My Deepest Darkest Secret

Confession time.....


I like to think that I'm a good person.    I try.  I help out the homeless.  I pay for people's groceries sometimes.   I've bought the person's coffee behind me at Starbucks.  I don't beat my husband, my kid, or my dog.  I pay my taxes on time.    

See?  A good person.

Take me to a restaurant and turn me loose with all those little candy-colored  plastic dipping cups and I'm not responsible for my behavior. Worse yet take me to  a steakhouse and give me those sharp, rosewood handled knives and I turn into a raving, discerning kleptomaniac.

My husband and daughter have teased me for years.  I am NOT ashamed to say that we have 13 of the condiment cups from Red Lobster.  It's really their fault, though.   Bring me an unpartitioned  Styrofoam  to-go box and what else am I suppose to do in order to take home my pina colada dipping sauce for my coconut shrimp?  Otherwise, the sauces gets in my left over mashed potatoes or that one lonely Cheddar Bay biscuits I threatened stabbing my husband over. I HAVE to take the little dipping bowl home.  There's no choice, really.

You cannot defile the biscuit with tartar sauce.

It's like a rule or something.

If you eat chicken, pork chops, or a steak at my house you will find that all my good steak knives are of restaurant quality.  They should be.  They all came from Logan's Steakhouse or The Road House.

It all started one date night when we went out, and I ordered a steak. After using such dull knives at home, I was shocked by how smoothly this piece of fine cutlery cut.   We spent about sixty bucks that night for a couple of steaks that weren't cooked correctly, but I loved the knife.... I took it home with my leftovers as a consolation prize.  

Yes, I didn't like the steak, but I took the leftovers home.    And I stole a knife.

I'm not proud, people.   It was a low moment, and the beginning of my need for an intervention.

I used the heck out of that knife.  I loved it.   But alas it grew dull.   And an obsession began.

Here's the part where I'm going to try to rationalize breaking one of the commandments.   I only took one knife at a time.   Only if it was really sharp.  And once I had six a set of six, lovely, heavy, sharp Rosewood handled knives, I stopped.

The thrill was gone.  I had a set.

I haven't taken any knives in a long time, and I think it is starting to bother my husband now.  Big Daddy used to get upset by it, but lately he's changed.  

Just the other day, we were sitting in a restaurant, and he was all, "Hey... look at this fork.  It's such a pretty fork.  So heavy in your hand.  It just feels so good when you hold it.   It's almost like my favorite fork at home.  I wish we had forks like this at home.    You want this one?"

I, of course, was properly shocked!   Steal a fork???  Are you kidding?   We have a full set of forks at home!  What kind of fiend steals cutlery from a restaurant?

Big Daddy raised his eyebrow and gave me a look.

Oh yeah.    Me.

What Does the Fox Say?

I am not sure what country this is from.  I am not sure who sings it.   I cannot even say that I have always wondered what the fox says.  I can say that this makes me laugh.  Watch it all and try not to smile. Even worse... try not to sing along.  I dare you.     

Dream a Little Dream

I have jacked up dreams.  Always have.

I usually dream in color, but occasionally I dream  in  sepia tone.   I never dream in black and white.    I dream every night, and I always remember my dreams upon waking.  Sometimes, they are so vivid that I wake up mad at Big Daddy or almost hyperventilating because of crying.

No matter the dream, though.... they're always crazy. Every morning for years, I've told my hubby about my dreams the night before, and for years he has shaken his head and looked at me like I need to be in a loony bin. He's the one who doesn't dream, though,  and *they say* (whoever they are) that if you don't dream, you'll go crazy.  I read somewhere that Vincent Van Gogh didn't dream, and we all know how that turned out for his ear.   So maybe Big Daddy's the crazy one in this relationship.

Just saying.  

The other night I had a dream about the country singer Reba McEntire and her family Olympics in Oklahoma.  There I was, on my horse, talking to her daughter and son (does she even have a daughter and son? I don't know), riding my horse during the fox hunting expedition portion of the Olympics when  Dream Reba pulled her horse up to mine and told me now was the time to begin the karaoke portion of the family Olympics.   So, in my saddle, with my crazy little fox hunting hat perched on my head, I began to sing to Dream Reba McEntire and I wowed her so amazingly, I won the gold medal in her family Olympics for my awesomeness.   Yep, you heard that right.  I won the gold medal.

Don't be jealous.

   Now, to celebrate my winning this symbol of my superior vocal gymnastics,  Reba and I went to her home nightclub complete with pink, flashing lights and hanging silver ball, and she and I did a duet.  I'm sad to say, I sang way better than her.   I think she may have been having an off-night, but she was very gracious about it.  When I told her how amazing this all was to me, because everyone hates my singing and they will never believe that I bested her entire Reba McEntire family, she said that I was the best singer she had ever heard.   She held me as I cried  and explained to her how my sister, junior high choir teacher, and my friend's grandmother used to make fun of my singing all the time.  She said we just wouldn't invite them to her BBQ picnic next weekend at her house.    So there.  I'm eating ribs with Reba and my sister, Carrie, isn't.

I woke up so excited, grinning ear to ear,  and then realized I don't know Reba. I don't know if she has family Olympics.  And I sure as HECK cannot sing.

Talk about crushing.   A little piece of my heart died that morning.  

A few days later I had another crazy dream.  

I was in Brazil and that gigantic Jesus statue there came to life and started walking around.    And it wasn't just a statue of Jesus, but  really Jesus.  He was just a gazillion feet tall and a big, white statue.    No one else realized it was really Him; they just thought the statue came to life with some other random spirit.  Since I knew it was really Jesus , I kept trying to sneak a peek at his real/statue face, because then I would be the only living person on earth who had seen Jesus's face.   Every time I looked up, there were clouds obscuring it, though.  I was getting more and more disturbed by this, until I really listened to Him speak and realized Dream Rio de Janiero Jesus's voice sounded exactly like the Jolly Green Giant in those old commercials.  While I was thinking of the Jolly Green Giant, twelve matadors came running up to Him. He told them to go to Spain and reveal that the Jesus statue in Rio de Janiero had come to life and He dwelt among us now.   Now in my dream, I began to think....twelve matadors....twelve disciples...... the Jesus statue was like the Jolly Green Giant, and he had a friend named Sprout.....that meant that Sprout was showing up soon and who was going to be Sprout....because  God should be the Jolly Green Giant since He's the Big Guy, and  Dream Rio de Janiero Jesus should be Sprout, since He's the Son...but God and Jesus are the same, so they're both the Jolly Green Giant,  so maybe the Holy Ghost would be Sprout, then, and what would that look like....

And then I woke up with a headache.  Can't understand why.

Another crazy dream I have is a recurring dream that happens about once a month. It always freaks me out.

 It's exactly the same and has never changed.   It's in sepia tone and slow motion.  There is a music box that plays the soundtrack to this dream.  It's a song I don't recognize, but the little tinkle-tinkle is very horror movie-ish.    I'm riding my bike with a couple of friends back in the town where I grew up.  We come upon this road that I've never seen before.  We ride down it, all together, and go around this heavily wooded corner.    It takes us to this little perfect, Stepford kind of tucked away neighborhood.   There are hills in the distance which are completely unseen and makes no difference from the flat, farm land entrance.  As we turn into the neighborhood my friends fade away, until it's just me riding my bike through this slow motion perfect hell.  There's the man with his plaid shirt tucked into his khakis who is watering his yard and always turns to smile and wave at me.  There's the older woman unloading her groceries from the back of her car.  She, too, turns and waves.  I can see smoke from someone's backyard as they grill out.  Children frolic in a sprinkler in the front yard.  The music box tinkle continues through this all.  Finally, I arrive at a house that I know, but is not mine.  I go through the sliding glass door and end up in a kitchen where a blonde woman with a large butcher knife is cutting something up on the kitchen island.  She smiles as I come in.  My heart begins to pound, and I am afraid.

And then I wake up.  Every stinking time.   I wake up.  Heart pounding and afraid.

My fear is that someday, I won't wake up.  Someday, I will understand this dream.   Someday, she will speak to me and I know what she's cutting up and why I should be afraid. Someday.....

 And that will be the last dream I'll ever have.  

If I'd Only Known......

When I was young, I, like most of us, spent my youth wishing I was older.

"I can't wait until I have a house of my own," I thought.   Then I got one, and there's not enough storage space and the bathroom has dry rot. The floor keeps getting dirty and needing to be vacuumed.  Someone keeps pooping in the toilet and creating the need for it to be cleaned.  Every light in the house gets left on, and I go storming around turning them off like I'm in the middle of London during WWII and afraid the Germans will see the light, yelling and sighing the entire time about the cost of kilowatts.  I learned new words with my house like interest rates and mortgage payments and points and housing inspections.  I learned fascinating things like the difference between a 15 year roof and a 30 year roof.   I worried about hail storms and termites and ants.   Nobody told me about all this.....

If I'd only known....

"When I get a car, I can go anywhere I want,"  I said to myself.   Then I bought one, and insurance had to be paid and speed limits had to be obeyed.    There were inspection stickers and registrations, and God forbid, you blow a tire.   A set of those babies can cost more than your mortgage.  Happy, happy, joy, joy.  Speaking of joy, let's talk about gas prices.... better yet let's not.    I'll just get more depressed.   There's great vocabulary with this one too like water in your gas, blown head gaskets, broken timing chains (which aren't actually chains, who knew?), and vacuum lock (which does not mean you don't have to vacuum the floors anymore).    So much for freedom.  Who can afford to drive?

If I'd only known.

"Mom is so mean.  I don't feel good and she won't take me to the doctor.  When I'm older, I'll go anytime I want."   Then I got my own insurance, and learned what deductibles and premiums and out of pocket expenses were (such an odd name, out of pocket expense... since it's ALL out of my pocket and it's ALL an expense).   I learned about pre-existing conditions and copays and FSAs and out-of-network charges and  itemized bills.  Go to the doctor?? Who can afford to use the insurance when you're so busy trying to pay for insurance?

If I'd only known.

"I won't cook nasty food like this when I'm older."   Then I had a kid who wouldn't eat a hamburger, pb and j  sandwiches, or ketchup.  Not all together, mind you.  But seriously, what kid doesn't like ketchup? Or a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich?  Seriously??  I would have starved to death had it not been for a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich in my Muppets lunchbox.   Seriously?   Her idea and my idea of nasty clashed.   I learned about nutrition and the 20% percentile for growth and fat for brain development.  I discovered that onions won't kill me and olives actually taste good and salad is not the enemy.   Green vegetables are your friend and you will eat them or you will get this same damn meal for breakfast, doyouunderstandme?  

If I'd only known.


"My kids will have braces and not have crooked teeth like me."    Almost $7,000, an oral surgeon visit, and more hours of my life than I care to count researching orthodontists, my kid will.   I learned about frenectomies and bilateral xrays and ....... Okay... I didn't learn that much other than she'll wear them for awhile and then her teeth will be straight forever if she wears her retainer.... and she will.... or by the name of all that is holy and Crest Whitestrips, I will kill her.

If I'd known about all of this perhaps, I would have been nicer to my parents.   And perhaps I would have locked myself in my room and worn my hair in pigtails and played with my dolls, refusing to grown up, until I resembled Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.

Yep, just like that.     

If I'd only known.