Tag Archives: Relationships

25 Things To Do In Bed That Are Non-Sexual But Still Intimate!

woman-in-bed-with-man

For the sake of this list, let’s presume there are some very good reasons why you’re looking to implement it. Let’s also assume you’ve already thought up basic cuddling/snuggling and watching movies. Great! Now it’s time to depart into some odd, quirky, playful, and unique little activities that may not have occurred to you simply because you’re not me.  Without further ado . . .

  1. Play Truth or Dare with one another.
  2. Plan a vacation just by talking. A real one, or a dream one, doesn’t matter.
  3. Take turns drawing on each other’s back. Start with letters. If you’re good at guessing those, advance to words. Slip in a few erotic words but when he guesses them, tell him he’s wrong and accuse him of having a dirty mind. Advance to sketching actual pictures on each other’s backs. Don’t forget to sign and date your portrait just as all artist’s do. Note: Do not auction off his back in an art gallery.
  4. *Use the flashlight on your phone (assuming everyone brings their cells to bed download-9these days!  And if you do, check THIS OUT!  ) to make cool shadows on the ceiling with your hands/fingers. Bonus if you can create witches or goblins which lead into this next one —
  5. *Tell each other your best campfire ghost stories. You do NOT need S’mores for this.
  6. Have an old fashioned pillow fight.
  7. Read aloud from the same book to one another. Alternating paragraphs. Use dramatic voice tone. Resist the thought that this is how you used to get your stubborn children to enjoy the act of reading. But it backfired and now they hate it.
  8. *Sing, hum, or whistle a few notes and challenge the person to guess the song. Your own “Name That Tune!”
  9. Share a list of pet peeves (it’s okay if it includes being in bed with someone but not getting any sex)
  10. Practice mind-reading skills. Concentrate hard and work on thinking of a number between 1-20 and the other person guesses. Then test your soul-mate connection by transmitting the number “69” instead.
  11. Have a staring contest. The prize is a massage for the person who doesn’t blink or look away.
  12. *Jump on the bed!  (Seriously? What are you, five??)
  13. 12. Here’s the real number 12. Brush or braid each other’s hair. Don’t imagine lice.
  14. Give one another a very bizarre survey. Ask questions like, “What’s your favorite type of flying insect? Do you prefer salted or unsalted butter? Which is worse, being hungry or thirsty or nauseas?” After you get through those basic questions, start on the bizarre ones.
  15. Share your bucket lists. (Shovel ’em all out!)
  16. *Foot massages. Skip this if someone can’t stand the thought of touching anyone’s toes. Also pass on this if one of you has a foot fetish, though how that can possibly be I will never know. (Note: I did not think up this one)
  17. Tickle fest. Find the spots you are both the most vulnerable. File this info away for future use.
  18. Shave her legs. OMG I am so completely joking about this one. But would you believe some male folk are not. Click HERE and read #2 on their list. But come back here and finish mine!
  19. Look at old photo albums together. Make fun of how his mother wears her hair.
  20. Play the “What’s Poking Me In The Back?” game. Best done in pitch darkness or eyes closed and using distinct grooming objects like combs, toothbrushes, but not razors because it might lead to #18.
  21. Meditate (or just deep breathe) together. Practice inhaling something you want more of, like sex. And exhaling something you wish would leave your life. I once exhaled the lice from my daughter’s hair.
  22. Do art together. Yes, in bed. I don’t mean the Patrick Swayze and Demi scene from the movie Ghost, unless you have a potter’s wheel and clay under your bed and he can hum that Righteous Brothers song. See #8. No, I mean those terrific adult coloring books which surely you’ve seen because they are literally on every cashier’s checkstand now. Okay not the artsy fartsy type? Fine. Play hangman. Note: Playing Tic-Tac-Toe is liable to lead to #16 and the Toe Hater won’t be happy.
  23. Play this game. I have no idea what it’s called, but it’s intimate. Have your partner close his eyes and extend his arm. With your fingers, lightly touch/tap/crawl up the inside of his arm starting from his wrist. He has to shout “Stop” when he thinks you are exactly on the crook of the inside of his elbow. You’ll laugh when you see how far off he is. But stay in the relationship anyhow.
  24. Explore “too bad you’re missing that special gene” challenges like A) Who cannot download-10trill their R’s when speaking? (trying to do this has become the bane of my existence and the amusement of many)  B) Who cannot curl their tongue into a sideways roll-up? C) Who puts their left or right thumb on top when clasping hands? D) Who has attached ear lobes? E) Who can encircle their own wrist using just their pinky and thumb?  F) Who can take their thumb and excruciatingly bend it all the way backward, touching the wrist on their same hand?
  25. After the extreme pain of the ridiculous double-jointed thumb task above, the conversation might veer into S & M (sadomasochism). But no, you still may NOT have sex. Instead think of other things to add to this novel list until you both get bored and fall asleep, which is the most practical and intimate thing you should be doing in bed anyhow.

*Credit for these goes to my fiancé!

Go ahead and Hate me here but please come “Like” me on Facebook! Just Click HERE

photo-295

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/silence/

Dying to Plan Own Funeral!

FullSizeRender (34)I don’t anticipate leaving this world anytime soon (that I know of!) but ever since Tom Sawyer faked his own death and then secretly came to his funeral and sobbed, I’ve been fascinated by this particular subject.

Now an online company called My Wonderful Life is encouraging us to take charge of all the details so the burden isn’t on our loved ones during their time of grief.

As a retired party planner, this seems right up my alley!

I’m a bit hesitant to bring up such a morbid subject to my very sensitive teenage children. Certainly they’ll become shocked and emotionally distraught, but I’ll quickly explain there’s nothing wrong with me– I’m just doing them a favor. Besides, being straightforward and candid with them has always been my philosophy.

Me: Kids, I’m planning my own funeral right now.

Daughter: Can you please be considerate and not schedule it during prom season?

Son: Did you eat the last of the Nutella?

Well, that went swimmingly. Clearly the rest is going to be a cinch.

Coincidentally, I recently attended a beautiful service for a dear friend’s mother and wept at the poignant beauty of it all. But afterwards, I walked away with what I’ll now term, “Memorial Envy.” (Are you listening Pinterest?) The daughter (my friend) gave a breathtaking eulogy speech, a son played the guitar while singing exquisite original lyrics. Still another sibling wrote a thought-provoking poem. They concluded by showing a video montage on a large screen set to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” (my favorite song!) which depicted highlights of her life, holding her grandkids, and experiencing family bliss. All for their dearly departed mother. Lastly, in another room as refreshments were served, her artwork was displayed on easels for us to admire. Perfect.

I allow myself to imagine my published novel up on a podium for everyone to thumb through. Hey, with all the people gathered that day to pay their respects to me, I could even hold an impromptu book-signing! That would be a neat party trick.

So who in the world would plan something as nice as this for me?  I better get cracking!

The “My Wonderful Life” website suggests starting with crafting your own obituary. Let’s see… that’s certainly an intriguing writing prompt. How about . . .

“Ding Dong, The Witch is Dead!”

A big fan of The Wizard of Oz, Stephanie D. Lewis (AKA Little Miss Menopause) just departed this earth, leaving behind a garage full of junk that nobody seems to know what to do with. After an appropriate amount of time, please come forward if you want several dozen pairs of sparkly red shoes, wicker picnic baskets with stuffed dogs in them, and yards of blue gingham fabric. In lieu of flowers, please paint your face green and cackle, “I’ll get you my pretty!”

“Oh what a world, what a world….” I bemoan, not quite satisfied with the tone or voice of this piece so far. Obviously a work in progress. I think I can extend this editorial deadline by a few weeks, emphasis on “dead” of course.

As any party planner worth her weight in confetti knows, a good theme pulls the entire event together. Since The Wiz of Oz is already being implemented for my obituary,  I think a “Writing” theme will do just fine. That’s it, I’ve got it! My memorial service will be held in a public library.

Instead of a traditional guestbook for people to sign, I’ll have a cool vintage typewriter at the entrance so they can “tap-tap-tap-ching!” their names like real authors.

.

typewriter-wedding-guest-book-1

I think this guest meant to say, “Hope You Had a Wonderful Life!”

Tasteful floral bouquets sitting on bookshelves will be folded origami style from print-outs of my best loved Huffington Post Blogs. (Okay, maybe there will only be enough for one lily and a couple of gladiolas.)

flowers

Can you recognize which blog of mine these flowers are made from?

My favorite book-jacket cover will be enlarged with my photo on it — “GONE WITH THE WIND!”

The local librarian will announce to everyone. “It appears our last copy of Stephanie D. Lewis is permanently checked-out. She’s overdue, but we’ll waive the hefty fine because her final chapter was such a page-turner.”

My humor columns from local newspapers can be paper-mâchéd on the outside of my casket.

Oh that’s right….hmmmm, my casket. “Who should be my pallbearers?” I muse aloud, as my reverie is suddenly disturbed with familiar annoying voices, loudly squabbling . . .

Youngest Son: Make your eldest four kids do it. They’re the strongest.

First-born Daughter:  Eww, I’m not carrying her body. You do it!

I throw a book in their direction.

Me:  Will you kids just be quiet for once and finally let me . . . R.I.P?!

What do you think?  Would you plan your own funeral? If so, any good ideas?FullSizeRender (33)

 

 

 

The Three R’s – Risqué, Racy, & Raunchy!

kindu

The only thing worse than a “premeditated” shower together is being “surprised” in your own private shower when you think you’re alone.

Normally Little Miss Menopause oozes about as much wholesomeness as a Hostess Twinkie. But every once in a while she will deteriorate into “Rated R” writing on her blog. A reliable red flag? She’ll usually begin referring to herself in the third person. This is dissociative behavior, but that’s not important right now.

What IS important is that I detest the typical foreplay that gets most normal people horny. I can’t even stand to use the word “horny” because I think of reptiles with warts.  Can we please just call it “hot” or “lusty,” people?

This unique problem of mine was probably a main reason for at least one of my divorces. Toward the end of the marriage, he (who shall remain nameless)  introduced an “Intimacy Inducing” Smartphone app into our relationship. Desperate measures? You betcha.

The idea was to choose from a huge menu of pre-listed sexual activities, and if both people picked the same things, those particular fantasies went in the couple’s mutual “sexual bucket” to try out in real life. (There really was a beach pail image waiting to be filled!)

After two weeks, when my “To-Do” list remained empty but three hundred disgusting ideas crowded my “To-Don’t” list, the app declared me frigid and referred me to a local sex therapist.

Hmmm.

The app also told me the percentage of couples who had tried each particular obnoxious activity, which I guess was supposed to encourage me to “Keep Up With The (Porno)Jones!”

But I quickly realized I needed to be more flexible and open-minded. So listed below are the least repulsive and inoffensive ideas the Smartphone app (and my then husband) wanted us to try. See if you don’t agree with me that these things are NOT sexy.

 9 Turn-Ons That Won’t Turn Me On in a Million Years!

  1.  Play Around in a Hot tub Together – The jets were fun but when my then husband (do I have to keep referring to him like that? Yes I do!) wanted to actually “do it” in the bubbles, I kept wondering how many other couples lived in our condominium complex (with this exact Smartphone app) and had been in the very same Jacuzzi recently. Eww. So I composed an “Ode To Chlorine” poem instead.
  2.  Shower Sex — I’ve never understood the appeal here. Get naked under unflattering bathroom florescent lighting to partake in a utilitarian cleansing experience (associated with either gym locker rooms or Norman Bates in Psycho) with my hair plastered to my head while mascara runs down my cheeks and he cracked prison jokes with “don’t bend over to pick up the soap” as the punchline?
  3. Sex on a Fur Rug in Front of the Fire – As an animal lover, I would forever imagine which cuddly Bambi creature had been killed for our coziness? And fireplaces are for toasting those squishy, white unhealthy blobs. And even though my stomach technically qualified, I would stick with marshmallows, thank you very much. Besides, I sweat profusely when I get “lusty” so I don’t need an open flame to make me perspire even more, thereby necessitating another utilitarian shower together. Blech.
  4. Add heat or ice to oral sex – Why on earth? This activity was stressful enough as it was! But they want you to alternate turning an ordinary penis into a popsicle and then some kinda fresh outa-the-oven baked goodie that you’ll need an oven mitt to handle? Really, can we all just go back to using the trusty Reddi-Whip can?
  5. Role Play as Stewardess and Passenger—I’m deathly afraid to fly and pretending to be inducted into the “Mile High” club would have offered me zero thrills per minute. All I would’ve thought about were those air-sickness bags and tiny packages of salted peanuts spilling everywhere.
  6. Do It In Front Of a Mirror – If I had to view my wide reflection staring back at me during sex, he might as well have been banging me on a doctor’s office scale. I would be obsessing about diets and “a moment on the lips, forever on the hips.” And then fish n’ chips and chicken strips and onion dips and licorice whips and… yes I binge when I’m being scrutinized.
  7.  Incorporate chocolate covered strawberries or caramel sauce into your foreplay – Right! After the above mirror escapade, the only thing I’d be doing with those treats would be adding up how many points they were on Weight Watchers.
  8.  Wrap body Parts in Saran Wrap – Oh sure! Because he needed more proof that he was getting served leftovers again.
  9.  Masturbate in Front of Each Other, Narrate Finger Auction – Huh? Auction? Okay, I guess it would go something like this…. “The next item is a close-up of My Vagina. Done in lovely muted colors and circular brush strokes. I’m now sliding a single finger inside. Do I hear two fingers? Three? Three! Going once, going twice, coming three times!” Oh, never mind. There was a typo in the Smartphone app. It was Finger Action, NOT Auction.

But that gave me an idea! I looked over the other 8 items featured on our sexual bucket list in the hopes that I had misread them as well. But there was no such luck — 100% accurate.  There were only two options left — #1. Serious negotiations with my then husband or #2. Make an appointment with that recommended sex therapist.

But I chose option #3, deleting the Intimacy Smartphone app. And also eventually…deleting my then husband.

Note: A modified version of this article originally appeared on BLUNTmoms over a year ago.

And if you’d like to be kept aware of the other places my writing appears, I finally have an Author Facebook Page.  I would love (if you’re active on Facebook) for you to click HERE and like it.  That way when my personal blog occasionally goes dark, we can still keep in touch.  Have a great weekend! Stephanie D. Lewis – – AKA  Little Miss Menopause.

 

Making Public Apologies (Digging Deeper!)

images (13)I grew up in a household where nobody ever asked for forgiveness. The closest we’d come was challenging our siblings to the board game “Sorry,” then beating the pants off them and refusing to apologize for that as well.

So when I recently joined a 12-Step Anonymous support group for my little “addiction,” (I won’t tell you what it is but you can bet I’m not addicted to admitting I’m wrong and saying “Sorry!”) I was quite taken aback that making amends to those I’ve hurt in the past is a high priority.

Even though this particular support group maintains anonymity in the media, and even though I attend these meetings without revealing my personal identity, apparently it’s critical that I divulge my name when making these formal apologies.

I’m pretty sure this rules out my sending “I’m sorry!” notes with cute little bunnies on them that say, “From Your Secret Pal!”

Therefore I’ll save a lot of stamps, phone calls, and gasoline by completing this task in public where there can be no question that it’s me who is “writing” (pun intended) all my wrongs.

Here we go . . .

To All My Past Victims, Please Accept My Formal Apology For The Following Transgressions:

  • To Marcia Grady in my 4th Grade Class — I’m sorry I kept throwing a football at your face in an effort to make you gasp and exclaim, “Oh, my nose!”
  • To my First Boyfriend Charlie – Please forgive me for breaking my date with you by simply uttering, “Something suddenly came up.”
  • To My Mother Adrienne – yes, that was me who used our VCR to tape over your prized Merv Griffin talk shows with my favorite Brady Bunch episodes. (Okay, that old show MIGHT be my addiction?)
  • To Professor Norris – I copied all the answers in your Cognitive Therapy class and then implemented what you taught us in Psych 101 to make you feel guilty for suspecting me of cheating.
  • To Gene, My First Ex-husband – I’m sorry for saying, “no wonder you turned out like this” when I found out your mother shaved our newborn baby’s head, (claiming it would make her hair grow in thicker) snuck one of our twins off to a wet-nurse because she didn’t like formula, and told the director of the holocaust museum that the exhibits were too depressing because there was so much emphasis on Hitler.
  • To Ron, my Second Ex-husband – I’m sorry that I kept submitting your application and headshot to audition for the reality show, The Bachelor when we were still married.
  • To Brad, My New Finance Fiance — I’m sorry that the word “Fiancé” has that little accent mark over the letter “e” and I’m too lazy to figure out how to type that on my keyboard and autocorrect keeps changing it to “finance,” so that’s how you get referred to in my blogs. Okay, I’m also sorry you keep getting referenced in my blogs so much.
  • To Mitchell my Eldest Son – Please forgive me for ruining the S’more making contest at your Boy Scout campfire when I devoured all the Hershey bars, (okay, chocolate MIGHT be my addiction!) then told everyone the proper recipe calls for plain toasted marshmallows on graham crackers . . . and these are called, “S’Less.”
  • To Eliza, my Youngest Daughter – I should never have shaved your head when you came home with that lice infestation. However look on the bright side . . . your Grandmother guarantees your hair will grow back thicker.
  • To The Editor of Time Magazine – I’m sorry to have rejected the rejection letter you sent for my “How To Deal With Lice in America” article. But the negative energy just wasn’t a good fit for what I was looking for at the time.
  • To All My Many Regular Followers — I’m terribly sorry you’ve had to put up with a blogger who regularly uses humor (however weak) as self-help therapy and who thinks Wordplay should be an official olympic game.
  • To My New Readers — I hope you can forgive this one single post.  It will never happen again. I don’t normally try to pass my personal life off as entertainment. Also please don’t ask any of my Regular Followers if this is true or not because they’re liable to say it’s a lie. But they’re just bitter that I didn’t apologize to them all individually, by name. (see above)  I actually think all of them should be ashamed of themselves. All six.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/surface/

download (6)

I’m sorry — I normally don’t put another image at the end of my post but seriously, have you ever seen an owl look this cute? (Okay owls in general MIGHT be my addiction!) 

Questions That Will Cause a Divorce!

imageIt all began innocently enough. I invited happily married friends over for a home-cooked dinner and to play my own personalized version of “The Newlywed Game.” Now I’m no gameshow host, but it was always one of my favorite television shows growing up and especially cherished were the occasions the wife would bonk the doufus husband on the head with her answer card. Would my dining room table tolerate all this excitement?  My mind began racing, thinking up fun questions.

Every couple I invited rsvp’d fast and furiously “Uh….No thanks!” Had my culinary skills reputation really spread so far and wide?

But with the first telltale phone call, it began to dawn on me that it wasn’t just bad food.

Wife #1: Hi, we’re flattered to be included on your guest list, but Manny made me call to make sure you’re NOT gonna have a question about which of my girlfriends he fantasizes about?

Me: Manny. Really? I don’t know about that question but now I’m certainly going to include one about how a guy makes it through life named “Manny?” He should have married someone named “Wifey.” Then the Justice of Peace could have said, “I now pronounce you Manny and Wifey.”

Wife #1: Yeah, we’re gonna have to decline. Click.

Hmmph.  As I hung up I told myself, absolutely no questions about other partner fantasies.

That night I served soup, salad, and chicken with choice of baked or mashed potatoes and already there was an issue. I asked Husband #2 (when his wife was in the bathroom) if he thought she preferred her potato whole or whipped. He glared at me and said, “I know what potato is a euphemism for! We’re not staying for your raunchy little game.” He snatched his wife’s purse (and I presume he snatched his wife’s potato as well!) and the front door slammed.

“Well,” I said resisting the urge to do an evil laugh.  “I guess we’re down to you three lucky couples.”  Everyone squirmed uncomfortably in their seats. But that might be because my dining room chairs are at the bottom of this post.

When dessert was served I invited the couples to take their seats in the pairs of chairs set aside with their backs to one another. I sliced up the pie, took my seat with my new fiancé and hoped for the best.

Me:  Okay first question. We’ll start out easy. Wives — What’s your favorite thing right now on your mate?”

Answers were “his wedding band” and “this shirt I bought for him” and “Old Spice cologne.” But Wife #4 said simply, “Nuts.” When questioned, she sheepishly admitted she thought I asked, “favorite thing right now on your plate?” And she loved the pecan pie.

Me:  Moving right along. Husbands, when you first met your future mother-in-law  you thought to yourself, ‘Genetics aren’t everything. I can live with my wife if her ______ grows.’

Answers ranged from “hair” to “nose” to “ass” with one husband wanting to ensure he got a little something/something later on, because he wrote down, “heart.”

So far, so good.

Me: Husbands again – – if your wife could be compared to a cereal, which one would she be?

Again, the men came through as romantics with “Lucky Charms” and “Special K” (the wife was named Kay!) and “Sugar Smacks” (his wife was rumored to be into BDSM)  My fiancé dared to say, “Cracklin’ Nutty Flakey Oat Bran” but I chose to let it go.

Me: If your first kiss with your spouse could be described as a candy, what would it be?

Clever, clever guys.  Answers were “Starburst” and “Hot Tamales” and “Bar None.” One husband said “Pay Day” then changed it to a “100 Grand bar” and the wife thought he was inferring she was a hooker and stomped out of our house, followed by her man wailing plaintively, “But I thought that would be better than saying, Snickers or Butterfingers!”

At this point my fiancé said he was getting tired and had early morning appointments with patients and could I wrap things up fairly soon? So I decided to throw in a question about that. “If your husband was a doctor, what would he specialize in?”  Fiancé immediately sauntered out of the room yawning and to get his toothbrush. Oh well.

But then I lost another couple when I asked, “Who would you say wears the pants in the family?” I didn’t think being a cross-dresser would come up.

The last remaining husband and wife stared at me and I braced myself for the worst.

Husband #1:  We’ve waited all night to hear you ask which of her girlfriends I fantasize about being with.

Wife #1: Yeah, C’mon!  It’s the whole reason we came. We thought it would be a great way to start up a threesome!

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/jeopardize/

image

These are the chairs people must sit on at my house.

 

 

 

It’s Just Me, Myself & I !

Lermaa1 (pic)When you’re as neurotic as I am, (aside from having a lifetime of writing) you’ve had a lifetime of therapy as well.

But psychologists can get extremely bored with you and your same old stories replaying, so they’ll often have you do simple “therapeutic exercises.” Nothing that would make you feel awkward or silly of course!  Just sitting on their couch and pretending a part of your personality is in the empty chair across from you. And then talking to it. “Speak to your Fear & Anxiety and tell it everything will be okay,” they’ll encourage.

And they love role-playing “games.”  But they always make me play the part of ME. Hmmph.

But if they find out you’re a published author, this one becomes their favorite idea — “Write a letter from your Younger Self to Your Present Self” or “From Your Future Self to Your Intuition.” Or “Your Small, Fragile Child” or “Your Angry Side” or “Your Control Freak.”

However, what they really get off on is having you do certain things with “Your Inner Critic.”

Let’s see . . .  so far I’ve embraced my Inner Critic. Then in a shocking move, I fired my Inner Critic. Apparently I hired him back however because next thing I knew, I was instructed to silence my Inner Critic. I still have to tame my Inner Critic, then challenge and conquer him. We’re very busy together.

My point being with all these different facets of my personality floating around various therapists’ offices, I thought it was high time I did something completely innovative with all of them.  I would invite everyone to a fun cocktail party!

“Hi Personality Traits!  Please come to a formal gathering so we can all get to know each other better and then we can rely on one another when we need help or when we just have an impulsive desire to be one well-rounded, sane person! Potluck, of course!  See you at my house. Oops, I mean OUR house.”

Sincerely,

Sybil err Stephanie

I was nervous an hour before the get-together but my Perfectionist showed up early and laid out the silverware, plates, and napkins in meticulous order. Okay okay, Miss Compulsive might have come along as well, but I think she busied herself threading fruit salad onto skinny wooden skewers. Soon the kitchen was alive with a cacophony of noise and conversation as various parts of me interacted.

Lazy Bones: Seriously?  Who do you think is gonna clean up this huge mess?

Eating Disorder (ED): And how come you’re only putting out healthy fruit and veggies and some measly cheese and crackers?  Where are the Oreos, Nutella, and pints of Rocky Road?

Mean Girl: Like oh my god! You can’t eat anything until you fit back into your cheerleading uniform from high school. And what makes you think anybody will show up to a boring party that Loser you throws anyhow?

Confidence: Hey everyone, after we have a few ice-breakers, I’m gonna read aloud one of my classic Huffington Post humor pieces. You’ll love it and never stop laughing.

My Fiancé: (Yes I just got engaged and he’s the only actual real person at this wild shindig!) That sounds great Stephanie.  I’m so proud of you, but first let’s go into your room…

Me: (tossing hair in a flirty flounce) Oh, really?  Right now?? Well okay, Handsome. Come along Inner Critic, Bitter About Prior Divorces, Blame, Shame, Aggressive, and Sarcasm. Oh alright, Fragile Little Child, you’re welcome in our bed too. In fact, let’s try this with everyone for a change! C’mon y’all — we’ll be swingers!

Inner Critic: Lights off!

My Fiancé:  Yep, that’s the drill.

Bitter About Prior Divorces: You’re just like the rest of my ex-husbands. Already implying our sex life is mundane and predictable.

My Fiancé: Let’s hammer out the details. And shelve it.

Fragile Little Child: I don’t wanna put this discussion on the shelf. Tell me now! You’re leaving me, right?  I feel scared and tiny. And vulnerable.

My Fiancé: I’m not going anywhere as long as you can take all my pounding.

Confidence: (fluttering eyelashes) Well I like it rough, but gentle can be nice too. I can handle anything you got!

Asks For What She Needs: But can I get a lot of support?

My Fiancé:  Definitely. It will hold up to a lot of abuse if nobody throws a wrench into it and you go easy with all your many hang-ups.

Self-Defense Mechanism:  Like you’re so perfect! You have a few skeletons in the closet too, I’m sure. Maybe you’re a skirt-chaser?

My Fiancé:  Skirts?  Nope, I just can’t wait to come out of this closet!

Waiting For Other Shoe to Drop:  What?? You’re gay? See that!  I knew something like this would happen to prevent our future happiness. Can’t you at least fix it to swing both ways??

My Fiancé: Stephanie, can you stop integrating all the different sides of you for just a moment? I need to concentrate on getting this extra storage wardrobe built. Otherwise when I finally move in, I’m afraid I’ll drown in all of your clothing! Why do you have so many dang dresses anyhow?

All Personalities: (simultaneously) Surely you don’t expect all of us to wear the same size, do you? !

Big thanks to my new fiancé who will hopefully be just as understanding as he was when he was my boyfriend that I use his “persona” here for PURE FICTION!

k

Could Captain Von Trapp & Maria Be Headed For Divorce?

HT_sound_of_music_julie_andrews_sk_150316_4x3_992Therapist: Before we begin I want to stress that anything we discuss remains in the strictest of confidence and will not be spoken outside of this room.

Captain: Or turned into childish lyrics and sung on bicycles. Am I clear?? Tooot, tooooooot–

Maria: Oh spare me your whistle, Captain.

Therapist: Tssk, tssk . . . control issues. So what can I help you folks with today?

Captain: How do you solve a problem like Maria?

Therapist: Hmmm…Anything you want to tell us, Maria?

Maria: Perhaps I had a wicked childhood. Perhaps I had a miserable youth.

Therapist: But somewhere in your youth or childhood, you must’ve done something good?

Maria: Well, nothing comes from nothing. Nothing ever could.

Captain: And that’s just about what this session is worth.

Therapist: Now, now Captain. Your wife tells me you aren’t very supportive of her creative household frugality.

Captain: Ya think? Nobody needs to wear window coverings just to military march around the house.

Maria: But the children. They just want love. Please just love them, Captain. The children.

Captain: Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.

Therapist: I’m sorry but that’s not a line of yours, is it? It’s not anywhere in my notes. Let’s save the Rhett Butler nonsense for later. He’s my next client, actually.

Captain: I said that to make a point. Sometimes I think she’s crossed over from the Gone With the Wind set – – they also have the Drapery/Dress Recycling thing going on. It’s like she’s taken Scarlett O’hara and Maria Von Trapp and blended them together.

Therapist: Could that be true, Maria? Do you think you have Transblender tendencies?

Captain: Haha, it was just a joke. Let’s get down to the serious issue, shall we? Whenever Maria is unhappy, she threatens to run away — go back to Abbey. Now, I don’t know who this Abbey person is, but I suspect it’s short for Abigail and my wife secretly likes girls.

Therapist: And how does that make you feel, Sir?

Captain: Haha, gotcha again. Kidding!

Maria: Honestly Georg, you’re so juvenile. It’s like I have an eighth child. You are 16 going on 17.

Therapist: Have you ever considered hiring a governess? To relieve the stress.

Captain: Ah yes, some pretty sweet young thing with a penchant for playing the violin.

Maria: Georg!

Captain: Fraulein, you will remember yourself!

Therapist: Who says that anymore? Is that even a thing?

Maria: Well, it’s time for prayers. God bless the Captain, Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Brigitta, Marta, Gretel and . . .

Therapist: Achoooooo!

Maria: Gesundheit and bless you . . . err, I’ve forgotten what you’re called. What’s your name? Well God bless What’s-Your-Name.

Captain: OMG. Look, is there any hope for this relationship? With a woman who has a severe phobia.

Therapist: What are you frightened of, Maria?

Maria: The hills are alive . . .

Therapist: Now we’re getting somewhere. But I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for this week.

Captain: Don’t you have any quick advice for her to conquer this fear? We may need to hike through the Alps one day.

Therapist: Of course — here’s a memorable tip . . . “climb every mountain!”

 

 

 

 

The Phantom of The Cellphone!

-font-b-phantom-b-font-of-the-opera-fashion-original-cell-phone-case-cover-for“You called three times but didn’t leave a message, is everything ok?” my mother asks. Confession: I regularly hang up on my mom’s outgoing phone message because she gives excruciating instructions on waiting for beeps, admonishes you to speak slowly, enunciate clearly, and requires you to give the date and time of your call. A former teacher, she insists on educating people on leaving proper voicemail.

But on this occasion I’m certain I didn’t call at all, let alone three times. I look at my caller ID log and sure enough I have telephoned my mother thrice within a ten-minute period this morning. The Benadryl I took for a cold must’ve made me groggy and blurred my recall.

A couple of hours later, I receive a message from my old Avon Lady announcing light blue shimmery eyeshadows just came in and how shocked she was to hear from me after more than 30 years. I’m also kinda shocked, envisioning her hobbling up to front porches at age 75, ringing doorbells, gleefully shouting, “Ding Dong, Avon calling!”

Minutes after we disconnect, my long lost Tupperware gal calls, claiming mere moments ago I telephoned her but promptly hung up when she answered. She wants to know if the reason I’m currently reaching out is to schedule a Tupperware party? “Does the word ‘Ziploc’ mean anything to you?” I ask.

What’s the deal with my cellphone and the 1970’s throwbacks? If I’m butt-dialing people, my ass is way behind the times.

Suspicious, I carefully set my mobile device flush on the kitchen table and scrutinize it cautiously as I eat my cottage cheese w/pineapple and lime jello. It behaves itself and doesn’t dial up Dorothy Hamil or Billy Jean King. Just a nondescript, innocent dark screen.

Just as I swallow the last of the curds, suddenly my cellphone emanates an ominous glow and a notification pops up stating, “1 outgoing call.” Seriously??  This was no pocket or purse dial! Paging Rod Serling.

I click on it to see the name Layla Down, a woman I loathe. For one thing, she always asks, “Who died?” just because I wear the color black a lot. And she pointed her finger at my youngest daughter Natalie for the lice infestation in the 6th grade. “Nitty Natty” sticks to this day. I shudder, anticipating what’s next and sure enough, it rings right on cue with the big fat phony Layla on the other end of the line.

Me: Nitty Nat’s mom speaking, how may I help you?

Layla: My, my, what a droll sense of humor you still have. So when’s the funeral? Actually I’m returning your call, Sugar.

Me: Uh, I never called you, Sweet Tart.

Layla: I have proof that you did, Sucralose.

Me: Think again, Sweet‘N Low.

Layla: Better wash your daughter’s hair, Aspartame.

We went on like this until we used up all the sarcastic (saccharin) terms of endearments and began repeating a few. Click. Maybe this was Siri’s revenge for when I let her nearly drown in the washing machine?

During the next week, my cellphone honed its interpersonal skills, not only making random embarrassing calls all on its own accord, (old boyfriends, old dentists, dead people) but it actually started efficiently connecting people together from my online address book via its 3-way conference calling feature!

It introduced my following Contacts to each other:

  • My gynecologist to my Rabbi
  • Dr. Harris, my cocker-spaniel’s vet to Harrison, a cocky Vietnam vet
  • My handyman Richard to Betty, a broken-down divorcee
  • My Weight Watcher leader to my chocoholic friend
  • My divorce attorney to my wedding planner
  • My hairstylist to my friend Nan, the Nun
  • My life coach to my son’s football coach
  • Sherman, a needy guy I dated (and wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy) to Layla
  • My therapist to my Mother (so she could analyze why nobody leaves her voicemail?)

And when I saw the newest popular trend on the market — a clear plastic food storage container (with a burping seal) filled with frosted lipsticks, I knew the Phantom of the Cellphone could take all the credit for striking again. He’d actually gone and hooked up my Tupperware Gal with my Avon Lady. Bravo!

10 Reasons People Won’t Leave You Voicemail!

  1. cell-phone-messageThey are convinced you’re not really as busy as your message claims and will just keep calling back as many times as it takes until you pick up. And you will, won’t you?
  2. You have a completely boring and unimaginative outgoing message. It mentions your name, gives the number they just dialed (even though they can plainly see it on their own cell-screen) and discusses the sound of the beep. Dullsville.
  3. They suspect you replay their messages at important board meetings, incessantly rewinding the part where they clear their throat, while your coworkers get hysterical.
  4. TEXTING. Nothing more needs to be said. Okay, here’s something more: Phones are no longer fun if you must use them for the original purpose they were invented for.
  5. They have low self-esteem and don’t think their voice is recording-worthy.
  6. It’s going to be a highly personal and private message, perhaps even sexual in nature, and they don’t want anyone else to accidentally overhear it. They don’t even want you, the person it’s intended for, to listen to it.
  7. It’s totally a misdialed, wrong number — but they can’t wait for the beep because they’re late for a date with another hot little number.
  8. They’re vindictive and take great pride in getting back at you for stating they should speak slowly and distinctly, spell their last name, and heaven forbid you requested they leave the date and time of their call.
  9. They presumed you would certainly pick up (at least for them!) and are caught off guard, unprepared to state the reason for the call, which truthfully is — there is no legitimate reason for the call. But now that you’ve rejected them by not answering live, they’re going to torture you with an “Unknown Number” that lingers in your caller ID log for weeks, along with a long, deadly silence. Take that!
  10. It’s an old lover from your distant past, calling every so often just to hear your recorded voice and reminisce in their mind’s eye about that night on the dance floor when you pretended you knew the words to The Macarena, (You do know the meaning of the English translation, right?) or whispered together in a glitzy discotheque, “Do The Hustle!” And then actually did it. Together. Wasn’t that a lovely, innocent time in your life? Why don’t you pick up your own cellphone and call this person back so the two of you can stroll down memory lane. And if you get their voicemail, you know what to do at the beep . . . hang up!

And here’s my little New Year’s gift to you so that you’ll get more people who WILL leave you communications in a recorded fashion. Simply Click  HERE and pick your favorite snippet to use as your new outgoing message.

images (9)