Pre-Teen Hormonal Angst

Cat came into my room telling me she needed chocolate. I gave her a suggestion - cocoa puff cereal. She gave me that look she does when I need to pluck my chin.

Help! What do I do with her when the hormones range? Keep a stash of chocolate candy bars on hand? Nah, too tempting for moi. The last time I had that kind of willpower was when The Big Guy offered me a glass of White Zinfandel. As if.

I got it. Next time, I'll tell her to take a swig out of the bottle of chocolate syrup.

Move Over Cherry Garcia, Momma Mocha Munch Is On Its Way

So PETA thinks we need to spare cows the humiliation and drudgery of hooking their ninnies up to a pumping machine for hours at a time just so we can eat ice cream. They've asked Ben & Jerry's to replace cow's milk with human's.

Hmm. Those poor cows probably started out young and trim, flouncing their perky udders for all those bulls to snort over. Then comes along some sweet talking dairy farmer, enticing cutie cow with an armful of alfalfa and a story about how he's gonna turn her into the next Elsie. Next thing you now, she's strapped to a machine that's pumpin' and suckin' away for eight hours a day, seven days a week. After years of this torment, with her boombas dried up, shriveled and dragging in the hay, she's turned out to pasture. Instead of Elsie, she ends up as Elmer.

Okay, PETA thinks it's cruelty to suck a cow dry but okay for moms? Hmm, Why not. Kids have been doing that for years.

So What Was It Like With Ike?

After nine days without power following blowhard Ike's dance into town, life on Contessa's island was a lot like Gilligan's. Okay, the closest thing to a Ginger gown was my Elvira halloween costume, circa pre-Pinot and Grigio.






And The Big Guy surely isn't the Professor. That guy could whip up a ham-operated radio out of two coconuts and a palm frond. The best thing The Big Guy could do was eke out five minutes on our hand-crank radio.

Gilligan could always find entertainment, whether it was listening to Mary Ann whine or dusting off Lovey's jewels. Our castaways had to make do watching Contessa squeeze into that Elvira costume and laying bets on who could turn the most cranks on the radio in a minute.

Just like a boy scout she once kicked in the ass for trying to help her across the street, Contessa came to the Hurricane party prepared. Even so, she learned a few things:

1) Those two red and green globs that started out as Christmas angels can light up a bathroom for three full days and a half-dozen butterball turkey-scented votives cover up dank, musty odors for nearly a week. Need to find that emergency roll of toilet paper you hid under the sofa? Fourth of July sparklers work just fine.

2) I know now what it must be like to drift off to sleep in the Indy 500 infield while dozens of cars roar around my head, thanks to our neighbor's generator. I'm glad they located it right under my window, too. Saved me from plunking down money on Ambien. A little whiff of carbon monoxide goes a long way toward a good night's sleep.

3) Car batteries charge everything from Pedi Paws to coffee grinders. After a day scrubbing The Big Guy's undies in the sink and whipping up peanut butter/tuna fish casserole in a can, there's nothing more relaxing than a manicure and a cuppa Starbucks.

The biggest tip to keep in mind during emergencies? One bag of FEMA ice can fill a standard toilet and cool down two bottles of Chardonnay. Drinking only Cab and Merlot for more than a week is uncivilized.

Who Misses The Contessa?

Hurricane Ike put me out of commission for nearly two weeks but the Contessa is back, wine glass in hand and as snarky as ever. What timing, too. My last column in the Tribune appeared a couple of days before Ike hit after which I was forced into the dark ages - no air conditioning, no lights, no Internet, no Chardonnay. Desperation levels weren't low enough to have Contessa drinking warm white wine. Another week, though, when the Cabs and Merlots were gone, might have painted a different picture.

Would Anyone Miss Me?


Romantic pining is not dead. It may be in a coma at the Contessa household this time of year, when the only longing in The Big Guy’s heart is for an Astros playoff berth, but it’s alive and well in Italy. A football-loving lifeguard has camped outside a convent, keeping vigil until his runaway fiancée returns to him.

Newsflash to Mr. Italy: say “arrivederci,” the little woman’s not budging. Wifey-to-be saw the light and is staying put. She figured out that while she’s ironing Luigi’s Speedos, he’ll be applying sunscreen to bikini beach babes. When she’s sweeping sand out of the kitchen, he’ll be kicking it up, playing football with his buddies. Nope, she’s found her calling and it doesn’t include watching the beer-guzzling Man Show or discovering wadded up smelly socks stuffed in her lingerie drawer.

As hard as it is to believe, I am occasionally overcome with an urge to slip away. Well, maybe run off. OK, escape. I once considered sneaking off and becoming a nun myself, even hand-picking the convent. It had its own vineyard. I offered to lick, er, clean out the vats. No go. Mother Superior thought I’d have problems with the vow of silence. That, and my rosary beads hand-crafted from pull-tabs might be a distraction.

Read rest of the article here.

Hurricane Ike is headed our way

Ike's gonna be a mess, bringing us 90-100 mph winds, sideways rain and lots of flooding for our neighbors to the south of us. I'm not sure how much I'll be posting the next several days but I have to share a few hurricane preparation tactics I've encountered.

A lady ahead of me in the grocery store had essentials: hot dogs (for the grill), paper towels and a five-gallon tub of ice cream. I can also see it now: after sweltering in the 96-degree heat picking up tree limbs, she opens the freezer thinking, "A cold bowl of ice scream sure would hit the spot right now." Yep. I can see the look on her face when she finds warm, melted milk-mush. Have at it, lady!

I think the idea of using garbage cans to collect water is brilliant since we had trash pick-up yesterday. I'm gonna run out and fill mine from the hose. Right after I polish off our ice cream.

Next Thing, They'll Be Jogging

I never thought I'd see the day when Pinot and Grigio not only got off the couch, but went outdoors, AND exerted more energy than it takes to insert a key into their car's ignition! Now I've got the proof.

Hey, wait a minute! Pinot's got his arm extended in the air just the way he does when he throws a dirty sock behind the chair. If you turned Grigio on his side, he'd look just like he does when I drag him out of bed. Methinks there's some trickery here. Maybe a little photoshop magic.

Victoria's Secret Not So Secret

Every couple of years, The Big Guy gifts me with jammies from Victoria Secret. Nothing provocative or revealing, just comfy. I finally figured out why he shops there and not his usual blue-light specialty stores.

It's the catalog.

The other day, during my annual sweep of kitchen clutter, I picked up a VS catalog, started to toss it out, muttering, "Why do they send me these things? To make me eat more chocolate?"

The Big Guy grabbed the catalog out of my hand, saying, "Hey, baby, it's addressed to ME." Sure 'nuff, the label was addressed to Mr. Big Guy. Turns out, those jammies he buys keeps his name on the mailing list.

Maybe I can convince Tiffany's catalog editors to feature chesty models wearing thongs and angel wings.

Pesky Sales Clerks

My buddy Merlotta dropped in the other day to show off her new figure. She's been dieting all summer and has dropped several dress sizes. She said she actually got into a size four, after the sales clerk chided her with, "Honey, you don't even know what size you wear."

I get the same comment, as the sales clerk takes the size four skirt out of my hand and gently replaces it with a tent.

You Did WHAT For A World's Record?

Nothing breaks a mom out in sweat faster than reading on Facebook that the son she just dropped off at college for his first year has joined the group "Let's Break A Guinness Record." Something told me it didn't involve cramming a bunch of boys into a volkswagon or telephone booth (as if you could find one).



I can't get Grigio to eat fish so swallowing goldfish wasn't gonna happen.



The record is for uniting the most people together in one group. At least they're doing it online and no one has to feed them or pay for port-a-potties.

Whew! I'm just thankful it's not for slamming back the most Guinness's in an hour.

Thinking Hard Makes You Fat

According to research, intellectual activities makes us eat more.

This is my idea of an intellectual pursuit:



We can't all be a member of Mensa:



See where pondering the meaning of life gets you?

Soccer Vs. Hockey Moms

So now, Soccer Moms are out and Hockey Moms are in? That's okay, I was never a Soccer Mom to begin with. It would've meant having kids who actually ran. Or at least jogged. Okay, moved off the couch. The closest I came was when I hollered at Pinot & Grigio to put down the remote and pick up their rooms. They got up and shut the door.

Emergency Preparations

The Big Guy headed out to Lowe's this week in search of a generator. So what's the emergency? Hurricane? Nope, dodged that bullet last week. Sure, there are a couple more brewing in the Atlantic but those are days away from landfall. The last time The Big Guy planned that far in advance was when the Contessa offered to cook Thanksgiving dinner last month. He sealed the oven door.

Nope, he's worried about losing electricity during THE BIG EVENT. His college football team, the fighting Ball State University Cardinals, are playing the featured game on ESPN Friday night. This hasn't happened since...well, I don't think it's ever happened before. This is a piece of history, he said, just like when Danica Patrick won the Indy 500. Oh, yeah, he's still waiting for that to happen, too.

So, let’s see if I’ve got this right. We were on the verge of a what could've been a category 5 hurricane striking us down last week and The Big Guy wouldn’t let me buy bagged ice for coolers. He told me I could bag my own ice, since we upgraded our 1987 refrigerator to a new model that actually churns out ice cubes.

So now he's hauling in a generator as a back-up? Won't he be surprised when he finds I've switched our High-Def, 400-channel cable package to basic: three local stations and the Weather Channel. I hear Jim Cantori does a great play-by-play.

Beauty Pageant For Nuns

I'm sure all of you heard about the Italian priest set to sponsor a beauty pageant for nuns. He wanted to showcase their inner beauty and to dispel myths and stereotypes of old, haggard nuns.

Well, it's not gonna happen.

Lots of people got upset, and I must tell you, I wasn't too keen on his limiting the contest to sisters between the age of 18 and 40. Um, most sisters today are in their 70s and older, for starters, and if it's inner beauty he's searching for age shouldn't matter.

'Nuff on that. However, my friend Sr. Mary Margaret has started her own contest! Check it out and submit a photo of your favorite sister, living or deceased: Beautiful Nun Contest.

Here's my entry:



Meet Sr. Maria Goretti, my first grade teacher. Sadly, she passed away at a very young age, when her car collided with a train. As Billy Joel crooned, "only the good die young."

Three reasons why Sr. Goretti earns my vote as most Beautiful Nun:

1. Take a look at her and figure it out for yourself.
2. She taught 51 six-year-olds by herself, in pre-airconditioned South Florida while draped head-to-toe in a wool habit.
3. She indulged my fantasy as a lounge singer, only smiling as I belted out hits of the day like "Hi De Ho" and the "Take it off, take it off, take it all off" Noxema jingle.