only find your money attractive)  Exception:  You are an Olympian in bed.  Then, perhaps, you may have someone stick around for a week or two.  If not date your age group.  (That does not apply to Cougars; we are sexy as hell…)

4.  It has dawned on you that you may be annoying. (By “dawn”, I mean it has been pointed out repeatedly and you just realized that you should look into it)

5.  You are finding more meaningful conversation with the Barista than your mate.

We have work to do.  First, assess your “look”.  Would you sleep with yourself?  (If you had to ask yourself that, it is a firm, no.)  Walk in your closet and choose your most favorite pair of anything (the ones you get the most criticism for, yet you insist on parading around in that ridiculous get-up.  Be glad, “What Not to Wear” is not there, they would drag your ass over the coals) Now, follow this word for word….”Honey, I know that this drives you crazy.  “Would you like to have the honor of throwing it away or would you rather set it on fire?” (Do not be startled in the swiftness of your partner; you have underestimated them thus far)  If you walk in your closet and the first thing that occurs to you is f*ck this, I like my Sponge-Bob MC Hammer pants….then turn around slowly and back out, you have bigger fish to fry. 

Next, search inside…is there something you do that you know full well drives your partner completely nuts?  (How you manage to look innocent in public after you partner has made a complete ass of themselves is shameful, you know their buttons...do not push them!)  If you are a newlywed assume everything is driving them crazy.  If you have been married close to a decade, it is a fair assumption that each and every thing that originally attracted them in the first place now makes them want to tear your face off.  If you have a loving, fulfilling, dreamy relationship (don’t tell anyone and quit reading here) then yippee for you, go have some fun.  (Do not make direct eye contact with me and it is best to just run, I am fast, but just in bursts)  I am working under the assumption that you are open to change.  (at least look like it, I swear he/she is staring at you to see if you are reading for content here)  Change is a good thing.  (What if it is them that need to change and this is totally backasswards?  You are up shit creak, as they have nailed you as the culprit.) 

Stay tuned for the rest of the real stuff….(who am I kidding, you are daring someone to make a crack about your Hammer pants or Hawaiian shirt)

*This section is for men (or the man in the relationship, I do not judge):

1.  Farts, while funny, are not sexy.  (try that out and see how fast the mood/air changes)

2.  Do not think that after you have walked back and forth with your holey underwear pulled up to try and get a laugh that you can skip the foreplay.  (you will be skipping the sex, however)

3.  Do not (this is a firm rule here) call us in to see what has manages to exit your body and compare it to childbirth.  (it was all that damn cheese)

4.  Be clean.  (do not come in telling a story about what you just ate, just had drip on you, or just stepped in)

5.  Be observant.  (If she has not shaved, looks disheveled, is crying about something, feels nauseated, just ate a big meal, or wants to discuss the kids, don’t even go there..)

*Ladies (really the men should read this too, as many have watched, “Sex in the City” to get tips on what makes us tick, I am guessing they are curious about this too, bless ‘em)

1.  Do not get comfortable.  That means do not break out “those” panties unless it is time to.  Same goes for flannel, it is just unsexy. 

2.  Make an effort.  If you want a little, act like it…check the hair, the nightie, and have shaved in the last 24 hours.  (oh and do not bring up the kids)

3.  Be confident.  You are the shit.  Work it.  They are lucky.  (confidence is like catnip to their kind)

4.  Talk dirty.  (Not to be taken too far, within limits.  If you are married to a very religious/pious person scratch that altogether)

5.  Initiate.  I can’t even tell you how many guys have complained about always having to initiate…(this is a big one)

6.  Yes, we get six…some of us are past the taut and perky stage and have eased on into the womanly and curvaceous phase…they do not care if things giggle.  (Don’t place a ban on getting on top because you fear looking as if you are melting)

And my final piece of advice that can be applied to everyone is simple, “put down that cookie, if you want to get some nookie”……

Well, I think it is important to set one thing straight.  I have had pressure to do this kind of thing since Al Gore invented the Internet.  Second, this is proof that women are smarter than men, because my hubs actually encourages me to write this (that could change in a heartbeat once he gets to the office) about what used to be called, “Mrs. Toad’s Wild Ride” and now, I just call it my day.

The whole point is to write what you know (this is gonna get me in trouble, I can feel it) and what I know can be ironic and at times funny.  (Generally at the expense of my pride)  Oh, yes, as the proud mother of an adorable teenager (that will make him sulk for days) I have relinquished all pride.  (If I had any doubts as to my sanity, he took them away)  So I put up, for sentimental reason’s, “Holy hell, Shaq has a brother…”(apparently he has a huge family, as many of you have wrestled these beasts) and I may throw up some other stupid stuff, just because (not really, I am just saying it is dumb now, so I can say..I told you so to my editor, I am looking for a new one)  Oh, on that subject, I do indeed have spell checker (rude, quit judging me), but sometimes I forget.  I am also the self-appointed Queen of the Run-On Sentences, so if commas scare you (I have unfounded fears too) you are in for a treat!  (I adore commas and semi-colons)

So, now that the ground rules are set, here is what went on today.  I went to sleep (yep, I will fall asleep tomorrow, too)…that is how I roll, 3am-8am.  I am just about everyone’s worst nightmare, a night owl, a morning person and an optimist (which is why I rarely had roomie’s)…oh and with rare exception (2 times a week, I play games with myself to earn it) I do not drink caffeine, which includes coffee (I miss you Starbucks)…so au natural I am this chipper.  I did, however marry my polar opposite.  I managed to find a man that is neither a night person or a day person and one that says his days are, “alright, or fine”..What does that mean?  I like clear cut words, like super, fantastic and absolutely!  He makes my optimism, which he calls, “unrealistic”, seem like a curse or a reason to seek treatment (mean people suck).  Here is where he gets me, he is brilliant.  Truly extraordinary.  I am very “street smart” and have tons of, “common sense” (which you will forever doubt since I do not pull punches), but I have never been accused of being too book smart.  (alright, once, only because I graduated from college in three years, which no one believed…rude, now that I think about it)….

Oh, sorry, my mind wanders.  Today.  Well, I have routines set in stone for just about everything (it is weird, no judging), including my night time ritual’s used to go to sleep.  I have a satin eye mask that I keep in the freezer, along with a lavender pillow that I freeze as well, I lay the pillow across my neck, put that mask on and I am out.  Today was a bit different.  Just as I had fallen asleep, my mask was raised up a little bit and my son inquired if I was still awake. (they do not make” if the mask is on, I am out” signs, I checked)  I wasn’t, but sense now I was I said sure, what’s up with you? 

Without any warning he launched into “gamer talk”.  OMG.  (if anything was going to make me irritated, it would be video game talk)  I must have looked encouraging because the next thing I know is that we were in a heated debate over Star Wars.  (even the mighty fall, I am just pleased he is not a “Trekkie”)  Over the last decade or so I have had a crash course in all things Star Wars.  I have watched all of them so many times I lost count (same thing with “Lord of the Rings”, but that is a whole other subject).  I do know I still love Ewoks and that Jar Jar Binks is my very least favorite character.  (I have to say that, I kind of dug his Caribbean vibe, but I was greatly outnumbered and shown the err of my ways) So, I can hold my own in these discussions at this point, which I think, pisses him off, as he really likes lecturing me, and I do not require any more in this area.  (Who is going to be the smart ass here?)  At this point my eye mask is now a headband, I am stuffing pillows behind my back to try and prop myself up (Tempur-Pedic is not made for an upright position) and wondering one thing.  Why did he not wake his father?