Squeezin’ Into Spandex Again

The chain mail bra the leather skirt
I tug and pull and kvetch
And after all the time gone by
I’m lucky these things stretch
Cause I will not reveal my weight
And I won’t tell my size
But I’m trading in my mom jeans for
Some skinny fit low rise

Chorus:

I’m squeezing into spandex again
I’m having a night out with my friends
I’m thinking that I’m cool but maybe no one’s fooled
I’m squeezing into spandex again

Lie on the bed and summon family
Tightening my grip
And tell them all come on and help me
Getting these things zipped
Then stuff my legs in platform boots
And help me get upright
I’ll hobble round and not sit down
For the rest of the night

Chorus

Bridge:

I’m an aging metal momma
Lookin for a some brand new tricks
And I’m getting down in leather
Right until the lining rips
Gotta anaconda smile
And it’s all around the town
And I’m a hottie with a body
Least until I turn around
I’m a leather and lace lovely
I’m hood top dancing baby
Til the fuzz will lock me up because
They’re thinking that I’m crazy
All you young ones step aside
Because I’m joining in the ranks
And I hold it all together with
A badass pair of Spanx

Rockin’ out for the Angsty Old Ladies!

Mother

She always hated that picture
It wasn’t very good
I kept it by the bedside lamp
And that was where it stood

I told her it’s cause it was one
Our dear old dog was in
Sentimental reasons all
And much to her chagrin

But when she nagged and she called me
A stupid worthless cow
I saw revenge was mine to take
I knew not when but how

And when she asked me why it was
I never did get married
It was that picture that kept me
From getting tense and harried

I looked into the face that showed
The signs of her exhaust
The eyes were out of focus so
They seemed just a bit crossed

The way the camera angle was
So it seemed to distort
Her figure so her hips were wide
And legs were way too short

I noted roots that showed through gray
Before I went down for
The lovely ritual that was
Our nightly pedicure

Now she’s dead and gone you see
I’m blissfully alone
By complications of a toenail
Fatally ingrown

And now it seems there’s just so many
Duties to fulfill
Notifying relatives The
reading of the will

Whether it’s cremation or
Perhaps she will be buried
And a picture to submit
For her obituary

It’s My Son’s Party And I’ll Hide In My Bedroom If I Want To

I write this from my bedroom,
Safe under lock and key,
Sitting just feet away from,
My son’s birthday party.

And if there’s any doubt as to,
What trouble may await,
Allow me to take this moment,
As I elaborate.

For things are truly sinister,
Beneath all of this joy,
I could get smothered by the scent,
Of prepubescent boy.

Or maybe all is going well,
Until I hear a cry,
Cause it’s all fun and games until,
Someone loses an eye.

Or maybe one precocious boy,
Starts giving me some lip,
And while I am cutting the cake,
The knife suddenly slips.

And maybe his mother’s a bit
Too anal retentive,
As she gets upset over the fact,
I wasn’t more attentive.

Or perhaps it is this woman,
Deserving of abuse,
As she cheaped out on a gift card,
My son couldn’t even use.

Somehow I made it through the night,
And emerged in good graces,
By throwing cupcakes in their mouths,
And pizza in their faces.

But I did not a barter my soul,
No deals with the devil,
And though my son showed gratitude,
I deserved a medal!

Or maybe one of those dumb shirts,
For a night so gnarly,
Printed with the words “I survived…
My son’s 12th birthday party.”

A Girl’s Guide To Dating Ghouls

I used to date a vampire,
I tell you that man was fine,
I told him “You can bite my neck,
Just about any old time!”
Sadly my folks did not approve,
With regret my heart did break,
When they told me to find a man,
Who enjoyed mom’s garlic steak.

So then I dated a werewolf,
And though for words he lacked,
I tell you that he really was,
An animal in the sack.
But that too came to a sad end,
And it was his decision,
After I subtly recommended,
A local esthetician.

So then I dated a zombie,
Not a great situation,
But I guess after the werewolf,
It was out of desperation.
But he was really very sweet,
So I tried not to complain,
Until once after nibbling my ear,
I caught him eying my brain.

And these forays into romance,
I suppose you might question,
But I was only following,
My dear mother’s suggestion.
Maybe this was not exactly,
What mother did envision,
But for now I’m afraid I’ll stick,
To artists and musicians.

I Suffer In Silence

My daughter’s birthday hand in hand,
With memories of Legoland,
A broken shoe, a bag forgotten,
Could not make my memories rotten.
A hotel room where it would be sheer luck,
To escape lice and bed bugs,
And my patience wearing thin,
With all the lines that we stood in.
But all this would barely matter,
My daughter’s happiness I would rather,
Nor did it dampen the spirits of our foursome,
Lest we think it any less than awesome.
But my soul with Satan I’ll secretly haggle,
To see this place drowned in Kragle.

That’s My Girl!

Oh, my sweet dear darling child,

Never could my imagination be so wild,

As to think heaven could bless me,

With a child quite so lovely as thee.

What wonderful thing did I do or say,

To have you as a gift for Mother’s Day,

And as I look at her and all her charms,

I long to hold her in my arms.

Her face so sweet, so little and cute,

But all she says is “I have to toot,”

And then produces an odor so foul,

All I can say is “That’s my gal!”

Happy 7th To My Sweet Anjeli-cat!

Nubile Flesh

When on the street my eyes do rest,
Upon a piece of nubile flesh,
He reminds me a bit of you,
Or some other boy that I once knew.

And so as we lock eyes,
I allow myself to fantasize,
That in another place and time,
That for one night he could be mine.

But in his eyes not that lingering look ,
And so it seems I have mistook,
This boy for a potential lover,
I’m old enough to be his mother.

Women Our Age

Oh leather pants, oh leather pants
Oh how you mock me so
Hot pants and halter tops
I guess you all must go

And all the boys I turned away

I guess they’re older too

And maybe they’ll remember me

As the girl that they once knew.

Soccer moms and working moms

Same age as me, I’m told

Do I fit in so seamlessly?

Surely I am not that old.

Days turn into weeks and months

Yet I spend my time denying.

I am still that 16 year old girl

It’s the mirror that is lying.

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My Grandfather Died Today

My grandfather died today. No really, you don’t need to be sympathetic. He was nearly 94 years old and his quality of life was not what it should have been and honestly, it was one of those things where we were just waiting for him to die.

The last time I saw him was about a year ago. He had no idea who I was and he kept staring at the meal schedule and asking me if it was time for dinner. I would scream in his ear “Dinner is at 4:30 and it’s about 2:30 now so, another two hours.” He would accept my answer and after a few seconds, the process would repeat itself.

The truth was, although it would have been kind of me to continue seeing him right up until The End, it was difficult for my children (he scared the bejeezus out of my daughter) who I had to take along, and he really didn’t know who I was, and, within about 2 minutes or so, he had no memory of ever seeing me. Not to mention the obscene amount of gas it took to get there and back. But I suppose, this is all beginning to sound like a lame excuse.

I imagine the women who worked in the nursing home seeing less and less people coming to visit the patients there, myself included, and thinking that it was sad…

I’m sure many people know how it is caring for old people. It is burdensome and expensive. My mother is not young herself, and her husband, quite a bit older than her, is also in failing health, I give her lot of credit for staying there and hanging on until the end.

I’m not going to lie. At the end, there was a lot of morbid jokes being made.

My mother sent me the news in a text today when I was at work. She tried to keep it light hearted, something like, “your grandfather passed so see ya!” How did I feel? Well a bit relieved, yes, but also sad. My grandfather was a bit of a curmudgeon, but he was the man who supported me when my dead beat father walked out. He was a good guy in the end.

I wrote back to my mother, “I actually feel a bit bad”. And her response came “Me too”.

Those two words written on the electronic screen just looked so sad and lonely that that alone brought tears to my eyes. After all, after our parents go, what is left between us and death?

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Play Dates from Hell

As the mother of two, I am currently play dating with about 7 mothers.  As a somewhat unsocial type, I never thought my social calendar would be so full.  I guess it’s partially my own fault because I feel that if I schedule a play date for my daughter, I should probably schedule one for my son, which has me running all over Hell’s half acre trying to get this one here and that one there and get this one from here and that one from there.

But what I have come to expect is that for every child that wants to hang out, there is a mother who also expects, a chit chat at the very least if not a whole afternoon of gossip, sitting on the sidelines of whatever park, pool or cultural center we have picked for the afternoon, while hoping our children are polite and don’t beat each other to a bloody pulp. This was not the norm when I was a child, but, as they say, it’s a different time. This makes no sense to me but obviously translates to the fact that I will have to be social with parents well into my children’s teenage years i.e. there is no end in sight.

Now of course some of these women are truly lovely, but who wants to hear about them? Much more interesting is Sara, the recovering alcoholic and divorcee who left me and my child waiting for her and her daughter for two hours when we last play dated. She often questions her mothering skills and her house is a mess,  and I don’t mean a delightful, lived in, clothes strewn on the floor mess. I mean like dishes in the sink with remnants of food that are ready to get up and walk away mess.

Now let me introduce you to Mariam. Mariam seemed like a nice, sensible woman until I recommended her son join my son in one of his classes at School of Rock. Apparently my son and I are now responsible for the measure of her son’s success or failure in the class, to the point where she is insisting my son come every weekend to help her son practice, visits which are, as far as I can tell, completely fruitless.

And finally, there is the lovely Lucy who invited me to her Pasadena townhouse to show me  ‘her world’ which consists of her handmade clothing and self decorated bedrooms and bathrooms. She also bought clothing for my daughter in the hopes that she would be there to model the clothing. Alas, she was not as she, of course, had a play date of her own. I know Lucy probably sounds lovely and well she is, but the whole thing smacked a bit of heartbreaking desperation and favors I couldn’t possibly return.

So what is play date etiquette here? I could just never call these women again and hope my children don’t request another play date, a prospect that truthfully racks me with guilt not to mention awkward run-ins at the supermarket or schoolyard. So what do you say? It’s not you, it’s me? We just got out of something serious and it’s too soon to make a commitment? We need some space? Or maybe we should just choose the brutal truth and say: Listen lady, just because our kids are friends DOES NOT mean we have to be friends.”

And while on the subject of play date etiquette, I wonder, how long do you wait between play dates before you call again? If the three day rule applies in dating, do we then translate this to a 3 week rule? And how far in advance does the play date need to be planned? Do we just casually call the night before and say “Hey, if you guys aren’t doing anything tomorrow… because, you know, we’re not desperate or anything…”

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