That's What you Spend on a Mani-Pedi

Today was a very productive day.   More productive than I intended, actually.  This is the first time today that I've really been "still".  And that's how I became more productive than planned.  I had such a momentum going, that I kept seeing little projects that needed tending to and I did them.  Whut?  I know.  Then I started stressing when I looked at the clock and I smacked myself on the forehead, "You are not going out of town tomorrow night.  You can do this tomorrow night!"

THANK you!  Now I can be a slouch again.

Of course, I've not had very many productive weekends of late.  And, since yesterday was a total loss of a day, I suppose I shouldn't feel triumphant about today.  Yesterday I slept a lot.  Not napped, but slept because my body needed it.  Why would my body need so much sleep?  Because I was horrendously hung over.  And what exciting thing could have happened to make me hung over?  A coworker (who used to be my dearest friend, but I've distanced myself from because she's ... a mess) called to bitch about work, her life, and this that and the other.

Napping: What do men know that we don't?

I love naps.  It is vexxing to me that, in my lifetime, I have not perfected the art of the nap.  It eludes me like the Holy Grail has eluded treasure hunters for centuries.  I dream about the perfect nap that finds me waking refreshed and without a care in the world.  Of course I've had a few good naps in my life -- but I can never remember how to get there again.  My women friends have expressed the same frustration:  How did I do that again?  Therefore, I turned to researching the species that can outnap a woman -- men.

I'm not including cats because I'm not certain they are actually napping or just laying there with their eyes closed plotting world domination.  Scientists will tell you they're napping -- but they also do not believe that animals are capable of thinking or emotion.  Any Crazy Cat Lady would tell you that is not true and have more than ten examples of things her cats have done to prove otherwise.

I digress.  Back to my 'research'...

Cleaning tips from the Spinster

After having recently been at a dinner party and sat with a bunch of married with children women, I was again reminded that this life of a spinster isn't so bad.  One of the big reasons?  Cleaning.  First of all, there is only one person making the mess -- me.  Therefore, there isn't as much mess ... maybe.  Second, how clean (or not clean) my place is affects only my well being.  I don't have to go to Parents' Night at the school and be concerned that the other moms are going to be whispering to each other, "There she is...  Yes I've been to her house.  You know the head lice epidemic started there."  Speaking of head lice, RLF's step daughter just had two go-rounds with that one.  Cleaning up after that would tempt me to just move and buy all new furniture.

As I listened to the woes of cleaning up after a husband and children, I was happy for my very simple cleaning routine.  Okay, my lazy cleaning routine.  There was a time in my life when I was fastidious.  Half of every Saturday was spent dusting, vacuuming, cleaning surfaces.  I was so psycho that the tops of the heat registers were cleaned every week.  Now they only get attention about twice a year.  I had come to the conclusion that I wanted to tempt fate and staph infections.

With that in mind, I have only five tips that are enough to get the Sassy Spinster through the day.

Spinster vs. The Mother in Law

No no no .. My status of Spinster is not being compromised by my going out and getting a mother-in-law... I am, however, getting ready to do battle with a ferocious mother-in-law -- RLF's MIL.  Now, this isn't going to be a post about how all MILs are spat up from the bowels of hell and put here to challenge marriages.  I don't believe that.  Mother-in-Laws that are from the Ninth Circle are not that way because they are Mother-in-Laws -- it is simply because of who they are.  In my experience, a Mother-in-Law who is despised by a son or daughter-in-law is a person who is universally despised anyway.  It's maybe just a little more irksome because this woman came with the 'Until death parts us' package.

I would like to point out that years ago -- before RLF met her husband -- I gave her advice about choosing her mate.  We were watching an old episode of something on television (it was in black and white and I can't remember what show).  Two bachelors were talking about women and one of them said that you always want to get a good look at their mother because it will tell you what the woman will be like when she gets older.  RLF rolled her eyes, "God I hope my boyfriends don't look at my mom and run the other way because of her."  I kept my mouth shut about that, but offered some advice, "The same is true for women choosing a husband, you know."

She rolled her eyes again, "So you look at their fathers?"  I shook my head, "Nope.  You look at their mothers.  How she acts is going to be how she always acts.  While you may think that you can change the man you marry -- you're never going to change his mother and she's always going to be there.  So, if you can't stand the way she acts, you might not want to marry him -- unless she lives more than two hours away."  She nodded in solemn agreement, "That's an excellent point.  It's probably good my mother lives so far away."  My eyes slid sideways to her.  Hopefully she got my point because, as much as her mother drives me crackers, I was talking about a future husband's mother.

Spinster Name vs. Married Name

Okay...  I haven't been around as much as I intended to be.  Work mostly.  That and not feeling well.  I could have blogged about those things but ... well ... that would just be bitching.  I'm really good at bitching, mind you, but I thought it was best to keep it to myself.

Today I want to talk about "Spinster Name vs. Married Name".  Being a spinster does not mean that a woman is without love in her life.  I, in fact, do have love in my life.  For a number of years, in fact.  Why he has not taken my spinsterhood is a whole long complicated story.  And, I prefer to take credit for it myself.

I will call my sweetie Mr. Man.  I also prefer sweetie to 'boyfriend' or 'significant other' just because I think I'm too old for a boyfriend and, having gone to college in the nineties, I got way overloaded on 'significant other'.  Mr. Man is a huge sports fan and he's an athlete.  This was actually a little bit of a turn off for me because I generally regard that type as 'knuckle draggers'.  Mr. Man, however, has an advanced degree and is very well versed on other topics, so it became palatable.

Over time, his love (he's been a fan since he was a tot) for a particular sports team rubbed off on me and I am now fan-atical about them.  I am speaking about The Green Bay Packers.  My interest in them grew not for their prowess on the field but because of their story.  As I said, I love stories.  I also love history.  There isn't a sports franchise that has a story as rich or a history as long as The Green Bay Packers.  Besides their story and their history, they have Aaron Rodgers and Clay Matthews.  I realize that there are plenty of dirty old women (I have some friends) who would like to see one or both of these young men naked.  Not me -- I would like to serve them some Mac'n'Cheese (with cut up hot dogs) and juice boxes in return for me being able to look at them.

Hmmm.... Maybe dirty old lady who wants to see them naked is less creepy.