April 3, 2008 by Marj Hatzell
Today, I’ve decided it is all about confessions, y’all. Brace yourselves, DG is coming clean and it ain’t pretty.
A few weeks ago I was getting out of my car at Tarzhay (no WAY! TARZHAY? MOI?) and my phone rang. I answered it, went into the store and proceeded to shop, although I didn’t talk on the phone very long (no signal downstairs in Tarzhay. Yes, ours has a downstairs. And a cool cart thingy.). I shopped for forty-five minutes, came out to my car and found my keys in the ignition. It was running the whole time. And the door was wide open. Oops.
Two summers ago I got a ticket for rolling through a stop sign. I put the ticket in my pile of very important papers and forgot about it. A month later a summons came and demanded the money. I paid the ticket and thought all was well. Apparently, though, the following day (they don’t give you much time) they decided to issue a warrant for my arrest because my check was $5 under the amount I owed. When I called to ask about them receiving the check they told me about the arrest warrant. It seems that for four days, if I had been pulled over and they ran my info, they could have arrested me on the spot. For $5. Lucky for me, my brother is a cop and worked in the next town over at the time and bought me a few more days to mail them the freaking $5 check. Whoopsy.
I’ve had disc problems for the last year (well, since the car accident nearly 6 years ago when I was preggers with Bugaboo, but the past year it has been worse). They gave me a prescription that helps TREMENDOUSLY with the muscle spasms. The only side effect is the funky dreams I have when I take it. As in, very hot dreams. About men. Other men than my husband. Like, incredibly hot and steamy dreams, OMFGWTFBBQ those dream are hot. Steamy, steamy, hot, hot. Need I say more?
I horde girl scout cookies. Don’t mess with my cookies! Every day after lunch I allow myself to eat a single serving of the cookies. It is the only junk or bad food I get. I never miss a day. And somehow I still managed to lose 10 lbs over the holidays. Sheer madness. Coulda been the stomach viruses. Just sayin’.
I don’t take a shower everyday. In fact, I rarely take one on Saturdays because I am so freakin’ lazy. Or maybe it is just because it is the one day I can stay in bed as late as I want, sit on my rear end as much as I want and don’t have to worry about Bugaboo getting into any trouble, since Darling and Bugaboo’s TSS are here. If you see me with a ‘do rag in my hair, it means I haven’t washed it that day. Make sure you call me on it and embarrass me. I don’t think I smell bad. But then again, I don’t wear antiperspirant (just deodorant) and have chronic sinus issues, so I cannot smell me. Ask my husband.
I do not shave from the knees up unless I know I am going swimming (which I rarely do!). My leg hair is blonde. BLONDE. You cannot see most of it, except for a little around my ankles. The bikini and underarm areas, however, are light brown so they must be shaved more often. Since I don’t wear shorts or short skirts often (if at all) no one ever knows. Except now you do. Oops.
I am a natural strawberry blonde. Ever see M*A*S*H*? Only one way to tell if a blonde is a natural blonde. Yup, it’s strawberry blonde, too.
I have to pluck stray hairs on my chin. Three of ’em. One grows in a scar I got when I cracked my chin open in ninth grade and fell off of my bike (because I’m all coordinated like that, y’all). I also get one on my chest and one on my (dare I say it) GIRL. You know, THOSE GIRLS.
I cannot stand the consistency of oatmeal or pancakes. They make me gag. Cannot eat cream of wheat, either. But I have abso-smurfly no problem with mashed potatoes. Go figure. Oh, and speaking of food? I do not like my food touching on the plate. No casseroles. The food cannot touch. It must be in seperate piles (or bowls). And I eat my veggies first (always) my grain or starch second and my meat/protein last. This may be why I cannot eat an omelet. I don’t’ know what to eat first because it is all touching. And I wonder where my kids get their food issues.
I’m happy it is raining. It means I don’t have to go outside and be subjected to more pollen. It also means I get to take more pictures of the lakes in my backyard. Don’t ask me why it fascinates me so. After three years you’d think I’d get over having Lake Erie back there. I haven’t.
I can clean up poo. I can clean up snot. I can even clean up blood. I cannot, however, stand vomit. Do not vomit near me. Please. I beg you. If you do, then I do, and then I do again, and again and it ain’t pretty. Lucky for me the boys almost always wait for Daddy to come home before they vomit. And then they puke on him. Which is a good thing, because I’m usually yacking in the trash can at that point. I’m such a vomit wuss.
I’m addicted to shopping at consignment stores and Thrift stores. Nothing pleases me more (shopping, that is) than when I find an amazing find at a second hand store. No, I’m not talking about Raspberry berets. In all of my years in thrifting I’ve NEVER COME ACROSS A RASPBERRRY BERET. I’m going to before I die, just so I can break out singing that freaking song and get it out of my head forever. Then I’ll be happy and celebrate how LUCKY I am that i found those designer jeans for $5 at Goodwill. Or that Ann Taylor Stuff. Or that little KS bag. Or that Burberry…
I talk quite a bit (all of my IRL friends are all, “NO! YOU? NO WAY!” Shut up.).
There. All of my confessions for now. I’m sure I forgot something, but I’ve already got, like, ten rosaries to say and an extra Hail Mary on top of that, and my knees hurt when I kneel too long, so I’m stopping now.