Birth of a Blog

Mitchell (6) & Avery (6) in the Outerbanks of North Carolina

Avery…”Are there flowers in Heaven?”

Me…”I like to think so.”

Mitchell…”Are there bugs?”

Me…”I like to think so because they pollinate flowers and butterflies are wonderful.”

Avery…”Can big trees grow in the clouds in Heaven?”

Me…”Hmmmm…I don’t know about trees but I am sure…”

Mitchell, (butting in)…”Avery, TREES DON”T DIE AND GO TO HEAVEN!  THEY TURN INTO COUCHES!”

Mountains of North Carolina August 2012

Do you keep the things that make you smile, laugh, think, love or cry?  

I don’t mean cars or jewelry.

I mean the everyday quiet blessings that make you say a little thank you. 

– An old photograph of your family’s first home they owned, on American soil.

– Did you write in your daughter’s scrapbook the day she lost her first tooth?

– Do you have a photograph of a half eaten coconut cream pie because you want to remember what delicious looked like?

– Did you collect shells when you were on your honeymoon and bring them home?

I send myself an email often, of things I want to remember.

That is how this blog came about.  It is how I named it.

All that makes you smile, laugh, think, love, cry or cry laughing.

By talking to myself I am ensuring my external hard drive keeps the memories that my mind sometimes cannot remember.  When I looked back at my photographs I knew I needed to tell the story.  My blog was born.  

Even the little things are out there floating in cyberspace.  

Mitchell (3) & Avery (3) in Michigan chasing Jim at State Park

I even beat myself up when I cannot remember what I didn’t have time to type up on my phone and send to myself while we were shuffling out the door and on our way to school.  That really funny thing I told myself to write about later.  Memory can be a little temperamental.

Then I remind myself that I have recorded one more thing than my parents did for me.  I do not have a baby book from when I was born.  When I was twenty-eight I was given my immunization record, but it was only for my first set of shots.

I do not know when I read a book to my parents for the first time, or what we looked like while it was happening.

Peter Reading me a Bedtime Story, for the First Time

I don’t know if my boys will even care that I have written their stories down since they were born, when they are grown men.  I do it anyway.

I do not have a newborn picture of me in my own mother’s arms.

I know I was loved.  Everyone loves their baby.  Their child.

and there probably

were those things

somewhere…

…over time

and with divorce

and death,

things get lost.

If it weren’t for emailing myself these little gifts, I couldn’t unwrap them years later and share them with you. 

I do it because I love them and I love our life and when memories fade we will have our story, out here, in cyberspace.

What do you do to keep the everyday things of your life from being forgotten?  Should we let the moments we forget just be forgotten as they were intended?

Abbie Gale

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She Knows I Am Laughing With Her

Lilly would like people to stop telling me how cute she looks in bows.

She would also like me to stop matching her bows to her pink (rat-like) skin tone.

She also would like someone to drop a baby daughter off for me to torture decorate raise.

She is happy I didn’t give her this old haircut.  No one loved her for two whole months.

But I did do this.  

Come on.  It is too funny!  I don’t even paint my own nails.

She loves attention.

She begs to get her teeth brushed.

The toothpaste is chicken flavored and she is only allowed to eat her dog food.

She might think teeth brushing is a treat.

Abbie Gale

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Epic Embarrassing Night, Again, Enjoy

Yet another awesome moment for me as I love to provide entertainment for my friends in real time and then share them with my friends online.

Last night we went to a dinner party at our club, but really they sat tables up around the pool and tennis courts. It was a beautiful night. Perfect weather, they had live music and ice sculptures and shrimp cocktail, prime rib and even nachos.

You know that based on what I have said I must be beginning another story that includes an awkward Abbie moment. You so wont be disappointed. I went to this shindig knowing I was dressed up and in close proximity to water. This is why I walked ten feet away from the side of any pool. I know I have a mark on my head with these men. Any one of them would gain tremendous satisfaction of being the guy who tossed Abbie into the pool with her giant orange patent leather espadrille, wedge, platform shoes.

Here is the real deal. I can barely swim. I grew up with a 12 foot deep pool in my backyard and I still sink. I would not be able to swim at all with these giant wrap around and buckle orange cones around my ankles, they really are cute.

Here is my sweet niece in my orange summer shoes. She liked them enough she wanted her picture taken in them. We had so much fun playing with clothes when she came this summer.

Now mix in the fact that I have an undiscovered genetic disorder that makes me gasp for air when I am underwater and it would have been a trifecta of embarrassment when I sank to the bottom of the pool while holding my nose. There would be clapping and cheering while no one noticed I drowned.

They all “owe me one” for various stunts I have done to them, (read about me tipping over their canoes during river trip last month) and I know I have it coming but it cannot be in a pool during dinner and an ambulance call. That would be really embarrassing. Not as embarrassing as when I tackled one of the husbands on the golf course and put him in a headlock, in front of his wife and other men, (I am 5′ 3″) because he ran off with my golf cart key. I have told you, I am Monica Geller.

Here I am taking my picture with my teams winning score in golf.

There are probably more people that would like to toss me in that pool.

I didn’t even realize how easily I could outdo my pool fear in my head, and all alone while just standing. But I did.

Jim asked me to walk up into the tennis pavilion to take a look and help him pick out some golf shoes. The tennis pavilion is like a raised square gazebo. The golf shop set up a little display and the men were getting their party loot or swag.

I wasn’t really interested and he was trying on shoes and not listening to me when I said to pick out the cool looking ones. He was trying on the ones that looked like ever other pair he wears.

I am standing in the middle off all these tables with my super cute orange giant shoes that I knew ROCKED when one of our friends looked at them and said, “No one told me there would be hookers here.” I told him he was jealous and that if he was nice I would let him borrow them as I am sure he wears the same size as me.

Karma, Karma, Karma. As I am standing there and looking so sassy and smart in my hooker sandals I am holding a vodka-cranberry that I have not yet drank and I have my legs crossed at my ankles. Suddenly! an earthquake shook the tennis pavilion and a drunk golfer shoulder checked me.

OK, none of that happened. Go back to legs crossed at ankles. Giant platform heels, little girl (me) rocking ankle because she is bored looking at golf shoes that all look-alike because her husband is making her. Karma. My one ankle rolls but because my legs are crossed it sends my other leg off-center. I am holding my first FULL cup with ice and cocktail so I am concentrating on not spilling. As I am trying to correct my shift in center I yell, “oooohhh! OOO!” and then “AAAAHHHHHH” then you hear WAAAHHBBUMMPP!!! when my feet flew up higher that my waist and I land on my right tush SO HARD I roll up to my shoulder. There is cocktail and ice that rained down like ticker-tape to all four corners of the tennis shop turned golf store. I am laying on the ice and drink and in my white skirt with legs in the air and they are, of course, finally uncrossed. I look around and I have a circle of men around me looking down. One of them announced “Jim, at least she is wearing underwear tonight!”

I know Jim. His face tells me his instinct is to run like he doesn’t know me. It is like the time we were facing a skunk and he pushed me forward and ran in the house. But he didn’t, he helped pull my embarrassed butt up. He was impressed with how NOT graceful my Olympic falling moment was. I think that gets you more points in the falling Olympics. I am a gold winner!!!

I have a sore right hip today. I have ANOTHER “stupid Abbie story” and I have to go figure out what I did to pi$$ off Karma and make it right.

Really though I am so happy I didn’t get tossed in the pool, white skirt and pink underwear.

Have you had an epic fall? This one may tie with my bowling alley fall. I love telling that story! Wearing Other People’s Ugly Shoes. Ok, Wearing Other Peoples Ugly Shoes is funnier. Have you read both and which do you think is funnier?

Abbie Gale, allthatmakesyou.com

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Funny Ending to AWKWARD and a Lesson For Us All

 

I decided to contact the mom from my kid’s school who sent me the AWKWARD AS HECK NAKED PHOTO OF HERSELF to my phone.

I am soooooo glad I did and so glad I didn’t have to tell her I am not into girls, that way.

I think we can all take away a BIG lesson from what happened to her, (and don’t forget me, as I was handed this AWESOME situation to write about.)

I just copied the text conversation I had with the mom who sent me naked pictures of her boobies this week.

 

The sliver of the photo and white bubbles are from her.  It took me HOURS to reply, (in blue.)  I get a boobie picture on my phone and “It took forever to get up the nerve to take this” and I am pacing the house chanting…

“What the heck do I do?  What does this mean?  

Ahhhhhh who can I share this freaking hilarious situation with?”

And so I shared it with y’all a couple of days ago.

The first half of the story here Awkward!  What do I do Now?

The aftermath and explanation below.

Deep thoughts by Abbie: 
We all get things in our teeth.  We all get boogers.  We all have boobies.  Just don’t have pictures of your OWN things as in food in teeth, boogers in nose or YOUR boobies on YOUR phone.  OH, and NEVER, ever,  leave your phone with a group of teenagers without a password on it.

-Abbie, allthatmakesyou.com

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All that makes you smile, laugh, think, love, cry or cry laughing.

PS  I promise I wont send you pictures of my boobies.  I may at any time send a picture of something in my teeth or an exceptional booger.  Stop it!  We all get boogers!

 

When Did I Lose Faith in Myself?

I worked in corporate America until I was put on bed rest with my twins, now twelve.

Companies would send their private jets to a little airstrip, by my home, and I would fly up to a factory and be back home in time for dinner.  I was young and feisty and I could keep a project together from idea to market.  I could negotiate a price and delivery date from China to the eventual chain of outdoor stores or military base.

I was on a product development team for a major boot company.  I was a woman in a business of men.  When passed a cigar to enjoy, I did.  I was comfortable there.

In college I worked in a steel mill running a blowtorch and assisting the crane operator.  I don’t remember another woman who worked there, but I know they did in the offices.  I weighed about 100 pounds and I wore three layers of flame retardant clothing, steel toe boots, safety glasses and a hard hat.  I fit in there.

I started blogging February 29th of this year.

I recently started calling myself a blogger.

I AM a blogger.

Bloggers need to go to conferences.  They need to meet others that proudly say they are bloggers.  They need to network and meet with publishers and find out how to monetize and find their people.  I need to find my peeps.

BlogHer ’12 is in New York City August 2-4.

I have looked at plane tickets.  I talked about going to the conference to my husband.  He has told me it would be awesome for me to go and encouraged me to do so.

I have no excuse not to go to BlogHer ’12, but I cannot get myself to do it.

Why?

The idea of going to a meeting full of women terrifies me.

Please don’t chastise me.  I know this is a counterproductive statement for women.

Hear me out on this.  I have always had a little secret motto in my head that goes like this…

“If a man can do it, I am sure I can.”

Women, for most of my life, have been harder to gel with.  I have girlfriends, but most of them would probably also get along with guys better than girls.

Where is that Abbie that would stomp around a factory floor asking the foreman questions?  Where is that Abbie that hopped on a plane and negotiated the price of thousands of sides of leather?  Have I gotten soft since having kids and no longer have an edge or a belief in myself?

If a man can walk into a conference full of women, why can’t I?

I feel stuck in limbo.  I am stuck between the person in the workplace full of men and the reality of my life now as a mom raising three little men.

BlogHer announced a contest today.  They are giving goodie bags to people who are NOT going to BlogHer ’12.  I wrote this to enter into the contest.  I was writing this post in my head though before I even knew about the conference.

Here I am on BlogHer

I have been thinking that if by chance I were to be chosen for a goodie bag I would like to request, rather rudely, that I would much rather go to the conference.

But I need a mentor. 

I would much rather see BlogHer run a contest granting one newbie the chance to shadow a BlogHer team member, DURING BLOGHER.

We would be instant chums.  She would tell me she appreciates my brass ba!!s when it comes to what I want to post and yet understands why I spell inappropriate words with symbols.  She would give me the inside scoop on how things really work and tell me plainly what I am doing wrong and how I can improve. She would share my fondness of vodka and love of desserts.  She would tell me there is a place for me and that I am not like everyone else that calls herself a blogger.  She would offer me a cigar.

-Abbie, All that makes you smile, laugh, think, love, cry or cry laughing.

allthatmakesyou.com

Is it Possible to Write Without Insulting? I Say, IMPOSSIBLE!

Fear kept me from posting something I wrote a while back.  

I finally posted the story that scared me this week.

Why Can’t You Drop Your In-Laws off at a “Safe Haven”, No Questions Asked?

I had time to think about it and well, my in-laws know me.  They have known me for over twenty years.  They know I tease.

I tell stories and I tease in stories I tell, (my husband Jim says I would NEVER exaggerate.)   When he says, “NEVER” he looks up at the corner of the room and the word, “NEVER” doesn’t sound like the other words in the sentence.

I was not prepared for someone I am not related to, even by marriage, to take issue with my post.

It wasn’t on Word Press where I park my thoughts, but on BlogHer where I occasionally copy a post I think might be well received there.  I mean, come on, this is a story about a woman complaining about her in-laws and BlogHer is supposed to be female readers, right?

Whapppow!  Right to the back of my head.

A section editor over there let me have it in my comment section.

BlogHer post with BlogHer reader comments.

Here is the thing, I like this fellow bloggers style and respect her work and she has been very helpful to a newbie like me.  I even respect her for calling me out on it, (I will let you click the link above to read the comment for yourself.)

Here is what I deduced and replied with…(oh yeah, all in the comment section because I am a wordy girl.)

I think Safe Haven is an amazing program.  The entire concept is genius as I appreciate any government program that calls for the care of a child as an immediate priority instead of placing blame on the mother or father.  I realize that everyone has their own circumstances and I try VERY, very hard to not judge as I have not walked in someone else’s shoes.

I also work very hard at having a good relationship with my in-laws and the comment was made in good fun.  I would never really think anyone would think I was serious as it was simply a play on “walking in someone else’s shoes.”  If someone had been walking in my shoes they would realize that I would never want anyone to think I REALLY wanted to drop my husbands parents off at a fire department.  I never really would turn the porn channel on in the guest room to try and help them, “get along”.  However, I have sat up late into the night trying to think of ways to help them.

I was applauding Safe Havens as being a GOOD IDEA and thinking about a world in which it could be applied to other groups that need help.  If I could get a grown adult help without being judged for running out of options or lacking in the ability to help them anymore it would be great.   We really have though thought that their spouse might leave them with us.  I guess we are their “Safe Haven.”

I apologize if I offended you as I really think the entire Safe Haven program is great.  Sometimes I think I am funny and sometimes “getting” to funny I may have inadvertently insulted someone.   In this case I think we both agree that Safe Haven is a necessary program.

I also can tell you my dad in Michigan adopted me at three after my biological father signed off on custody.  I can also tell you that I have very real memories of having a dad and then going to see a judge who told me that I have a “new” dad.  I and am VERY aware of the ramifications of words related to adoption such as “real child” or “not really his” or “unwanted” and the list of words and phrases cut.  I feel in this case, and for me, it more of a compliment on a program that I obviously feel is genius.  I don’t think it is funny to write a “funny” story about REAL Safe Haven, but a fake Safe Haven to drop off your in-laws..I (still) do think is a little funny.

I joke about being anal retentive about things that don’t matter, but people really do have mental illness.  I joke about being messy but there are really people who have diseases that make them hoard.  I joke about having a cup holder as a bellybutton as a “birth defect”, (I give birth to double digits every time) and there are really people who have birth defects.  I have the attention span of a fruit fly and I blame it on a lead pacifier that I am convinced that my parents gave me, but there are people who really have contracted lead poisoning.   I tease about my poor writing skills and my inability to figure out how to use a comma, but there are people reading that have learning disabilities.

If I didn’t write things that MIGHT offend someone, I would never write anything.  When I was writing this story I was only worried about offending my in-laws.  Insulting anyone who has ever been touched by adoption, which is nearly everyone, had never been a worry.

I hope you understand and hope you might get to know me enough one day that you would know that hurting people is not even close to what I am about.  I do admit that I find things to laugh about but that comes from waaayyyyy back.  That comes from the same place that the people who like to make people laugh draw from.  I kind of consider it a gift, even if I had to go around the block a bit to receive it.

End of my BlogHer response.  

Then I thought, this is a post!  This is something I need to share with my WordPress friends!  What if they too have a bellybutton that turned into a cupholder.  What if I have insulted anyone that has wiped their boogers on the walls for someone else to clean up when I lied and said there was a “Booger DNA Test” that is sold at Walgreens?

Let this be fair warning to anyone who thinks I am an evil doer.  Let this also serve as a warning to everyone who thinks that I really have a TV in our guest bedroom to even turn porn on.  If I put a TV in the guest bedroom my in-laws for sure would never leave!

And I bet you thought I was a terrible person for the first photo at the top of the post.

Peter was so excited to be a black panther that he asked to sleep on the deck since he knew I would say he couldn’t go to bed without washing it off first.  Sometimes we just need to know the whole story or the whole person and sometimes we just need a sense of humor.

-Abbie, for all that makes you smile, laugh, think, love, cry, or cry laughing.

Why I Will Never Be Freshly Pressed

If you think you can handle me hit the “follow” button and I will explain later the booger test I mentioned, (I tweeted it but I will elaborate on “Booger-Gate” and Lord knows you don’t want to miss that when I do.)

Worry and Worry Junior Have a Talk

We worry. That’s what parents do.

You can have a child who has “a worry.”

I do.

I have to pretend to not worry because I tell him everything is ok…all day long.

Then I began to worry that he got the worry from me.

Then I remind him, and myself, that our “worry” really means we are aware of how blessed we are.

It is a blessing to be aware of your gifts. It makes you work harder to be worthy.

We complete our homework because we worry about what it would do to our grades if we don’t. I tell him.

It is the people that worry that get things done.

The same way that chocolate goes with vanilla, worry goes with success.

There are people who are paralyzed by worry and sometimes they never leave their homes. I tell him that fear can be like a disease.

We talk about, talking about worrying and I tell him how healthy that is.

I am thankful for my worry, and for being aware of it, and thankful it does not cripple me.

Teaching your children how to find their blessing sometimes helps us just as much as it helps them.

What do you do to keep your worries in check and have you had a little worrier of your own?  Do you tell your kids to just relax or do you teach them how to listen to their fears? 

Abbie, All that makes you… allthatmakesyou.com

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Dear Parent’s Who Do Not Think All Americans Should Have the Same Rights,

Dear Fellow Parents in North Carolina,

Please stop asking me to “Get out and vote FOR the marriage amendment” and that “You believe marriage is between one man and one woman.”

It makes me lose respect for you.  It makes me think you aren’t very intelligent.  It makes me think you’re insensitive, and that you would feed my children to yours if you had to.  It makes me think you will find a Bible verse to justify it.  It just makes me not like you.

Here is what the voters in North Carolina are presented with this week…

Marriage Amendment 1

The measure would define marriage in the state constitution as between one man and one woman, and would ban any other type of “domestic legal union” such as civil unions and domestic partnerships.[1][2]

Same-sex marriage is already illegal in the state of North Carolina. The proposed measure, however, would add the ban to the state constitution.[3]

How is it possible that a country that was founded on the idea of religious freedom and separation of church and state be so forgetful?  How can the Unites States of America, that invades other countries in the name freedom, want to discriminate against two people who want to be together but do not have the proper anatomy to be considered the “opposite sex?”

How can a sweet, southern accent, blond bob, fellow mom that has a glass of wine with me and shares stories about our funny and adorable kids spew this insanity?

How can you know your children are going to be straight or gay?  How do you know that if one of you children announces in twenty years that they are in love with someone and want to share their life with them that you will be able to say “those words”, then, that you are plastering all over FaceBook, now?  How can you look at your child and tell them that their love is less valuable than the love of two people who do not have the same “private parts?”  How can you teach your children to love and to be “Godly” and to not judge and yet you are?

You are judging based on your religious beliefs with the same tenacity that people across the world have when they strip away the rights of people, in the name of religion.  In Afghanistan women aren’t allowed to drive.  I am sure you believe that is just ridiculous.  The law banning female drivers is based on their religion.  A religion that brought people to our great country to seek religious freedom and personal rights.

Your religion should not be dictating our laws.  This is what founded this country.  We believed in freedom for all.  We believed to be treated equally.  Why should opposite sex couples be allowed more freedoms than same-sex couples?  If you don’t like it based on your religious beliefs then don’t let them get married in your church.

I cannot imagine that your loving, forgiving and accepting God would want you to judge.  I don’t care what version of the Bible your reading.  My God is loving.  He created us and he created us all different.  I refuse to deny rights to Americans because of sexual orientation and I refuse to believe that homosexuality is a choice and something you can get “help” for.

How can you say your “proud to be an American” and yet you want to take away the freedom and liberties of people who don’t live with your same religious beliefs?

I took both of these photos myself with several years between them.  The old man who drives this truck with his homemade “bumper stickers” bungeed onto the back makes me proud to be an American.   We can have religious differences without being condemned.  I believe those religious beliefs should not get in the way of providing equality to all of our citizens.

Sincerely And With Respect,

Abbie, All that makes you… https://allthatmakesyou.wordpress.com/culprits/

Please feel free to repost/share this onto your FaceBook wall, Twitter…  If I have to listen to everyone telling me to hate you can help me spread the word of love.

References

  1. ↑ QNotes,”Anti-gay marriage amendment filed in N.C. Senate,” February 22, 2011
  2. ↑ ENCToday.com,”Same sex marriage ban aims to protect definition of marriage,” February 24, 2011
  3. ↑ The Huffington Post,”North Carolina Puts Gay Marriage Ban On May 2012 Ballot,” September 13, 2011

http://www.npr.org/2012/05/06/152045460/friends-and-foes-of-gay-marriage-woo-voters-in-n-c

Info also gathered from Ballotpedia

http://www.ballotpedia.org/wiki/index.php/North_Carolina_Same-Sex_Marriage,_Amendment_1_(May_2012)

He Promised NOT to Steal Our Kidneys, Just Get In!

I was tickled my ten year-old “lucky pants” still fit and I could wear them to the concert.  But…there are no pockets on the butt?  I don’t remember them not having pockets.  I spun around many times in front of the mirror.  Did we not have pockets on our butts ten years ago?

Ten years ago my butt didn’t need pockets but this new, old butt needs pockets to break up the junk in my trunk.  Confuse them is what I always say, use ruching, scarfs, a cardigan, a blazer, blinking light on my forehead.  Not not really a blinking light but if I can’t get this tube top you wear around your waist to take off as the “next thing” or a “belly warmer” as I call it, I may start wearing an orange traffic cone as a hat.  My number one piece of fashion advice…distract.  I am always trying to distract from my belly and my butt.

My lucky python plastic pants have no pockets to break up my rear.  They went back in the closet to trigger the memories of when I could run away with a rockband, (The Barenaked Ladies.)  Stop being jealous! 😉

I wore regular old blue jeans.  Here we are having drinks at a fine establishment (pool hall.)  Notice that I am not dancing on the bar, (if you don’t know what I am talking about wait for it at the end.)

Here we are with one of those mustache pacifiers all of the babies are sporting on Pinterest.

The problem came up when we went to leave the pool hall.  We had a driver pick us up at home and drive us 40 minutes to the concert.  He dropped us off by the coliseum so we could walk around and eat and have a few cocktails.  He would come back later and get us.  We just had to walk several several blocks to the actual venue.  This is not a problem.

The problem was when the husbands were paying the bill and we girls walked out front and stood under the awning we saw the impending doom that was heading towards us.  It was the ugliest thunderstorm and it was about to unleash on us.

I have feathers in my hair!  They are going to get wet.  I want to look good when the band begs me to run off with them.

Why the hell didn’t I wear the PLASTIC python pants?  The lucky pants are waterproof!

The other girls began walking to try and beat the rain but I saw the sprinkles the size of saucers.  I stayed and looked around at the people at the tables under the awning.  I looked over at a bushy, bearded kid in his early 20’s and said, “Do you have a car?”

My girlfriends are now dodging back under the awning.

He laughs at me.

I’m like, “No, totally serious.  I will pay you twenty bucks to drive us there to the concert.”  I point to the coliseum.

My girlfriends are now laughing at me.  I ignore them as I am negotiating a deal.

I ask, “What kind of car do you drive?”

He says, “An old explorer.”

I say, “Oh good, then the guys can come too.  Do you promise to not steal our kidneys?”

He says, “I will NOT steal your kidney.  I will pull around and get you.”

Just then the husbands come out and look up at the sky and voice their dismay over letting our driver leave and announce there are zero cabs around.  Then they take charge and tell us ladies to make a run for it.

The entire last paragraph was said while I rolled my eyes.  Thank you Captain Obvious.

Men don’t wear tight jeans and platform, high heels.  They certainly would not be able to run in them uphill in the driving rain and they would not mess up their hair that they put all the cutest little feathered clips in.

I tell the husbands that I have this sweet, hippie kid taking us and I am paying him $20.

Then men start walking in the rain.  They yell back for the girls to come on and tell me I am not getting into a car with a stranger.

The other girls start running after their husbands.

I do not.

I yell out that I am a good judge of character and he promised to NOT steal our kidneys!

The men yell back that it is crazy and for me to hurry up.

I yell out I will take my chances with my cute hippie.

The rain turned into a monsoon.

My husband yells, “I am going with Abbie!” and runs back under the awning.

The the rest of the men follow.

The hippie kid pulls right under the awning to get us.  As he drives past us we read his license plate…

“TREES ROC”

No one kills people or even steals kidneys with a personalized license plate that reads, “Trees Roc.”

I looked at the guys.  I said, “I told you so!”

The Hippie Kid had to move his tennis racquet and golf clubs to make room for us all int eh suburban.  I think he is a tortured soul.

My feather clips gave me hours worth of entertainment.  I clipped them onto unsuspecting people at the concert to give the a “rat tail” and then took their picture.

Sometimes you just have to trust someone.

Or not, judging from my photos of strangers.

How about you?  Do you get out and pretend your not a mom or a dad once in a while?  It’s just for a few hours!

This is my previous post about my lucky pants…

https://allthatmakesyou.wordpress.com/2012/05/02/dancing-in-lucky-pants-on-bars/

My Lucky Pants…

“Do you want to go to the Van Halen Concert?” my husband asks me over the phone a couple of weeks ago.

I am thinking about where I will be at mentally Saturday with the three boys and the never ending “hillbilly hand-fishing” swamp clothing I have been washing and and say quickly, “YES!”

Then I scramble, as I have to act like I know something about Van Halen.  I need to be worthy of a big night out.  Like, I know that I have listened to a lot of Van Halen and that they were a hair band from the 90’s.  The music all kind of runs together for me.  It’s the music we listened to while drinking crappy beer, down a country road with a make shift bonfire during my teen years. It doesn’t matter!  Mamma needs to get the heck out of the house.

“Valerie Bertanelli!  Valerie Bertanelli!  Wasn’t one of them married to Valerie Bertanelli?”  I shout this as if I have Tourettes to Jim over the phone.

“Oh yeah, your right.”  Jim sounds impressed that I could rustle something up to say.  He knows me so well.

“Well you better be careful he doesn’t try and scoop me up because I am totally his type!”  

I am already thinking about getting “The Pants” out to wear.

I have these pants my sister bought me somewhere on clearance as a joke.  I showed her.   I wore them to her bachelorette party ten years ago. They are awesome.  They are python and plastic and PERFECT for a Van Halen concert.

And they are lucky.  Not in a “get lucky” way but in an even better way.

They are my Lucky Brush with a Rockstar Pants.”

They are the pants I had on when I could have thrown caution to the wind and run away forever with a famous rock band. I even tell my kids the story.  It is good they know I have options.  They even know I was married at the time AND they were already born.

These kids have to hear it every time one of their songs come on the radio and my kids friends moms have to hear my kids tell the story when it comes on in their SUV.

These pants have made me a legend among sixth graders, in my community, on my street and living in my house.  That is why they are better than a “get lucky” anything.

You usually don’t get to tell a sex story on a mom blog but my lucky pants are giving me, yet another, chance to tell the story about how I almost ran away with…

“The Barenaked Ladies”

Don’t be a hater.  You know your just jealous and I am pretty sure at least one of them has “A Millions Dollars” by now.

It was Toledo, Ohio and I had orchestrated my sisters “Princess Barbie Bachelorette Party Bus.”  We were club hopping in the “Glass City.”

We ended up at a Banana Joe’s.  It is the kind of fine establishment that ENCOURAGES dancing on the bar.

I don’t know about you but I was sick of people telling me to “get down” off of bars.

So there I was rocking my python print pants and bronze high heels on the bar and the DJ starts playing, “If I had a Million Dollars.” by “The Ladies.”  It was a different version than the song you hear on the radio.  I was the only one who knew the words.  I knew the words because I had recently walked in a walk-a-thon and won a radio station copy of one of their CD‘s with live cuts on it.  The same live cut of “Million Dollars” that they were playing.

During the song a guy called me down off the bar, (here we go again, I thought I could dance on the bar here) and asks me how I know the words to this version and he asks me to come and hang out with him and his friends. He points over to a table in a corner off to itself by the bar and the group of guys waved me over.

Just then I realized the bachelorette party needed to book it out of there.  I had an entire night of bar hopping and the next club was holding parking in front for us to pull up in the “Barbie Bus!”

I told the guy he was too cute and his friends looked really nice and that normally it would be fun but I had to go with my group.

They yelled, “No stay.”

I said, “I’m soooo married and I have twin babies at home and y’all are too sweet.” Then I hear someone yell, “Oh my God it’s the Bare Naked Ladies!!!!” and everyone looks and points at the table of the “too cute, super sweet guys.”

Then I realize…

HE IS A LADY AND THE REST OF THE GUYS WERE LADIES TOO!

I walked towards the piano bar at the entrance where the “Barbie Bus” is waiting out front for us. But first…

I hopped up on the dueling pianos by the front window and

danced to one last song!

These pants are legendary! I dug them out and tried them on.

See…

Have you saved an article of clothing just because of fond memories.  What luck has it brought you?

If you want to hear more click the “Follow Me” button above.  You may even enjoy one of my former stories like…

Unicorn Horn or Extra Finger? https://allthatmakesyou.wordpress.com/2012/03/30/unicorn-horn-or-an-extra-finger/

My “Lucky Pants”

“Do you want to go to the Van Halen Concert?” my husband asks me over the phone a couple of weeks ago.

I am thinking about where I will be at mentally Saturday with the three boys and the never ending “hillbilly hand-fishing” swamp clothing I have been washing and and say quickly, “YES!”

Then I scramble, as I have to act like I know something about Van Halen.  I need to be worthy of a big night out.  Like, I know that I have listened to a lot of Van Halen and that they were a hair band from the 90’s.  The music all kind of runs together for me.  It’s the music we listened to while drinking crappy beer, down a country road with a make shift bonfire during my teen years. It doesn’t matter!  Mamma needs to get the heck out of the house.

“Valerie Bertanelli!  Valerie Bertanelli!  Wasn’t one of them married to Valerie Bertanelli?”  I shout this as if I have Tourettes to Jim over the phone.

“Oh yeah, your right.”  Jim sounds impressed that I could rustle something up to say.  He knows me so well.

“Well you better be careful he doesn’t try and scoop me up because I am totally his type!”  

I am already thinking about getting “The Pants” out to wear.

I have these pants my sister bought me somewhere on clearance as a joke.  I showed her.   I wore them to her bachelorette party ten years ago. They are awesome.  They are python and plastic and PERFECT for a Van Halen concert.

And they are lucky.  Not in a “get lucky” way but in an even better way.

They are my Lucky Brush with a Rockstar Pants.”

They are the pants I had on when I could have thrown caution to the wind and run away forever with a famous rock band. I even tell my kids the story.  It is good they know I have options.  They even know I was married at the time AND they were already born.

These kids have to hear it every time one of their songs come on the radio and my kids friends moms have to hear my kids tell the story when it comes on in their SUV.

These pants have made me a legend among sixth graders, in my community, on my street and living in my house.  That is why they are better than a “get lucky” anything.

You usually don’t get to tell a sex story on a mom blog but my lucky pants are giving me, yet another, chance to tell the story about how I almost ran away with…

“The Barenaked Ladies”

Don’t be a hater.  You know your just jealous and I am pretty sure at least one of them has “A Millions Dollars” by now.

It was Toledo, Ohio and I had orchestrated my sisters “Princess Barbie Bachelorette Party Bus.”  We were club hopping in the “Glass City.”

We ended up at a Banana Joe’s.  It is the kind of fine establishment that ENCOURAGES dancing on the bar.

I don’t know about you but I was sick of people telling me to “get down” off of bars.

So there I was rocking my python print pants and bronze high heels on the bar and the DJ starts playing, “If I had a Million Dollars.” by “The Ladies.”  It was a different version than the song you hear on the radio.  I was the only one who knew the words.  I knew the words because I had recently walked in a walk-a-thon and won a radio station copy of one of their CD‘s with live cuts on it.  The same live cut of “Million Dollars” that they were playing.

During the song a guy called me down off the bar, (here we go again, I thought I could dance on the bar here) and asks me how I know the words to this version and he asks me to come and hang out with him and his friends. He points over to a table in a corner off to itself by the bar and the group of guys waved me over.

Just then I realized the bachelorette party needed to book it out of there.  I had an entire night of bar hopping and the next club was holding parking in front for us to pull up in the “Barbie Bus!”

I told the guy he was too cute and his friends looked really nice and that normally it would be fun but I had to go with my group.

They yelled, “No stay.”

I said, “I’m soooo married and I have twin babies at home and y’all are too sweet.” Then I hear someone yell, “Oh my God it’s the Bare Naked Ladies!!!!” and everyone looks and points at the table of the “too cute, super sweet guys.”

Then I realize…

HE IS A LADY AND THE REST OF THE GUYS WERE LADIES TOO!

I walked towards the piano bar at the entrance where the “Barbie Bus” is waiting out front for us. But first…

I hopped up on the dueling pianos by the front window and

danced to one last song!

These pants are legendary! I dug them out and tried them on.

See…

Have you saved an article of clothing just because of fond memories.  What luck has it brought you?

If you want to hear more click the “Follow Me” button above.  You may even enjoy one of my former stories like…

Unicorn Horn or Extra Finger? https://allthatmakesyou.wordpress.com/2012/03/30/unicorn-horn-or-an-extra-finger/