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Posts Tagged ‘Outfits’

Dear Judging Community:

My son (15) has few responsibilities around the place he shares with me, his father and brother (13):

  1. Keep up with schoolwork.
  2. Take out the trash and recycling.
  3. Keep his room clean.

In return, we don’t harass him, and we give him an allowance.

As he is a 15-year-old boy, you can imagine he is not holding up his end of the bargain.

It’s No. 3 that’s really bothering me at the moment.

Y’all, look:

Those are clean clothes that have been on the floor for more than two weeks.

Well, they aren’t clean anymore, of course.

I know they WERE clean because I dried and folded them.

Lest you thing I regularly do his laundry, let me explain: He put his clothes in the wash, then “forgot” about them. I needed to do laundry, so I finished them up.

I see now I should have just put them in the trash.

We’ve had numerous arguments about this.

He says it’s his room, and he will clean it up when he’s ready.

I say it’s slovenly behavior, and he never should have let it get like this. But as he did, he should clean it up. Now.

So Community, AITA for expecting him to keep his room clean?

Before you answer, one more thing I need to tell you.

He asked for a few of my Oreos, then ate the entire package without a word to me. I found the empty package in the trash.

So. AITA?

Thanks for weighing in,
Beth

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Dear Friends and Family,

It’s Day 12 of captivity. I’ve gained two pounds. I have to resist the urge to eat cheese all day. It’s bad enough I take my vitamins with wine.

I’m still going to work for a few hours each day for a change of scenery. I’m not a dress-down-for-work kind of gal. Yesterday, I wore a skirt and heels. Just for me.

I rarely see anyone when I’m there. Yesterday, though, I saw the CFO at the water cooler on the second floor and the woman in charge of special projects down the hall. We all paused in our tracks, giggling nervously. The CFO went back into his office, and Special Projects let me go into the bathroom before she continued down the hall. Six feet of space, people.

Later in the day, I crossed paths with the CFO again. Same situation.

Him: Stay on your floor!
Me: I don’t have a bathroom up there. Unless you want to spring for a Porta Potty, I’m coming down!

When I was at my university the first time around as an English major, I won a major award for writing. The prize package included “Love in the Time of Cholera.”

In our house, it’s “Love in the Time of Corona.”

Gideon broke up with his girl Peyton. He informed me last night:

I don’t want to be in a relationship anymore. It takes up too much of my time. My precious time.

Incidentally, I won the award for a short story I wrote called “The Pot Roast.” It was about my weird grandmother wanting raw meat as a Christmas gift.

Last night, I made the dish.

Gideon, girlfriend-free with precious time on his hands, roamed into the kitchen.

Him (peering into the pot): What’s this?
Me: Pot roast.
Him: We haven’t had that in a while.
Me: Yep. I’m bringing out all the hits.
Him: Top 20?
Me: Top 20 from the 2000s.

After dinner, the family decided to play Twister. Yes, Twister. I’ve still got it! I managed to keep myself up plus Dominic. I bowed out when a spin for me would have required me to sit on his head. Let’s not get crazy in confinement.

Nighttime also is TV time. Even “sheltering in place” cannot help me get through the treacly “This Is Us.” I deleted all episodes in my queue, and instantly feel better. (Honestly. It takes itself SO SERIOUSLY. It’s like a DC Comics movie.)

I’m still taking CORVID-19 seriously. Perhaps too much. I got a little worried earlier this week because I had a sore throat and a headache. Insert panic. Then I realized it’s springtime in the South — an inch of pollen everywhere.

Maybe that explains the guy restocking at the gas station. He emitted a small cough. The cashier and I whipped around on him.

Me: How long have you had that cough?
Him: (Scurries quickly away from the loud lady)

Stay safe, and don’t get Corona-ed,
Beth

 

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Dear Parental Patience:

Where are you? Now in my hour of need? Please come back.

I thought I had turned a corner with Dominic.

Funny, right?

And he finally got his Publix uniform to start working.

Today was the big day.

But.

He realized that he had to be at work in 10 minutes but didn’t want to walk in the cold.

He’s so delicate, you know.

So he wanted me to drive him.

After sighing loudly, I put a coat on over my pajamas, and took him over.

Then he texts me. And this is when you, Patience, apparently jumped on another call.

And if the subject matter isn’t bad enough, the child refuses to use proper grammar and punctuation.

Please come back.

I miss you.

Love,
Beth

* Thanks, GnR.

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Black Flag performs in Hell at the Masquerade in Atlanta.

Dear Show-goers,

Auntie Beth is here to make sure you have a good time at a punk concert. Your favorite aunt went to see Black Flag this week, and noticed that some of you need some guidelines.

Lest you think Auntie Beth doesn’t know what she’s talking about, be assured AB is an OG.

Black Flag, Minutemen, Butthole Surfers, Dead Kennedys, Dead Milkmen — she saw them all the first time around at Atlanta clubs 688 and the Metroplex. In fact, Auntie Beth remembers the Surfers setting fire to the Metroplex stage.

She knows a thing or two about mosh pits.

Here are some rules to follow to ensure a good time for all:

  • DO wear comfortable clothes, including shoes that can withstand stomping — yours and others. Auntie Beth was practically in her pajamas, but wore steel-toed boots.
  • DO dress for the crowd. Concert Ts from the band you are seeing and similar are fine. Auntie Beth saw bands such as The Cramps, Suicidal Tendencies and the Misfits proudly represented.
  • DO prepare for loud music and contact with other humans.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1pPrxGBSKtM

  • DO NOT go to the front if you don’t want to slamdance or be slamdanced on. Auntie Beth took her old ass straight to the balcony.

In this crowd is no place to be if you don’t want to be jostled and shoved.

Look how angry this girl is! She should have joined Auntie Beth in the balcony.

  • DO NOT throw punches. Look, the mosh pit is a place for folks to get out some aggression by flinging themselves at others. No need to get upset or start a fight. If you don’t like it, don’t go near it.
  • If you aren’t ready to crowd surf, DO participate by standing on the outer edge and pushing the “dancers” back in when they are flung out.
  • DO pick up your fallen comrades. It’s just the nice thing to do, plus you won’t trip over them.
  • DO take your children (and proper ear protection) to see bands that are important to you. Auntie Beth’s boys saw The Police when they were still in Pampers.

Some of you may disagree with Auntie Beth that it’s OK to bring kids to a concert. Of course it depends on the children and the concert, but Auntie Beth is a fan in general.

  • DO appreciate bands that start and end earlyish on a school night. Auntie Beth was home by 11. (That’s still past her bedtime, though. Look. Listen. She’s elderly and needs her beauty rest.)
  • DO support live music. It’s good for the bands, the venue, the economy, the arts and your soul. Think of it as community service!
  • Auntie Beth loves you and wants you to ROCK ON!

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Dear Readers:

My last post resonated with a few of my female friends. A college friend, “Sue,” wrote the following that she said I could share as a guest post. (And you know I love a good guest post.)

See you Monday with fresh content from me, courtesy of Gideon.

Beth

My own non-resolutions
By “Sue Buckley”

This year, I will not:

  • Keep those heels I think that I might wear just one more time. You know the ones. My knee and ankle … done.
  • Brexit quietly or vote for Trump. I demand IQ tests with a score range of at least superior or gifted — depending upon the scale — for all voters.
  • Wear all that odd jewelry I’ve accumulated over the years. In fact, I may give it away.
  • Obsess over the last time I changed the kitchen sponge. (Trust me: This haunts me.)
  • Blurt out what I “really think” during a video call. It’s impossible to hide my face. Learned this from experience, and it’s easier without the visual.
  • Say yes when I mean no. I was taught this during my formative years, but it wandered back in. I don’t have to spend my time anywhere or with anyone if it’s not valuable (true friends and family excluded).
  • Not shut up about menopause. I don’t care how boring it gets. They don’t tell you this shit. 
  • Not finish my book. (Beth and I have the same goal.) It’s happening this year.

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Dear Santa,

I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you in person this year. I tried. The line was just too long at Santaland. I had other places to go, and people to see.

(It occurs to me that I’m actually lamenting the fact that I didn’t get to sit on some some old dude’s lap. Holiday traditions are weird.)

As I’ve been (mostly) good, I’m hoping that you can still help me out with my wish list. Items are a little tricky this year, I’m afraid. Not sure the elves can handle these things.

Anyway, here goes:

    1. Some kind of cream that will make the itchy spot on my right eye go away. The dermatologist is stumped. I use the same products on BOTH EYES, but my left eye is fine. Please help. I look like Hitch.
    2. Guests in our Airbnb condo who will actually read and abide by the house rules. It’s not like we are asking for much. Just take the trash out of the place, and send it down the rubbish chute right outside the door. We aren’t asking for gold doubloons as tips or anything. Although …
    3. A money tree would be nice. Have you seen how much Dominic eats? Or how leggy Gideon is getting? At least they can’t wear my shoes anymore, so that means mine stay clean. I promise I will share the harvest with friends and family. Well, most of them.
    4. Expansion of Marta. Or at the very least, a change of heart for the car-focused people of Atlanta who keep voting against it.
    5. People who are driving at or below the speed limit to STAY THE F out of the passing lane. You have a reindeer-powered sleigh. You do not know the horror of I-16.
    6. Another season of “Schitt’s Creek.” Season 6 is supposed to be the last one. But you can make Daniel Levy change his mind, right? RIGHT?!
    7. The ability to speak Spanish, French, German, Italian, Portuguese and Japanese fluently. I dream big, but you’re Santa. It’s not like you are starting from scratch. I’m at toddler levels for the first two. And I know key phrases for the others. Look, you never know when you need to tell a Japanese person that he’s taken the last Band-Aid.
    8. A stop to the entire country of India requesting to add me as a contact on Linked In. I really don’t know anyone in India.
    9. More followers for this blog. It’s not an ego thing (although an audience is great). It’s an expanding-my-circle thing.  I’ve met some of the most interesting people via this blog — folks I never would have met otherwise.
    10. Guest posts. I’m still waiting for posts from Julia, Royce, Kerstin, Nick, TJ, etc. I’m not holding my breath, though.
    11. Patience. Lord knows Dominic regularly uses up my limited supply.
    12. Someone to make these for me. I’m a great cook, but kind of a crappy baker.
    13. The cute blue cheetah-print jeans I gave away when I thought I’d be fat forever.
    14. More early-morning water boot camp classes at the Y so that I won’t ever be fat again.
    15. For Origins to bring back the Spring Fever scent. Please! I can’t be the only one who has asked you for this.

I know it’s a tall order. Just do what you can. Thanks, Santa! I appreciate you.

Love,
Beth

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Dear Beth D., my supportive health coach:

Now that I’ve reached my goal weight, we don’t chat very much. Just know that I’m not going to be satisfied until I lose six more pounds. That’s what it will take to get to the weight my driver’s license says I am.

I am satisfied with my progress, though.

Here are three recent events that filled me with glee and a sense of accomplishment.

1. Today I am wearing very special boots.

I’m not just channeling Scrooge McDuck. I’m bringing back Fall 2011. That’s when I bought these boots in Paris. They were aspirational boots as the tongue and laces didn’t quite cover my fat calves.

But I loved them, and I knew SOME DAY I would be able to wear them. Today is that day.

2. Eddie took Dominic clothes shopping because the kid has the nerve to keep growing. He did the requisite fashion show when he got home.

I especially liked one pair of jeans that he bought. I threatened to steal them.

Him: I know you’ve lost weight, but you can’t fit into my jeans.
Me: Wanna bet?
Him: Mama, they won’t fit you. They barely fit me.
Me: Let’s see.

I proceed to wriggle into his jeans. To my delight — and his consternation — they fit.

Me: See! Now say you were wrong.
Him: I’m not saying anything. I’m mad right now.
Me: Mad because you were wrong?
Him: Maybe.

I knew they would fit because of Event No. 3.

3. Usually Eddie and I do our laundry, and let the kids do their own. Sometimes to top off a load, I will grab some of their clothes. This leads to a rousing game of Whose Pants Are These?

These jeans belong to Dominic, Gideon and me. Can you guess which pair belongs to whom? The answer is at the bottom of this post.

I put on a pair of jeans I thought were mine, but were actually Dominic’s.

It was kind of a big deal for me.

Keep in mind I’ve carried around extra weight since I carried around Dominic.

The three events above would not have been possible without your support and encouragement.

I thank you (even if Dominic doesn’t).

Talk to you in six pounds,
A Lighter Beth

Whose Pants Are These?: (l to r) Mine, Dominic’s, Gideon’s

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Dear Big Freedia,

I listen to all kinds of music, as you know, but you are one of my favorites.

The first time I saw you perform live, you blew my hair back. So shocking, in a good way.

Friday night, the first night of your new tour, wasn’t quite as much of a surprise. It still was fantastic.

Those who don’t know you may not know how you popularized New Orleans bounce music and the accompanying twerking.

That “dancing” is part of the allure of your live shows.

This is what I told my Support Spouse Rob. You were performing in Savannah the night after I saw you, and Goat Yoga Lisa had tickets. Rob didn’t want to go. I sent him videos like that from your Atlanta show to encourage him.

It’s not just your female dancers who perform.

I love that you have amateur hour at your shows.

Here’s the thing: I can do this move. Should I? No. At least not in public.

Some of these folks shouldn’t either.

But others rival your own crew.

It’s not just the ladies who astound, though.

So thanks for a great night!

And thanks for having Low Cut Connie open. They put on a high-energy, engaging show.

Much better than the DJs you had for your last tour.

Anyway, I’m still a huge fan. Just look:

Love you!
Beth

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Dear Goat Yoga Lisa,

Thanks for asking about my progress with my biddy boot camp. The ladies have accepted me fully. So much so that I was actually sad last Friday when I was the only one there.

(The benefit of that was that I got a personal training session with taskmaster Christina. She blasted AC/DC, and made me work harder than I’ve ever worked in the pool.)

This past Friday, everyone was back and ready for action. My two favorites were there: June and Jamie.

June was the first to welcome me into the pack. She has advanced MS. She also is the cheeriest, most optimistic person. Definitely Glass Half Full. She makes me laugh every time we’re in the class together.

Jamie is her opposite. She’s Glass Half Empty, but I love her too. She also makes me laugh because she bitches about every single exercise.

And as it turns out, Enis (the Alpha Female) is quite nice.

Screen Shot 2019-10-04 at 1.03.12 PM.png

Screen Shot 2019-10-04 at 1.03.20 PM.png

Not sure where Kim was Friday. She’s also nice, in a backhanded way.

I’ll give you an example of what I mean. Christina recommended I buy a special bathing suit because the chlorine kept destroying my cute ones.

Kim overheard:

“I got mine at Swim and Sweat. You and I probably wear the same size. Here, look at my tag!”

Her tag turned out to be in a place I wasn’t about to check out. So she said she’d email me.

To my surprise, she did. I was also surprised that I’m two sizes smaller than she is.

She closed with this line:

“You seemed long waisted like myself, and this suit was good for that.”

I’ve never in my life considered myself long waisted.

Eddie said it’s just because she couldn’t wear her glasses in the pool.

Still, she meant well and my new suit arrived this weekend.

The great thing about the Friday and Tuesday classes is that these ladies are here to WORK. Not like Sunday’s class. That’s the convo class.

So there you have it: an update on the pool ladies.

Now I want you to go to horse yoga, and report back.

Love you!
Beth

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Dear Body Fat:

I’m definitely in a period of change, ditching all that isn’t working for me. (Poor Adam.)

You were the first to go exactly a year ago. I don’t miss you at all. Sorry, not sorry.

You and I had an off-again, on-again relationship for years before I had the strength to shed you for good.

Without you, I’m a new person. I’m brave enough to share a bikini photo with the world (even though selecting “publish” on that post nearly made me barf).

I say “the world” because it’s a public post on the Internet. The true number is actually 720.

(Oof. That’s so many people online to have seen me in my bathing suit. Pardon me while I get sick in this trash can over here.)

People have noticed we’re not together anymore.

Just over a week ago, I had a chat with Disgruntled Danny, he of the pothole guest post, at a Jesse’s Divide event. (Yes, yet another mention of this band. Again, sorry, not sorry. They’re that good.)

This exchange happened early on in the convo:

Him, ever so British: May I ask you a personal question?

Me, completely American: Sure! Ask away!

Him: Where is the rest of you?

Along with breaking up with you, I’ve also broken up with all your best friends: self consciousness, anxiety, high cholesterol, all my large clothes and snoring.

I’m totally OK with that. You and your awful buddies drove me crazy.

Yes, I know you saw the things I ate while in England, including this:

Fish, chips and mushy peas? Sign me up!

But an occasional meal like that does not mean I’m welcoming you back into my life.

In fact, just the opposite. I’m now seeing plenty of the Gym. We’re very happy together. The Gym has friends like abs (haven’t seen them in SO LONG — see poster above), developed triceps, endorphins and workout soreness. They are all much cooler than your friends.

So stop trying to worm your way back into my life.

It’s over.

For real.

Regards,
Beth

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