Midwestern Mommy

This past weekend I went with a group of superfun chicks to the Beale Street Music Festival in Memphis. T’was fun (until I freaked out Saturday evening). It was a trip filled with “firsts”. Here’s the run down…

The first night of the festival was rainy in a big, bad way. Despite rain gear, the chicks and I were soaked to the bone. It was the first time I ever stood in the pouring rain waiting for a band to start their set. 

That night was also the first time I’ve ever been in a port-a-potty while it was rocking. (No clue why it started rocking a bit. I don’t remember the winds being that strong. But you know what they say, “if the port-a-potty is a’rocking — get the hell out of there as fast as you can.”)

On a yummy note, after the festival Friday, Jess (see this story and this one about her kids) and I went to an eatery across from the Peabody Hotel. Crawfish macaroni. Never had that before. Mmmmm. Tas-tay!

Saturday also brought a myriad of new experiences - like my first temporary tattoo and my first visit to BB King’s. It was in this packed bar some guy kept pestering me to leave the bar and go back to his hotel room – while another man kept humping my leg. THAT was definitely a first for me. (Both men were sloppy drunk. “Humpty” was dancing.) I didn’t know the “mom who looks like she’s on her way to the grocery store” look was so tantalizing! (Make a mental note ladies!) Who knew that if you want to find yourself a little unwanted attention, all you have to do is put on a $15 pair of capri’s from Kohl’s, a 6-year-old jacket and your wedding ring. Oh and when they talk to you, you should probably be polite. Apparently, to a grossly liquored up man? Politeness = flirting. 

At one point, I went out to the back patio to escape and to get a bit of quiet. (An employee said I could go back there. Apparently other employees disagreed.) This was the first time, I’ve ever had two angry women scream at me simultaneously. It was also the first time someone has called me a “stupid white bitch” (in my presence). 

So I went back to the bar area only to see Humpty and The Pest looking for me. (It got to a point where any time I’d talked to someone else, they’d shoo the other person away and continue to pester and hump.) I was relieved to see dear friend Dana. This was the first time I’ve ever started crying in a bar. (Should I mention I was very sober during this whole ordeal?) I felt trapped and creeped out. So she and I went outside and talked. (Humpty came following but at least he backed off when he saw I was upset.) It started to feel like a horrible experience I went through with a date many years ago. (The guy I’m referring to also did THIS.) The “fight or flight” reaction kicked in. After that, I couldn’t relax.

That brings me to another first… The first time I ever left a trip early. Dear friend Chris had to get home on Sunday. So I cut my trip short. The chicks I was with were very cool about me leaving early. And once home, I spent the rest of Sunday laying around, watching bad movies and gorging on chocolate from this place. And that night, dear friend Sarah sent me pics of all of the cool stuff she and the rest of the chicks were doing. That was very sweet, yes?

All in all, a few weird experiences but the wild wimmins I was with (these chicks plus another named Tina) are super fun. We all look out for each other. We all support each other. We have a blast when we get together. And being with chickies like that? Outweighs any bad.

Thanks to the blogger who loves Johnny Depp more than any woman on the face of the earth can — Mrs. G. She asked about the trip and then we talked about what I should blog about.

Dana, aka dear friend/stylist extraordinaire is probably still hiding in her basement, rocking back and forth in a corner as we speak. Turns out I have freak hair. Freak with a capital “F.”

As in some spots on my head absorb various dyes super fast, while some are incredibly slow. And some parts don’t really absorb much at all.  AWESOME, right? (snicker)

We had no idea as we embarked on this quest to turn me to “the dark side”. But we soon found out that the process wasn’t going to be as easy as we’d thought. So there wasn’t much margarita consumption, unfortunately. Apparently certain medications I take GREATLY hindered the process.

When I left Dana’s Thursday night, we thought the color looked pretty good. But the harsh light of Friday morning revealed all sorts of different colors. (And not in that attractive or quirky-funky-cute way.)  On Saturday, Dana turned into the ”little stylist that could.” I got to her house about 10:30 a.m. She spent the next six hours trying to get an even, natural color. When I was ready to say, “Ah, screw it, let’s just shave my head already,” she was the one to say, “Don’t worry, I can get this to work.”

This photo is the final result. So if you’re reading this right now while sipping some sort of beverage, please join me in a toast. To Dana — the determined friend/stylist who pulled a miracle out of her ass. Yeay Dana!

Do you have a hair color horror story? Please share!

This afternoon, I have a date with a feisty and funny friend named Dana. (No, not the funny and feisty blogger friend named Dana. Although the two do have lots in common which is probably why I love ‘em both!) It has been decided that we will do a little something called “margarita hair.”

Margarita hair:  Your beloved friend who used to “do hair” (or “hahhhrrr” as some say around these parts) for a living will highligh/color your “hahhhrrr” at her house while you both drink margaritas and your kids run amok and eat junk.

I’m looking foward to the experience, as is “the boy”. (He loves her kids. And her trampoline.)

Being that I’ve been a blondy-girl all my life, the decided color is far different– a warm brunette. Been wanting to do it for awhile now. (Yes!    All     of      you      super     hot      brunettes      have      truly      inspired     me. )

So by 6:30 tonight, I’ll either be laughing, crying, or both. Will I bemoan the color I chose? Is combining alcohol with hair color a bad idea? 

Stay tuned…

Have a little review of The Zula Patrol’s “Explore Space!” dvd on behalf of the Parent Bloggers Network at Midwestern Mommy today. Go ‘head. Have a looky-loo. There’s a virtual margarita in it for you!

Now matter what stage you are at in life, or where you are headed? You are not alone.

This is the message that continuously comes back to me when reading the many, many wonderful bloggers out there. No matter what your situation? Odds are someone who has a blog has experienced or is now experiencing that same thing. We are all connected in some way.

I recently participated in a slideshow for WhyMommy. She’s got an amazing group of people who’ve been cheering her on in her fight with breast cancer. Some of the people in the slideshow are friends from high school, friends from her MOMs group, bloggers and even relatives of hers. If you are interested in viewing the slideshow, go for it. If you are interested in knowing the bloggers who participated, keep scrolling. (For some reason this blog design doesn’t really show when I link someone. So now I bold those words, just so you know.)

(Sign holders)

Dear - Marty

Susan - Kristie

We - Amy

Thinking - Heather

You - Jean

Lots - Jessica

We - Kristen

You - Robin

Our - Amanda

Support - Fertile Mertile

Prayers - Liz

and - JJ

Love - Jenn

Us - Jess 

All - Rebecca

For - Nancy

That - A bun’s life

Team - Sarah

(If I’ve forgotten any bloggers, PLEASE LET ME KNOW!)

(Cheering Section)

 Cathy and Nancy and myself.

There were even people who really wanted to participate but couldn’t as peeps unfortunately had been given a very short window of time. Amie and Sanne from the Netherlands support and adore Whymommy too!

And thanks to Marty (aka Canape) who was, at one point, a day away from having her baby and still good natured enough to answer the barrage of e-mails I sent her.

Last night a bunch of us girls went to the Alton Belle to see these guys.

How was the night? Let’s put it this way… None of us have to worry about taking calcium supplements for awhile — in a few short hours, we got enough CHEESE to last us at least twelve months.

Being that I despise casinos and these sorts of shows, I wasn’t originally going to go. But at the last minute I realized that this sort of opportunity makes for blogging gold people, GOLD!

The highlights:The nine chicks I was with were alot of fun and feeling pretty sassy.  If you happened to be at the show? I was with the rowdy wimmins who kept chanting, “Take off your pants! Take off your pants!”

Note to the Chippendales:We paid $21 a ticket. Less crappy dancing! Less singing from that one guy who thinks he can sing! And less lip-syncing. MORE TROU DROPPING. There was one time you all actually dropped your drawers. And then you turned around so we could only see your (covered) butts. TURN AROUND NEXT TIME. The women are there to see what kind of heat you’re all packing. Why do you think there were a bunch of chicks shouting, “take off your pants!” 

Second note to Chippendales:You’ve underestimate us women. It is totally fine to not be 6 feet tall. Wearing Tom Cruise shoes (the kind with soles that are at least three inches thick) doesn’t make you look taller. It makes you look like a dweeb. Plus, we are women. Who told you we wouldn’t notice your stupid shoes?

So funny, yet incredibly gross moment: Watching these guys stick their faces in womens’ crotches. And they didn’t discriminate. They were even seen on the balcony level sticking their faces in the crotches of women far, far beyond the age of 65.

What I learned: Even women far, far beyond the age of 65 like having the face of an oily beau-hunk up against their crotch.

What I also learned: Apparently to these guys? A dollar’s a dollar, no matter WHO it comes from. Ick.

New business idea of the night: While a few of us were waiting in line for beers, two of the girls in our group got to talking. If they owned a bar, what would it be called? “The Fun Hole” of course.

To sum up the evening? Mixing booze with oily “cheese” should be tried once. But odds are, you probably won’t want to repeat the experience. But if you find yourself in such a situation, grin and bear it, then blog about it!

You know what’s really wild (and wonderful) in this here blogosphere? When you visit a new blogger, see she’s from St. Louis then see a photo of her son sitting on a retaining wall. And you have a strange, strong feeling she lives in your area of the county. So you ask her. And find out she lives five minutes away from you. And that you pass by her subdivision fairly regularly.

You know what’s also really wild? When you hear about the wife of a grade school classmate having IBC and you start thinking… Based on what little you know about this old classmate… Could his wife be the always amazing WhyMommy – a blogger you’ve admired from afar for a very long time? What are the odds? But you have this really strange, strong feeling that it could be her. So you take a risk and e-mail her. And then you find out that Yes! You went to kindergarten through eighth grade with WhyMommy’s husband! In fact, you even had a crush on him at some point. And the whole thing is really wild because there were maybe 11 girls and 13 boys in the entire class!

And then you realize…. WhyMommy’s in-laws were at your little brother’s wedding. You watched them polka. (They can do a mean polka.) And? Your little brother, through his marriage, is now RELATED to WhyMommy! Oh, and one of WhyMommy’s aunts? Was your first grade teacher. So cool!

Oh and another cool thing… Is Nina Garcia’s “Little Black Book of Style“. If you’re interested, read a review on behalf of Parent Bloggers Network.