how do you know when you're visiting a house full of women?

The other day we have a visitor, who shall remain nameless (cos he can't give us a shout out on his blog) who was scared when he entered the bathroom. He later tells sarah that he thought the baby girls' headbands that are displayed keenly on a rack on the counter, were underwear (not just panties, but garters as well). Such a man - what normal chick wears a fucking garter? The last time I had one on, my husband's cousin was ripping it off my thigh at my wedding, but I digress. Why would we display such treasure for all to see? I'm thinking it was a personal fantasy of his gone bad. REAL bad. I prefer my panties to be displayed on the floor, inside out, next to the silk scarves Maya has tied around my bed posts for use in her her circus act. Sarah was so scared the first time she saw the silk scarves tied to the bed and my bra lying unapologetically on the floor next to the bed. She had no idea what she was getting into moving to the mewall. Anyway, I guess when a man comes to a house full of women he expects to see underwear and dildos lying around. The only dildo left out is my daughter's microphone - see previous post title "my daughter the sex fiend". NO more fantasy, we're tidy - we keep those things in drawers. (well sarah prefers the basket of love).

xoxoxo,
gnite. J

Something to Remember During Hard Times

For all my friends who are going through hard times, or even just a single bad day I offer you this:

Throw away yesterday for today is a brand new day.

I heard a song tonight that suggested this and I thought it was a simple reminder that every experience we have only stays with us as long as we want it to. If it's a difficult one, throw it away and take what you need from it to grow and then move ahead - today is yours to make of it what you will. Even the hardest things we have gone through in life teach us something. Sometimes it takes a long time to see the lesson and appreciate it, but from personal experience I have learned something from even the worst things that have happened to me (I must say I have lived a very blessed life with few "bad" life experiences). The important thing is to take the lesson, learn from it and live what you have learned. Goodnight.

Too Much Time on My Paws - Lou's First Post

So if I wasn't emasculated enough living with 4 women, the gals have really tipped the eunuch scales tonight. I obediently put myself to bed with the little girls until I was awakened by the familiar clink of ice cubes in a glass. BIG MISTAKE. I came out to find my two moms enjoying a drankity drank (or 4) in the "library". I was getting a lovely ear job from my mom when my Udder Mudder had the brilliant idea to paint one toenail - of MINE! I acquiesced - any attention is better than no attention at all. Udder Mudder painted the whole damned foot - luckily I had that worthless dew claw clipped as a baby, only leaving four toenails available. Adding insult to injury they photographed the whole disaster. Overall, my first pawdicure wasn't too bad, i must admit.

xo,

Lou Dog aka Louise

Jane's Gettin Serious (100 pts if u know that song)

Eventually even the fun comes to an end and the Mewall blog must get serious. Without seriousness, the fun is simply superfluous crap. So tonight, if only for myself, I would like to share my emotional space. I had a shitty day at work, not a big deal - likely 100 more of those to come in 2008. I make the conscious decision to go back every day. Until the day that I just don't go back. It took me 1 hour and 50 minutes, with an overactive bladder, to get home home from work; also not a big deal. I made a conscious decision to commute 30 miles to work. Now I am home alone. I have only heard my voice in my head and aloud a few times when speaking to Lou, my trusty companion. Even those words were silly, "Lou, do you know what a kiss is? this is one. *Smooch* - Oh, you don't like kisses, well I give them to you every day!" So basically I am bored, which I pretend to crave daily, but when I actually have nothing to do (aside from paint, run, lift weights) I find myself at a loss and alone with my thoughts. SCARY for me - I usually run from my thoughts because when I go deep I get sad. However, tonight I am not running from my sad thoughts; instead I am sitting with them. I got this idea from a book, so I am giving it a whirl. When I think about the many rash decisions I've made in life, I generally don't like myself. Then I consider more poor decisions I've made and the impact they've had on others. Then I feel like real shit. Tonight I lament my divorcee status. The sadness I've caused my children and David. Though he doesn't blame me anymore, I still wonder if I could've just stuck it out for my kids. The entire course of their lives would be different. But I didn't, so isn't that wasted emotion? Then I think about how happy they are. How their lives were determined before they were born. How resilient they are. Then I realize the suffering I think they have endured is adult suffering that they aren't even aware of. The real sufferers are David and Jennifer. Our landscape is the most drastically changed. Usually I would push these thoughts away with thoughts of my silly girls. But not tonight. I know deep inside that my happiness every day is because of them. It doesn't matter how I struggle with myself or work or traffic or romance. Without them the struggles would be meaningless. With them I can laugh. They are my sun, moon, and stars. I see their little bikes in the garage and I want to laugh and cry simultaneously. Their skin is a part of me and a part of David. Their tiny noses and round rumps. If that isn't proof of God's hand in my life I don't know what is. Moving on (since this isn't a post of thoughtfulness but of train of thought)...my yin (to my yang) said to me on Friday as i complained of my ridiculous mortgage payment (more than I make a month). "But would I trade my routine life with a comfortable mortgage without children for your mortgage payment and those girls?" Well you know the answer. We both did. Thank you JC for that perspective - I haven't been able to shake it since. I wouldn't trade any of my disastrous, destructive life decisions because I have learned something from each of them. And on top of it all, I have the sun, moon, and stars every single day, right in my arms. Should I really be sad that my kids will never take another family picture? Well, a little. But I want more than anything to celebrate the variety of living that they will experience. I love their father dearly - we have blessed ourselves with an incredibly odd friendship. That is my blessing for my children. I thank him for accepting me that way. I have so many incredible people in my life. People who know that when I am in turmoil I fall off the face of the earth for extended periods. And other people who have to hear the minutiae of my struggles, and still listen, gently guiding me through my mistakes with honesty and love. All of these people accept and love me. I hope that I can one day leave an indelible mark on their lives by giving them what they have given me, which is the gift of what a friend needs, when they need it. My blessings abound. So see? This works. Had I not sat with my sadness for 20 minutes I would not be sitting here all blissed out because of the love that is extended to me daily, sometimes in the oddest, most unexpected ways.

When we set up this blog, Sarah and I agreed we should be careful to whom we give the address. What if we write something shocking? I just did. And it's scary, but I really don't care. SO many people hear me being humorous and light, self-deprecating even. I'm human and even thoughtful. Hope you didn't get embarrassed learning that. Thanks for listening. I love you all. Really I do.
xo,
J

Welcome to My Nightmare

Not many people get to witness me go apeshit. In fact, I pride myself on being able to remain calm under most circumstances. Sure, I have countless little hang-ups and anxiety triggers...but over the last (almost) 34 years, I've nearly perfected the art of "hide your crazy" poker face.

There are two things, however, that make me lose my proverbial shit:

1) Injured animals (more specifically, animals being injured).
2) Birds.

(I can't really explain the bird deal. It's just a totally irrational mindfuck I've had since I was little. Let's just say I was not surprised at all about the Avian Flu pandemic -- been waiting for that filthy little ball to get rolling for the last two decades.)

Tonight, I was fortunate enough to come face-to-face with both panic inducers.

While reveling in our domestic bliss (Jenn taking out the recyclables, and I the trash), I suddenly heard a booming, "LOU!! No!!!" I whipped around in time to see two giant black wings beating furiously. Fantastic! A crow two feet away from me. It didn't WANT to be near me, and I'm sure it would have been happy to vamoose to accommodate my neuroses -- except for the Boxer jaws (and possibly paws) wrapped around his flailing body.

I'm not exactly sure what happened next because I was too busy squealing, screaming (like a girl, even), and then clawing my way through the front fence while Mama Jenn yelled, "Go, Sarah, Go!" She TOTALLY had my back.

Apparently Jenn was able to pry Lou off the bird before it got too National Geographic, and we watched the injured bird hobble around the backyard while its homies circled around making a ruckus. I, for one, suggested we let Lou back out to finish the job. (But then I remembered he likes to lick my face on occasion. I can't be getting all cuddly with him when he's got bird parts hanging off his jowls.)

It's two hours later, now...and the lovely (and I do use the term loosely) "Tina" from Animal Services came to save the day. She netted the little guy and took him away in her truck moments ago.

Anyone have a Valium?

--S

My Daughter the Sex Fiend

Just when I thought it was safe to open my eldest daughter's lunch basket, I had the scare of the century. Out of the basket I pulled a green cat-like object, sculpted from beeswax. Fine. Wrapped in the cat's tail is a gold colored object perfectly sculpted in the image of a PENIS. I was home alone, so I swallowed hard and set it on the counter. The next morning, a bleary eyed and sleepy voiced Zoe walks into the kitchen and looks at it, exclaiming most innocently, "Oh good, you found my cat with a microphone." In a composed voice, unnatural to me, I replied, "I sure did sweetie. That's a great microphone." She confessed that she had her BFF make the cat because she took too long perfecting the microphone. Maybe I should'Ve paid more attention to the Christmas sugar cookie she made at age 3, in the shape of a penis and called it her "Christmas Snake". One-eyed snake, maybe. Wish me luck, those teen years can be a real bitch.

J

Sometimes Anal is a Good Thing

Though you will all agree that being anal is sometimes a drag, tonight I have proof that anal ROCKS! Let me share my tale of woe cum bliss. Sarah and I received a long awaited package: the new entertainment center I ordered. When it arrived early Saturday morning, it came in 6 massive boxes. So much for "some assembly required". That is the epitome of litotes (look it up). So we waited for the opportunity to bust out the dyke drill and get 'er done. Monday was the night. We busted open a box, and another, and another. After successful assembly, we called it a night - I finished the remains of her third vodka-and-whatever (my 4th). This evening we tackled the final two boxes. Mind you, instruction reading is our forte (and we gave the bottle of Sky a break tonight), so we had no troubles. Until the last screw was screwed. We realized that we had missed an "up" and one shelf looked a little freaky. I was good to go, having left my anal tendencies at the pharmacy door. Unmedicated Sarah on the other hand felt it just wouldn't do. I was irritated to say the least. In her idiot savant way she devised a plan to unscrew the Ken "cam"initti bolts and just flip the inner shelves. I assumed easier said than done. She is relentless in her pursuit of perfection and said that she'd do it with no involvement from me. I agreed and moved on to pumping up my Bosu ball - I can open a gym in the garage now. Anyway, let's just say she got 'er done and I apologize for doubting the anal bliss. JC, I know you're smiling now. And so are we because it's done and done well. Now I move into my anal problems of cardboard and recycling. Off to Edco for my weekly deposit of boxes.
More later. . . xo,
J

Private Dancer

So, I've succumbed to peer pressure and am writing my first freaking blog. Happy now, Jenn?

The thing is: Jenn has always been more of an extrovert than I. (I know, I know...a shocking confession.) I am the more private of the household, and the thought of miscellaneous strangers on the Internet peering into my life makes me a little cagey. But since we're only up to two loyal readers, I suppose I'll be a'ight.

And what's this business about me having always been the hipper one? More condescending and snarky...sure. Jenn was the one voted Best Dressed in high school. MAN, I wish I had a scanner. If I recall correctly there was a hip scarf and gold coins involved. (FYI, Jenn...call me a bitch proofreader again, and I'll have to make a trip to Kinkos with a copy of the Helix Tartan c. 1990.)


--S

BITCH PROOFREADER

Well the posting strike has already come to an END. Sarah is a fucking NAZI (she is German, so I am not at all shocked). As I fucking write this she has already deigned to correct my comma usage. Jesucristo, I haven't even gotten to the reason for the posting strike's end for fuck's sake. As I was spellchecking the LAST post, she was giving small "hints" a la - "use another l there or the word (that I made up, mind you) will be read as ma-hailed, rather than your intended ma'halled. IRRITATED. Does she not understand I feel the dumbest in this quad of readers/non-posters (Sarah, JC, NARL, me) and she is correcting me??? How will I ever have the balls to post again?

She'd like you all to know that she was not only DRUNK while able to correct my stellar grammar, Lou was also humping her leg. Multi-tasking much??

Gotta go cry. (And reconsider looking for a job as a technical writer) - she corrected this sentence too before it was perfected. I declined her edit. She's just about dead to me. And the least pure of the triad. At least she's a smart HO.
xo,J

Tonight's Festivities

So the baby girls are gone, my first night of freedom in two weeks, and Sarah and I are ready to party. It's a bit cold out, so we opt for a stay in night. I can't stop until the Taj Mahal is mahalled, if you will. So, I decide I must complete the tweaker pink paint job in my youngest daughter's room. So, the vodka is flowin' and so is the paint. After Tuesday night's disaster, I am taking the booze slow, Sarah not so much. I'm still gun shy after puking in the public restroom on company time. Anyway, as I reflect during my paint party, I realize that we all (my two readers and I) await Sarah's first post. Still waiting beeotch. Apparently she is playing the role of a teenage penis in its first voyage to the promise land. SCARED! (She's always been a bit hipper than I am, so I don't know what's up with this). My resolution? I may just have to go Gandhi on her ass and go on a posting strike until she gets her sweet little ass in gear (not gay, I swear). So brush your tears, you may not hear from me in a while as she is apparently stuck in the 20th, century that is.

I bid you adieu as I continue on my journey being the change I wish to see in others. Or whatever Gandhi had to say about that. It was a topical reference, NARL. That 's your first shout out, BIG BOI. :) xo,J

We feel a little gay (not that there's anything wrong with that)

Now, if you know Sarah or me at all, you know we are down with the gays. (Some of my best friends are gay - isn't that what everyone says?) Anyway, lately we've been doing some around the town stuff with the girls - dinner, shopping, etcetera. We are both convinced that we look like two mommys and that any day one of the girls will begin calling us Mama J and Mama S. Neither of us is particularly girly- I've the shoulders of a linebacker and the hips of a pre-pubescent boy. Sarah throws down with a cardigan and thinks she's the lipstick. But she is TALL. Either way, shopping for a bed for Sarah together at Pier 1 MV was the coup de gras. I knew it was going downhill fast when I inquired as to the availability of bed rails and the sales gal asked, "What size is the bed you sleep in?" I felt it necessary to shout out, "Hey Sarah, what size is YOUR mattress?"

Not sure she was convinced as I traipsed across the room in my wifebeater and bermudas. I'm just sayin'. Which leads me into my next blog...My Best Friend, My Dyke Drill.

xo, J

The Beginning

We had such good intentions last night when we decided to set up our blog. WE composed a beautiful intro, only to be shut down by a weak signal from Cox. So now the mood is gone. All I can say is that we decided to get hip and start a blog that will serve as a roadmap of our progress at Mewall and settling in as domestic "partners". I can't promise much - just an intimate view into the lives of two semi-cougars (JC claims we are Pumas at this early age - thank you JC, you always have my back) who are cohabitating in the most innocent sense, raising two crazy monkeys, a wayward bunny, and Lou, the Patriarch Pooch.

We have so much to fill you in on - we've been here nearly a month, and the adventures began with the first stroke of a paintbrush.