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<Enter stage right as UB40's Red Red Wine plays; waving to the applauding crowd of invisible friends> Thank you! Thanks so much for coming out.
There are a bazillion and one things that suck about being a middle-aged woman. For some there's the weak bladder, facial hair, sagging tits, irregular periods, mood swings, wrinkles... But thank god there's wine.
In fact, I'm pretty sure wine was invented by a middle-aged woman. Gather 'round for a little story.
After burning one of her saggy boobs in the fire while making breakfast for her ungrateful herd of children, angry by yet another comment from her husband about her fluctuating weight - she stormed out to gather grapes.
She sang. She cried. She ran into a friend among the vines, another middle-aged woman. They swapped stories about their ungrateful herds and judgmental husbands and she began to laugh. And the harder she laughed the more pee ran down her leg and that's when she snapped! She jumped right in that bucket of grapes and stomped and yelled and stomped some more!
She was in no hurry to get home but when she couldn't justify being away any longer, she carried her large bucket of pulpy grape juice and set it down at her husbands feet. "What is this?" he bellowed. "Where are my grapes, woman?"
Whistling and crying she ignored her husband and began making dinner. The grape juice sat in that bucket in the very place she set it for months. Every day he'd bellow for her to do something with it and every day she'd tell him to fuck off. <laughter> Or "fucketh offeth" I guess since this was a long damn time ago.
One day, when she was good and ready, she decided it was time to move the bucket. The house wreaked. It was in the way. And as she carried it out of the house, it sloshed and the sweet nectar touched her lips.
She did away the grape juice all right. She sat right there on the threshold of her home and drank every last drop. "What facial hair? ... Did I pee? ... Two periods this month? WHO CARES!?"
You heard it right here folks, on the internet - so you know it's true. When she finally shared her new found liquid happiness, people brought her jewelry and cigarettes just for a taste. THE END.
... Damn, anybody else thirsty? Where's my wine?
That's it for me tonight. Don't forget to tip Your housekeepers! And goodnight.
<Exit stage left... well... because I left.>
LISTEN TO THE AUDIO BLOG: WRCWIT - War
<Enter stage right as UB40's Red Red Wine plays; waving to the applauding crowd of invisible friends> Thank you! Thank you!
You will have to overlook me today. I'm frazzled. After taking the kids to school I came home, it was just me and my dogs, when about six loud low flying jets flew overhead. Not just once, a dozen times and not just loud, low flying jets - loud, low flying MILITARY jets.
I panicked. I've never been in a war, but if I had to guess - loud, low flying jets are probably the theme song between the gongs of bombs dropping. And for about ten minutes, I was convinced we were at war. <the sounds of planes overhead...waiting for the explosion - BOOM!>
My dog who is terrified of thunderstorms wouldn't leave my side. She looked up at me as if to say, "It's a storm, Mom. We're all gonna die." And I looked back at her like, "Fuck that! It's the god damn Chinese! And you're damn right, we ARE gonna die!"
My first thoughts were of getting my kids. And then, "Why the hell didn't I take Chinese in high school? What the fuck good is Spanish gonna do me now?" Seriously. <smh> They don't even offer Chinese where my kids go to school. ... They should.
Once my dog and I got a grip and realized we weren't going to die after all, I went to work. And for those of you who don't know, I'm a college educated housekeeper. I clean toilets and vacuum pubes at a pinky-up bed and breakfast.
I was in customer service before they put me in the broom closet. For years I worked with with the public in retail, telemarketing - you name it, I did it. And I knew the general public were assholes. In general lots of people are assholes. What I didn't know, until I started housekeeping, was just how HAIRY those assholes are. Shitballs!
Which got me thinking as I stood there with my vacuum extension sucking up ungodly amounts of body hair from the bottom of a bath tub... The Chinese - they're not hairy. As a people, they're not hairy. They probably have a similar percentage of assholes, but when was the last time you saw a burly Chinese man so hairy he looked like he was wearing a fur coat?
I haven't. Ever. So next time I hear those loud low flying military planes and I think the Chinese are coming, I'm going to hang a banner that says, "WELCOME," with directions to the damn b&b. <laughter>
That's it for me tonight, folks. Don't forget to tip your housekeepers! And goodnight!
<Exit stage left... well... because I left.>
<Enter stage right as UB40's Red Red Wine plays; waving to the applauding crowd of invisible friends>
Thank you! Thank you! Oh, please stop... You're too kind. <motioning for the crowd to shoosh until they do> Okay. Okay. No, no - do go on. <smiling coyly>
There are some songs, ladies and gentlemen, that I love for the beat. And others I love for the lyrics. A couple I love for the great videos or the deliciously hot singers... The song that just played - I love for its subject matter! WINE!!! haha
See this mug right here? I am neither confirming nor denying its contents. But there is a fifty percent chance it contains the nectar of the gods, adult KoolAid or high octane fruit juice, if you will.
I am a wine enthusiast... because I am enthused when I drink it. All those pinky-up people who sniff it, swirl it and spit it out... Make me want to crash their tastings and yell, "PARTY FOUL!" ... "ALCOHOL ABUSE!" ... "YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG!" haha And I'd be the one arrested. <smh> Doesn't make any sense.
<sipping from the mug> I learned something new about wine today. Turns out in the Medieval times butt - B-U-T-T - was a measurement of wine. And a buttload of wine - my personal favorite amount of wine, who knew? - is 126 gallons. ... That's A LOT of wine. ... But I'm not scared. I can confidently say that I can literally drink a buttload of wine. Just give me 126 weekends and you'll see. ... I can do it. ... I'm no quitter. <sipping from the mug>
I know the Catholic church serves wine in its services. Of course, my luck, I was born and raised Southern Baptist so we had THE NASTIEST grape juice for communion. ... A good thing really because it deterred me my whole life from wanting to drink blood. Ya know, because otherwise I might have wanted to be a vampire... or an alcoholic. <smh> ... I was well into adulthood before I discovered the joys of wine. <smh, again> And because I don't want anyone else to live without the wine the way I did for so many, many long horrible years, in the spirit of Oprah, I'm going to give You all... <loooong pause> ... directions to the bar! <pointing to the back of the house> haha It's right back there, friends! Get a glass! Hell, get a bottle!
<waving goodbye> Don't forget to tip your housekeepers! Goodnight!
<Exit stage left... well... because I left.>
