Dr. Strangemom (or, how I learned to stop worrying and love the blog)

Driving Miss Robin

So, what's new? Not much.

Oh wait. Right. Robin got his driver's license suspended.

It's not what you think, and I know that you are thinking DUI. 

Robin was nabbed for speeding. And running a red light. And for totally being a dick to me when I was in a bad mood a few months ago and just needed to be left alone. Well, okay, he wasn't pulled over for that, specifically, but I felt the police officer who gave him the speeding ticket should know what I go through. So I told him.

You'd think that a person who had his license taken away would be the contrite one in the car, right? And you'd think that person would refrain from giving helpful driving tips to the person who is giving up her valuable time to schlep him around town, and who has pretty much made her way in the driving world for, oh, forty years without his helpful tips and suggestions such as, "when you accelerate, you want to blah blah blah...".

I can't tell you how his sentences end because by then I am usually looking for the closest bridge from which to launch us both into the Willamette. The man cannot shut the fuck up about my driving.

The other week, after I did not accept his helpful suggestions on parallel parking, and after he pointed out that he is pretty much an expert in parallel parking and really, in all aspects of driving, possibly all aspects of life, and I pointed out that one of us who is not an expert still has a valid driver's license and one of us who is an expert needs to have me drive him to Safeway because he is out of Preparation H wipes, and he pointed out that speeding and running red lights are not evidence of being a bad driver whereas my acceleration technique is a major red flag about my road skills, and, really, about my ability to navigate the world at all, and then I pointed out that I hate him and I have been faking my orgasms, he said indignantly to me, "I am going to get a new driver!"

And he looked at me as though he had just told me he was going to get a new wife. Which shook me about as much as if he said he was going to get a new driver.

And then I slammed on the brakes because I was about to run a red light and we both stopped fighting due to our instantaneous commitment to whiplashes while saving the Trenta iced tea I had just gotten from Starbucks, which was the topic of the helpful tip Robin had been giving me ("TWO dollars? For iced tea??? This is why we have no retirement savings") right before the parallel parking thing happened.

Only there wasn't really a red light. I just wanted to slam on the brakes. I like to fuck with him.

My Current APGAR

I hate this kind of shit. As if I don't have enough to worry about already.

According to an article in Huffpo, by the age of 50, women should know how to do all the things listed below. This, of course, is complete bullshit; all a woman needs to know by age 50 is the adage, "you choose your face or your ass", which means you can be thin (i.e. choose your ass) but your face will look gaunt and creepy and small children will run from you, or you can choose your face (eat all your want and grow your ass the size of Texas) and be gorgeous.

And by 59 (in a few weeks), all a woman needs to know is that even if she cannot see it, there is a whisker growing out of her face somewhere that is, like, four feet long and thick as a Sequoia. A whisker that was not there yesterday but is most certainly there today.

Huffpo, however, has a different list.

And therefore, below, my rebuttal:

Say "no" without feeling guilty  - Yeah, um, unless you are Jewish. I even feel guilty when I say "yes".

Book their own travel - do they mean make dozens of reservations on Alaska Airlines until the code letters you get spell out something that is a good harbinger and means the plane won't go down? Then, yes. I do that.

Say "I'm sorry" and mean it -  I totally mean it. On the surface. Where it counts.

Get around in a foreign country - Well that's just stupid. Nobody needs to go to a foreign country anymore. Not when there is the Travel Channel. And legalized weed.

Mix at least a few classic cocktails - and by "classic", do they mean drink tequila straight from the bottle while looking at photos of themselves when they were young and happy? Then, yes.

Make themselves and their own needs a priority - I feel I excel at this. I asked Robin if he thought I was too much of a martyr, always thinking of others, and if I need to make myself more of a priority and he laughed so hard he coughed up a tooth. 

Defend themselves against an attacker with at least one signature self-defense move  - I have one signature move. It's a kind of pelvis sway and shimmy thing I learned in the 70's at Disco Disco. You should see how fast men run away when I do it now.

Perform CPR
Carve a turkey -  I only carve it if the CPR didn't work.

Choose their own wine  - Easy. The one that's open. And closest to me so I don't have to sit up. Or roll over.

Examine their own breasts  - Well, now, this can be problematic.  What with my fifty-nine year old eyes being so near-sighted and my breasts being so much further away from my face than they used to be, a lot of visual acuity is lost. So I generally just ask random strangers to examine them for me. Sometimes I add my signature move.

Graciously accept a compliment  - Yeah, okay. When I fucking GET one, I'll let you know how graciously I will accept it.

Flip their own breaker  - if that is a euphemism for masturbating, I am not going to answer.

Plunge a toilet  - Hah. That would be a really gross euphemism for masturbating.

Walk away from a situation or relationship when it's not working  - No problem. Ask the myriad personal trainers, nutritionists, therapists and leg-waxers in my wake. 

Say what they really want in bed  - Easy: SLEEP. And, every once in a while, some privacy to, um, flip my breaker.

Apply makeup without a mirror  - I can do better than that. I can apply make up WITH a mirror but make it look as if I applied it WITHOUT a mirror.

Ask for a raise  - Yes. Wait, without offering sex first? Then, no.

Unclog a drain  - yet another euphemism? Well, that one kinda makes sense.

Tell which direction they are facing  - Don't need a compass to tell me I am going to Hell. In a handbasket.

Make small talk with just about anyone
Know when to reveal personal information -- and when not to  - I consider revealing personal information and small talk to be indistinguishable from each other and essential at cocktails parites. You open a conversation with, "yikes. I did not expect to be faking orgasms this late into my marriage", and you are pretty much guaranteed to be left alone. Score.

Paint a room - Please. I did that at five. Only without my parent's permission. And with crayons.

Buy the right-sized bra  -I am still saving up to buy the right size boobs.

Beautifully wrap a present  - see above, about the bra.

Reach out to an old friend  - who is falling? Yes, I would totally do that.

Show love with actions and not just words  - Eeeeew. WORDS? Yuck.

Put together a real retirement strategy - You're reading it.

Look good in a photo  - Fuck you.