Suburban Goddess

“Mom said to tell you you need to get over that bald man hang-up, because you’re getting older now and you’re gonna see a lot of it.”

One of my favorite places to eat is a little hole-in-the-wall icehouse in Old Town Spring. It’s called the Wunsche Brothers Saloon, and they offer old-fashioned Southern home cooking, with some of the best squash casserole I’ve ever eaten. The decor is rustic, and around the perimeter of the restaurant there is a railing to simulate that “front porch” feel. On Friday, I decided to take my parents out there for an evening of family fun.

The hostess seated us against the window, which put us directly between the stage and the afore mentioned rail. We enjoyed a basket of delicious Shiner-beer battered onion rings (mental note, 2.4 miles) as we waited for a local performer to take the stage. A few moments later, the sounds of an acoustic guitar filled the air, and for the first time in a long time, I started to relax and have a good time.

As a parent, I abhor seeing children run unfettered through a restaurant… as a previous waitress, it makes my blood boil. So I usually keep Alex on a very short leash, but when live music in concerned, I make an exception. We were far enough out of the way that I didn’t reign her in when she slipped from her chair to start doing a little toddler jig in the aisle. She knows the drill; don’t stray, stay close to the chair, and all booty shaking is fair game.

It actually seems to inspire the musicians, and she provides entertainment for the surrounding tables because, let’s face it, the girl can dance. Or so she thinks.

We watched with amusement as Alex gyrated and jumped through song after song. She strayed a little further as each song progressed… until she was hanging from the rail across the aisle. She continued to dance, lifting her leg up on the pole before swinging around it with childhood abandon. I didn’t think anything about it, but apparently, it gave my mother cause for concern.

“She sure likes dancing on that pole, doesn’t she?”

“MOTHER!”

“Why do you feel you think they think they’re entitled to more?”

“Our whole generation is like that. We’re Gen X.”

“Gen X, huh?”

“Yeah. We’re self-centered and tech savvy, and we always want to know what’s in it for us…”

“Why is that, you think?”

“I don’t know sir. Your generation raised us that way.”

“Ouch.”

I recently had a guy trying to worm his way into my good graces… telling me all the things I wanted to hear. Of course, it’s easy to know what I want to hear; all you have to do is come here and do a little research. So maybe, just maybe, I set myself up for this kind of thing.

But you forget…. I’m not as stupid as I appear to be.

So I hold said person at arm’s length, waiting for true colors to show. It’s only a matter of time; Ive discovered all I have to do is wait them out. Give them the rope, stand back, and watch the lying bastards hang themselves.

All I ever ask for is honesty. Don’t pretend to be something you’re not. Why is that so damn hard for people?

My parents came in yesterday (hence the gap in posting; I was preparing) and I was trying to get the house presentable before they arrived. So I pulled out all of my implements of cleanliness, cranked up my Amy Winehouse and proceeded to dance around with a duster… After chasing all the dust bunnies from their happy homes, I pulled out my vacuum and unwrapped the cord, leaving it in a pile on the floor near my front door.

My front door is often a place that gathers clutter. Within the past week, my tow package came in for my Jeep, so I had it set near the door because 1) I wanted to remember to ask my dad to install it & 2) it was too heavy to move around. Well, a few days later, the ORIGINAL tow package I had ordered also arrived from the UPS graveyard, so now I had 2 monster pieces of metal next to my door. As I leaned over to plug in the vacuum, I noticed a huge dog-hair-tumbleweed had gathered beneath them, so I tried to move one and it fell over. I yelped and jumped clear before it hit my foot.

Good thing.

I picked it up and decided it drag it to my Jeep, because I have to return it to the UPS store to ship it back to the manufacturer. When I returned, I resumed my plan and plugged in the vacuum cleaner. I flipped the switch, expecting the familiar roar that sends the dog scurrying for cover, but nothing happened. I moved the couch out and plugged the plug into the lower socket, stood up & flipped the switch again.

Nothing. (blink. blink.)

Convinced I had either run my vacuum to death (”cheap Walmart POS”) or I had blown yet ANOTHER circuit in my home, I unplugged it and began to roll up the cord. About halfway, it abruptly ended, chopped cleanly in two. I looked down and realized I had not only chopped the cord, I had chopped it into three distinct pieces. I couldn’t have chopped it any cleaner with a pair of wire cutters…

(blink. blink.)

It took me a moment to realize that the tow hitch must have severed it when it fell over. But I ask you…

Why me?

I thought I’d be a great mom tonight and set Alex up with my laptop in the back of the Jeep while I took care of the yard work. I usually put her back there with some toys, and she’ll play quietly for about an hour before it becomes a chore to keep her inside. So today, I’m thinking:

“Hey, I have a Dora DVD. My laptop plays DVD’s…. Let’s give her a break and let her watch Dora in the Jeep. BRILLIANT!”

So I sit her in the back of the Jeep, Pooh on one side, Tigger on the other… she’s fascinated by the fact that she can watch Dora OUTSIDE, and everytime I pass her with the lawnmower, she’s layed out happily on her little tummy, feet kicking in the air, glued to the screen.

I am Supermom.

About an hour later, the yard no longer looks like a rainforest, the beds are weeded, the grass is edged, and I have an amazing sense of accomplishment. So I walk up and snap the laptop closed, give Alex a big kiss, and bring all the child paraphernalia inside. A while later, she’s fed, bathed, and laying happily with the dog on the floor when I open my laptop.

There’s black Sharpie all over the screen. My. 17-inch. MacIntosh. Powerbook. Screen.

For a moment, I think I lost consciousness. I actually closed the screen and opened it again, just to be sure I wasn’t hallucinating. I wasn’t. It was still there.

“Alex…. come here…..”

“Yes Mommy?”

“Did you do this?”

“Color Dora, Mommy! Alex drawed Dora!” She said it with such a sense of pride and accomplishment that I couldn’t find the heart to wrap my fingers around her neck… I sighed as I closed the screen, kissed her on the head, and put the laptop out of reach.

I am Stupid Mom. Lesson learned; always check the perimeter for objects of destruction.

I was trying to figure out what I wanted in a person, because right now I feel a little lost, and Angelina probably isn’t going to give up Brad anytime soon… or vice versa. So I’ve really started to think about what’s important to me in a relationship. So here goes:

He has to be romantic. (There goes 75% of the male population immediately.)

He has to be faithful (We’re now down to 5% of men).

He has to have values and morals close to my own (which leaves the door open to all kinds of riff-raff.)

He has to want a family. (No smart-ass comments here. This one is SERIOUS.)

He has to have ambition, but money shouldn’t be what he’s obsessed with. (He should be obsessed with ME! I have that part down, it’s the ambition that’s missing)

He has to have a love of travel (because I get stir-crazy, and I STILL have not seen BLUE FREAKING WATER.)

He has to have the ability to move across the classes, and be able to either fit in or find humor in either situation. Sometimes both.

He must absolutely, positively, under no circumstances be rude to my family. EVER.

So that’s it. Oh, sure, there’s other little details, but they’re really superficial and shallow, and I don’t want to look any more like a flake than I already do. So, I don’t think it’s too much to ask. So why is he so hard to find? Or have I already found him, and I’m just too stupid to see that?

I’ve had a few positive experiences with my MySpace account; I’ve met some really great people through it.

On the flip side, I’ve met some real jerks, too.

Today I received a message from a guy who I have denied “friend” status three times. Apparently, he forgot that he sent me a message already. But today, I stopped and really looked at the picture, because the guy looked really familiar. It was then that I realized; I DID know him. We run in similar circles, and I would have never know him to be a horny slimeball looking for a “sportf#$k.” (I didn’t even know this term existed.)

I wouldn’t have imagined it, because he’s married.

He obviously didn’t realize we had met before (with his WIFE). I pondered blasting the sleezebag for the piece of crap that he is, but I just didn’t have the energy to waste today. Besides, what good would it do? He obviously doesn’t respect women; getting reprimanded by some woman he barely knows wouldn’t be a significant enough event to make him change his life. Given his personality, he would probably just think I was crazy for passing up a “sportf#$k” with such a hot piece of manmeat…

Seriously, who made up this term? It’s almost funny. Is this going to be sanctioned by the Olympics? Boy, that would boost the ratings…

“What are you doing?”

“Eating…”

“I see that.  I’m talking about the WAY you’re eating.”

“What?  I peel the caramel off the top, eat all the chocolate off, and save the cookie for last.”

“Can I have the cookie?”

“That’s sick!  No, you can’t have the cookie!”

“You’re performing a Twix autopsy, and I’M the sick one?”

When I stepped out of the door to run last night, I was not greeted with the typical Houston humidity; you know it well if you live here. It’s the equivalent of inhaling warm gel.

But last night, there was a light breeze… the raging temperatures had dropped significantly, leaving a calm, cool evening in its wake. I met more of my neighbors last night than the entire time I’ve lived in my new neighborhood. People sat happily on their porches, waving as I ran by. Others took advantage of the cooler temperatures to complete a little yard work. It seemed there were children everywhere; kids on skateboards, kids on bikes, kids just playing in their front yards. The normally quiet neighborhood was buzzing with activity.

I originally chose this neighborhood because it was older… I didn’t want a McMansion. I have a modest 3-bedroom with some beautiful trees on my property, and the other homes are well-maintained with older, established trees shading what is overall a quiet, modest middle-class neighborhood. Recently, I had started to question whether I had made a good choice… but last night cemented the resolve. As I ran past home after home, the smell of barbeque pits and freshly mown grass complimenting each breath I took, I suddenly felt the peace I’ve been searching for. I was home.

I truly was a Suburban Goddess.