Nostalgia: Dibbs

I hate election season. In an effort to hide our locale, I hate "Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire," "CON...," "Social Security is a Ponzi Scheme," (What IS a Ponzi Scheme anyway?) and "He tied a woman up and made her pray to him." What the hell is that? That commercial makes me think I'm watching SNL every time I see it.

I was lamenting all of that to Julep as I drove to our local track and football game when I happened upon a small-town mayoral sign. And my hatred was over. A certain former acquaintance is running for mayor again. I'll give you a hint.

He lied about his status, he lied about his life...
He forgot he had three children, he forgot he had a wife...

Yes, our man is still going strong. Long live Jews for Jesus!!

Twinkle: Hypochondria Explained

Lola and I shared a fun Mexican lunch today, and naturally the topic turned to mothers-in-law and the neuroses they create in their sons, our husbands. I shared with her an epiphany I had the other night about the origin of Mr. Twinkle's hypochondria.

Y'all know that Mr. Twinkle loves nothing more than to be sick. Monday night he had a light-induced migraine, and I'll give him that. I've had those, and they suck. OK, he gets one night a week to lie on the sofa with all the lights off while I tiptoe around. However, for the next four days he repeatedly complained that his "whole mouth hurt" and "nothing tasted good"--and the first day he had the audacity to blame his mouth issues on my vegetable soup. He eventually went to the doctor, who was baffled (as usual). I don't like knocking Mr. Twinks because he's a sweetheart, but the ambiguous symptoms do drive me a bit nuts. Show me a confirmed fever or a positive pregnancy test, and we'll talk.

So, the theory that I explained to Lola today is that the only time Mr. Twinks has ever received positive attention from his mother is when he's sick. It goes beyond most mothers' habits of babying their sons--when he gets sick, it's the only time she's nice to him.

My theory was totally proven tonight...when he arrived chez MIL complaining of the ongoing mouth pain, she looked all concerned, asked him if he'd been to the doctor, asked if he had a fever, and suggested some sort of topical mouth spray. He broke out his special prescription mouthwash--it is actually labeled "Magic Mouthwash," clearly a placebo courtesy of his doctor. He proceeded to take a swig in the middle of the kitchen, dramatically swishing and spitting in front of the whole fam. She offered him some applesauce. When nothing on his plate tasted good, she wrapped it up, in case it might perhaps taste better later.

I've never seen that b*tch so solicitious. Considering her usual surly demeanor, I can see why it feels so good to Mr. Twinkle to get that kindness and concern from his mother.

I'm nice to him all the time, so I find it hard to be any nicer when another mysterious symptom presents itself. When I pointed out my theory to him, he did agree with me...he said, "Oh I know! She was all 'Can I get you some applesauce?' " Another step forward for Mr. Twinks. Now if only he could get a firm diagnosis on that mouth condition...

Julep: this is for Dibbs

I'm sure LoLa has already seen this story on Slate (the online magazine to which we are both devoted - but I am not sure if you others share our love). It's about "real life Blind Side" stories, and the author points out that Michael Oher being taken in by a white family is definitely not a unique situation. Of course, we already knew that ... exhibit A the Dibbs family. Good story, though!

Julep: Oops

So this is kind of bad. I sort of forgot Mr-Mama's birthday on Monday.

I didn't totally forget it ... I reminded Mr. J multiple times over the weekend that he would need to get a card and flowers for his mother on Monday. I feel like she is HIS mom, and a present from HIM is more meaningful to her. And I made him call her on Sunday to ask about plans for her birthday since we hadn't heard anything - again on the pretense that he remembers her birthday all by himself, he did the calling - but she and Mr-Papa were doing some sort of tour of the new arena Monday night so they didn't want to have dinner with us. And when he got off the phone I reminded Mr. J to call his mother the next day, and stop by with the card and flowers.

Then on the actual birthday, I totally forgot to call her and wish her a happy day. I remembered on my way home last night and called but she wasn't home. They had some sort of evening plans, and there's no intent to schedule a birthday dinner anytime soon. I explained to Mr-Papa that I had forgotten, please give her my best wishes, ask her to call me when she gets in if she has time but obviously it's not pressing. She didn't call back.

I don't know but would bet a lot of money that Mr J did not call, or bring flowers, on Monday. He had a pretty busy day ... as did I, although by Monday evening we were totally vegged out on the couch together.

It's one thing to skate by with flowers and good wishes, but if you don't even manage that? Now I am going to have to come up with a gift for a woman with more money than she can spend. She reads (but uses the library), cooks, sews, and rides her horse. Anybody have any suggestions?

Twinkle: Cookie Passive Aggression

Woo Hoo! Julep and Dibbs are back in the house!

So, Mr. Twinks is taking the Florida bar exam, which translates to less family time and more study time. To distract Twinklette from distracting him, I thought it would be a good idea for us to make some cookies. I returned to MIL's delicious chocolate chip/white chocolate chip cookie recipe--the one that never quite seems to work out.

They're delish when she makes them. When I attempt them, not so much...but I'm always up for another opportunity to tweak the recipe because I know one of these times I'll get it right (no thanks to her).

Today was that day, my friends. That evil b*tch told me to use 1 egg instead of 2. Can you believe that? That is not the kind of mistake that an accomplished baker like MIL makes by accident. I mean--there is a big difference in baking between 1 egg and 2. Everyone who's ever baked anything knows that the measurements have to be exact and you can't just add or omit an egg and get the same results. How pathologically b*tchy is that?

Of course, Mr. Twinkle thinks the mistake is legit, so our progress takes a step back. He has obviously never baked.

I just had to share.

Julep: I Return

Thanks for holding up the blogging for the past month or two, Twinks and Dibbs. I haven't spent a full week in the office since mid-August ... and actually won't this week either, I have to head to my usual Mountain City destination on Friday. But for the first few days of this week, I will be back here at the desk and I am determined to make some blogworthy contributions.

So let's start off by returning to my best-used theme: my MIL and her shopping habits. First off, there is a kitschy ... something (a box? a faux bag?) made of lacquered cardboard decorated with Halloween motifs by Thai children for 10 cents a day currently sitting on my kitchen island. I would put it someplace more appropriate but I don't know what it is, so I don't know where it should go. And I am afraid to ask Mr-Mama because I don't want to encourage her, or to have her ask if I like it. I suggested to Mr J that the most appropriate place for it was the St Vincent de Paul collection truck at the church last weekend, but he thought not. Unclear whether he thought the good churchfolk would think the decorations were Satanic or just too ugly for resale.

Meanwhile, I made the mistake of telling Mr-Mama that I need some new clothes. I have a few targeted areas that need boosting (perhaps LoLa would like to go shopping with me sometime soon). She took this as a blanket invitation to go spend lord knows how much money at the Macy's. Seriously, I think she bought everything in my size on the clearance racks ... which was incredibly kind and generous of her, BUT.

Y'all so graciously gave up your time last year to help me with the Closet Purge, and you know one main theme was to remove all the articles of clothing I have accumulated over the years from other people, as gifts or hand-me-downs, that simply do not fit or flatter me. Well, Mr-Mama has a tendency to buy me things that she would be drawn to for herself. It's not that her taste is bad - it isn't - it's that she has an exactly opposite figure of my own. She is tall and pear-shaped. I am short and top-heavy.

I need jackets that stop at the hip and have some waist definition, skirts that graze the knee, and square, sweetheart, or wrap necklines. Instead I now have a new suit with a long straight jacket and mid-calf skirt - and a new casual blouse with all sort of metallic adornment around the round neckline. Because if there's one thing I need, it's added weight and bulk in the bosom area.

I don't want to tell this woman I just don't like what she picks out, but I have got to find better ways of saying "no" to her about the wardrobe. She's totally shutting down my usual tactful go-to's of fit and price, because she will alter everything and she won't let me pay her. I know, I know - what a problem, right?

Dibbs: Nuts

I can add to the conversation about nuts. I was in a meeting last week. The teacher had to leave early because her little boy had a pain in his side.

I saw the little boy the next day.

Me: Do you feel better?

Him: Yeah. I found out it only hurts when I do this (grabs in the nut region and pulls up.)

Me: Well, um, maybe don't do that.

So, I guess hitting little boys in the nuts hurts, too. Also, little boys have no idea what not to talk about.