Montana Dress Code – Say it Ain’t So

pix - scared person

As I was reading the recent publication of the 64th Montana House of Representatives Legislative Session Dress Code, I have to admit, for a moment I thought it was a satire piece straight from the pages of The Onion. Then I realized the truth. This was no joke.

I laughed so hard my bonnet nearly fell off.

It seems that certain male members of the Montana State Legislature have worked their whitey-tighties into a knot.

Apparently they have a mighty big problem with the apparel of some of the females who enter the state house. Their specific concerns involve the revealing nature of the knee and chestal areas of female attire.

This stance, of course, begs the question: Who elected Ward Cleaver?

Jeanette Rankin just rolled over in her grave.

When you parse the words of this edict, it seems like a reasonable assumption that the fairer sex has routinely been distracting the men-folk from their elected duties. From the stern tone, clearly these Girls Gone Wild have been entering the chambers wearing necklines that are too low, hemlines that are too high, and heaven forbid, the ever-too revealing open-toe pump. These admonishments suggest that women have been strutting into the legislative session on the arm of David Lee Roth just before shimmying down a pole to the thumping beat of Walk This Way.

No doubt, flaunting their toe cleavage.

So female members of the house may no longer purchase clothing at Ann Taylor, Banana Republic or Jones New York. Instead, they would be prudent to enter chambers wearing the latest in Duggar-wear.

Our nation has seen the Women’s Rights Movement and Title XI. We’ve Come a Long Way, Baby, except on the Montana State House floor. [Read more…]

Thanksgiving Envy

With mere hours toturkey day go on the Turkey Day countdown, you’ve probably checked most items off your official Food Network Thanksgiving Planning To-Do List.

Yeah, me neither.

According to the Food Network guide, my menu should have been planned one month in advance. That’s ridiculous – mine has been planned for much, much longer – almost a year to be exact. I’m not all that organized, it’s just that my bill of fare revolves around that Holy Trinity of Thanksgiving – turkey, dressing and taters.

Duh.

The planning guide says to make my guest list early. When did Thanksgiving ever have anything to do with guests? They’re called relatives. Thanksgiving, as mandated by federal law, specifically requires you to spend your day off engaging in awkward family encounters. Which is, of course, why the gin and tonic was invented.

At the two-week mark, Food Network says I should choose my décor. I could create a neutral, earth-toned place setting, a lovely fall floral arrangement, or design a minimalist, less-is-more holiday table.

Because everything about the Thanksgiving holiday screams minimalism. [Read more…]

Performance of a Lifetime

8547597_s

Some people know from an early age that they belong on the stage. They are the kids who never hesitated to jump up in front of family or friends and belt out a rousing version of I Just Can’t Wait to be King, don a pair of tap shoes, or recite a Shakespearean sonnet. They are born to be in the spotlight.

I am not one of the people.

So it was a little surprising for me to learn that I’ll be delivering a theatrical performance of my very own. I’ve been practicing diligently since mid-April, when I first learned of my new role. And if I may be so bold, I’m betting this performance will have Oscar written all over it.

Move over, Meryl.

While this show may have the shortest run in theatre history, it in no way will diminish the need for a script delivered with believability and careful attention to detail. In an ideal cinematic world, it should be the perfect blend of Bette Davis and Katharine Hepburn.

It’s gotta be that good.

But not being blessed with a theater gene, I am more than a little concerned. Despite all the hours of rehearsal I’ve put in, I fear my performance will more closely resemble something between Lucy Ricardo and Melissa McCarthy.

This one-woman show opens and closes tomorrow afternoon in an off, off-Broadway venue. It’s a peculiar setting to be sure and it’s difficult to imagine that a performance such as mine has ever been delivered there before.

That’s because it’s happening in Washington, DC in Dulles Airport. Between Baggage Claim #1 and #2, to be exact. That’s where I’m dropping off Younger Boy tomorrow to begin his high school exchange program. For the Whole. School. Year.

Clearly I’m not taking Phase One of my Pre-Mature Empty Nest very well. [Read more…]

Yakasses on a Plane? Say it Ain’t So!

airplaneWe’re less than a week away from the busiest time of the year in air travel – the Christmas holiday season.  According to the American Air Trade Industry, between December 17 and January 6, 15 million people will line up for their pre-flight TSA grope.  And if the FCC gives the green light, those 15 million people will probably be talking on their cell phones. 

Right next to your head.

I’d be less alarmed if Samuel L. “Snakes On A Plane” Jackson was wrestling a pit viper out of the overhead bin at 15C.

As if the holidays weren’t stressful enough, getting there may now involve your melon being bookended by a couple of Droids.  Especially if you drew the short straw of airline travel known as the middle seat. 

Give me a screaming baby any day.  For all I care, that baby could whip an unfiltered Camel out of his diaper for a few puffs to calm his frazzled nerves.  I’d rather have Junior blow smoke rings in my face.  Because I could deal with that more gracefully than having a Yakass two inches from my noggin for the duration of my cross-country flight. [Read more…]

The Last Best Place – But Not For Haters

 

greenmanI’ve lived in Bozeman a long time.  One of the things I’ve always appreciated about this community is how welcoming it is – to everyone.  It reminds me of my Southern home where when company comes, we roll out the red carpet to show folks we’re glad you’re visiting.  We throw a little extra supper on the stove and invite our guests to stay awhile longer, just because.

Today, Bozeman, we have company coming.  Between you and me, I’m not feeling all that hospitable.

Members of the Westboro Baptist Church are coming to town.

My first inclination is to do what my crotchety Great Aunt Willadean would do when unwanted guests showed up on her doorstep – pretend nobody’s home.  You can knock all you want WBC, but Bozeman will just ignore you.

But I don’t think that’s the answer.  That might give them the crazy idea that our indifference legitimizes their message.

They’ve got enough crazy ideas as it is. [Read more…]

A Convert Comes Clean

They say that converts are the worst.  Reformed carb addicts have been known to snatch a piece of still warm baguette from your hands while shrieking, “You’ll THANK me for this!”  Reformed smokers complain the loudest when a whiff of a stray puff so much as crosses their nostrils.  And I may be the worst convert of all – because I, too, am reformed.

I’ll admit it; I’m a former Hug Hater.  Now without warning I may embrace you in a bear hug like Joe Biden on the campaign trail.

hugging

This conversion is particularly noteworthy because I was not raised by a family of Huggers.  My tribe has never been prone to displays of affection.  Not that we were Luddites or lacking human emotion, but all of us would agree our personal space needs are bigger than most.  Hugs were an expression deemed acceptable only on special occasions.

Most of my life I wished I could deploy an Anti-Hugging Vest.  Much like the airline safety floatation device, I could pull the rip cord on the AHV which would inflate in the event of an unexpected hug.  The AHV could provide that body space buffer zone to make that awkward encounter a little more tolerable.

I was perfectly content with all acknowledgements expressed in the form of Hug Substitutes. An animated wave, a hearty handshake or even a high five were totally acceptable.  But when anyone attempted to breach my space bubble by coming in my direction with outstretched arms, I’d freeze in place, most likely with my face frozen in a look of complete horror. [Read more…]

Give me fitness. Give me abs. Give me a Hawaii Chair.

workout woman

Experts say it takes three weeks to turn a new behavior into a habit.  So if my past experience is a predictor, at two weeks into my New Year’s fitness regime I’m going to be, well, bored.  Cardio intervals? Yawn. Core fitness? Zzzzzz.  Eat less, exercise more?  What-EVER.

Give me gimmicks.  Give me fads.  Give me a piece of exercise equipment I can hang wet laundry on when I’m tired of using it.

What can I say? I’m a sucker for lazy-woman fitness.

I’ve been enamored with useless home exercise equipment ever since I watched my grandmother unveil her newest apparatus.  “You wrap this band around your hips,” she told me. “Then you flip this switch.”  The machine began to agitate her body with such vigor, she looked like she was in California during The Big One.  “I-I-I-I a-m-m-m e-xxxx-er-cisingggg!” she squealed over the din of the motor sounding like a post-menopausal Elmer Fudd on an infomercial.  After being shaken by the machine for exactly three minutes, Grandma somehow managed to flip the switch off. The band around her hips went slack and fell behind her legs. “Whew, what a workout!” she said patting her forehead with a towel, although she hadn’t visibly broken a sweat.

If this was working out, then I could embrace fitness. [Read more…]

What To Do When The Snorchestra Begins

snoring man

I took off my glasses and turned off the light.  I pulled the covers up, rolled on my side and closed my eyes.

That’s when it started.

Snick. Snick. Snick.

It was like the sound my car made when the alternator died.  But unlike the noise that stopped once I realized turning the key with greater frequency would not revive the lifeless battery, this sound continued.

SNICK. SNICK. SNICK.

The cacophony, which I feared would rattle my glasses off the nightstand, jeopardized not only my martial bliss, but my pre-menopausal ability to catch some Zzzzs without sucking on an Ambien.

The Husband was asleep on his back, which meant – he was snoring.

He denies that his supine slumber treats me to the occasionally nasal symphony.  But that night, I stared Eyes Wide Open into the dark listening to his mournful Call of the Loud that sounded like the guttural musings of a small wounded rhino.  [Read more…]

Is A Baby Sister Really Too Much To Ask For?

2013-04-20 11.16.56My youth was idyllic.  My days were drama-free. It was so darned peaceful that Mr. Bluebird occasionally landed on my shoulder to whistle a cheerful tune.  I never heard those words so frequently uttered by Country Squire station wagon driving dads on family roads trips: “DON’T make me pull this car over!” But my childhood was agreeable, not because I was the spawn of Ward and June Cleaver.  It was not because I was the Perfect Child.  It was calm for a singular reason – I was an Only Child.

But I needed a sibling.  I wanted a Big Brother just like my two best friends.  I begged my parents for a brother.  Without spilling the beans on the birds and bees, they gently explained that this was never, ever going to happen.  My six-year-old brain understood the word “no,” but not the underlying mechanics that prevented my plan from becoming a reality.

As a more worldly seven-year-old, I decided a baby sister would do.

As a second grader, I launched a full-scale Jack Abramoff-style lobbying effort to secure a sister.  I created a grassroots campaign utilizing the alliances of friends with younger siblings to influence my parents.  In a stroke of perfect timing the teacher asked the class to write a story about our family: the perfect opportunity for a journalistic expose of My Life With The World’s Most Unreasonable Parents.  As I read my story out loud, I watched with joy as my teacher’s eyes widened in what I assumed was horror at the situation known as my family life.  When she told me to stay behind at recess, I thought she would say, “You poor dear!  I can’t fathom that you’re forced to live with such selfish parents who don’t understand your need for a baby sister.  I’m calling them right now.” [Read more…]

Knowing What to Expect

Hop on over to What to Expect (yes, that max-family pic 6What to Expect).  I’m a guest columnist on Word of Mom.  Check out “The One Simple Rule for Naming Your Baby.

If you’re pregnant, have babies or toddlers – they’ve been the experts at helping you know What to Expect, literally, every step of the way.

%d bloggers like this: