M.I.L.F. Garage – Part Two

I like to drive fast. I just do. Lucky for me The Beast still has some get up and go.

My husband’s best friend was over the other night (as per the usual) and somehow our conversation drifted over to drag racing (don’t ask me how), and I mentioned that I think I could drag race The Beast. I really think we could sup him up and give him a flashy new paint job, and then he and I would rule the races. Aw, yeah…

At first they laughed. But, then I told them I would wear racing suits all Evel Knievel style, wear my hair like a 50s pinup,  and wear red lipstick and my aviators. I told them my little racing crew would be all chicks and they would be sexy but bad ass. That what I was proposing was the new roller derby for soccer moms.

Just think about it. Drag racing  is just like the drop off line at my kids school, and the demolition derby hasn’t got shit on the grocery store parking lot. One of us suggested we turn it into a reality show…. hence the title…

I think I would be a damn good drag racer/derby driver. I may be on to something.




M.I.L.F. Garage – Part One

I recently went three weeks without my beloved mom-mobile.  My 2002 Chevrolet Tahoe. Complete with tow package, grill guard, running boards, removable third row and suped-up stereo system. Aww yeah. Top. Of. The. Line.  Top of the line for 2002 that is.

This is the vehicle I have been driving through three company changes, a first house, first baby, second baby… It’s helped my friends move, it’s helped us move, gone on countless family vacations with my younger siblings crammed in the back, sandwiched in-between the car seats and all the crap a family with babies takes with them on vacation… It’s fast, it can be intimidating on the road, and after all these years the sound system still kicks ass (although I’ve had to replace a speaker here and there). I love driving it.  And I’m fairly certain it likes having me be it’s primary driver.

It’s name is The Beast.  He’s a boy.

Weird fact about me, I’ve only driven two types of cars in my lifetime. Toyotas and Chevys. My dad is a devotee of both so it stands to reason that my vehicle choice would reflect that.  My two Toyotas, a 1994 Corolla (it was a nerd-mobile, but it was cool) and a 2001 Celica (that little car could go so fucking fast), were both girls. My other Chevy was a 1994 Cheyenne pickup truck. It was a full-size, single-cab, and on the outside it looked pimp but on the inside it had no frills at all. Like NONE. But I didn’t care. I loved him from the minute I saw him.  I cried when I traded him in.  Like a baby. My dad loved that truck too; he still says he wishes he had just bought it from me. I always agree with him. Then at least I’d have gotten visitation rights.

People ask me why I would rather re-build a transmission than get a new car.  I give all sorts of excuses about how it’s cheaper than a new car payment (which, hello, it is). But the truth is, I know that The Beast has a few good years left in him yet. He’s worked too hard to be put out to pasture before he gets to see kiddo #2 enter kinder, the family it’s loved and schlepped all over the damn place move into a newer, nicer home… The Beast has seen us, me, through so much. If I could save him, I would. In this case. I could.

I am aware that me driving an ’02 Tahoe is the equivalent of those soccer moms driving a raggedy-ass minivan in the early millennia… I know that my trendier friends look down at me a little for still driving a vehicle that boats a body (gasp) almost 12 years old and two body styles ago. Yes, he’s a little long in the tooth. But as one of my friends told me, “It still looks nice.”  And as I mentioned earlier – the sound system still rocks. Yeah, I think there are some pretty sweet SUVs and trucks out there… But me and the Beast are going to be sticking together for a little while longer.


PS – promise in Part Two I’ll explain the title. It is catchy, isn’t it?

Tall People… – Part Two

Once I have a thought, I tend to think on it (aka obsess) until it becomes something. This one’s been mulling around since last night…


“Sometimes I wonder if really tall people are just aliens in disguise…” she trailed off in her usual way. It was like Sam to verbalize some strange inner monologue only to get quiet, lost in her thoughts again, with no memory or knowledge of even verbalizing them in the first place.

I looked up from my computer and took a long look at her. She was sitting on the couch, where she was supposed to be doing some work of her own.  Her legs were curled up underneath her; her arm was propped up on the armrest, her hand under her chin, as if to hold her head up for her neck. She was staring blankly at her computer. Clad in her “PJ” (Sam used acronyms and abbreviations whenever possible) pants and an ACDC t-shirt that had to have been at least 15 years old, argyle socks on her feet, no makeup and her auburn hair twisted into a bun on top of her head she would have said she looked “a hot mess”. I thought she looked amazing. Sam had no idea how beautiful she was.

She took a swig of her beer. Sam loved beer; she drank it regularly and could probably out-drink most dudes. But you’d never know it to look at her.  She was a tiny little thing… she had to have the metabolism of a jackrabbit.  I laughed a little, trying to think of what might have led her to that particular thought about tall people and aliens. “What was that, babe?” she asked, shaken from her thoughts by my laughter. I gave her a quizzical look and took a drag of my cigarette. “Tall people and aliens??” I said as I exhaled.  She grinned sheepishly. “Oh, that.  Just a thought I had for a story. Not really sure what got me thinking along those lines, but as a vertically challenged person, I think it could be an interesting concept…” “So what constitutes really tall?” I asked. “I mean, I’m over six feet, would I classify as really tall?” She gave me a real smile at that. Damn she had a beautiful smile. It lit up her whole face. “No, silly, I was thinking like NBA player tall.” “Oh thank goodness,” I replied with mock relief. “I would have hated to have had to take you to our mother ship to lobotomize you if you had discovered our tall people secret.” She smiled her beautiful smile once more, took another sip of beer and turned back to her computer.

I took one last look at her and looked down at my computer myself, where I had been transmitting the latest recon (Sam’s penchant for shortening words was rubbing off on me) data into space. “Shit…” I thought to myself, “that was a close one.”

Plain Jane – Part Four

Tuesday morning Jane woke at 6am, washed her face, brushed her teeth, fed the cat and dressed for her run. She took another look at her running shoes and made a mental note to go online during lunch and buy a pair.

Each day, Jane ate her lunch in the cafeteria from 11:30am to 12:30pm. She would eat a turkey and cheese sandwich, dry (Jane didn’t use condiments), a pickle spear and five potato chips (she would chose the best ones from the bag and toss the rest) with a glass of water.  She would read while eating. On the rare occasions Jane needed clothing or shoes, she would take her food back to her desk and purchase them online during her lunch hour.

Jane walked up to the fitness center and noticed that the lights were already on. Someone was probably in there. She placed her headphones atop her head, and headed directly for the treadmill in the corner. She stopped dead in her tracks upon looking up and noticing that it was occupied. It was him. The lost key man. Running on her machine. “Almost done,” he mouthed breathlessly, “just a sec…” He slowed and hopped off. “All yours.” Jane eyed the droplets of sweat he had left on her pristine treadmill. “Are you going to wipe that off?” she blurted. “Well, miss manners, now that you mention it, no.  Not until you give me a decent thank you for finding your key.” he smiled a devilish smile at her, turned, and walked out the door.

With the additional five minutes required to disinfect the machine with antibacterial wipes, Jane started her run ten minutes late that morning. She showered, dried her hair, and dressed ten minutes behind schedule. She ate her breakfast, watched the morning news, washed her dishes, and left for work ten minutes behind schedule. There was more traffic than usual, causing Jane’s commute to take an extra 5 minutes. Jane arrived to work at 8:15am.

The security guard noticed Jane hurrying in. “Running a little late”, he chucked to himself.

To allow for her being late (late for Jane), Jane went to buy her lunch at 11:45am. The line was longer than usual, which took longer than Jane had anticipated. When she reached the cashier Jane realized that she had left her credit card at her desk. By the time Jane returned to her desk, with food, it was 12:30pm. Jane did not order her shoes.

On Wednesday Jane approached the gym with trepidation and was relieved to find no signs of him or anyone else. She completed her run and with a huge sigh of relief stepped off the treadmill. Just then he walked in. “Oh crap!” Jane muttered and then covered her mouth in surprise (Jane didn’t curse). He started laughing. “You’re way too cute a girl to wear that sour look on your face all the time. I’m John, by the way.” Still holding her mouth, Jane walked past him, out the door, and then ran to her apartment.

“What a weird fuckin girl”, John thought as he watched her walk away. He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair and looked back in time to see her head through the doorway at a rapid pace. Damn if he didn’t kind of like it. John smiled.

Jane cut her breakfast/TV time down by 5 minutes on Wednesday in order to leave for work on time. She arrived to work at promptly 8am. During her lunch hour, she ordered her new running shoes.

Plain Jane – Part Three

Monday morning Jane woke at 6am, washed her face, brushed her teeth, fed the cat and dressed for her run. As she was putting her shoes on she noticed the soles were looking worn. Jane owned two pairs of shoes. One pair was her running shoes. The other were burgundy loafers, the same kind she had worn every day since grade school.  Whenever either shoe wore out, Jane would replace them with the same pair.

Ten minutes into her run, a man walked into the room, dressed in workout gear. Jane adjusted her headphones and looked straight ahead in her usual manner, pretending not to see or hear him. But then he approached her and asked her a question, “Excuse me miss, I think you dropped this…” Jane looked at him expressionless, pointed to her headphones then turned her head away. “Miss! Ma’am!” he persisted, “Yo! Lady! I’m not trying to interrupt your run but I found a key right over there and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t yours before I turned it in.” Jane felt her pocket for her key. It wasn’t there. She looked up at the man, flustered, “Um, yeah, I think that’s mine.” She slowed and then hopped of the treadmill, reached over and took her key from his palm and walked towards the exit. “You’re welcome!” he called behind her. “Thanks,” she mumbled without turning her back as she walked out the door, breaking into a run as soon as she was clear of his line of site.

Jane arrived home 15 minutes ahead of schedule. She showered, dried her hair, and dressed 15 minutes ahead of schedule. She ate her breakfast, watched the morning news, washed her dishes, and left for work 15 minutes ahead of schedule. There was no traffic. Jane arrived to work at 7:40am. As Jane walked in the security guard looked up in surprise, he had the vague feeling he’d seen her before, but couldn’t quite place her. She was dressed head to toe in beige, but her clothes were well tailored and classically stylish. She was plain, he thought, but pretty.

Jane badged herself in, walked to her desk, sat down and started up her computer. It was about that time that Jane realized she didn’t know what to do next. For the first time in Jane’s life, she had deviated from her schedule. She sat there, sitting still in her chair until promptly 8am, upon which she thankfully resumed her schedule.

Runs in the family…

My brother and I went to go visit my grandfather, Paw, the other day. It was a pretty typical visit. We filled him in on what had been going on in our lives; he gave us feedback in the form of grandfatherly wisdom and told us stories from his own life… Before we left I showed Paw a picture of the two of us my brother had come upon and sent to me.


Paw looked at the picture, looked back at me, then looked back at the picture and said with a laugh. “Well Shan, I sure am glad your hair grew in. You sure would have been ugly without it.” Laughing myself, I replied, “Paw, I sure am glad you’ve kept all of your hair. You sure would have been ugly without it.”

He smiled, looked at me with a mischievous gleam in his eyes and replied. “You’re a smartass, kid.” I smiled back (with what I’m assuming is the same look in my own eyes) and said, “Runs in the family.”

I love visits with my Paw.