The Big Guy's Secret

The Big Guy let me in on a little secret tonight as we drove to meet his parents for dinner. Since he's got the week off from work, he packed up all those pairs of work underwear. You remember, I mentioned how he saved some of his worn-out-but-not-entirely-ripped-up shorts to wear on the weekends but would never dare wear those to work. He marked them "W" for weekenders, to wear when he worked in the yard. Those shorts are so hole-y that the Vatican has canonized them for sainthood.

The Big Guy's true confession: "I'm going 'lawn' tonight."

As Cat would say, "Eeewwww."

TMI

Master of Disguise

A good friend came into town yesterday and hooked up with her former jogging buddy. At 6 a.m. She called after they finished their nine-mile run and asked me to meet them for coffee at Starbucks. At 8 a.m.

Since I had just rolled out of bed and had no time to get all gussied up in the usual Contessa manner, I threw on a disguise. Just in case I ran into anyone I knew. I didn't want to disappoint them. The Contessa has an image to uphold, you know. Severe bedhead called for a ball cap and glasses instead of contacts helped cover up the make-up-less face.

Final touch? Workout clothes and tennis shoes, so I'd blend in with the runners. Perfect. No one's ever seen me in workout clothes. The only working out I do is weight lifting - carrying cases of wine from the car to the house. My idea of a jog is tailing Pinot & Grigio out the door when I tell them it's time to change their bed linens. Sprinting? Yeah, those are the hours I spend on my cell phone gabbing to Zinfa Delle.

It worked. A passer-by asked pointed to the chocolate creme-filled donut I was inhaling, er eating, and offered, "Carbo-loading, eh?"

Tween Love Really Bites

The day Cat and millions of tween girls have been drooling over has arrived: the premiere of Twilight, the movie based on Stephenie Meyers series of true love, vampire-style. Not only is the book a knockout but, apparently, so is the leading male character, Edward Cullen.

There’ve been riots in malls where the actor, Robert Pattinson, has appeared and even moms admit to a little lust in their hearts.

Contessa fully understands how little hearts beat faster, breaths of air get caught in throats when a love-crush comes on screen. She gets that way every time Jack LaLanne, As Seen On TV, unlocks the power of juicing. But, over that bloody-mouth Twilight twit with an overbite and pasty skin that makes him look like a Florida snowbird right off the jet from Jersey? Get real. Okay, at least vamp boy doesn’t wear black socks and tennis shoes.

No, siree, Cat and her chums should spend a little less time hanging out at Hollister and more time tuning into Nick at Night to catch a glimpse of a true cinematic hunk. They’ll experience the kind of crush that sends a girl running home from school and flipping on the television before her mom has a chance to say, “Re-stock the wine cage, please.” I’m talking about another guy who hung out in a cave at night and bloodied low-life animals instead of sucking blood out of them. Yep, Robin, Boy Wonder, companion of the Caped Crusader, Batman.




What’s not to love? By night, he’s a crime-fighter cruising in a hot car and by day, a rich boy with his own personal attendant to cook his meals, clean his clothes and tuck him in at night. No, not the Contessa, Alfred the butler.

Each week, all decked-out in skin-tight leotards, micro-shorts and a cape whipping around his head, the boy of Little Contessa’s dreams twirled down a pole hidden in a closet and landed firmly in her heart. Can you say “Holy Hearthrob?” Boy Dude was easy on the eyes when he wasn’t in costume, too. When not strutting around in his ‘tards, Boy Wonder dolled up in either a tux or tennis togs. Let’s see that vamp-wimp Edward try wearing white. Those blood stains are impossible to wash out. Alfred would be one pissed butler. You know what they say about butlers: “If the butler ain’t happy, nobody’s happy.”

Sad to say, Contessa finally outgrew her crush on Robin. She grew up, matured, and turned her crushes to more respectable men. “It’s the story, of a man name Brady…”

Chaperoning Middle School Dances or Taming a Prison Uprising?

I was in the kitchen baking cookies when the door bell rang. Again. And again. It kept ringing for at least ten minutes. That’s how long it takes before the smoke alarm goes off.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Pinot asked, taking a break from his morning push-up.

“Nope, it’s only a prowler.”

“It sure looks like Merlotta,” Grigio added, breaking out in a sweat over topping his three sit-ups-in-a-row record. “She’s wearing that red hat you hate.”

Yep, it was Merlotta, on the prowl for dupes, er, volunteers. Every year she marches through the neighborhood on a hunt for do-gooders to help her out with one cause or another. I managed to hide from her last year but Pinot & Grigio weren’t as lucky. She roped them into an adopt-a-boy auction for her pet charity, Moolah for Moos. High bidders took home a teenage boy to help with chores and the money went to feed starving cows. It’s amazing how much feed 50 cents can buy.

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Cruising for Fun

The Contessa just spent a few days on a girlfriend cruise to the Bahamas. Lotsa fun with her sister and a few other gal pals. We behaved. Mostly. You know what they say, "What happens on the ship stays on the ship."

We were off to a rocky start, though. When it was time to muster, where crew takes you through emergency procedures and points you toward your lifeboat, we were told to walk up two flights of stairs and gather in the auditorium. Last time I looked, lifeboats were stored outside, um, near the water.

The first thing the crew member asked was if anyone had any special needs so they could be put on the appropriate list. Okay. Where's the wine list? We'd been on board for an hour without so much of a sniff of a cork. Talk about a special need!

The crew member walked us through putting on our life jackets, pointing out a built-in flashlight and whistle. Good, when the lights go out we'll be able to find our way to the bar.

The lady told us that in the case of an emergency not to worry because the ship was stocked with unsinkable life rafts. Isn't that what the captain on the Titanic said?

The cruise was fun, even filled with celebrities. I got my photo taken with Elvis Pressly. He didn't look dead to me, although I thought he was from Tennessee, not Japan. Must be how he aged.

Cat Fighting

A couple of weeks ago I said I plunged to the depths of hell when I chaperoned the 6th grade dance at our YMCA. Thank goodness I didn't volunteer last night. Festivities hit a level where even Dante wouldn't descend: a cat-fight between 12-year-old girls.

Cat and her friend were all abuzz when I picked them up, filling me in on the details. Seems one hapless young boy decided to dump the girl he was "going out with" in favor of another without letting the first girl know. First of all, this going out between middle-schoolers is strange because they don't go anywhere. They're just "going out." Sorta like when Pinot & Grigio say they're going on a jog and they don't budge from the couch. Must be a mental thing.

Second, it's clear Hugh Hef Jr. is clueless in the ways of women. And chicken shit, to boot. When the fur started flying, he cowered in the corner crying. I've seen guys do that before. The Big Guy, for one, when I came home with the electronic side door to my van missing. I don't see what the big deal is. It came off its hinges when the side of the garage shifted, in what must've been one of those once-in-a-century Texas earthquakes, and slammed into the door as I was backing out. It's not as if I didn't try to get it fixed. I nearly made it to the repair shop before it fell off completely. At least I left it in a ditch, resting on soft grass.

Cat said Girlfriend #1 caught sight of Hef Jr. hopping around the floor with Girlfriend #2 and got into the act with a little bitch-slapping. Girlfriend #2 followed up with shoving and that's when all hell broke loose. Girlfriend #1 started a little fist-action, pummeling #2 until #2's nose started bleeding.

It ended pretty quickly and both girls, along with #2's mother who was chaperoning, were asked to leave. Apparently #2's mom threw in a few of her own verbal punches, telling #1 she'd kick her ass if she ever touched her daughter again. Yep, if I'd been chaperoning I'd be in that corner with Hef Jr.

This took a minute to sink in. Okay, it took a glass of wine to hit me. Two 12-year-old girls were actually beating on each other? I know that scene never made into High School Musical. I asked Cat and her friend if they'd even know what to do in a fight.

"Oh, yeah," Cat assured me. "Cat-fighting is in a girl's instinct."

"You start with some slapping and shoving," her friend confided, getting a little too excited if you ask me, "and then you go for the head, grabbing and yanking out hair."

"You end up pulling and tearing at her shirt," Cat said. "Maybe then you'll end up ripping a hole in it."

Oh, that's cruel. It's one thing to get slapped around or to lose some hair. Bruises fade and hair grows back. But to rip up a perfectly good Abercrombie shirt is just evil.

Happy Birthday Pinot & Grigio

I can't believe it's been 19 years since I gave birth to the twins! It seem like only yesterday they slept away their days, cried throughout the night and chowed down every three hours. Right. That was just yesterday.

They were born five weeks early in a small hospital in the south, where birthing twins was a big deal. I had spent my last three weeks there, trying to ward off an even earlier birth. The hospital didn't have a ward or specialized staff for women in early labor, as they do now, so they had me stay in the labor and delivery ward. For three weeks, I laid in bed listening to the moans and screams coming from the other labor rooms. Ya think the hospital would mail their invoices.

I counted at least a dozen people in our room during the delivery. Each boy had his own nurse, plus there was my doctor, my nurse, a pediatrician, the anesthesiologist, a few nurses from another floor, the aide who brought me breakfast every day and I think I spotted a couple of the construction workers who were remodeling the labor and delivery wing.

Those guys became my new best friends. They'd come in every morning, pass the room and wave hello. On their way out, they'd wave again and I'd holler, "See ya in the morning." After about ten days watching other women go in and come out within a day while I stayed behind, the foreman finally approached the charge nurse and asked, "Can't you put that woman out of her misery and take the kid?" I wish he was around to say that now.

Seriously, my little grapes have brought me nothing but bunches of joy!