Love grows tolerant

Just got off the phone with the hubby.  He's at GMM in Germany for the week, meeting with the other worldwide heads of marketing.  The whole thing sounds absolutely dreadful to me.  I just don't do well sitting in meetings.

He forgot to call yesterday.  Well, last night.  I mean last night for him.  Or was it the night before?  Was it day for me?  I forget.

Two phone calls later, he finally tells me why he forgot to call.  He was drunk.

I remember in October, just before our wedding, Chris went on a business trip and whooped it up a little too much, and forgot to call.  I went ballistic!  How could you worry me like that?  How could you make me wonder where you were!  He had flowers delivered, and I still married him.

Time does a funny thing to love.  It tempers it.

In the beginning, people are all consumed, self involved partners, whether they mean to be or not.

Over time, you just sort of relax.  I have so many things to worry and stress about, I won't waste my time on little things.  That pre-wedding girl was indignant in a new, blooming relationship.

Now?  Eh.  You're a big boy.  Have fun.  Whatever.

He described his evening, which I feel was totally necessary.  He's in Germany- land of beer!

A whole group went out to a nice steak dinner.  Rounds of shots were ordered...four times.  Beer was like water.  He even drank out of a giant community uber-mug of beer that was passed around.

Upon waking in the morning, he described the scene of him undressing his way to the bed.  A shoe by the door, belt, shirt, all forming a line to the crash spot, where he slept soundly through the night.  Even with jet lag.  With his contacts in. 

My response?  "That's awesome."

What's your sign?

Everyone I know is divorced!  Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but it feels real.  I never wish this life changing hardship on any of my friends.  But...

I sort of found a selfish silver lining to this predicament.  I get to be the ultimate wingman.  I get to meet new people, go out and have fun.  I never have to give out my number, have my hopes crushed, or feel vulnerable.

My friends and their lonely hearts feel jaded, cautious, afraid, excited, and every emotion in between.  I just get to drink beer.  I introduce myself to everyone "I'm Sam.  I'm very old and very married."  Most still talk to me.  A few walk away-

While my friends are trying to sort through their real life loneliness, they encounter a lot of asses.  Seriously.  I'm beyond puzzled by this.

Guys in the bar scene are, generally, total tools! 

While there are some really good phrases I've witnessed, I can only repeat the pg ones:

-how married are you?
-nice boobs.
-that girl is young- you can tell 'cuz her ass hasn't dropped.
-do you want to smoke a bowl?
-you seem like a girl that hands out free samples.
-people wouldn't even notice if we left.
-so is that a solid no?

So what happened?  It's the chicken and the egg scenario.  Were guys asses, and that's how they ended up divorced?  Or were they ruined by a woman/marriage, and have now become skeptical, bitter asses?

I tend to believe that most guys were born kind.  I think there are a lot of broken men out there.  Sad, really.  Too bad we can't fix all of them.

80s night

I’ve been working for the weekend, just to party it up with my friends at the Crystal Ballroom.

We need you tonight at Lola's for 80s night.

The Smart Girls, and other assorted friends, will be burning down the house.

It’s my prerogative that everybody have fun tonight.

We’ll bust a move and whip it… whip it real good.

Call me a wild thing, but girls just want to have fun.

How will I know we’re having fun and it’s not only in my dreams?

When I’m walking on sunshine and I just can't get enough.

When I see you smile, time after time.

If you’re feeling too shy, don’t worry- our lips are sealed.

Sorry this post went round and round.

Smart girls reunion

Excited to report a full reunion of the smart girls club is in the works.

There will be drinking.  There will be dancing.  All five founding members will be there. 

Jen's mojito to go

Stephanie's oscar party

We have the moves.  We can shake it and bake it.  We can laugh at ourselves and get lost in the moment.  We can turn heads and demand attention.

Sassy smartness will be aplenty, outwitting your every move with our spunk.  You can't out talk us with your politics, current events, or philosophy.  We can spin a tale that is outrageous and enlightening.  We make history.

On our way to an adventure...

We are goddesses with our sex appeal and equally comfortable with our girl next doorness.  Whether in jeans or bedazzled shirts, we move the air as we travel.



Waiters, bartenders, band members- beware.  We are in the club, and Stephanie has taken the lead.  Lock up your boys before they go on the possible husband and boyfriend list.

And anything you say or do can and will be reported, blog style.

Watch out Portland, the smart girls are back.

Lordy, lordy, look who's forty

With my husband's birthday on the horizon, I decided to start planning the event.  I perused dance clubs in Portland to find a venue.  

I click on a five-star club that, according to Yelp, ranked number two in the area!  Ron Jeremy's Club Sesso.
My first thought:  I wouldn't set foot in a place associated with Ron Jeremy.  But, then again, who was I to judge something I knew nothing about.

Ron Jeremy's Club Sesso is labeled as an adult club.  Well, duh.  Kids can't go to clubs, right?  WRONG!  It was an...um... adult club.  The first revue stated how lovely the place was because they clean and sanitize the beds between people.  You can't even imagine my curiosity and horror when I continued reading and spotted the word orgy bar.  This alleged orgy bar was described as "pretty lame" because when they visited, it was just one couple going at it, with a bunch of young guys watching.  I blushed just reading that.

Oh... and you can't just go there.  You have to buy a membership.  One man that loves date nights with his wife said "money well spent!  Where else can you get a mixed drink, steak dinner, shower, and a good f*** with your wife for that price!?"  Wow... that's romantic!

So I've settled on Lola's, at the Crystal ballroom.  80's night.  I'm planning to wear a "frankie say relax" t shirt and ordering sliders from the happy hour menu at Ringlers.

Not just because I'm scared to death of the other place.  Not just because I'm afraid of the face my friends would make if I invited them there.  No...it's because I don't want to know how many of my friends already have a membership!!

Beware of the Bitch

Girls are bitches.  Ya... pretty rough, but this is my blog. 

Most of my life, I have not been a pack mentality kind of girl.  It can be lonely on the outside, but if you're lucky, you'll befriend others that don't travel in hunting parties.

For the first time in my life, as a mom, I was forced into these situations.  I cloaked myself as a girl that actually cared if I belonged.  Of course, I got badly burned.

What seemed ruthless and painful turned out to be a great learning experience.  I am slow to warm with people before offering my friendship.  I have also developed great bitch radar.  I never punish someone by judging them on first impression, but my bitch radar is seldom wrong, and I just don't have time for these kind of women.

I've learned the most important rule concerning women, bitchiness, and survival.  Never...never... go out without one of your own girls to back you up.  Bitches feed on solitary women.  Especially nice ones.

Fully aware of the risk, I recently put myself in this lone wolf situation.  I stupidly thought that guys could count as my backup.  Wrong.  You can line up a hundred men behind you, and they will still prove useless when two girls begin circling each other.

Worse part...I was attacked from multiple directions.  Remember the Jurassic Park movies, when the velociraptors would encircle their prey?  Ya.  That was me. 

I still can't fully understand why women do this to other women.  We as a gender should unite, but instead many continue to knock other women down until there is nothing left.  My self esteem is high enough to avoid causing permanent damage.  Is theirs?

Upon reporting the audacious bitch behavior to my friends, I was unanimously supported with a "What??  That bitch!!  I'll kick her ass."

So to the bitches out there that stack their numbers behind them...
To the bitches that flaunt, steal, and manipulate to get what they want... 
To the bitches that have the nerve to ridicule you when you're standing right there...  Ya- I could hear what you said about me!
To the bitches that simply use the "you're so beneath me" or "you aren't one of us" tactics to launch insecurities...

Better watch your back.  I got my bitches, too.

old girls gone wild

In my young, party days, we visited many haunts.  One in particular always stood out in my mind.  The Copper Penny.  Oh-- it was hardly cool.  It sorta smelled funny.  We were amused going there because of the plethora of middle age singles that liked to get their groove on.  High quality people watching fodder.

Recently I went out for a beer with my friends.  My nearing middle age friends.  I started sizing up the bar and realized... I had wandered into another Copper Penny!  Perhaps it's because I am now an over the hill loser wiser and more compassionate, but something changed. 

I didn't see embarrassing clothes and dance moves.  I didn't see desperate singles looking for a second chance for love.  I saw us.  The parents.  The teachers.  Children of the eighties.  And right then I realized we deserved a break from reality.  Good for them, those scantly dressed, love handles women dancing with their silver fox, mullet sporting objects of desire.  Good for the wine cooler drinking women and their smooth moves, gold chain romeos.

Where were all those tight skin, pretentious youth that usually cause such an embarrassing ruckus?

I yawned.  It was 11.  Starting to get tired.  Then I noticed all the young people starting to accumulate in the parking lot.

Oh, that's right.  Young people don't start their night until now.  Not until after I've tucked myself into my back care mattress bed, wearing my eye wrinkle cream.  After I've paid the bills, kissed the children, and done a quick check on my 401k.

But until 11, it's Copper Penny, baby!