It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 39

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or bosses.  Really, I wrote this at home.  I save trolling the Internet for porn for the workplace.

Today's topic: Me (because that's so different from other days.)

Conversation with Current Husband at 9:38 p.m. tonight

ME:  "I'm so tired.  I still feel groggy from my Tylenol PM last night."

CH:  "Go to bed."

ME:  "I shouldn't have used, but I was too wired from the Diet Coke and Dots in the movie."

CH:  "Go to bed."

ME:  "It's Thursday night.  I have to do Whoreticulture Friday yet."

CH:  "Uh, the world won't stop if you don't blog."

ME:  "Mom and her two co-workers will be disappointed."

CH:  "Your mom retired last week."

ME:  "Well then I'm down to one reader and she's bored, so I can't risk it."

CH:  "I'm going to bed."

ME:  "Bastard."

And then I got on the computer, intending to write, but I had to quickly get on Twitter and send messages to The Bloggess (whose adorable pug, Barnaby Jones, died a few hours ago, so send her some love) and to Fletch, because stalkers who slack miss out on vital information.  Then I sent mass e-mails so I get more entries in the Stennifer Lunch contest (Good Enough To Eat - pre-order your copy now!) because going through Stacey's garbage alone isn't going to get me a seat at that lunch table.  Or that amazing necklace she wears on her website.  (She won't give it up, I've already asked.)  Talked to a couple of friends on Facebook, and badda bom badda bing, it's 11 p.m. and I haven't written one whorish word.

crickets....crickets....crickets...

I've NEVER had a problem with topics for Whoreticulture Friday, and then I realized the problem...it's ME!  Because I don't want the people at work to realize that I am not the pristine, well-presented girl I want them to *think* I am.  Inside of those Banana Republic pants and Gap shirts is a mother of three with the mouth of a trucker.  I keep my 'Ms. Jackson If You're Nasty' personae under wraps, away from my kids, co-workers, and some neighbors.  But Fridays I can usually let it all hang out.  Until this one.

Without going into great detail, let me say that I also blame Mike from American Pickers (Watch it Mondays at 8 CST on History Channel!)  He and his ladyfriend told my new boss about my blog, which I had sort of neglected to mention in my interview.  I knew it would probably come out eventually, but not less than a week into the job!  So she asked for the address this week, and now I sit, thinking something along the lines of this....

"Well.  You can't do the blog about how you and CH like nooners, because every time you come back from lunch she will think you were out having sex and now you'll never be able to have nooners again because she can see the archives where I talk about nooners, so between that and the kids being home the rest of the time you can't have sex for another 11 years.  You can't do the one about how you had the owner of a very nice restaurant over for Hamburger Helper and proceeded to tell him about The Shocker (it's hardcore, you may not want to go there) until he squealed like a girl and put his hands over his ears and said NO MORE I CAN'T HEAR ANY MORE but then went to work the next day and asked everyone about it and as he left our house he said CH and I are like Jr. High kids who are legal to drink.  (we were flattered) You can't do the one about the friend who knows a housewife who trolls the Internet to meet strangers in cities around the country to have sex.  You can't do the one about the friend who accidentally left a tampon in and had to have a doctor remove it a week later.  You can't do the one about the dogs getting stuck together.  Queefs.  Taints.  NOTHING.  Because your boss might read it.  And she's cool and probably wouldn't care, but STILL.  I do possess some small measure of public humility.

It's one thing to write about vibrators and Brazilians and such and go on your happy anonymous way.  It's quite another to write about CH saying "You look like you want me to bend you over" and then saying, "So how was your weekend?" to someone who knows about the bending.

So now l have a dilemma.  Will I be c***blocked forever, or can I work through it to everyone's ultimate satisfaction?  (Oh how I adore innuendo.)  Will we be able to adopt a "don't ask about the blog/don't tell about the blog" policy at work?  

My other dilemma?  It's 11:40 p.m. and I am really dead.  Stay tuned to see if there is an Issue 40 of WTF....oh, and welcome to my boss!  See you tomorrow!  Let's pretend this never happened, okay?

 

The Sound of Silence

"Hello darkness my old friend...

I've come to talk with you again..."

I wish I could play that song on my blog, but alas, those day have come to an end.  I've read over and over how people hate it when your blog starts with the auto-play on music.  I once had another blogger visit A Day in the Wife and proceed to send me an e-mail outlining everything that was wrong with my blog:

• hate the music, and so do your followers
• don't like word verification on comments
• too hard to find my e-mail address
• I was too "small time"

...and then she ended it by saying, "You're killing me, Smalls".  All I did to open myself up to this was leave a comment on her blog that one of her posts was funny.  Her blog has over 600 followers, so I think she thought she was doing me a big favor, but I thought to myself, "That's IT, I am auto-playing music FOREVER!"  Because you know why I write this blog?  It's not to win an award.  It's not to get more followers than anyone else.  It's not to impress people (CLEARLY!!!)  It's because I like to write, and I think everyday life is funny.  And nothing I say is terribly original to me, it's only sometimes funny because this is stuff that happens to everyone in some way, shape or form.  I also happen to like my followers.  You're funny people.

But do you notice how this Smalls Talk happened about four months ago, and it's still on my mind?  At least I'm not bitter, right!?

Anyhoo...the other day, Stacey Ballis posted something on Twitter that was funny, and since I am now stalking her, I was going to respond with a Vanilla Ice comment.  Since I like to be accurate when I quote Vanilla Ice, I went to playlist.com and searched for the song "Ice Ice Baby".   When I hit Play, my computer went "All right, Stop!" and promptly downloaded a virus and literally stopped.  This is the fourth time I've picked up a virus on my laptop, which only started happening when I started getting music for the blog from playlist, and so, I bid playlist.com a fair adieu.  It's sad, really, because I love music and it's been such a fun tongue-in-cheek thing to put a matching song with a blog post, but Saturday was the day the music died.  My laptop is still not working, so I have to use Current Husband's computer at night.

The other person affected by my dying laptop is Youngest Daughter.  She is a big gaming junkie, and loves to play Club Penguin, Nick Jr., Disney, Webkinz, and Class Brain, all of whom can be suspected of sending viruses, or at least loads of spyware, to my computer.  Every day, YD asks if she can play my computer, and every day I have to tell her no.  She gets very sad and then walks away to read Captain Underpants books, which I suppose is the lesser of two evils.

Last night, YD and I made a Sam's Club run.  School has started, so I needed bread, lunchmeat, chips, fruit, carrots, juice boxes, cereal, waffles, after school snacks, and caffeine in various forms.  We spent about $250, a full cart night, and on the way home we were listening to the radio when the ad came on for Double My Speed Dot Com.  The people were giving their testimonials about how they went to Double My Speed Dot Com and their computers are now miraculously like new - the cynic in me says that all of their passwords and account numbers have been downloaded as well.  Pretty soon, a small voice pipes up from the carseat in the back:

"Oh great, NOW you tell us, after we've wasted all of this money on food!"

There she is, the Child of 2010, who would rather play Club Penguin than eat.  Super.  I've made my child into an Internet junkie.  "And the people bowed and prayed...to the neon God they made...."  Do you think I'll get Mother of the Year?  There it is again...The Sound of Silence.

Happy Hump Day!  (Ooh, I want to play "Humpty Dance" now...do the Humpty Hump...)

I Sort of Love Mondays

Hello Wifers and Happy Monday to you!

Oh yes, I'm annoyingly cheerful this morning because it is the FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!!!
(It is actually Sunday night at 9:20 p.m., but I can see into the future, and YES!  Yes, I am happily walking away from the school after dropping my highly adorable children there to be someone else's problem for six hours.  Thank you, Public School System.

Since I am 100 pages from the end of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, I am jonesing to go to bed and finish that bad boy.  It's pretty good - I cringed in a spot of sexual abuse, it never fails to annoy me when I'm reading a good thriller and they have to throw some sadistic sex in, but I worked through it and now I can't put the damn book down.

A quick recap of the weekend:  

• Got home from work Friday and Current Husband had ordered pizza.  I don't care if he cooks the meal, as long as the meal has been arranged.  Points for you, CH.  You have been a trouper with the job thing.  (Is it "trouper" or "trooper"?  I don't know.)
• Woke up early on Saturday morning, loaded two younger children in van, picked up friend and her two kids and drove to Chicago to see Shrek the Musical at the Cadillac Theater.  We ate heavenly sandwiches and lemon bars at Corner Bakery.  We took the kids to slide down the elephant sculpture downtown.  We saw a most excellent show.  We got out of downtown without getting lost and missing the exit to I-290.  The sky was blue, the weather was perfect, it was a slice of heaven.  We saw an actual cloud with a silver lining, and when the Low Fuel light came on and a child said "I need to go to the bathroom" simultaneously, the sign appeared that said DEKALB OASIS - 1 MILE.  The clouds parted, the angels wept, and I got a skinny vanilla latte.  Thank you, Jesus.
• Today, I slept in.  I read some of my book.  I had coffee made by CH.  I took the girls to get Back to School pedicures (YD just got her nails painted with flowers, my shade was I'm Not A Waitress) and Taco Bell. Got home and CH said "Let's just the two of us go out for margaritas and chips and queso dip".  And so we did.  And then we got home and had a little din with the kiddos and I went for a walk with The Son and YD and George the Superpet, and I didn't even care when he took a colossal crap in someone's yard and I had to carry it around the neighborhood in a bag, because Mr. Bluebird was on my shoulder.
• Tonight, kids in bed ON TIME, pre-made tomorrow morning's coffee, everyone's outfits are laid out, I am pre-showered.  

So now I'm waiting.  Because obviously the IRS is going to call with an audit or our fridge will break or I will get a yeast infection, because really, I'm not used to things going this smoothly.  And maybe, just maybe, I thrive on a little bit of drama.  That's as close as I'm going to get to admitting I am a drama queen.

I'm taking my Waitress/Hooker nails to bed to finish Dragon Tattoo.  Have a terrific day and an excellent week, and I'm sure by Wednesday's blog some kind of hell will have broken loose.  Until then!

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 38

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygiene mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word "culture". Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology. Whoreticulture Friday is not for children. Or squeamish people. Or Mother-In-Laws. Or DAUGHTERS OF FRIENDS, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! GO BACK TO FACEBOOK! NOW! I MEAN IT! Or so help me God I will tell your mother.

Today's topic: Classified Adultery

Okay, I decided to write about something a little less naughty this week since I lost FIVE followers after the MILF post last week, which quite frankly, I didn't think was as bad as some of the other Fridays. I'm not necessarily a slave to followers, I write what I like to write, but it stings a little when there is a mass exodus. Let's talk about something less shocking, like songs from the 1970's.

The other day I was transported back to my '70s childhood when I found a radio station playing the soundtrack of my youth.  You remember the '70s, right?  Here are the songs I remember and love:

• Up, Up and Away (In My Beautiful Balloon)
• Lay Lady Lay
• What is Life?
• Love the One You're With
• Escape (The Pina Colada Song)

Do you realize most of these songs are about swinging?  And it's the last one that I heard on the radio the other day.  And it really pissed me off.  It starts off with the groovy beat, and then kicks off with "I was tired of my lady...."  Well buddy, you weren't such a catch yourself, because GUESS WHAT?  She was advertising to replace YOUR ass FIRST.  Stay down!  Eat sand!

 Yes Rupert, this is EXACTLY how I pictured you.  

I'd be taking out an ad too.

If I was his 'lovely lady' who walked into the bar at the end and said "Oh it's you", I think instead I would have conveniently forgotten that I placed the ad first and instead said, "What the hell are you doing placing an ad to meet women?!  And why are you ruining my date?"  I think what this song really proves is that Craig's List was around WAY before computers. 

I'm sorry, Rupert, but if you're that sick of someone, go to counseling, break up or get a divorce.  Don't waste their time.  While you're out writing your personal ad to hook up with someone else, did you stop to think for a second that maybe they're not that into you either?    I know about half of you out there cheat, I get it, I see how it can be really tempting or the forbidden sex can be really hot.  But isn't that what high school and college are for?  To get it out of your system?

In honor of the 31st birthday of this song next month, I am going to rewrite it.  

Escape (The Margarita Song), rewritten by Julie The Wife.

I was tired from my children- they hadn't slept in so long
They make me listen to Rihanna, instead of my favorite songs
While the old man lay sleeping, I tucked the kids in bed
I logged on to Craig's List, here's what I said:


"If you will mix margaritas, ignore the weight that I gain,
If you pay for my yoga, and get out Kool Aid stains
If you can make love in under 10 minutes
And you know how to bake
Send proof that you're sterile, and send coffee cake."


I posted it as joke - I don't have time for another man
I'm still lovin' my husband, and he's my biggest fan
But then I heard from Craig's List, someone responded to my ad
And I was sort of tempted - he didn't sound half bad


"Yes I can mix margaritas, and I'll get out those stains
I won't make you be on top- it's okay to be vain.
I will take out the garbage, and will hang your new drapes
Meet me at your local Starbucks, I will bring coffee cake."


I was kind of curious, so I went the next day
But I could tell in an instant, that he was totally gay.
But I needed a new best friend, and he said "Love your shoes"
And we laughed for a moment, and he said, "I'll go with you..."


"And I will mix margaritas, and serve up cold champagne
We will talk about our fave books, and exchange mix tapes
Let's paint your living room Midnight, and get armchairs done in Grape
You can text me anytime, that you need to escape."

This is what I need - Sassy Gay Friend!  

"What are you doing?  What, what, what are you doing?"

Happy Whoreticulture Friday! Have a great weekend! I hope you all get an escape....

Another Hairy Moment with My Teen

Ahh.  Do you hear that?  It's the sound of school buses being washed, new shoes being purchased, and pencils being sharpened.  That's the sound of Back to School, coming on Monday for us.  Wait...what's that other sound I hear?  It's the sound of champagne corks popping as the first Back to School Mimosas are being poured and mothers across the country rejoice as their children go back to school.

 Ding Dong, the school bell said

My kids are gone

Going back to bed

Ding dong, My house is like Club Med!

Oh I know.  Some of you are saying, "Oh, I'm sad, I LOVE having my kids around 24/7 all summer long!  I can't believe you are happy they are going back!"  To you I say, "Put down you mimosa and get the hell out of my house."  Just kidding.  Just stop talking and making me feel guilty.  Because I am ready.  

Now that The Wife is working, things are getting done ahead of schedule around here.  Not out of a sudden talent for organization, but rather from complete terror that I will forget something.  I've done the Back to School shopping, I've put money in the lunch accounts, I've made a calendar of activities.  The Son has tried on his football cleats, I've signed the daughters up for dance class, piano lessons have been tentatively set.  

In the middle of all of this activity, Oldest Daughter decided to audition for the Youth Ensemble of our area Symphony Orchestra.  I completely downplayed it, because I thought if I looked enthusiastic, her Teen Alarm would trip and she would instantly resist doing it.  I nonchalantly mentioned that I set an appointment for her audition.  Whatever.  I asked if she had her music, but no big deal.  I mentioned that she might want to select her outfit so she was ready, but if you want to wear your Daisy Dukes, go ahead!  The day before the audition, she had her music ready, her outfit selected, a shower taken, her hair straightened, and she asked if I would please do something for her....would I shape her eyebrows.


One needs to understand something about my people - we are hairy Germans.  Wir sind sehr haarig.  I have the unibrow, and I know how to use it, so back the eff off.  If I don't pluck my eyebrows every six hours or so, I can pull them back to make a lovely hat for myself.

My great great grandfather, 

Berthold Yoder

Again, happy that Oldest Daughter wanted me to do something to help her, and that it was something in the grooming department, I signed up and grabbed the tweezers.  This is when she froze a little bit.  I'm not sure what she thought I was going to do, but I don't think she imagined tools when she pictured us together.

As I've mentioned before, 
I have two ways of dealing with complicated situations.

1. I completely lose my shit and start yelling and swearing, or
2. I make inappropriate jokes in an effort to dispel the stress level.

So I make her sit on the edge of the tub, and I start plucking.  This would be a good time to mention that this was no small job.  She is starting to wince.  I can see that it hurts.  But I might never have this chance again.  I try to distract her - "Tell me about your favorite lines from Hot Rod!" or "What is your favorite SNL skit?" or "Tell me your favorite line from the Sassy Gay Friend!"  

We are laughing and she is quoting up a storm.  I've removed roughly 47 eyebrow hairs from her.  There are small, faint dots of blood appearing in some spots.  The left brow is done, and it looks fantastic.  I have great hopes for the right one, but she is starting to fade, and the pain is getting worse.  I get ahold of one particularly tricky spot, and I pull.  The skin actually pulls away from her face, but I can't stop now.  The hairs come out, and OD slaps her hand against her forehead, protecting her browline from my attack, and says, 

"You're a dirty bitch and I hate you!"

I say, "What show is that from?" and she says, "NONE!" I stop, and we look at each other and both completely bust out laughing.  Because I AM a dirty bitch.  I shouldn't have pulled those hairs.  I know it hurt, and I went there anyway.  But let me tell you something - those brows look fabulous.

My teen crossed over that day.  She went from a mild-mannered middle schooler to being MY daughter.  A girl who can use her swear words appropriately and in a funny context.  She knows she can't get away with that often, she saw her opportunity, and she took it.

Well played, Oldest Daughter.  And the student becomes the Master.

Enjoy Back to School, Moms of America.  I raise my mimosa to you.  Oh damn.  I work full time now, and while mimosas are frowned upon, I will raise my celebratory skinny vanilla latte.  Namaste.