That's Right, I'm a Classy Chick

Since I ended my last blog post on a serious note, I'll share some good news!

I've FINALLY found a group of women that I can hang with. They're sassy, they're funny, they like wine and occasionally I'll even get an f-bomb or two out of them. And you'll NEVER guess where I found them.

The country club.

Yep. I've been hanging at the golf course down the street...and I don't even play golf yuk yuk yuk! So essentially, I'm going to be paying a yearly fee to be able to hang out in this bar/restaurant/pool where the common folk can't go?

Essentially, I'm paying a lot of money....for friends.

I tried the YMCA first, if that makes any difference.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

And, since I now live in Stepford Wife Land and have decided to play on their turf in the shark tank, I need some etiquette lessons. Because, although I can hold my own when I'm on my best behavior, once I start to get comfortable, I lose about 20 class points for each hour (or drink) that goes down. Because these women like fine wines, big diamonds, big houses and don't really eat much.

And then there's me.

I like to eat, a lot. I like beer and pizza. I prefer to swear if I'm around adults. I like to show off my boobs. I do like big diamonds, though.

And, although I'm pretty confident I can run with these wolves, because I like these women, I want to fine-tune my Stepford skills (without letting go of the beer-lovin, pizza-eatin, f-bomb droppin me).

Just the other day, I was having lunch with a friend, and I caught myself double dipping in our mutual hummus appetiser. Not once, but twice. My friend carefully had scooped a small portion onto her side plate and was using her knife to spread. I, on the other hand, double dipped my carrot straight from the serving plate. Go me! Luckily, my girlfriend didn't say anything but, I'm sure she was just being polite about my slobber being stirred into our hummus.

Or how about the time when I was on girls' weekend in NYC with my Las Vegas Wolfpack....we spent a few hours drinking martinis and eating expensive cheese at The Plaza, for Christ sake, and I took this picture.

I wonder if any of the country club ladies can bust out Too Short or Ice Cube like I enjoy doing? Somehow I doubt it. But I've decided that the first Philly housewife that sings along with me to a 90s rap song is going to be my new BFF, yo!

Etiquette lesson number one: no more double dipping in the hummus.

Etiquette lesson number two: when I feel like swearing, stop, smile and nod. In other words, shut the fuckity-fuck up.

Etiquette lesson number three: keep the cleavage to a minimum and save it for my trips to Vegas.

I think that's a good start...

Happy New Year & Stomach Flu Adventures

Happy New Year! I hope 2012 has been a peaceful start for you and yours. I know it's, like, half-way through January but, for me, the new year has been a rough couple of weeks.

I'm putting "the Housewife" voice away for this blog. Long story but, I've been enduring (and ignoring) a very annoying and persistent feeling of pressure under my left ribs. Not pain...just pressure. To be brutally honest, I've been ignoring it for about a year. That's a long time and I'm fairly embarrassed about not doing anything about it but, when things get busy, mom and her body get put on the shelf. I know many of you can relate to this.

Christmas Eve, my daughter caught the stomach flu and we spent much of the night either hovering around the potty or in her bed with a big plastic bowl. Not fun. Poor baby was still sick on Christmas day and spent her time opening presents laying on the carpet between paper tearing. She recovered that evening. What a relief!

Late Christmas night I also succumbed to this horrible flu, and spent half the night kissing the porcelain gods, puking my brains out.

I spent the next day in bed and, thank GOD, The Hubs had taken the week off to spend with the family. But, the week ended up him taking the kids out to activities as I stayed in bed, not even able to get up to eat. I was sooooo sick. Sicker than I've been in years.

On day six, I was in tears I was so frustrated because I wasn't feeling any better than I did on day one. I wasn't able to play with my kids and their new Christmas toys, I wasn't able to go out to brunch with the family, I wasn't able to enjoy winter vacation with the people I love the most. I went through a rainbow of feelings: frustration, resentment, guilt, confusion, fear. It was like the entire year's worth of super-mom repression came out in one...big...fucking stomach flu.

Not a smart thing to do, but I started googling my symptoms, because I was convinced I could stick this out on my own. I'm a strong, capable woman! I run an entire family! I can do this! I tried to put on a strong face for The Hubs but, inside, I was preparing to die (felt like I was going to). A little dramatic? Maybe. But again, theses emotions of fear and frustration where coming out and I had NO idea they were even in there. Googling didn't do me any good but instead freaked me out even more. (forehead slap, I know)

Anyway, I called my mom in California, God bless her, and cried. I told her I was freaked and sick. She said something to me that I won't forget for a long time. She said "Tasha, you need to go downstairs and tell The Hubs to take you to the hospital right now, and I'm not hanging up until I hear you say that to him."

So I cried a little more and then agreed. The Hubs packed me and the kids up and I visited the ER for the very first time in my entire adult life. I told The Hubs to take the kids home and I'd call him when I knew more. I cried to the receptionist. I cried to the nurse. I cried to the ER doctor. He initially thought I had a kidney stone. He ran blood work and ordered a cat scan.

I waited in my little room on New Year's Day, alone, and cried some more. I sat there for hours and reflected at just how alone I felt. I had no one to call to come and sit with me. No one, other than my husband and my mom across the country, even knew where I was or what I was feeling. I had to just sit there and deal. Just me. Now, let me say how grateful I am to have a loving, supportive husband that could take my kids home for me. So grateful. But I have not felt more alone (since we moved to Philly two years ago) than I did in that hospital room.

The nurse even asked me "honey, do you suffer from some depression?" and I simply answered

Nooooooo, I just need a good cry...

And I did. And it felt good.

The good news is the tests and cat scat all came back normal. Normal?! No tumor. No kidney stone. No elevated levels in my blood. No swollen organs. The doctor said that I probably have IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) due to stress combined with a spasming stomach and a wicked stomach flu.

Sweet.

I was relieved to hear it wasn't something more serious, and I think my sickness was as much emotional as it was physical. But, since then, I've still been dealing with the weird pressure feeling (it reminds me of a baby's foot pushing against your ribs when pregnant -and I ain't pregnant) that hasn't gone away, severe nausea every single day (soooo freaking annoying) and zero energy.

The moral of this story? It's my New Year's resolution: to take better care of my body, cause I ain't gettin any younger. And, I'm telling you, as a blogger that's putting it all out there lol, that so do YOU. Beacuse if you're a mom and a wife, you're most likely ignoring something too. Are you? I'm too smart to let it get to the point it did on New Year's Day again. And, if you're reading this, take this as your signal.

So that's where I've been for the last few weeks. The best news is I'm still here. And I will overcome this. Come hell or high water, I'll beat this bump in the road and keep walkin forward.

Peace, love and hair grease, peeps.