Sewing, Shopping and Shari Don't Mix

Clothes my mom made.  We had to
try them on and the pins were sticking out.

From the time I was a young child, I've always hated shopping and sewing.  My mom loves both. We were a bad combo when it came to these activities.  I remember my mom taking me on her shopping trips to the fabric store.....the two things I did NOT want to do.   I'd beg her to let me stay home and take one of my sisters instead of me, but no.  My mom was bound and determined to make a shopper and a sewist (Artist with sewing?) out of me.

For those who don't know about sewing, picking out the things needed to make an item of clothing can take forever.  You have to pick out the pattern, then the fabric, elastic, buttons, zippers, snaps, rick rack, thread and other embellishments.  When you go with my mom, each item takes at least an hour to find.  There are walls and isles with more walls of sewing things.  There are big books of patterns too.  Sewing stores cause minimalists, like me, to get twitches.  (For insights about my minimalism issues please refer to my blog "Spartanism.  The perfect psychiatric disorder".) 

This is a pattern for culottes
from the 70's. 

I've had bad experiences when trying to sew.  I've never understood why someone would choose to spend a bunch of time sewing a piece of clothing when you can go to the store and buy it for less.  No offense to you talented people who sew well and love it.  I am not good at sewing and I don't love it mostly because the items I've tried to sew, look like a kindergarten felt project gone awry.  For instance I once made a pair of pants...........my mom called them slacks.  By the time I finished my slacks they were what I'd call bellotes.  One leg was a culotte and the other was a bell bottom. The crotch seam went at an angle across the buttocks area thereby causing a perma-snug.  I put them on once and took them right back off to deposit them in a dumpster.  I'll never get those 41 hours back.

Another time I had to sew a tote bag for my 7th grade home economics class.  I started sewing on this tote thinking "How hard can it be to buzz a piece of material through a sewing machine while a needle goes up and down and sews it for you.  I had a lot to learn.  First, when you push on the sewing machine peddle to make it go, you have to be aware that it is NOT a car.  You don't floor it.  I floored it and the needle zipped up and down like a jack hammer.  The material bunched up and was spit out the other side in a wad. Plus, I nearly sewed my finger up into the wad of material.  I realized that this is a difficult and dangerous hobby.    

The next thing that I learned was that the person whose sewing machine was going the fastest did not win. I had my sewing machine going at warp speed.  I did not win. In fact, I had to unpick the stupid tote bag 17 times.  I looked around the class after a few days of this project and noticed that the other kids in the class had not only finished their tote but most of them had sewed a t-shirt and were moving on to the cooking portion of the class.  They got to make these peanut butter balls which I got to smell while I sat there unpicking my tote bag for the 12th time.  I unpicked the stupid thing so many times that the fabric kept getting frayed. The teacher made me trim off the frayed part of the fabric so many times that the tote bag turned into a coin purse. 

My mom had special things she would do when she sewed.  When purchasing patterns and fabric you have to know what size of pattern to buy.   Every time my mom sewed something for me, she would pull out a sewing tape measure and measure me.  I can't imagine that my size was a mystery.  She bought my clothes so she could have looked at the tags on my store purchased clothes to see my size.  Better yet, couldn't she just eyeball me?  My theory is that she loved to measure and wanted to measure while she held pins between her lips or put a red pin cushion, full of pins, on her wrist like a bracelet. Those are things that you do when you sew. 

The measuring part of sewing was not near as bad as the trying on.  Trying on comes after you go to the fabric store and cut the clothing out and do some sewing.  The bad part about trying on partially sewed clothes is that the fabric is pinned so there are pins sticking out everywhere. It like trying on a porcupine.

My idea of everything one needs
to sew.  No fabric stores needed.
A little duct tape works wonders too.

Still, the worst part of the sewing experience for me as a child, were the trips to the fabric store. Just walking through the door to the fabric store would trigger an urge to go use the bathroom.  I don't know why this would happen but according to my mom, "Fabric stores don't have bathrooms so you just have to hold it." This can't be a good thing for anyone.  To this day, my PTSD from shopping in fabric stores has led to a feeling of instantaneous diarrhea whenever I walk into a store that sells sewing items. 

When my mom and I were at the fabric stores, I would entertain myself by climbing under the long desk where the moms would sit and look at giant pattern books.  On the underside of these desks you could see particle board with a piece of gum stuck here and there. That's how long I was under the desk.  My mom would look at patterns for what seemed like ages.  One time while under the desk I had a stoke of genius.  I looked down to see a pin sticking out of the carpet.  Now if I could get the pin to stick straight out of my kneecap then we would have to leave the fabric store to go get the pin removed and get a tetanus shot.  2 minutes of pain vs. infinity hours of shopping for fabric. I kneeled on that pin and it went in my knee but not very much.  I showed my mom the pin protruding, which was sagging out of my knee cap and she just pulled it out and hit the pattern book again. Done. That was so not worth kneeling on a pin.

My mom used to sign me up for sewing classes in the summer time.  It KILLED me to sit inside and sew stupid things when I could be doing a million other things outside, like having fun.  My sister, who attended some of these classes with me, said she remembers me sewing for a few minutes and then I would disappear from the class.  My sister (along with the rest of the class) would then spot me outside running past the windows like an idiot.  I explained that I was taking a lap around the building out of frustration so that I could come back into class and sit there wasting the rest of the day unpicking my new bellottes project.       

Me in some snazzy bells
No I did not make them because
they are not bellotes.

  

  

Golf, Outhouses and Forehead Hematomas

This week the Masters tournament was played. In honor of the Masters, which is Mickey's favorite golf tournament, I'm going to write about my experiences with golf.  I didn't grow up playing or watching golf so when I got married I was introduced into the golf world by my husband.  Mickey has been golfing with his dad and brothers since he was a young child. 

Mickey decided that I needed to learn to golf so he purchased some clubs for me and took me to a golf course with his dad Dave and his two brothers, Steve and David K.  The first thing I learned is that golf is not as easy as it looks and people that have been golfing their entire life are not that patient with beginners.  Also, the game has a lot of rules of etiquette you should follow.  I learned quickly that you don't chat while someone is getting ready to hit the ball and if you start yapping while they're swinging then you get yelled at.

The next thing I learned is that you always have to hurry because the people behind you are always waiting even if you don't see anyone behind you.  If you are a beginner then you don't get practice swings.  You just have to hurry and put the ball on the T and hit it if you can.  There is no time for dilly dallying in golf even though it takes 8 hours to play a round.

Oh, here's a good one.......if someone is putting and you are standing there watching, for the love of everything holy, make sure your shadow is not near the ball or the path where the ball may go or even in the vicinity of the person putting the ball.  Golfers are very touchy about shadows. 

Don't even get me going about the rules that apply to hitting a ball in the water, out of bounds or somewhere where the ball's not supposed to be. This will happen most of the time when you are learning to golf but you will need a calculator, a tape measure and an official golf rule book to try and figure out the score and where you are supposed to drop your ball.  This is the time that arguments arise and sometimes bodily contact occurs betwixt Mickey and his brothers.

Also, did you know that if you swing at the ball and don't hit it, that still counts as a hit or in golf talk......a stroke.   

There are a lot of these types of rules in golf.  It all seems very strict and like you have to be well behaved on the course but after golfing with Mickey's dad and brothers I realized that etiquette is followed when hitting the ball but the rest of the time, it's a free for all.  

David K, Mickey, Dave, Steve

I never knew that golf could be a full contact sport.  Mickey, Steve and David K loved to bug their dad while golfing.  If Mickey's dad Dave entered the outhouse during a round golf, Mickey and his brothers would jump into the golf cart and run the cart into the outhouse, trying to push it a little ways or knock it over WHILE Dave was using it.  Dave would come out and grab a club and go after his sons.  According to me, his actions were justified.  

Our sons picked up on the fun of bugging grandpa Dave.  Rocky and Whitey, when they were young, went golfing with Dave one day. They happened upon a little blue robin's egg while on the course.  They picked up the egg and threw it at Dave hitting him in the side of the head. With yolk running down the side of his face, Dave picked up his 9 iron and took off after the boys, swinging.   Once again this was probably justified but I started to wonder if golf is a more dangerous sport than it appears.

I also learned that miracles can happen on the golf course.  One miracle that really stands out is the time that Mickey hit a ball into some thick trees.  Everyone knew he would never find his ball and yet he found his ball on the edge of the fairway by the trees.  His dad walked over to where Mickey found his ball and this was the conversation: 

Dave: "Mickey that is not your ball."

Mickey:  "It IS my ball. There it is!"  

Dave: "Nope. Your ball was white and this one is yellow." 

Mickey: "Well it went in white and came out yellow and that's the miracle of it all." 

Sid when she realized
she hit a hole in one

Another miracle was the time my daughter Sid, my son Mickey and I went golfing.  We were on a par 3 hole (That means you should be able to hit it into the hole with three hits). Sid hit her ball and we saw it hit the green but then lost sight of it.  All three of us headed to the green and searched for Sid's ball. We couldn't find it but noticed that the people playing behind us were yelling at us. I thought we had breached something in golf etiquette or we were dilly dallying but realized they were trying to tell us to look in the hole. Sure enough Sid's ball was right there in the hole and we had no clue she had hit a hole in one!  After I saw that, I assumed that everyone hit a hole in one once in a while.  Mickey explained to me that he has never seen a hole in one, in person, in his entire life of golfing.  I learned that holes in one are not that common and that in my short golf career I had already seen something Mickey hadn't.  Shari 1 Mickey 0.

Golf involves a lot of betting.  I've seen more bets made on a golf course than I have in Vegas.  Mickey's bets are very creative.  One common bet is the flicking bet.  So whoever loses gets a flick on the forehead.  You bend your middle finger, hold it back with your thumb, release your thumb and let your middle finger fly, as hard as you can, right into the middle of the losers forehead.  I have seen hematomas form from a well placed flick by a Taylor.  Mickey told me that his brother David K has a weighted finger (he broke it I think).  He said David K has an unfair advantage with flicking because of his special finger.  When the Taylors finish a round of golf, you can always tell who won by who is NOT sporting a red hematoma in the middle of their forehead. 

When you golf with our family it can become quite competitive.  For some reason every time I golf with Mickey I feel my competitiveness coming out.  I just want to beat him.  Mickey is much better than I am at golf so we have to make up rules so I can win.  For instance, last summer we finished out the golf season by playing a round with my two daughters, Madisyn and Maggey and my son in law Matt.   Matt is new to golf and the rest of us aren't that good except Mickey (who, I might add, has been golfing his whole life and plays a lot.)  Matt can hit the ball a mile but we are never sure quite where the ball will go.  

Our five some with the sexy beast in back

We decided to play "best ball" for this round of golf.  That's a game where the ball that is hit into the best position is the position that everyone hits from except Mickey.  Mickey was his own team against all four of us. On the last hole we were tied. Madisyn, Maggey and I all hit terrible shots.  Our only hope was Matt.  We held our breath and watched quietly of course.  Matt walked onto the Tee box, tee'd up his ball.  It fell off. He tee'd it up again.  You could feel the pressure Matt was under.  He adjusted his golf shorts in back, took a practice swing then hit the ball.  He hit it a mile! It landed smack on the green not far from the hole! It was a winner shot!  It was a thing of beauty.  I just lost it.  I was sooo happy and so into the competition that I started jumping up and down.  I actually had an out of body experience.  Before I knew what was happening I yelled out to Matt, "You beast! You beast! You sexy beast!"

Silence.............

They all stopped and stared at me.  Madisyn said, "MOM!  Are you serious?"  

It was in that moment that I realized what I had said.  Oh my noooooo!

Maggey was dumbfounded and finally said, "You know mom, that's my husband and you're  his MOTHER IN LAW!

I had no words.  The only thing I can say for myself is that apparently I have no control of what comes out my yapper in the heat of competition!

Matt just stood there with a blank look.  

I must say that golf can be fun but perhaps it's just not my game.  I don't love it enough to be a good player but I do enjoy the competition and so far I've never suffered from a forehead hematoma.  Lastly, when golfing with the Taylors, just a heads up, never enter an outhouse and when you're not looking they drive the golf cart over your ball and smash it into the grass. 

Pontoons, Airstreams and Backing Up

I love Airstream Trailers. One day after looking at a few Airstreams online, Mickey and I decided to go look at some in person.  I saw giddiness in his face.  He said,  "I'd love one for deer hunting and fishing!  That would be awesome!"  I gave him the look and said, "I'm thinking of a nice bed without dirt clods scattered on the floor, leeches and worms in the mini fridge and remnants of fish guts on the counter tops.  Not sa much a fish gut and hunting thing."  His vision and my vision of Airstream uses were completely opposite.  We decided to go look anyway.   

We drove to a local Airstream dealer.  When we got there the salesman asked us what we were looking for in a trailer.  We told him we didn't know but that we just wanted to look at some.  First thing he took us to see was a very small trailer.  It was called a Basecamp.  I wondered if you could really fit two people in it.  Even though it was tiny it had some really nice things in it.   It had a bed, shower, toilet and little table and bench.  After a quick glance we thought we would want something a bit bigger.   

The salesman led us to a bigger one that was 19 feet long.  This trailer was much larger than the Basecamp but still not very large according to Mickey.  We climbed aboard.  Mickey sat down, shook his head and said, "Nope."  We sat in a 22 foot, 23 foot, 25 foot and a 27 foot trailer.  All of these got a little bigger and a little nicer.  Each time Mickey stepped into the next trailer, he'd look around and shake his large noggin and say "Nope."  The sales guy was a good sport.  He offered to give us a few brochures so we followed him into the show room.  

As we walked into the showroom, Mickey stopped dead in his tracks.  He was speechless so he just pointed to a giant shinning silver Airstream lit by spot lights.  The gleaming missile seemed to softly whisper "Come hither" to him.  He sauntered over to the 33 foot Airstream Classic and went up the stairs into the belly of the beast.  He sat in the lounge chair as he pushed the recline button and announced to all who would listen, "This is the one."

I sat next to him in the adjoining lounge chair, reclined it and said............"Are you nuts?"

Mickey driving the pontoon.
He just can't back it up.

Let me just interject here and say that a few years ago Mickey and I had a similar experience when we went to look at some pontoon boats.  A few hours later we came home as proud owners of a 30 foot pontoon. When we got home he started to back the pontoon down our long, narrow driveway and took out the neighbors mailbox.  After attempting to back the boat up for an over an hour, a small crowd gathered.  I think our neighbor started to worry that Mickey might take out our house or his so he backed it up for him.  We hauled that boat around to a few places, having people help back it up each time and sold it by the end of summer.  

Back to the ginormous Airstream.  I asked mickey if he was nuts then this was the conversation we had as we reclined:

Me: So you do remember our pontoon boat.

Mickey:  Yes.

Me:  This thing is 3 feet longer.  

Mickey: But I have trailer assist in the truck.

Me: That didn't seem to help before when you were backing.

Mickey: That pontoon was wider and rocked more.

Me:  So you think this massive trailer is smaller than the pontoon?

Mickey: It seems smaller.  I can pull this, piece of cake.

Me:  Yes, I know you can PULL it but can you actually back it up.

Mickey:  Check out the huge TV!

Me : We have one at home already.

Mickey: Look at this nice bedroom. (We both walk into the bedroom area).  It's so private! 

Mickey closed the accordion door between us and the sales guy. It felt awkward so I hollered out to the sales guy standing on the other side of the door......... 

Me: We'll be out in a second.  (Not sure why I felt the need to do that) 

Me again: By the way, how long is this bad boy when it's pulled behind a super crew truck?

Sales guy: (He pulls out his phone and types in a few things). I'd say she'll run about 52 feet.

Me:  Crickets (I look like a deer in the headlights)

Mickey:  Shari, I'm not going to just pull THIS!  I'm going to put the fishing boat behind this trailer so we can take the boat too!  

Me:  (.....19+33+21=73 feet). You realize that you'll be pulling and backing 73 feet?  So when you do that, do you have to turn the steering wheel the opposite way that you want the trailer to go then........what?  How are you going do that?

Mickey:  You just go forward.

Me: Roger.

Mickey:  (To the sales guy). So can you do that?  Can you pull a trailer and a boat behind that?

Sales guy: (He shrugs) I'm not sure.  I'm really a mechanic.

Me: Why don't we take our brochures home, we'll talk about this and get back to you.

Mickey and I drove off with our brochures and chatted all the way home.  By the time we got home an hour later we had decided the following:

!. He could back up the trailer with practice.

2. I would pull the boat behind our other car

3.  The trailer was a bit spendy but if we sold our house we could buy the trailer and a nice piece of land to put it on.

4. We could pour a pad of cement on the piece of land to park the trailer on.

5. We could run hookups to the cement pad for the trailer so we have all the conveniences of home.

6. Since we would no longer have a house, we could live in the Airstream full-time. 

7. We would need to build a very large garage/barn next to the cement pad to store the trailer, truck, 2nd car and boat  

8. The barn would also have to have a loft with a bathroom, sleeping area and family room because.......

9. I would take the Airstream every January, February and March to Phoenix so I could get out of the cold and Mickey could visit me on the weekends.  

10. When Mickey wasn't visiting me in Phoenix he could live in the garage/barn.

11. Eventually we would want a house so we would build a house by the garage/barn and cement pad.

It was decided.  We were going to try something new.  We were doing this RV thing.   

Before making the leap we decided to get really educated and watch some YouTube vids about the basics of RV living. The first video told us that it's nice to be handy when you live in an RV because of maintenance and little fix it jobs that can occur while living in an RV.  Mickey said that he's not a handyman so we would have to hire someone to do that stuff unless I wanted to do it.  

Next we watched a video about living in an RV park.  Apparently when you have 52 feet of trailer and truck you have to stay in something called a pull through RV park so you don't have to back up.  These spots are limited thus the cement pad of our own.

The next video was about tips for living in an RV.  Then we watched a video about the things people wished they knew before they started living in their RV and lastly we watched a video was about the Cons of RV living.

We shut off the TV.  Stared at each other and this was the conversation:

Mickey:  I think I've seen enough RV Youtube videos for now.

Shari:  Yep.

Mickey:  We might want to rethink this.  

Me: Yes we should.

Mickey: Do we really want to live in an RV?

Shari: Nope

Mickey:  I'm not a handyman you know

Shari:  I'm aware

Mickey:  I can't take that RV hunting.  

Shari:  I wasn't planning on that anyway.

Mickey:  I don't think I want to live in a garage/barn when I'm not living in the trailer

Shari: Why not?

Mickey: Even though I'm a good backer this might not be our thing.

Shari: Ya sure?

It occurred to me that what we would be doing was similar to living in a van down by the river?

I think we'll stick with the fishing boat and a regular house for now.

Mickey feeding Ty cherries on the pontoon.  Good times!

                                                                   

WWF Moves and My Sister

My sister and I when we were still nice

Back in the day when I was an annoying 12 year old, my parents had gone out to dinner so my sisters, my best friend and I were supervising ourselves.  We decided to watch some TV.      I was sitting on the couch with younger sister Mindy sitting on one side of me and my friend sitting on the other side of me.  My oldest sister Marti was sitting on the floor right in front of me so that her head was by my feet.  Picture this, I was sitting so that my bare feet were up on the couch cushion and my knees tucked up by my chin. I would call it a sitting fetal position. My toes were possibly touching her hair.    

You're thinking that I had stinky feet right?  Nope.  Marti said, "Your toes are touching my hair.  Move them."  Instead of removing my toes from her hair or Marti moving her body either direction, I just wiggled my toes in her long, brunette, 70's feathered hair.  This is how the body slam of 1972 began.  

Marti turned around and cranked my toes backwards then turned back around to watch TV.  I proceeded to do the sisterly thing and just kicked her in the back of her noggin.  

Marti stood up and grabbed the offending foot of mine and pulled me off the couch.  My tailbone hit the hard floor first and it wasn't pleasant.  All that went through my mind was "GAME ON!"  My friend who was sitting right next to me on the couch saw the escalation in our violence and promptly stood up and announced that her mom was calling her so she should go home.  I didn't want my friend to go home just because my sister and I were having a tiffle.  I looked over at her and I very firmly said, "You can't hear your mom calling from a block away.  Sit down and shutty."

Marti was 14 at the time.  She was taller than me, weighed more than me and had full blown boosies.  As sisters you all know that if you have those then you have all the power.  I don't know what came over me though, because I snapped.  Maybe it was the fact that both my big toe and tail bone had been injured or that I wanted my friend to know that despite my injuries and missing mammies, I still had some moxie.

Marti and I wrestling in our babushka's and bell bottoms

Marti and I stood there, in the middle of the family room, facing off, my eye balls staring at the all powerful bosom of my older and much larger sister.  Next thing I knew, I hoisted Marti up by the waist and did an amazing WWF bodyslam.  I'll be honest. It felt good.  You would think that I'd strut myself back to the couch to sit by my friend and younger sister to gloat but I didn't.  First, I was so shocked that I was capable of body slamming Marti that I just stood there looking down at her in a heap on our green shag carpet. Next I started feel bad.  Marti started to cry and slowly stood up, brushed off her bell bottoms and straightened out her halter top.  She looked me right in my evil yet powerful eye and said, "I don't cry very easily but when I do it's really bad."  

As she walked toward the bathroom door, all drama and stomping platforms, she turned to me and said in her snarkiest voice, "Just wait until mom and dad hear about this!"   I knew I was toast if this got back to my parents.  I grew up with 4 sisters and no bothers so this kind of fighting was not tolerated well in our house.  Where were my much needed big, bad brothers that would have really big, nasty fights.  If I had some brothers, then using my WWF moves on Marti wouldn't be such a big deal. 

The thing is though, I had dirt on Marti.  Just a few weeks prior to this incident Marti had snuck out of the house to go to a friends house and I caught her in the act.  I had been holding onto this info until just the right moment and this was it.  I marched myself to the bathroom where she had locked herself in to have a cry.  I rapped on the door and reminded her of her recent sneaking infraction.  The door immediately popped open and Marti's red rimmed eyes appeared around the door.  She cry-whined, "What do you want."  I told her that I saw her sneaking out so she better not tell on my bodyslam.

Mindy-You did what? Me-Marti did it!  Marti-She's so mean

She was mad but she was guilty too.  We both agreed to never tell our parents what transpired that night or the night when she snuck out.  It was the classic  "I won't tell if you don't tell."  

We both walked back into the family room, satisfied that we had an agreement.   Of course we sat at opposite ends of the couch so no body parts would touch each other.  My friend had skedaddled by then.  Sitting between us was my little sister Mindy, just 2 years younger that I was.  She looked at both of us and said, "I'm telling mom and dad on both of you."  

Ahhh.....sisters.  

I guess we were always stinkers.  Looking at this picture I can clearly
see that I'm the pill on the left, Mindy is the scared infant in the middle because she's
wedged between her sisters and Marti is the guilty party on the right.
 

Bare Chests and Arachnids

My family has always loved their petty tortures.  Mickey Sr. especially loves to persecute our kids, that's why he wanted so many.  

For instance Mickey decided that our teenage son Whitey should hang the Christmas lights one year.  In order to do that, Whitey, who is terrified of heights, had to get up on the ice and snow covered roof.  As if that wasn't bad enough for Whitey, Mickey decided to make things even more scary by hauling out the air soft guns.  He proceeded to shoot at Whitey as he tried to hang the lights.  I stood in the doorway, hollering at the shooter, "Mickey, stop shooting the kids."  I'm sure the neighbors heard.  We were new to the hood so I'm also sure they were worried. Don't feel too bad for Whitey though.  He always gets even.   

Another time while Whitey was out on a date, Mickey put about 20 mouse traps in his bed.  When Whitey came home from his date, he climbed into bed only to be attacked by 20 snapping mouse traps.  All we heard was the snapping and Whitey yell, DAD!"   A couple of minutes later Whitey came upstairs with an air soft gun and shot Mickey while I hid under the bed covers. 

Mickey put two of our neighbor boys down in our window well and poured motor oil and condiments from the fridge on them.  It may not sound so bad but they were wearing shorts and it was a snowy, February night.  He did that to those poor boys just because they took a can of shaving cream and squirted it into Mickey's ear hole.  Mickey deserved it too.  

Our kids were raised enduring these abuses AND learning from the master.  They also practiced on their siblings.  

The first clip is of my son Whitey.  He was mountain biking and saw a tarantula on the trail.  A genius idea come to him.  He put the tarantula into the back pocket of his biking jersey (yep) and rode home.  He then put the arachnid into a big bowl and waited for the perfect moment.  

Later that day, Whitey went into the living room to find Rocky napping peacefully on the couch, bare chested and in shorts. This made for the perfect situation to dish out some brotherly persecution.  Just a side note....Rocky HATES spiders.  

Whitey retrieved the bowl with the ginormous spider and quietly crept into the living room where he ever so carefully dumped the spider right onto Rocky's bare chest.  The following is the mayhem that ensued. 

In the next clip you will notice that the chairs, tables and pillows were strewn about while Rocky screamed like a soprano.
.  

You will also see Mickey Sr. loving every minute of this while I shout in the background "Mickey, please make him put it somewhere!  I'm not kidding!"  In that sentence the IT refers to the tarantula. As far as my family is concerned, if you lose something like a tarantula in the house, then you just act like you don't know how it happened and wait until it ends up in someones bed.   

Mickey's has trained his children well.  The petty tortures will probably continue for generations to come but at least it gives me something to blog about.

Whitey and Rocky

Insurance, Gender and The Proof

Not too long ago I was applying to get health insurance.  It's not as easy as you think to get health insurance especially after you hit the magic 50th birthday and the insurance companies think you are now decrepit. 

After filling out several forms and sending money, you wait.  You wait to see if you're in or out.  After a month of waiting, I called to see if I was accepted into the insurance fold.   I was told that the application was being processed and that they would get right back to us.  

Three more months went by.  I had called them every month and each time they would tell me our application was being reviewed.  I was living in health insurance limbo and my current policy was set to expire by the end of the week.    

Finally after 4 months of paying premium and not knowing if we were officially insured, I SNAPPED!   I was a donkey on the edge when I called in for the 6th time. This is the conversation and I'm not kidding:

Insurance guy:  Hello Mrs. Taylor.  How can we help you?

Me: I've been waiting 4 months for an answer as to whether or not our insurance application has been approved and if we are covered.  We've already paid the premiums for the past 4 months.

Insurance guy:  Yes, I see.   There is just one more piece of information we need from you.   We need proof of your gender.  We are just waiting for documentation on this. 

Me:.................crickets.............silence................really?  This is why I've been waiting for 4 months to get approved? 

Insurance guy:  We need that information before we can approve your application.

Me: What do you have in mind exactly?

Insurance guy:  Just something that tells me you are a female.

Me: Ok. I'm a female.

Insurance guy: You telling us that you're a female doesn't work.  I need something official.

Me: (In my snippiest voice). Well, you made me miss my mammogram a month ago. 

Insurance guy:  We're sorry about that but we can't do anything until this issue is resolved and documented.

Me: Can you hear my FEMALE voice telling you to put this in your documents?

Insurance guy:  Ma'am, we're doing the best we can here but we need some kind of proof that you are, in fact, a female.

Me: You're calling me Ma'am so you must think I'm a female.

Me on the left looking a bit like a dude
but note the swimsuit please.

Insurance guy:  That doesn't work either.

Me:  Hum, I was born in a family of 5 girls.  I was the son my dad never had and sometimes I looked like a boy when my mom cut my hair cut like a boy, but I think they were always pretty sure I was a girl. 

Insurance guy:  Cute but not what we need.

Me on the right and Mickey on the left

Me: When my husband and I travel, I stick my head through the board on the women's side in those fake swim suit pictures.

My proof

Insurance guy: Nope

Me: Well, I've had a bunch of kids, do you want the number of my OB/GYN?  

Insurance guy: No (and he used a bad tone of voice)

Me the day before I had my twins
I'm being very brave posting this

ME: I have a pregnant picture of when I had my twins and it's not pretty.  I can send you that or would you rather I send a picture of ALL of my kids so you'll feel sorry for me and quit hassling me.

Insurance guy: We need official type proof.

Me:  My husband married me thinking I was a woman.  I even have a marriage certificate. 

Our wedding announcement pic
Clearly a man and woman.  Check out the 80's hair

Insurance guy:....................silence (he's thinking about what he wants for proof).

Me: Do you need me to come to your office and flash my boosies at you? 

Insurance guy: Ma'am, thats not helpful either.  Let me transfer you to someone else.

The poor guy can't think anymore so he transfers me to anyone that'll take the call.

Brenda:  Hello, My name is Brenda.  I hear we just need to know your gender and then we can finish up your application process.  

Me:  I hear that too.

Brenda:  Are you Shari on this application.

Me: Yes

Brenda:  Ok.  You're all finished. We'll get the cards sent right out.  


At least I know I'm female for sure.  



*That insurance company dumped us at the end of the year due to cutbacks in individual insurance policies?   I guess I need to come up with more proof for the next time.