Kitty Talk: An Embarassing Admission Part 2

I don’t know about you, but I can’t help but baby-talk to my 3 kitty cats.  My husband makes fun of my catlingo but my babies know exactly what I say – at least I think they do.  With names like Bailey Boots Little Pussy, Peaches N. Crème de Menthe & Tia Maria Tigresse, it’s hard not to have fun.

Besides Peaches, Tia and Bailey I call them tons of names.  I don’t know how they know who I’m talking to, but they do:

• Bailey, Boots, Bear, Buddy, Mommy, Bootseree, Baldor, G Boy, Mommy’s Boy, Kitty Cat Bat, Tee La, Mommy Ska La, Foo Fighter, Pretty Boy, Boo, Smee, Snuggy, Ma Moo, Boo Bear Boy, Teess, Swee, Cheese, Chicken, Mummy, Boodis, Butter Bean….
• Peaches, Bear, Mommy’s Girl, Mommy, Bunny Girl, Cotton Tail, G, Buddy, La, Peachka, Snuggy, Bunny, Buddy Girl, Cheese, Chicken, Mummy, Butter….
• Tia, Ti Ti, Ti Boo, Ti Boozen, Tia Boo bia, Tee, Baby Tee, Little Tee, Mommy’s Girl….

They also have their own theme songs (yes, I’m nuts).  If I sing Bailey’s song, he comes and Peaches does the same.  Tia – not sure.  Do you want to hear them?  Again, I know I’m nuts but I love my babies.

• Bailey Bear with black hair, he’s my Bailey, Bailey Bear.
• Peaches N. Cream, Peaches N. Cream, little itty bitty, bitty Peaches N. Cream.
• Tia Boobia, foo-fighter fia, Tia.

My Catlingo continues to not only names and songs but to everyday cat chat.

Food is foodis.  Do you want me to open the door for you is you want Mommy opee up?  Do you want to go to bed becomes you wanna go seepy in the bed?  The only thing that seems to stay the same is do you want to eat? The backyard wildlife all have names too.

• squirrels = squirrlees
• chipmunks = ship monkeys
• birds = birdies
• rabbits = bunny wabbits
• bugs = buggies
• mice = mousies
• ants = anties
• cats = kitty cat friends

That about covers the yard and surrounding areas.  I know I sound like a total nut but I remember my parents always talking baby talk to our dogs when I was growing up.  Even with my pets, my mom, when she was alive and my dad always talked baby-talk to their grand-cats.  It’s a given.

Do you?  I think almost everybody does it, but many don’t admit it.  I can’t believe I am!

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010

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Bed Blogging – Revisited

Image via Wikipedia

Last night I just couldn’t get myself to fall asleep.  Why?

Not because of my job.  Not because of my bills.  Not because of my fat ass – but because I was bed blogging.

I wanted to say sleep blogging – but technically I wasn’t asleep.  I was lying in bed writing my blog in my head.  Thinking of a ton of ideas, and stories, and witty repartee.

Of course, tonight I have forgotten every single thing that I wanted to write about – but that’s par for the course.  After the day I had at work my brain is a pile of mushy Jello with no vodka.

I always need vodka.

En tout cas, I write my best pieces when I’m emotional and I think of my best stories when I’m bed blogging.  I lie in bed staring at the stripper pole that my husband so sweetly bolted into the ceiling (after I had a pole accident – of course) and my mind races 240 with “information”.

Does anyone else blog in their sleep?  Do you compose letters, write books or try-out meaningful conversation?  What else do you do?

Please tell me I’m not the only one.

All I can say is I should have bought stock in Benadryl because that seems to be the only way I can get to sleep lately.  Sweet dreams.  Or should I say sweet blogs?

© 2011 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

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Discourteous Richards: Always Alive & Well in NJ

I love to drive.  I own a BMW for Pete’s Sake.  They say it’s the Ultimate Driving Machine - and it is.  I love to maneuver up the Garden State Parkway sans traffic, put the petal to the metal and enjoy the ride.

With the top down, my IPOD at full blast I am unstoppable until I am hindered by none other than the Left Lane Dick.

The discourteous Richard:

1. has no idea he or she is an idiot retarding your progress.
2. has no clue that it is the law in NJ to keep right and pass left.
3. is from New York or Pennsylvania – notorious Left Lane Dicks.
4. is hanging in the left lane on purpose because he or she really is a douchebag.

Nothing makes me road rage more than a taste of a left lane lagger.

I have a 20 minute drive to work door to door and I find myself losing my mind as I try to fly up the highway.  I tailgate.  I scream.  I swear excessively.  I hand gesture and flip the bird.  I drive with my knee.  I pull up next to people and actually yell at them.  I cut them off.  I lose my mind!

When one of my road adversaries gets cocky and thinks he can scare me by tailgating my pristine automobile, I look in the rear view mirror, gesture to him to come closer, swear a few times, then slam on my brakes.  He usually backs off.

I’m tired of being strong-armed by stupid men and women on the road.  I drive like Mario Andretti – not a typical chick – no offense to my gender or any other but STAY OUT OF THE LEFT LANE!

Even if I’m passing on the left doing 95 mph and someone wants to go faster, I move it on over because that’s the way it should be.  Bottlenecking every single lane of the Parkway does nothing but create traffic and cause road rage.

Don’t we have enough of distractions on the road?  We need eyes up our butts and are distracted by screaming kids (not me), loud music, rubber-necking, LLDs and now the GPS.  It’s always so confusing.  It should stand for Go Ahead And Piss Me Off System.  It finds new ways to screw me up while I’m driving but I have found a new use for it.

I Spy.  Remember that game?  You tell me.  What do you see in my picture?  At least it’s good for amusement purposes.

So with all we have to worry about while driving, I wish we could get rid of the Left Lane Dick and push him into extinction because no one should be held back by a jerk off.

You can use that advice in life too.  Good luck.

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010. Re-published 2011.

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Twenties vs. Forties: A Top 20 REVISITED

After having one of those days where I just should have stayed in bed, I pondered my life both then and now and decided to make a side-by-side comparison of

Mom & Me in my twenties

what I wanted from life or did in my twenties and what I want from life or do now that I’m almost 43.

Things change and priorities shift as you get older.  When you have kids they change even more.  As a responsible adult sometimes fun gets put on the back-burner and a once clear-head become non-existent.  I miss that clear-head.

Me in my forties

When I was 20 I was living it up in Paris on my parents’ dime, footloose and fancy free.  My only concern was where the next best soirée would be held and who was going to be on the guest list of my next party.  At 43 I worry about paying my bills, money in general, the health and well-being of my family, my health, taking care of my cats, going to work and the list continues.

So let’s take this point by point so we examine the age gap and maybe now understand what our parents went through with us as cranky teenagers and crankier twenty somethings.

1. 20:  I wanted a hot guy with a hot car.  Hondas need not apply.
   40:  I want my hot guy with his hot car.
2. 20:  I drove a fast 1978 Camaro LT, 350 4-barrel with louvers, air shocks, fat tires and a spoiler.  I had a lead-foot.
   40:  I drive a fast BMW convertible  with fat tires and I still have a lead-foot.
3. 20:  I worked at TSV Video (when I was in the US), watched movies all day, drank wine, flirted with the customers, watched and recommended porno, loved my boss Stan and used to arrange Gumby-like toys in sexual positions on his desk every night.  I rarely had to deal with any bullsh**.  My biggest responsibility was making change and setting the alarm.
   40:  I work as a teacher, enlighten impressionable minds all day, drown in paperwork, drink water or Crystal Light, recommend places to visit in Paris and I’m not commenting on the boss.  I constantly have to deal with bullsh**  from EVERYONE.  My BIG responsibility is other people’s children.
4. 20:  I had a dog.  My parents took care of her and I played with her.
   40:  I have 2 cats and I take care of them:  butt wiping, baths, litter box scooping, trips to the vet, cuddling partner, Mommy, playmate.
5. 20:  I pounded shots.  Many shots.  Body shots.
   40:  I sip good wine.  A lot of wine.  All kinds of wine.
6. 20:  I tried to figured out new ways to get away from my parents.
   40:  I wish I still had both my mom and dad and now love spending time with my Daddy.
7. 20:  I had a Mandee Charge Card and no debt.
   40:  I have too many credit cards to count and debt up the wazoo.
8. 20:  I weighed 120 pounds and ate anything I wanted.
   40:  I’m always on a diet!
9. 20:  I would stay out all night and party.
   40:  I will stay out all night and party but try to get home by 4 so I don’t piss off the husband.
10. 20:  I wanted to be a translator for the U.N. or a big-wig in the international business world.
    40:  I want to keep my teaching job and hope my pension will still be there.
11. 20:  I slathered on baby oil so I could get that deep, dark tan.
    40:  I slather on sun block and skin repairing cream to try to undo the sun damage of yesteryear.
12. 20:  I had big, whorey hair.
    40:  I have big, whorey hair.
13. 20:  Fifty dollars was a lot to spend on shoes.
    40:  Now I try not to spend over $500.
14. 20:  I had no kids.
    40:  I still have no kids (by choice).
15. 20:  I never wanted to go home.
    40:  I can’t wait to get home.
16. 20:  I lived in France and loved it.
    40:  I want to live in France and I still love it.
17. 20:  I had a boyfriend who wanted me to look like a Barbie doll.
    40:  I have a husband who wants me to look like a Barbie doll.
18. 20:  Dressing like a whore was always an option.
    40:  Dressing like a whore is a weekend only option.
19. 20:  I went to the gym almost every day.
    40:  I stare at all the gym equipment in my house and dust it off once and a while.
20. 20:  I stared at myself in the mirror and thought about how hot I looked.
    40:  I stare at myself in the mirror and notice fine lines and aging and think about when I can get my first facelift.

Some things have changed and some things have stayed the same.  I believe age is only a number (even though it keeps creeping around like a bad case of crabs) but with age come wisdom and knowledge.  I’ve heard before that youth is wasted on the young.  I believe it now.  If we only knew then what we know now, we could have ruled the world.

I don’t know about you but I’m not done yet and I still plan on ruling the world.

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010. Re-published 2011.

Memories From July… Because I Need To Think About Warmth

A Codeine-Induced Slumber or A Lack Of Sleep?

After waking up at 11 am from a codeine induced slumber, I stumbled down the stairs with Bailey walking in between my legs and Peaches already sprawled out in the middle of the hallway downstairs.  I still sound like sh** from all the congestion but can’t seem to shake this sinus thing.

Ah!  Hairball.  That’s nice.  I’m so happy to be cleaning up after the cats as soon as I staggered downstairs.

Ah!  Dirty dishes in the sink.  That’s nice.  I’m so happy to be cleaning up after my husband as well.

I fed the cats and checked the outside temp.  Wow!  Way too hot again.  Looks like I’ll be staying in all day again today. I hope my AC cools off the house – yesterday it didn’t do such a hot job.  I made coffee though I think that’s it’s too hot, but I don’t want a caffeine withdrawal headache.  I flipped on “The View” - why do I torture myself?  I hate that loud-mouthed loser Joy Behar.

Damn!  It’s already noon.  Peaches!  Stop eating the flowers! I guess she found the bouquet.  I’m so sleepy.  Wait a minute!  Why?  Was it the codeine infused cough syrup or….?  Dammit!  I just remembered what happened last night.

It was around a quarter to one in the morning and I was just dozing off hoping for some cough free shut-eye.  I heard John come in.  It took him a few minutes to come upstairs and start his nightly routine.  All of a sudden I heard him screaming, “Bailey!” and then the banging and bitching started.  Evidently the cat couldn’t make it to his litter box downstairs and deposited a small amount of diarrhea in the bathroom sink.  Better the sink than the floor.

I got up (now fully awake) and started cleaning up the mess.  It took me 2 minutes to clean and disinfect the soiled area.  Wow.  Big deal.  Now I was awake, the cats were scared and HE was still complaining.  I tried to unsuccessfully resume my sleep.  No luck.  I went downstairs and swallowed another teaspoon of cough medicine and hoped for a miracle.  Did I mention that I was coughing now from all the commotion?

I headed upstairs into my room and crawled in bed.  Peaches was already snuggled up waiting for me to spoon with her.  I laid down, coughed, took a throat lozenge and coughed some more.  Two ‘o clock rolled around.  Then 3:45.  I must have conked out by 4 am.  I had to wake him up at 5:30 – so much for a good night’s sleep.  I rang the intercom as a wake-up-call, snoozed the alarm and waited to see if he got up.  Seven minutes later I rang again, greeted by a screaming “WHAT?”.  So nice.

By the time I actually stirred (shockingly the cats didn’t bug me) it was after 11 am.  Did the codeine give me an opposite reaction or did the late-night chaos impede my snooze?  I may never know until the repeat performance tonight.  Hopefully the cat won’t sh** in the sink.  Maybe I will.  Just kidding.

Image: Filomena Scalise / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

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Stupid Things I Did In My Twenties…

When I was 25 I moved out of my parents’ house and moved into an illegal basement apartment in Nutley.  I lived below my 2 friends Pete & Gizz.  There are so many tales to tell:  having parties & peeing in garbage cans, drinking way too much, singing Janis Joplin at the top of my lungs at 1 am, the sewage flood that filled my apartment with skunky sewer water, the lewd and lascivious neighbor who kept sniffing around me and the cave cricket invasion.

But one story always stands out.

Mom & Me: Ready for clubbing - back in the day

Angel and Suzanne came over around 9 pm on Thursday night.  I already cut up some imported provolone, fresh mozzerella and hot sopressata, but no one was hungry.  Gizz and Pete evidently smelled women in my apartment, so they sped down the stairs to take a better look.  Gizz had a thing for Angel and swore that she felt the same way.

Angel brought over 2 magnums of Champagne, Suzanne brought a bottle of White Zin and Gizz and Pete marched down with a bottle of Anisette, a bottle of Peach Schnapps and a bottle of Root Beer Schnapps.  A lethal combination.

Angel and Sue sat comfortably on my small couch that Maria’s friend gave me, while the rest of us curled up on the floor with bottles and glasses scattered all over the rug waiting for us to indulge.  We polished off both bottles of Champagne, the Zin, a few shots each of all the liquors and were still determined to go to Ashley’s and party some more.

Ashley’s was a club in Clifton behind Rowe Manse Emporium.  It became a second home to me when my dad locked me out at 2:30 am and I had to find a place to stay.  Even though I was living in my own apartment, it was still my favorite hang-out until 6 am.

We were all getting ready to go when Angel’s beeper went off.  It was her boyfriend who wanted her to come home because he had just lost his job.  Angel raced home to comfort him and abandoned us “tout a coup”.  Suzanne left us too because she was tired and needed some sleep.  Pete went to bed, so the only die-hards left were Gizz and I.

Being the socially irresponsible people that we were, we took off in his white Corvette and headed over to Ashley’s.  I think we were so lit that we didn’t even remember walking in.  Gizz and I approached the main bar and stationed ourselves in front of Tony.  Tony, the bartender, made some fierce drinks, so we always hung around his quadron.

I sucked down 5 Red Devils, 2 shots of Silk Panties and a shot of Sambuca, but still had back-up drinks in front of me.  Gizz and I decided to head over to the dance floor.  We made our way through a thick crowd and found ourselves a spot with a little elbow room right in the center.  We danced like crazed lunatics (or so I was told the next day) ready to perform a voodoo ritual.  We fell into each other and everyone else and simultaneously felt a rush of booze invade our bodies and brains.  By this time we were both plastered and I remember thinking at the time, that I was the only one who was drunk, but we were both hammered.

Back at the bar I was still in the mood to groove, so I held on to the big, brass rail along the edge of the bar and started to bump and grind all by myself.  Gizz gulped down another shot and I was complaining to Tony that I couldn’t finish all my drinks that were lined up on the bar like soldiers.  Tony told me to take the glasses home with me for next time, so I stuffed a couple in my black, skin-tight mini skirt and proceeded to leave and make our way back to the car.

The Vette seemed lower to the ground than usual.  We took off up the hill and made our way onto Centre Street.  We were moving fast!  In perfect synchronicity, Gizz missed the turn, jumped the curb in front of the funeral parlor, drove up the sidewalk and made a perfect “U ey” in the middle of the road.  We made it home safely (someone had to be watching over us) and stumbled out of the vehicle.

I followed him up his steps and entered my apartment from inside his.  There was no way that I could get in the door alone.  We said goodnight and I went downstairs to crash.  The rest was a blur.  The next thing I remember was laying in bed overwhelmed by bed spins.  I jolted up and ran to the bathroom to yak but ran into a closed bathroom door.  I couldn’t figure out why it was closed.  I lived alone.  I knocked on the door like a maniac and my boyfriend John, now my husband, was on the other side.  Needless to say, I was SICK.

When I felt better I asked John how he got into my apartment.  He told me that he rang the doorbell at least 20 times and I answered the door in nothing but a silk, green g-string.

The next morning, hungover and all, I voyaged into the city to go to work.  Gizz wimped out and stayed home in bed all day.  I was worthless!

To this day I do not remember ever having opened the door.  It could have been my shady neighbor!  Thank God it ended well.

I think about all the stupid things I did when I was younger and I am so grateful for having survived them.  Today I think I am a better woman because I learned from them.  And now I know that my mother was just trying to protect me from myself!

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

A Codeine-Induced Slumber Or A Lack Of Sleep?

After waking up at 11 am from a codeine induced slumber, I stumbled down the stairs with Bailey walking in between my legs and Peaches already sprawled out in the middle of the hallway downstairs.  I still sound like sh** from all the congestion but can’t seem to shake this sinus thing.

Ah!  Hairball.  That’s nice.  I’m so happy to be cleaning up after the cats as soon as I staggered downstairs.

Ah!  Dirty dishes in the sink.  That’s nice.  I’m so happy to be cleaning up after my husband as well.

I fed the cats and checked the outside temp.  Wow!  Way too hot again.  Looks like I’ll be staying in all day again today. I hope my AC cools off the house – yesterday it didn’t do such a hot job.  I made coffee though I think that’s it’s too hot, but I don’t want a caffeine withdrawal headache.  I flipped on “The View” – why do I torture myself?  I hate that loud-mouthed loser Joy Behar.

Damn!  It’s already noon.  Peaches!  Stop eating the flowers! I guess she found the bouquet.  I’m so sleepy.  Wait a minute!  Why?  Was it the codeine infused cough syrup or….?  Dammit!  I just remembered what happened last night.

It was around a quarter to one in the morning and I was just dozing off hoping for some cough free shut-eye.  I heard John come in.  It took him a few minutes to come upstairs and start his nightly routine.  All of a sudden I heard him screaming, “Bailey!” and then the banging and bitching started.  Evidently the cat couldn’t make it to his litter box downstairs and deposited a small amount of diarrhea in the bathroom sink.  Better the sink than the floor.

I got up (now fully awake) and started cleaning up the mess.  It took me 2 minutes to clean and disinfect the soiled area.  Wow.  Big deal.  Now I was awake, the cats were scared and HE was still complaining.  I tried to unsuccessfully resume my sleep.  No luck.  I went downstairs and swallowed another teaspoon of cough medicine and hoped for a miracle.  Did I mention that I was coughing now from all the commotion?

I headed upstairs into my room and crawled in bed.  Peaches was already snuggled up waiting for me to spoon with her.  I laid down, coughed, took a throat lozenge and coughed some more.  Two ‘o clock rolled around.  Then 3:45.  I must have conked out by 4 am.  I had to wake him up at 5:30 – so much for a good night’s sleep.  I rang the intercom as a wake-up-call, snoozed the alarm and waited to see if he got up.  Seven minutes later I rang again, greeted by a screaming “WHAT?”.  So nice.

By the time I actually stirred (shockingly the cats didn’t bug me) it was after 11 am.  Did the codeine give me an opposite reaction or did the late-night chaos impede my snooze?  I may never know until the repeat performance tonight.  Hopefully the cat won’t sh** in the sink.  Maybe I will.  Just kidding.

Image: Filomena Scalise / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

© 2010 J. H-M and CultureChoc2010.

Bailey The Cat, The Wonderful, Wonderful Cat

I grew up having dogs all my life.  I was a total dog-person and never thought that cats were pets.  I always found them so aloof and anti-social that I never wanted a feline as a companion.

Despite the fact that I am highly allergic to cats, my husband brought home a stray cat that he found in Elizabeth.  This black and white fur ball was living under a pallet where he worked and the guys there would feed him and play with him every day.

In November John decided to bring the histamine home even though I told him not to.  He called me and told me to pick up food and a litter box because he was bringing the cat home PERIOD.

When John arrived with the little cutie, he was small, furry and absolutely adorable.  I fell in love with him within minutes and 8 years later he’s my boy – which was actually a surprise when we took him to the doctor’s.  His name was originally Tia Maria.  Oooops!

Bailey is a one-of-a-kind pet.  He’s smart, beautiful, mischievous and spiteful like a spoiled rotten child.  I think he’s part human.

My kitty is notoriously spoiled.  I know it’s my fault but he’s my baby.  Shouldn’t pets be spoiled?  It’s that unconditional love thing that they offer.  When he wants something, he lets you know it and if he doesn’t get it, watch out.

Bailey is unique.  He doesn’t like to be alone, hates when we go on vacation, wants HIS way ASAP and gets really mad when I come home late from work.

Example # 1
When Mommy goes upstairs, Bailey follows.  When Mommy is on the couch, Bailey’s on my lap.  Wherever I go, he goes.

Example # 2
When I went to France for a month my dad was the grandcat-sitter.  He treated my 2 babies like a king and a queen and spoiled them even further (if that’s possible).  Bailey ignored me when I came home then promptly peed in my suitcase.

When we vacationed in Myrtle Beach he was so angry that in the middle of the night, he emptied my purse of all its contents and used it as his personal port-a-potty.

Example # 3
On Saturday morning Bailey was hungry at 8 am.  He jumped in the bed, walked on us, bit us HARD, meowed and just sat there staring.  I got up to go to the bathroom and promptly told him that he shouldn’t be strong-arming me and I was going back to bed.  I suggested he do the same.  I went back to bed and a few minutes later I heard a noise.  When I got up I discovered yellow liquid pooled in the bottom of the sink and my tube of collagen swimming  atop.  Bailey!

Example # 4
On Friday I came home really late from work.  Eight hours later than scheduled in fact.  When I got home he was waiting by the door, crying and anxious to eat.  I fed him and Peaches (my girl cat that we adopted later) and went upstairs to change my clothes.  A stop in the bathroom revealed that Bailey had no peed in my sink, but POOPED.  Yes, poop.  WTH?

These are Bailey antics – just a few examples.  My cat believes that HE is the KING of the house and frankly, is treated like one.  He bullies my girl cat incessantly and even though she’s older, he knows that he was here first.  He is the BOSS.  I feel so sorry for Peaches sometimes.

Bailey is a character.  Most people who don’t like cats, like Bailey.  Me?  I’m a convert.  My cat runs to the door when the bells rings, lets me know if there’s a commotion outside and never lets a bug or a mouse leave the house unscathed.  He’s such an amazing hunter.  He catches flies by jumping in the air and snatching them in his paws and if he smells an intruder, he will stay up all night guarding the house – after a nightly perimeter search of course.

He’s an acrobat, an expert hunter, a mountain climber, a tightrope walker and high wire act, a guard cat, a cuddler, a comforter and a tough, little fur ball who brightens my day.  When I’m upset and crying, no matter where he is in the house, he comes over, jumps on my lap and kisses me.  He’s more in tune to me than most people.

That’s what I call love.  That’s who I call LOVE… Bailey the cat.

© 2010 J. H-M. and CultureChoc2010.

Penis Colorforms And Boobie Tassels

Teaching is always an interesting profession.  When you work with teenagers, you never know what will happen from minute to minute.  Their hormones are raging and I think that many people forget that they were young once.  I haven’t forgotten but I do think that many gamins circa 2010 cross the line a bit too much.  The things they say, I would never have said to a teacher.  But who am I to talk?  I flirted incessantly with my male teachers.   Thank God they were stand-up guys because God only knows what could have happened if they weren’t.

My eleventh period class is always a handful.  Who’s suspended.  Who’s in ASP.  Who’s in impending danger of the dreaded phone call from the office.  It’s never-ending.  Yesterday the boys in my class decided to make penis cut-outs.  Many penis cut-outs.  And of course, they had to make me aware of their artwork.  Getting a rise out of their teachers is the thrill of their day.  They live for it and pursue its pleasure to the ends of the earth – or end of the school day.

Obviously they don’t know who they’re dealing with.  ME.  I am a little (ok – maybe a lot) outside of the box.  If I get flustered, it has to be something so inappropriate that even Ron Jeremy would blush.  So when they brought me their proud works of art, I said, “Nice.  Throw them out.  Put your penises away and stop playing with them.  Don’t you have enough time with them?  Ridiculous.”

This incited a shrill of laughter and disbelief, and even though they were delighted by my unexpected response, they were a little sad that they weren’t able to push my buttons.  When the bell rang I smiled at my triumphant win.

After work I had to go over to the high school for exam writing.  There was a school bus in front of me loaded with our kids.  When they realized that it was me, they started waving and calling my name.  I waved back and smiled and all of a sudden the color form penis that made an appearance in my class earlier, was in the window hopping from place to place.  I shook my head, gave them a thumbs-down and prayed that the bus would turn.  Blast!  My victory was short-lived.  They got me again.

Thinking I was out of the woods today, I carried on with my normal routine – knowing I wouldn’t see that group of seventh graders.  When period 7/8 rolled around my five eighth graders came in and sat down.  We’re working on clothing vocabulary, so I had a Power Point prepared.  As we were going through the vocab the conversation took a risqué turn when one of the boys asked me how to say thong.  I obliged because they were also learning underclothes like panties, bra and boxers.  What I didn’t bank on was the next question.

“Madame.  How do you say boobie tassels?”

OMG!  A little flustered, I half-laughed and screamed “INAPPROPRIATE!”  What the hell was going on?  Is it because it’s Spring and the hormones are dominant?  I don’t know but I definitely had a good giggle after they left.

I can’t wait to see (or maybe I can) what will happen tomorrow.  I DO love my job.  At least I’ll never be bored and will always have great blogging material.  You can’t make this stuff up!

© 2010 J. H-M. and CultureChoc2010.

Peeing In Public: A New Twist On Golden Showers?

I just heard a news story about a 27-year-old serial urinator in Jersey City who was targeting women to pee on.  He would walk up behind them, drop his drawers and proceed to take a leak on the back of their legs.  The story made me think first about Golden Showers and then public urination.  So I’ve reflected on all the times I’ve seen people pee, smelled pee in the streets and peed in public myself.  NOT peed myself in public.

If you’ve ever been to New York City, especially in the subway, you have indeed smelled a waft of powerful pee-pee at one time or another.  If you’ve ever strolled through the narrow streets of Paris dodging dog sh**, you’ll surely catch a whiff of a potent bouquet of yellow tinkle.  Whether it’s in a public restroom or on a deserted street , pee is ever-present.

When I lived in France we used to hang out by the Seine River and drink Champagne.  One night Chantal, Vivaldo and I were hanging out on a bench sipping some Bubbly.  After several trips to the café toilette, climbing up and down the steps got old, so with Chantal’s urging we decided to “go” where we were.  We waited for a group of people to pass by, pulled down our pants, hung onto the back of the bench and peed.  This was my first time.  You always remember your first time – oh wait – that’s another blog.

When I was hanging out in Belgium with JoAnne, Guy & Éric, taking a whiz on the wall was an everyday pleasure for the men-folk.  When Kenny and I drank too many nips, I found a spot in the woods to mark my territory.  Aren’t we all about marking our territory anyway?

One night my friend Lori and I were out dancing and drinking at FM Station on 23.  I hit the ladies before I left but I guess Lori forgot.  We were driving back to her house and all of sudden she said she had to pee so bad and couldn’t hold it.  We were on a tree-lined, almost empty street, so I told her to pull over and go.  She stopped the car and I thought that she was going to run over to the side of the road and pee in the bushes.  Boy, was I wrong!  She swung open the door and whizzed on the yellow line in the middle of the street.  I laughed so hard I think I peed too.

When I was thrown in Monmouth County jail for striking with 227 other teachers, I didn’t pee for 24 hours plus.  I waited until I got home and took an epic one and the longest shower of my life.  I felt so dirty.

Once my husband and I were going to Newark Airport to fly out to Miami for a college graduation.  This was the first time I was going to fly since 9-11 and I was a nervous wreck.  My doctor gave me Valium for the plane ride but I needed a little courage to get on the plane.  We were at my dad’s, 10 minutes from the airport, and I drank quite a bit of wine.  I tinkled at least 3 times before I left Bloomfield yet couldn’t make it to the terminal.  John pulled over on a dark, Newark side street with limited people milling around.  I opened the door and peed between the car and a truck hoping no one would notice.  Sorry Mayor Booker.  It seemed to take forever with the impending danger of being “found out”.  Maybe stage fright again?

There are porn pee-ers, private pee-ers and public pee-ers – we all pee, yet some are shyer than others.  So when did piddling on unsuspecting people become societal behavior?  Hey, in private, with 2 consenting adults… whatever floats your boat.  BUT who would have ever imagined that someone would actually violate another person with his urine straight from the source?

I didn’t, but then again, we have a socialist in the White House, so I guess anything can happen.