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Wednesday, September 28, 2005

The Hairy Widow

So my little suburban Houston town has been experience rolling blackouts over the past week, in order to conserve energy for the following reasons:

1.) We have been under a heat advisory for the past million years. Everyone has been running their A/C's at full blast, just to cool their houses down to a comfortable 95 degrees, which, in turn, has been sucking every last drop of electricity from Entergy.

2.) Hurricane Katrina. (The ho-bag.)

3.) Hurricane Rita (The big tease.)

So last night, when I finally came home from work, my power was out. It was about 7:30 pm and I had about 5 good minutes of daylight left before all was about to fade to black. What's the first thing you would do in this situation? Unpack your flashlight? Find your stash of Hurricane-Rita-D-batteries? Start lighting some candles? Not me. The first thing I did was shave my legs. You know, just in case Guy #6 came around later on...I didn't want to be unprepared.

Cost of Razor? $0.99
Cost of Shaving Cream? $2.99
Cost of having legs as smooooooooove as buttah? PRICELESS

posted by The Merry Widow at 4:41 PM | 16 comments

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Just say no to crotch critters!

Why is it that whenever you have to pee really really REALLY badly, the toilet seat cover that you pull from the thing on the wall decides to tear?

And while you're standing there, crossing your legs, doing the pee-pee dance, why is it that the second toilet seat cover that you pull decides to be difficult? (i.e. The middle section of the cover won't detach from the little tabs and you have to very delicately and very slowly tear the little tabs, lest you tear another toilet seat cover in haste. All of which is very hard to do when you're doing the pee-pee dance at double time now. And yes, you HAVE to use the toilet seat cover because your mom has instilled into your brain, since you were a zygote, that if your bum ever so much as brushes up against the bare toilet seat, then you will catch a raging case of herpe covered cooties, shrivel up and die. DIE, I TELL YOU! And no, you don't want to do the squatting method because you managed to do a million lunges at the gym yesterday and just the mere thought of squatting causes your muscles to spasm up in agonizing pain.)

And when you finally get the toilet seat cover situation all straightened out, and you finally sit down and release the 12 gallons of water that you've been holding in your 1 oz. bladder, why is it that in that moment of cathartic relaxation your body decides to rip the loudest fart ever? A fart so loud that you swear that it registered on the richter scale?

And why is it that at this EXACT moment in time, someone else decides to walk into the bathroom and use the stall right next to yours?

And why is it that no matter how long you sit on the toilet and wait for the other person to leave so that you don't have to do the "yes, that was me who farted the loudest fart ever" walk of shame, the other person just won't leave?

And why is it that when you finally decided to just buck up and get the hell out of the bathroom, the other person decides to also leave at the same time? And now you have to both wash your hands at the sink at the same time...in dead silence.

AND why oh why does the other person in question have to be one of the senior directors at your company?

Why, God? WHY???

posted by The Merry Widow at 5:40 PM | 19 comments

Monday, September 26, 2005

You can take the beaner out of the barrio, but you can't take the barrio out of the beaner.

9/25/2005 - Night of Rita Touchdown

Me: "...they opened up the church near my house as a shelter for all the stranded motorists on I-45. I spent all day today baking food for them. I might head over there tomorrow to see if they need any more help."

Guy #6: "Yeah, I spent all day yesterday handing out water and snacks to the stranded motorists on I-45."

Me: "Really? That's cool."

Guy #6: "Yeah, now we've both done our good deeds for the year. So what are you doing tomorrow?"

Me: "I don't know...I think I might take a page from the Hurricane Katrina survivors and start looting. Mama wants a new plasma TV. You in?"

Guy #6: "Just tell me when and where."

posted by The Merry Widow at 10:55 AM | 15 comments

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Professor, what's another word for pirate treasure?

What do you call someone who calls you past midnight, after a night of drinking, and asks you to come over?

Answer: Guy #6

Guy #6 (aka Hottie McHotterson) has been a "regular" in my night life since January of this year. Yes, he was put on the back burner for Guy #5, Architect-Purse Guy, and even Asshole with small dick during the past year. And yes, I was put on hold for this ho for awhile. But throughout the entire year, we've always been in touch, we've always hung out with the same group of friends, we've always been, how can I put it, territorial of each other.

But lately Guy #6 has become more than a "regular" in my life. He has become a fixture. Since the beginning of August, we have been together almost every night. In fact, the only times that we haven't been together were when I was vacation, when he was on vacation, and for 2 days during Rita-fest 2005.

And lately, our nights have incorporated more of the following activities:
1.) Watching movies that are not pornographic. (Not that I have EVER watched pornography - Merry Widow is an innocent girl.)
2.) Cuddling.
3.) Spooning.
4.) TALKING.

Did you hear that? I said TALKING, people. WTF? If there's one qualification that I want in a booty call, it's NOT talking. Talking scares me. Talking makes me like Guy #6 more. Talking makes me think that maybe he likes me more. Talking makes me want to get all domestic. You know, like cooking pot roasts, sewing my own curtains, and having 10 million of Guy #6's babies. This, in turn, makes me close up. "Don't open your heart, Merry Widow!" I tell myself. "Guy #6 is not good for you! He does not fulfill any of the qualifications listed here."

And then you know what the bastard had the nerve to do? He called me like 800 times a day over the past week just to check up on me and make sure I was doing ok. He knew that Hurricane-bitch-ass-ho-Rita was freaking me out. How dare he check up on me! Now I have to actually admit that I like him as more than a booty call! Now I have to stop acting like I don't care what he does!

Kristine told me the other day that her "booty call" guy actually had the nerve to move in with her and become like the bestest/dreamiest boyfriend ever. His name is Shaun. Maybe you've heard of him. And you know what I say to that??? HELL NO! I don't want to have a bestest/dreamiest boyfriend ever!!! Because that would mean that I would no longer be lonely and I love being lonely! I want to be lonely forever!!!

OK, I gotta go now. I'm on my way to Guy #6's house. Damn him and his hotness.

posted by The Merry Widow at 11:19 PM | 9 comments

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Houston, we have a problem.

I moved everything away from the windows.
I bought all the necessary food, water, and supplies.
I put away all breakables.
I packed all my important papers and photos.
I packed my clothes.
I packed my cat.
I packed cat food and kitty litter.
I called my parents, who were relieved because they've been trying to get a hold of me all day.
(Apparently, all circuits are busy.)
I moved everything from my deck to my garage.
I got cash.
I filled up with gas.

And when I finish typing this blog, I'm packing my computer. It's coming with me.

See y'all on the flip side. Yee Haw!!!

Merry Widow Out.

posted by The Merry Widow at 11:30 PM | 16 comments

Houston Calls For Mandatory Evacuations In Storm Surge Areas


posted by The Merry Widow at 1:00 PM | 6 comments

Me? Worried? Nah...

Chronological list of events as to how I spent my day:

1.) Woke up.
2.) Turned TV to CNN to make sure Hurricane Rita wasn't here yet.
3.) Got ready for work.
4.) Watched more CNN, just in case Rita made it to Houston in the hour that it took me to get ready.
5.) Pet my cat.
6.) Watched more CNN.
7.) Got on Internet to see if there was more current information about Rita.
8.) Listened to my new Kanye West CD.
9.) Went to work.
10.) Talked about Hurricane Rita with every single person that bumped into me.
11.) Went to lunch.
12.) Decided that I needed to use my lunch break to buy leave-in conditioner and straightener for my hair. (If Rita really does hit, I at least need my hair to look fabulous.)
13.) Went back to work.
14.) Checked cnn.com for updates on Rita.
15.) Talked to boss about Rita.
16.) Asked boss for vacation next month. (Going to Mexico! WooHoo!)
17.) Checked cnn.com again.
18.) Cured cancer.
19.) Checked cnn.com
20.) Took a coffee break for the soul purpose of getting away from my computer and obsessively clicking the hurricane tracker button on cnn.com.
21.) Freaked out.
22.) Talked to The Defective Writer. She calmed me down.
23.) Left work.
24.) Bought a months worth of cat food for my diva-slut cat.
25.) Called my parents.
26.) Came home.
27.) Cooked all the meat in my fridge/freezer, in case the power goes out.
28.) Paid all my bills, including writing an early check to the mortgage company. (Ouch!)
29.) The Defective Writer called me on the phone. She was no longer calm.
30.) Went into super-duper, full-fledged panic mode.
31.) Talked to neighbors about evacation plans.
32.) Looked up flood plain maps for my neighborhood.
33.) Called parents. Freaked them out with my freaked-out-ness.
34.) Threw up.
35.) Took a shower.
36.) Blow dried my hair. (It looks fabulous right now, btw.)
37.) Drank (slammed) 3 glasses of wine to calm myself.
38.) Wine kicked in.
39.) Decided to check cnn.com one last time.
40.) Blogged.

posted by The Merry Widow at 1:38 AM | 13 comments

Monday, September 19, 2005

I like mine frozen, with no salt

Every once in awhile, I freak out. I start to panic. I worry, worry, worry. My palms sweat, my heart races, my mind starts going through every worst scenario possible.

It takes a lot to freak me out. A whole lot. In fact, the last time I freaked out was the day that I realized that my husband was really going to die. I haven't freaked out since then. Until now.

Word on the street is that Hurricane Rita is heading straight towards Houston.

And in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, I'M FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

I lived at Homestead Air Force Base, Florida (about an hour south of Miami) for 10 years when I was younger. You might have heard of Homestead A.F.B. It was completely wiped out in 1991 by Hurricane Andrew. Until Hurricane Katrina, Andrew was the costliest hurricane to date. During my life in Florida, we went through a few close calls with hurricanes, particularly with Hurricane Hugo in 1989. Outside of Florida, I've also lived through a few bad blizzards, an earthquake, and most recently Tropical Storm Allison, here in Houston, in 2001.

None of the previous storms ever scared me. But this time, it's different. This time I am alone. During my Florida years, I had the protection of my parents and in the latter years, I had the protection of college roommates, and then later, the protection of my husband. And even though these people did nothing to lessen the effects of the storms at hand, I felt safe just knowing that they were with me. I didn't have to sit alone in the dark, without power, without someone to hold me in their arms.

I went to Sam's Club today to stock up on supplies. I was totally thinking that I was gonna beat the hurricane panic attack and buy everything I needed before anyone else even thought to do so. And when I got to Sam's Club EVERYTHING WAS ALREADY BOUGHT OUT. That's when I really started to feel alone.

I bought the last case of water. I bought the last pack of D-batteries. I waited in line for an hour to get gas for my car.

Deep breaths, Merry Widow...deep breaths.

I need some Xanax and a Margarita. Do you hear that, God??? I said a MARGARITA. NOT a hurricane Rita!

posted by The Merry Widow at 10:12 PM | 14 comments

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

The Tao of Poop

Have you ever had a really really really bad Charlie Horse? The kind that wakes you up in the middle of the night, screaming in pain and making you panic into a frenzy of stretching exercises to make it go away? Well that is a walk in the clouds compared to the pain that I feel in my lower back right now. Muscle spasms galore. I couldn't even get out of bed until about 10am today. And when I did make it out of bed, I could only crawl. So I crawled to the bathroom so that I could pee. If anyone could have seen me, I'm sure it was pure comedy watching me try to get up, onto the toilet, without dying of excruciating pain. And to make matters a little more annoying, my cat kept trying to rub against me, purring and purring like the little cat slut that she is, trying to get me to pet her. For some reason, she always wants me to pet her and hold her while I'm on the toilet. WTF?

So I finally finish my business, crawl out of the bathroom and drag my body into my living room, where I conveniently left my heating pad and cell phone. But by this point, the pain is so intense that I'm no longer crawling, but doing that body shimmy thing that army guys do while they're in boot camp, training in one of those obstacle courses from hell. You know, the part where they have to shimmy their bodies underneath that camouflaged netting that's only like 1 inch off the ground? Yeah, that's how I dragged myself into the living room. Luckily for me, my cat sheds a lot, so I also ended up dragging a pound of cat hair with me. I won't even talk about the rug burn.

So after like 30 minutes of doing the body crawl, I finally make it to the living room. So far, I've watched 3 old reruns of Jeopardy, Love Connection, The Newlywed Game, and I've caught up on all the current episodes of MTV's Real World and Laguna Beach. Oh yeah, and I watched Celebrity Fit Club on VH1. Did you know that the Snapple Lady is on that show? Not only that, but this is her second season of being on it. She is way way determined to lose weight and has a heart of gold, but I'm tired of hearing her snapple lady voice. "Why didn't you just change the channel, Merry Widow?" you may be asking yourself. Well, I had to throw the remote control at my diva cat so that she would stop using my sofa as her scratching post and there was no way that I was gonna drag myself back across the living room again. So I watched like 5 episodes of Celebrity Fit Club, all in a row, snapple lady and all.

So I'm lying on my back, trying to figure out how I'm gonna get to the kitchen to get some pain killers and a glass of water when it hits me. I need to poop. And I need to poop now. (Damn you, Taco Bell!!! I will never eat you again!) You've never seen anyone do the body crawl back to the bathroom so fast. I bet I would have beat any army/marine/air force/celebrity fit club guy any day of the week. I swear I dragged my body clear to the other side of my house in like 0 seconds flat. The BMW M3 that I've been eying lately can't even go that fast. (It goes from 0 to 60 in 4.5 seconds.)

Now I have to get all G.I. Jane and use all of my arm muscles to hoist myself onto a somewhat sitting-like position on the toilet. So I finally make it, drop my kids off at the pool, reach for the toilet paper, and then...well...every time I tried to twist myself so that I could wipe, well...it just hurt WAY TOO MUCH. I tried to wipe myself from every angle/position possible but I just couldn't get to THE spot. You know to where I'm referring. Let's just call it the exit door. So I'm sitting there, absolutely determined to make sure I clean up, cause there's NO way that I'm gonna pull up my panties unless I'm spic and span clean. Not to mention that slut cat is back, rubbing and rubbing and purring and purring all over my legs. What is it with her and the toilet? Finally, I contorted myself in just the right way so that I can finally get to the exit door and get things sparkly clean. Let's just say that it involved me lifting a leg in the air. It wasn't pretty.

But you know what the funny part is? Doing all of the contorting and stretching while trying to wipe my ass must have been just the right thing because miraculously, my spasming back muscle started to ease up a bit. It was as if one of those evangelical preacher guys on TV had just smacked me on my forehead with his palm and declared, "YOU ARE HEALED!" Because after I finally flushed the toilet, I actually used my legs and stood up and started walking.

Now granted, I still can't walk in an upright position. I walk with my body arched to side, as if I'm doing calisthenics or practicing to be a banana.

Normal Me vs. My Back Hurts Like a MoFo Me

But at this point, I don't care. Now I can get to my drugs, now I can answer the door after I order a pizza, and now I can frantically get to my computer so that I can blog about it all.

posted by The Merry Widow at 3:10 PM | 19 comments

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

I See London, I See France

But I don't wanna see your dirty underpants!!!

OK, seriously, people have the nerve to send their used, nasty, skanky, std-riddled, crotch clothes to the survivors of Katrina, as part of their donations. And while their donations are greatly greatly appreciated, no one wants to wear someone else's Hershey stained banana hammocks, no matter how many times they've been washed.

So a fellow H-Town blogger, Debutaunt, has started "Operation Panty Drop" as part of her effort to help out our new Houston residents.

So, if you want to help, please send NEW panties ONLY (ALL SIZES - male, female, kids, big mammas too) to:

Geeks for Hire
Katrina Underwear Drive
5868A1 Westheimer, Box# 621
Houston, TX 77057

That's NEW underwear, people. No one wants to see any DNA evidence, last night's taco bell, visits from Aunt Flo, or ingredients for making bread on their panties. So please keep all that at home and send fresh panties this way instead.

Thanks,
The Merry Widow

P.S. Anderson Cooper, you can mail your underwear directly to my house instead of to above listed address.


posted by The Merry Widow at 10:58 PM | 6 comments

Monday, September 12, 2005

No, I'm not picky.

So here's the deal. I soooooooooo want to fall in love. I just can't find the right person with whom I shall fall. Yes, I'm having tons and tons and tons of fun with Hottie McHotterson, Guy #6, but unless he starts calling me before 10pm everynight, he hardly qualifies as a boyfriend, not to mention someone to whom I can present my heart. Booty call, he is, and no, I'm not complaining, but I'm definately ready for something a little deeper. I wouldn't mind if it was with him, but who am I kidding??? I'm probably better suited for someone who doesn't think that I'm "deprived" because I haven't seen the movie, "Bad Santa."

Guy #6: "You haven't seen 'Bad Santa'?"

Me: "Nope."

Guy #6: "You're deprived."

I've traveled all over the world, I've sky dived, I've been water rafting, I've learned 2 languages, I've learned how to dance the traditional dance of the Mexicans, I've earned a bachelor's degree, I've volunteered with kids with cancer, I've run in a 10K race, and now I'm gonna try to get into medical school. I'm the deprived one??? What have you done? Going to Austin last week doesn't count.

ANYWAY, I've come up with a list of qualities that I would like in a guy with whom I will fall in love.

WANTED:

22-35 year old male
At least 5'6"
Minimum education must include Bachelor's degree
Christianity a plus, but not a necessity as long as spiritual
Must know how to do the following things:
cook, clean, iron, vacuum, wash dishes, kill bugs, change oil, fix anything in my car, mow lawn, cuddle, make bed, have intelligent conversation, know how to admit that you're wrong, make me laugh, tell me I'm smart, tell me I'm beautiful, adore me, buy me purses, drive in a big city
Must also have passport for last minute trips to Mexico or any other part of the world
Must look like either Brad Pitt, Anderson Cooper, or Guy #6



Any takers???






posted by The Merry Widow at 3:02 AM | 24 comments

Guy #6

sigh...

posted by The Merry Widow at 2:56 AM | 0 comments

Thursday, September 08, 2005

I Only Care About One Game Every Year


posted by The Merry Widow at 4:58 PM | 2 comments

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

I'm a Toys R Us Kid

This past weekend, I went to Colorado to attend the wedding of an old college roommate, named Charlie. Charlie was my first friend that I made as a freshman in college and he quickly became my favorite drinking buddy for the remainder of our college careers. Charlie was also the member of a certain Animal House fraternity, so I soon became a regular (groupie) at his fraternity house, and was a permanent fixture at all of their parties. So when I showed up in Breckenridge, Colorado, this past weekend for wedding festivities, I was quickly greeted by many "old" fraternity boys, most of whom I hadn't seen since I graduated from school in 1998.

Now mind you, these were the boys that taught me how to do a keg stand, taught me how to chug from a beer bong, and taught me how to drink, well, like a good ol' frat boy. Needless to say, I partied hard with these boys, during my college years, so it was great seeing them again after all this time.

So soon after the wedding ceremony was over, we all made our way to the reception and headed straight for the, ahem, open bar so that we could party like it was 1994-1998. But the funny part was that instead of ordering the reminiscent naty-ice, keystone-light, or cheap shot of tequila, we had all graduated to more "grown up" drinks like martinis, merlot, and scotch. Not only that, but our conversations had matured as well. Instead of talking about getting tickets to the next Beastie Boys concert, or last night's kegger, we were talking about mortgages, 401K's, and life insurance policies.

At what point did we all grow up???

The guy with whom I once stayed up all night with, watching Wizard of Oz while listening to Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon," was now showing me pictures of his wife and kids. And the guy who once drank so much that he passed out in the same twin bed as his fraternity brother was talking to me about real estate values and the stock market. And my first friend from college, the man of honor, Charlie, who was once dubbed the "King Cobra" of his fraternity was now getting married, to a sweet and smart girl. (I won't go into details about what "King Cobra" means, but let's just say that Charlie was well liked by many, many, many, girls.)

But as the night went on, and more drinks were drank, our "old" ways came out in full force. We ate, we danced, we drank more, we were once again college kids. And maybe we didn't feel so much like college kids the next morning, when we woke up with our grown up hangovers, but at least we remembered that getting older doesn't have to age us. But it instead provides us with "old" friends. And growing old with "old" friends is the best way to grow at all.

posted by The Merry Widow at 12:13 AM | 7 comments

Monday, September 05, 2005

When the Saints Come Marching In

I don't think I've ever met 2 people more positive, upbeat, charismatic, and spiritual as my friends, John and Kara. It's been a over a week since they've been evacuated from their home in New Orleans, into my home in Houston. It's been a week since they realized that they may have just lost everything that they own. And it's been 28 years since they've realized that they are truly blessed...lucky just to be alive and healthy. These 2 can turn any situation into a positive one. They turn stress into faith, trauma into strength, tears of sadness into tears of laughter.

My in-laws, who live about 5 minutes from me, are also housing some New Orleans refugees. They know, for a fact, that they have lost everything. They've been informed that the flooding is as high as 3 feet on the second floor of their home - the home that they've lived in for the past 30 years of their lives. When John and Kara found this out, they immediately began devising a plan as to how they could help out this family. "What should we do?" Kara asked me. "We don't really have any money to give them. Maybe we can just cook them some meals everyday so that they have one less thing to worry about while they're rebuilding their home." I didn't have the heart to remind Kara that she probably didn't even have a kitchen anymore herself. But at the same time, I marveled at her true sense of selflessness. Both she and John are always the first to volunteer to help any friend in need.

The funny thing is that while John and Kara are grateful that I opened up my home to them, I, instead, feel like I should be thanking them. Having them in my home has reminded me to have faith, to be more kind, and laugh a little louder and longer. Just last week, in a moment of self-pity, I prayed to God and asked Him to send a little love my way. He sent me John and Kara the next day.

Amen.

posted by The Merry Widow at 1:36 AM | 9 comments
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