Bad Valentine's Pome

Won honorable mention in the Southern Humorists' Yahoo Group 2008 BAD Valentine's Love Pome (sic) contest. Without even a bribe to the judge, or a flash of boob.

(Sung to the tune of The Beverly Hilbillies theme)


Come and listen to my story bout my boyfriend Joe
A feller you can't trust any farther than you throw
When we first met I believed his love was true
But all that got me was a pot of the Blue
(Ointment, that is. Rub it on. OOOH that stings)

Well the next thing ya know I showed him the door
Then he called up talking sweet like the way he did before
I soon found out that he didn't sleep alone
And he brought more than clothes into our happy home
(Gonorrhea, that is. Gift that keeps ON givin. Grrr.)

Now y'all don't worry cause soon we'll be man and wife
Joe will have to be faithful for the rest of his life
Cause the last time that he and I got into a tiff
I didn't sleep alone, and now we have the syph!
(Syphilis, that is. French disease. Don't worry, Joe, I'll take care of you.)

Don't Try This at Home!

Finished October 26, 2007
Don't Try This at Home!

Cheryl Lee

A southern girl's life is often somewhat sheltered, and mine is no exception. My mother was very strict, which didn't protect me from some cousinly exploration at a very young age, but did put an end to it when she found it out. I was mostly a good little girl, being a virgin until I was 18, in college, and engaged to the guy.

Boy, have I made up for lost time! My first lover/fiancé was a talented director in the bedroom (or kitchen table, or couch, or shower, or bent over the washing machine), and he taught me many interesting and fun things about staging scenes, from props to scenery to even bit players. It was mostly those bit players that made that fiancé never become a husband, as I told him to take that show on the road.

But the sense of adventure, exploration, and fun stuck with me. I have done many things that my mother never, ever wants to hear about. Most of them (my mother's opinion notwithstanding) I really enjoyed and remember fondly. This story is, unfortunately, not about one of those!

At the time of this tale, I was living with the man who would become my second ex-husband. But I'm getting ahead of myself, seeing as how he wasn't even my second husband yet. We met in the old-fashioned way--in a chat room. He soon decided that 750 miles one-way was too far to drive for a booty call, and as his job paid better than mine, I moved to where he lived. Eventually we married, created a couple of kids, spontaneously combusted, etc. That is another story, another one about too many bit players. But I digress.

We had lots of interesting friends, and we'd heard some of them talking about playing with food. It was intriguing, so off to Wal-Mart we went. We selected the chocolate sauce, the strawberry flavored ice cream topping, and some whipped cream…yanno, the usual. We also got some frozen melon balls. So we head for the checkout counter, and onto the conveyor belt went condiments, melon balls, and a 12-pack of flavored condoms. When the cashier, who was trying really hard to keep her eyes in her head and her mouth shut, told us to have a good night, he could not resist. "Looks like it, huh?" Poor girl turned eight shades of bright crimson. We laughed all the way to the car.

At home, the condiments were a VERY nice lead-in to the frozen melon balls. To make it extra-fun, he tied my hands above my head. He then inserted one frozen melon ball. Encouraged by my gasp and "ooh," he inserted another. My eyes went wide, so he kept going. He must have put 5-6 of those things in there. My oohs were gaining in loudness and intensity, and he finally realized there was some amount of desperation in my voice! (Note to guys: when ooh turns to OW, you've gone too far.)

He asked if I was okay, and I told him the area was numb and painful at the same time. He got all manly and said "Here, I'll warm you up," and put himself against me. I asked if it was in, and his eyes went wide and he said NO a trifle too loudly. I told him I was numb and couldn't feel anything. So he tried to retrieve the offending fruit. Yes, I said TRIED.

Do you know what happens to frozen things when you put them in a warm, wet place? They LUMP! And the new lump of frozen succulent fruit would not budge. It was stuck. I started freaking out, understandably, I'm sure. He tried to separate them with no luck. Finally I filled my hot-water bottle with warm water and attached the hose, and managed to flush some of them out. I asked for a count so I could be sure that we had an equal in/out ratio, only to be told he hadn't kept track. This was need-to-know information! I had visions of serious infections in my head. He offered to make it up to me by probing for them with a special tool. By then, though, my passion had cooled along with my nether regions. He did make it up to me later, after about a half-hour or more of flooding the area with warm water to be sure all was clear.

There's not really a moral to the story…I mean, why start now with the morals, right? But if there is a lesson to be learned from all of this, it is DON'T put honeydew on his honey-do list.

At least not if it's frozen.

Maggie's Got Balls

Maggie's Got Balls

Another True Story

Through all three of my (successful) pregnancies, I have been POSITIVE I knew the sex. The first time I KNEW I was having a boy before I was even certain I was pregnant. He turned out to, indeed, be a bouncing baby boy. Same thing with the second…just knew it was a boy. Right again.

Sooooo…..

When I became pregnant a third time, and everything felt differently from the prior two times, and I had a strong sense that this was a girl, I had every reason to think I was correct.

Right?

I decided to call her Maggie Katharine. Everything was Maggie this and when Maggie gets here that. I actually bought some pink things and received others as gifts. After all, my sister had two girls and then a boy. My second husband had two daughters by his first marriage. A girl was not outside the realm of possibility. And there was, after all, my thus-far unbroken streak of correct guesses.

Then near the end of the eighth month, my OB was concerned about the size of my belly (I'm a big ol' gal) and wanted an ultrasound to make sure the baby wasn't getting too big. I was soo very excited, as my new boyfriend hadn't seen one of these before, and he was already excited about the baby, even though it wasn't his. (A story for another day, one not quite so funny)

We happily watch images of a little face, little hands, little arms and legs cross the screen. All the while we're saying "she" and "her" and calling her Maggie. Then the tech gets to the…erm…business end of things, and turns to us and says, "I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you might want to think of some boy names real quick. Cause Maggie has testicles."

I was in total denial at first--there must be some mistake! I had been SO SURE! Perhaps what he said were boy parts were actually girl parts. But alas, no.

I knew I would be happy later--after all, I had two boys I adored already. For the moment, though, I let myself be disappointed. That quickly turned to concern, as my older two had to have a corrective surgery on their willies when they were one year old. Would I have to go through that a third time?

Well, I informed the biodad that we needed to think of a boy name STAT. He was no help, so I named the boy after my new boyfriend to honor the man who would be helping me to raise him. My youngest wears my bf's middle name and my middle name. I like to tease my boys because all of them had girl names waiting to go just in case, of course none quite like Scott's Maggie.

And as a final note on that story--we didn't have a third surgery to go through, after all. My best friend was in the delivery room with us, and when they laid the baby on my chest for the first time, he weed all over her shirt, showing us right away that his willie was just fine.

R-O-C-K in the U-S-A

Recently my Sweetie was working, and his boss likes to have one of the local Top 40 stations on the radio. They were having an all-dance weekend, and Sweetie (Don) wanted to hear "Who Got the Funk" by George Clinton and the Parliament Funkadelic. So he calls up the radio station's request line, which is also their contest line, and as he is waiting for an answer on the line, he hears "Ok time to give away some tickets for John Mellencamp. I'll take the 7th caller." He laughs, and then hears on the phone "you're the first caller." He hangs up and redials, "fourth caller." Redial again. By now, his manager is getting tense.

"You better not win those d---"

"Hi, Lucky! You've won tickets to see Los Lobos and John Mellencamp November 1st!" She takes down his name and information, and after a minute of that he says, "Now, to the real reason I called."

"The REAL reason?"

"Yeah I was actually calling to request a song. I wanted to hear 'Who Got the Funk' by George Clinton and the P-Funk."

"Hey, that's a great song…I'll have to see if I can dig that one up and get it on for you. And congratulations!" He's been making people "mad" all over town with that story. Wasn't even trying for tickets and won 'em.

So we made plans, secured a sitter for the evening, and met up after work/running kids around and drove together to the Coliseum. Once inside, we hadn't stopped for dinner, so we went in search of something to nibble on. The only thing we could find that didn't cost the price of a big-screen TV was a small popcorn and a medium drink that were gone before Los Lobos even went on, but it made sure people wouldn't hear my tummy over the music. We find our seats, and we're watching people mill around. Finally the house lights go down, and Los Lobos gets introduced. They were cool, and they did do La Bamba, so I was happy. They did lots of 50s-style music, including a cover of Fats Domino's "They Call Me the Fat Man" they've done for a tribute album. The proceeds of the album, which includes many artists and groups, go to Katrina Relief. Poor guys, most people kinda kept their seats, although they were very polite.

When they went off, the house lights came back up for a while, and we saw lighting and sound guys climbing up into the rafters. One lighting platform right in front of us had a rope ladder hanging down from it, and then we saw a guy wearing a safety harness start climbing it. Sweetie and I are both afraid of heights, and he made a comment, and then the lady to my right said "Oh HELL no." Now, I am well known for making friends in a grocery-store checkout line, and so we struck up a conversation. She has two boys and two girls, and assures me I am better off with just boys. Meanwhile, the guy is on the platform, and they raise it even higher, and he starts to play with the spotlights.

Earlier we had spotted the wife of Don's best friend, Angel, and now she was ranting to her friend about something. We finally caught her attention and she came over. She explained that big old coliseum, and she gets the seat in front of the bigot redneck that was making racist remarks about Los Lobos the whole time they were on. She called him out, and told him LOOK, if you don't like the opening band, at least sit back and shut up for those of us who do. She talked wine with Don for a bit (he works in a liquor store), invited us to a dinner Saturday night, and she went back to her seat.

When Mellencamp finally came on, the difference in the sound and lighting was like the difference in a crayon stick drawing and the Mona Lisa. Los Lobos sounded loud and kinda tinny; Mellencamp's music made my heart beat for me. They rocked from the very first note. People were on their feet, dancing, clapping, and singing along. When he did that thing where he sings part of the chorus, and holds the mike out for the audience, we did NOT let him down.

There was this little kid about three seats down from us who was dancing like no one was watching, and when I pointed him out to Don, he broke out in a huge grin. Later he'd elbow ME to see something the kid was doing. It tickled me how much he enjoys people, even as much of a grumpy old man he is before his time.

Mellencamp would stop singing sometimes and would just TALK. And he made you feel like you were sitting around B S-ing in someone's living room. He has a very positive message, and it was wonderful. We'd sit down for the talking, and stand back up for the music again. This one older couple in front of gave me some serious giggles…they'd look around to see who was standing before they stood up, just like they were in church! And her dancing consisted of dipping one hip and bobbing her head. Still, I figured I probably look pretty funny to folks when I dance, too. I was hoping for Little Pink Houses, Jack and Diane, Rain on the Scarecrow, some of his new stuff, and R-O-C-K in the U-S-A. I heard all of those except for the last, and lots more I'd forgotten to listen for.

When we got out to the parking lot, we weren't parked too far from Angel and her friend Erma. There was no way any of us were going anywhere soon, with all that traffic, but at least we had each other to talk to. We compared notes, and she mentioned Hurts So Good and how he hadn't played that one. Finally the cars around us started being able to get out into the driving lanes, so we parted and headed home.

I'm still flying high from that show, and singing John Mellencamp songs daily. I really should get a greatest hits CD or something.

Cheryl Lee Nov 2007

Adventures in Parenting

(originally published on Multiply Dec 2007)

It's not for sissies, you know. The other day, I left work and went to pick up my younger two boys, ages 5.5 and 3.5. When we got home, I had to immediately do what I usually have to do upon arriving home.

I went to the bathroom.

As I am sitting there, I decide to go ahead and take off my work pants, cause the boys and I are about to do some picking up. But my legs are cold, so I'd like to go ahead and put my sweatpants on. I hear the boys in my room - right outside the bathroom - so I yell for one of them to please bring me my sweatpants.

"What?" I hear back.

"Please bring me my sweatpants. They're on top of the cooler in front of the TV dresser."

"Where are they?"

*sigh* "They're on top of the little cooler. It's on the floor in front of the dresser where the TV is."

(from the little one) "The cooler in the ba'ment?" Little feet pattering toward the basement door...

"NO! No, not in the basement. The LITTLE blue and white cooler. It's in MAMA'S ROOM."

"I can't see it."

"Of course you can't see it...my sweatpants are draped over it right now. Look for a black pair of sweatpants draped over the little cooler."

"What do they look like?"

"They're BLACK, and vaguely COOLER-SHAPED at the moment. Just look on the floor in front of the dresser!!"

By now I can sense I'm losing them, even if they COULD find it, now they're no longer interested. I finish the job, including the paperwork, and go out into my bedroom. They've vanished. I actually CALL them back in the room! I pick up my pants...shake them at the children, and point to the cooler.

"THAT little cooler!"

"OOOOHHhhhhh...." they both breathe. (middle child) "We didn't see it."

The little one pipes up, "That goes in the ba'ment."

D'Ya Ever Notice?

LOL No, I haven't died and come back as Andy Rooney. But seriously, did you ever notice that these days, there are more and more words that are combinations of other terms to mean something completely new? Like edutainment. Not sure where I first heard this term, but it's one of those that you may not have heard it before, but you get it immediately. It's educational entertainment. Then there's one of my personal favorites, constarrhea. Due to the IBS, this is one with which I am all too familiar. I cannot claim credit for it, but another one of those I cannot recall where I heard it. I CAN claim credit for introducing the term to my family doctor, who got a chuckle after asking me, "Did you just say CONSTARRHEA?" He promptly recommended daily fiber supplements.

I heard a good one on American Idol this past week: "guyliner." The guy thought it would help him look cool, but he looked as cool as an axe murderer. Maybe he also has a "mangina?" (from Deuce Bigalow) Leeuna shared "wasband" with us the other day. Never heard it put that way, but makes perfect sense. I got a couple of those myself :D

I was reading the paper the other day, and they had one of those "What's out, what's in" lists. Out is eco-tourism, in are "staycations." I also saw a variation on the theme on Corner Gas, where the main character, Brent, went on an imaginary trip through Europe and the Caribbean all while sitting in his lawn chair in front of his business. He called it a "staycation," too. Friends could talk to him, but only in the format of a postcard: Dear Brent: hope you are enjoying your vacation. Was wondering where we keep the extra receipt tape. Love, Wanda. And he would respond in kind. It was trippy. Wonderfully quirky show! If y'all haven't seen it, it comes on WGN at midnight EST, and is set in Saskatchewan, Canada, in a prolly fictional town called Dog River.

I came up with a shorthand for a "wintry mix" of snow and rain, or "snain." As in, "It's snaining again. Roads'll be slicker'n owlpoop come nighttime." Heard not a combo, but a term I hadn't heard in this context a couple weeks ago on Las Vegas. "Muffin-top," and the guy was referring fondly to his now-slim girlfriend's formerly juicy midriff. *grimacing* I didn't need ANY explanation on this one. If ya do, let me know. I'll elaborate.

Lastly (til I think of some more...LOL..this could be my "you might be a redneck" or "here's your sign"), I heard "Christmakkuh" on one of those teen/twentysomething shows. I added some more all-inclusiveness to it, and now the winter hollyday season is "Christmakwanzakkuhstice." Give me some time; I'll work Scientology in there somewhere LMAO

Collecting Hobbies

More and more people these days enjoy having a hobby. Something they are passionate about, something that helps them to decompress, de-stress, or just hide out in the basement for a few hours. Many hobbies include building or assembling things, such as miniature train sets or making jewelry, often giving an outlet for creativity. Some hobbies involve collecting things, like spoons of the states or Star Wars figures.

Me, I collect hobbies.

Yep. My hobby of collecting things involves collecting hobbies. I have unfinished projects all over the house. I have divider bins full of beads and findings for making jewelry. I have some new yarn and knitting needles because I want to learn to knit, and I couldn’t find the knitting needles, crochet needles, and crochet thread I bought at an estate sale several years back.

I do actually collect elephants. Yep, the one I got for Christmas sits on top of the humidor, awaiting a coat of paint. I haven’t decided if I want to paint it purple, my favorite color, or gray, cause it’s an elephant, or pink, cause well…pink elephants are funny, unless you’ve been drinking too much for too long. But my Sweetie has threatened if I paint it pink, he’s gonna take it back up to the liquor store where he works and freak out the drunks. So it sits, awaiting my decision (and the spring thaw).

I used to make soaps, lotions, candles, and lip balms. Do you have any idea how much STUFF you accumulate when you do that sort of thing? There are the base oils, the Red Devil lye you hoard cause it’s harder and harder to get, the fragrance oils you become addicted to and have to have JUST ONE MORE SCENT. There’s the postage scale for weighing things in ounces, the crock-pot JUST for melting oils, the hand blender JUST for mixing this stuff. The special pyrex measuring cups for mixing the lye with water that you’re afraid to use for anything else. And I haven’t made ANY soap, lotion, or lip balm in almost four years.

I’ve had a full set of scrapbooking edge scissors for a couple of years now. I am JUST NOW starting my first scrapbook ever, and only cause that project is due for a birthday party for my 6-y-o this Sunday!

Every couple of years or so, I buy some of those cute lil cross-stitch ornaments, thinking I’ll make one for each of the boys and put it on the tree this year. And if I ever find where they’ve ended up, I’ll have a BUNCH to put on a tree…lol…assuming I can ever get them done.
I joined SMC last summer. Haven’t made a DIME lol I was all gung-ho; my website was gonna have the cash rolling in, and occasionally I would buy medieval-type items and consign them with a friend who does lots of reenactment shows and fantasy conventions. My website hasn’t had a single purchase, and my hook-up for consignment is pregnant and won’t be able to do any shows once the season begins. I’m happy for her, but sucks for me!

If I ever got organized enough to put them all in one place, I’d be really dismayed at the beading loom, the plaster I bought for molding Christmas ornaments (we actually made and painted several of those, AND they made it to the tree—THIS YEAR!), the candle molds, the crochet thread I’m one day going to learn how to make those cool snowflake ornaments…

Maybe when the kids are in college, you think?

Cheryl Lee

600 words, February 15, 2008

I Wanna Rock n Roll All Night

I Wanna Rock and Roll All Night

Cheryl Lee

copyright Apr 2008

I've been in the market for a new everyday scent. I'm picky about my perfumes and colognes, since I am prone to allergies and migraines, and also because I work in customer service. A scent must be alluring, make me feel feminine, but not too flashy, floral, or loud.

Talk about your loud scents - I found one at Wal-Mart this time by KISS!

Yes, the band KISS has a scent out for women. And this is powerful stuff. Just at the sight of the box, my fingers of their own volition went into the "rock and roll" sign. Didn't think much of it, as a lot of things can make me make that sign.

The cellophane-wrapped package had a scratch-n-sniff decal. Curious, I scratched and, well, sniffed. Suddenly the soles of my shoes shot up four inches!

Shaken but intrigued (and trying not to stumble in platform heels), I bought some at the self-checkout (didn't want any innocent cashiers touching the box til I had a chance to investigate further) and took it home.

After unloading the bags, I took my new treasure to the bathroom, unwrapped the cellophane. Actually holding the bottle in my hand, I could feel my clothes begin to transform into black and silver spandex. Rock riffs began when I took off the lid. Spraying a test spray into the room, I heard full-on music and saw fireworks. Checking to make sure the kids were busy, I boldly went forth and sprayed some down my top (which was considerably more low-cut than I remembered putting on that morning).

When I looked in the mirror, I had white makeup on with a big black star over one eye. I was holding a bass guitar, and joined right in the singing. My cat came to investigate the racket, took one look at me, and ran squalling.

My two boys by now wanted to know what was going on, and when they walked into the scent-cloud, their outfits changed to look like mine, and they were suddenly wearing makeup, too. And the lil one had a really really long tongue! Funny, I always figured him for a drummer. We rocked that bathroom stage for hours.

Well, so much for an every day scent. Skintight spandex isn't exactly "business casual." Besides, with my current physique, who wants to see that?

Should be fun to wear to go out every once in a while, though. And I can't wait to see my Sweetie tonight...I got him the body spray for men. We'll finally have someone to wear the cat makeup, since the actual cat wimped out on us!