Saturday, July 23, 2011

This is S and I giving our families the gift of a lovely only complaint is that the children's piano is too small for me to lie across.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Naked Chicks, Switchblades and Zombies...and Friendship

Yesterday, July 17th was THE day, folks- it was my very first Rob Zombie show and I must say, he rocked the motherfucker! (Singing 'Sick Bubblegum to myself quietly). S ended up skipping the show because she had a very bad case of vagina-itis. I'm TOTALLY joking- she was really sick- all weekend, too.  The only thing worse than running a fever is running a fever in the 110 degree Oklahoma summer.  But Wenifer and I persevered, braving the heat and the rowdy unwashed to see Mr. Zombie along with Five Finger Death Punch and a few other bands I can't remember. 

First we visited Trula, a restaurant in the Mayo Hotel, courtesy of my darling hubby who is just this minute finding out that he treated Wenifer and I to a lovely dinner of beef carpaccio and crab claw cocktail.  Thank you honey- it was divine and totally worth your money.  The real fun began when we headed to the show- let me tell you it wasn't called the 'Hot as Hell Festival' for nothing- with the heat index it was somewhere around eleventy thousand degrees.  Give or take.

Naturally, Wenifer and I were a tad overdressed.  Because we had shirts on.  I'm not playing- the first thing we saw when we walked through the gate were boobies.  This was of course after a security guard checked my cowboy boots for a switchblade knife.  I believe that he was happy and impressed that it was Mac Dazzleglass Lipgloss, instead.  Everyone at the show was hot, drunk, dirty and stinky.  And some people were pissed off.  Probably because we had to tinkle in port a potties, which is why I wore boots in the first place.  I, however, was the happiest of happy.  And that's what matters most.  I was even the happiest of happy when my new purple dye job turned my forehead a lovely shade of lilac.  I didn't care- it totally matched my dress.

Five Finger Death Punch were fantastic, but I was there for zombies. By the time my zombie boys took the stage, I had wormed my way to the front row (I don't know how, but I do it at almost every show I go to.  I'm sneaky like that.)  It didn't really matter to me that my 'front row' just happened to be very, very  far stage right because... that's where Piggy D was!  Most of the time, anyway.  I was pretty far over yonder, but I still had a most excellent view.  I even saw Mr. Rob Zombie up close and although my heart is loyal to Piggy, I also now have a huge crush on RZ!  As if I needed yet another rock star crush!  (Couldn't help it because he's gorgeous up close and totally charismatic.  Plus, his wife is my age and she is perfection.   So even if he was butt ugly and uncharming, I would love him just for being married to a fabulous woman. That's fucked up.)

As the zombies wrapped up the show and were heading into encoreville, I looked behind me and noticed that Wenifer, although still impeccably groomed and beautiful, looked like she wasn't feeling well.  We left before the encore...right after I learned how sick she had been ALL evening.  She didn't tell me that she had the same cooties S had, complete with fever and terrible body aches.  Apparently Wenifer loves me more than she loves a lot of comfort and health.  Or maybe she loves Rob Zombie more than all of us.  Which is fucked up, too.  Either way, I think Wenifer is one of the most awesome people on the planet. 

To Wenifer:  There is nobody I would rather be hot, sweaty, hosed off, purple faced and dirty with than you.  You complete me.  Well, you and S complete me...because alone, we need helmets.  But together...we're fucking perfection! I love you!

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Mr. Good and the Naughty Esthetician

This post sounds a lot sexier than it is, folks, but one thing I have learned about men is this:  if you put the word 'NAUGHTY' in front of anything, they're totally into it.  Tell your hubby you want to play 'Mrs. Jones and the Naughty Housekeeper Who Does the Dishes' and watch how fast he races to the kitchen sink.  They are also distracted by naps and sandwiches.  Trust me.  I have loads of experience on this one.

You see, I really, really wanted to try my new peel off face mask-- made with soothing cucumber and aloe, but I'm not putting anything, and I mean anything on my skin before I try it out on someone else first.   My skin is heavily botoxed and medicated and therefore highly sensitive.  Plus, I just like to peel shit and I thought it would be fun to peel Frank. That's where telling him that I wanted to play 'Mr. Good and the Naughty Esthetician' came in handy.

I propped him up on pillows, heated some towels and went to work.  The face mask was indeed 'apeeling' (ba dum bump- I'll be here all week folks) , so I decided to reward my ever patient hubby with a little more tlc. I massaged his face with all sorts of scrubs and potions.  He was almost asleep- far too sleepy for anything naughty (which just proves my point that men are easily distracted by naughty things AND naps)   And then a very, very terrible idea occurred to me...I decided the finale to his facial would be to cover his face (including his freshly exfoliated lips) with my "extremely expensive face cream that is so expensive I barely use it on myself, but I'm sharing it with you because I love you so much, honey".  Yeah, he totally should have known something was up, but like I said, he was almost comatose.  I covered his face with my special cream and a fresh warm towel and told him to relax until he fell asleep.  As he was drifting to dreamland, I whispered in his ear "this stuff's anti aging properties are so magical that there is a very, very rare and teeny tiny chance that it will cause a severe allergic reaction and your face will go a little numb. Permanently." 

Of course, the 'special cream' was the Lidocaine gel I had left over from the time I had shingles (if you don't know the real shingles story, I promise I'll tell you later.  If you think you already know the real shingles story, you probably don't)

The fun began for me right after I turned out the lights when he whispered, in a very panicked voice "Holy shit, Christine- my lips are numb. What the fuck have you done to me?!?!" 

Then I had to actually do something naughty and make him a sandwich to make up for terrifying him, but that's another story.