Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Muffy or Granola? Or Somewhere in Between?

Tacky Princess Advisory: You may want to grab a Triple Soy Latte - whatever temp you like. I'm a little (ok, a lot) verbose today! I appear to be at a loss for material here, it seems. So, I thought I would regale you with a tale from my sordid past.

That's right, my fellow WTM's. There was a time when I, too, could have gone either way - WTM-hood or the ever so dark side of Muffia-dom. In the early 80's, I was even known to wear my Izod and Polo collars up, and pink and green were two of my fav colors to wear together, especially with complimentary striped belt and Chinos. Yup! That was me. And dare I admit this to friends had a nickname for me. It was (gulp)...MUFFY. I kid you not. So, how, might you ask, did I escape the clutches of true Muffia-dom? Well, that's where my story truly begins, my little WTM prodigies. That's where it begins. I was straight out of college and working in a typical straight-out-of-college sort of job. You know the kind. . . where you are so thankful to get the paycheck that allows you to make the minimum payment on your credit cards each month? The kind where if you slept with the boss (think short, balding, even with the hair plug implants, paunchy waist, bad breath), your chances of advancement would increase dramatically. EEEOOOHHH! So, I was coasting along in this sales job (office equipment), biding my time, really, just to get my feet wet in sales and get the experience that everyone looks for on a resume. I was engaged to be married to my honey of a hubby, when lo and behold, Bad Breath Baldy fired me! Guess sleeping with him would have saved my hide - - and I say again . . . EEEOOOHHH! So, I did what any fashionable, college-educated, getting-married-next-month girl would do. I went into retail, managing a semi-upscale ladies clothing store. I worked for peanuts, often putting in 12 hour days, all for the clothing discount. I got cost on all of my clothes. It was unbelievable, really. At any rate, I spent more on my clothes on a monthly basis then than I do now (even with the discount...). I became completely obsessed with clothes. I was oh-so-dangerously-close to Muffia-dom. A year and a half into this (and my marriage), I got pregnant and found myself getting vericose veins at 25, due to working on my feet so much. Tired of working for what we would now consider spare change, I was getting desperate for a way out of the situation. But then, the miracle occurred. My husband was offered a temporary transfer (just about a year) to Oregon - timber country, Douglas Firs, fresh air. Better pay for him, no more long hours for me on my swollen, pregnant feet. Sounded like Kismet. So, we moved. We didn't sell our house, since we knew we'd be back in a short time. So, we rented. It was the beginning of summer, and the realtor told Hubby that we wouldn't need air because it only got over 90 degrees there 3 or 4 times per year. No biggie. So, we rented a townhouse on the outskirts of the small lumber town where Hubby would be working, and we moved a few weeks later. Whoa, Nellie. Talk about culture shock! Now, you have to understand that we both grew up in large metro areas - suburbs, but part of a large city. Moving to a city of population 11,000 was, to say the least, a big change. But here's the thing. We didn't own enough plaid to live in this community. These people there were like Muffia and Biffia only for lumberjacks. The only things we had going for us were:

  • We weren't any of "them Treehuggers from the North." (God Bless Timberica.)
  • We weren't from California. Period. (Apparently, that's a cardinal sin in and of itself.)
  • We weren't planning to stay. (They literally breathed sighs of relief.)

And then, the weather. It was the hottest freakin' summer in the history of the state. That summer of '91, we did everything we could to get into a/c. We saw every movie that came out except Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead (hey, a girl's gotta have SOME standards...). We even went bowling when I was seven months pregnant. And let me just say here, DO NOT DO THIS. I repeat. Do NOT go bowling in the last trimester of your pregnancy. Ouch! The day in OCTOBER when I brought my daughter home from the hospital, it was 103 degrees! I am not exaggerating. 103.

Then, there was the laundromat. Oh, Lord, the laundromat. Did you know people actually talk to each other at the laundromat? And they want to tell you their life stories? Talk about a captive audience. Well, this woman thought it would be fun to tell me all about how they used to live in tents there. Tents. In the 70's. OMG!

Finally, there was the whole prenatal class thing. You know how we have to pay to take the prenatal classes before we deliver our children? Maybe $100 or something? In the little town where we lived (which happened to be the county seat), they actually paid YOU to take prenatal classes. $100 right off the top of your hospital bill. Apparently, they had like a cajillion women coming down from the hills, in labor, saying, "I thaaank A'hm havin' a BABY!" For real! They were completely unprepared for childbirth and were total disasters for the medical staff as a result. So, offering the $100 got them to come in to the hospital for the class. Never mind that they wouldn't be paying their hospital bills anyway, thank you very much. Whatever works, I guess.

So, the prenatal class was kind of a combo of LaMaze and Granola teaching. They taught us to breathe. They taught us gun safety. Yes, gun safety. That was a requirement to complete the class and get your 100 buckaroos! And our town was so small that there was not even the slightest possibility of getting an epidural. IV drugs were it. And they made you feel bad if you took those. So, that's how I came to have my kids with no drugs. No, WTM's, I'm not kidding. And my girls never even fit into the newborn clothes. At 8 lbs, 13 oz and 10 lbs, 2 oz, I'm lucky I even remember the experience!

So, how does this relate to not moving over to the dark side of Muffia-dom? Well, I think the whole granola experience of living in the self-proclaimed Timber Capital of America kind of made me re-evaluate what was important (like grass in my yard instead of sawdust or wood shavings - uh huh, for real). Did I become like them and start wearing Birkenstocks with heavy socks and no makeup every day? No. I still like to look nice. But I'm not going to kill myself if I'm seen out in public with no makeup or imperfect clothing.

There are far more important things in life. Like making the store-bought cut-out pumpkin cookies look homemade by putting them on a pretty platter. And then letting the Muffia ooh and ahh over them like I slaved. And relishing that charade. A little too much, perhaps. Sorry this post is so long. Hopefully, you took the Evelyn Woods Speed Reading Course, and it didn't put too much of a dent in your bon bon eating time! Have a fab weekend!


Blogger tacky princess said...

Whoa, that is WAY too long. Sorry, WTM's. Need Prozac.
Tacky Princess

11/03/2005 10:30 PM  
Anonymous Sue said...

ahhhh. These life affirming moments. Many of us can probably recall the time when we made the choice between the light and dark side,muffy or WTM.
Your trials and tribulations are great reading. I love 'em!

11/04/2005 4:08 AM  
Blogger Mrs. Belle said...

Love it! I am glad you excaped the evil clutches of Muffia-dom!

11/04/2005 5:45 AM  
Blogger Ditsy Chick said...

Your blog is hilarious! This sounds like my first go round in Boise, Idaho, with my hubby who is - no lie an Forester. I am adding a link to your blog so that my friends can read your posts.

11/04/2005 8:23 AM  
Blogger midwest_hick said...

Very amusing post....have a great weekend.

11/04/2005 8:49 AM  
Blogger MonkeyGurrrrrl said...

I can NOT believe you used to wear pink and green and {{mother of all evils}} CHINOS. Gawd. I would have mocked you then. But thankfully you came to the better side. Phew. Otherwise, I'd have to hunt you down and torture you.

11/04/2005 1:19 PM  
Blogger Lisa said...

Love that you are on "OUR" side.
"We" wouldn't be as entertained without you...

11/04/2005 2:49 PM  
Anonymous Nilla said...

Gee! I had two of my three children with no drugs like that. Yipes. I don't know how my grandmother DID it. Childbirth is a horror, but amazingly, it's kind of foggy for me and everyone else that does it. I've hear women cry about how having a C-Section "ruined their experience" and TRUST ME, you are NOT missing anything other than AGONY that makes you want to crawl out of your own body to get away!

My mother is a Muffy. Oh the horror of sequined matching outfits, complete with hats and brooches! She's always telling me I look awful because I wear jeans, biker boots, and obscene t-shirts.... rather be me!!

11/04/2005 4:00 PM  
Blogger mama_tulip said...

So glad I stumbled on to this blog...

I sympathyze with you bringing your daughter home in stifling heat. The day I delivered my son it was 113 outside. Granted, that was in August, not October.

11/05/2005 11:47 AM  
Blogger Pink Rocket said...

I SO understand! I just moved to Oregon from Austin, TX. The local Barney Fife is watching me and I get some crazy looks when asked to see my, still Texas, driver's license! I think they expect me to be riding a horse and wearing Wranglers! What makes it worse is that my husband is from California! I'm getting a real big kick out of all the Volkswagon Beetles and the guys and gals in colored socks and sandals. When I lived in Ohio everyone was all about the Miami VIce look and big poodle frizz, now it's au-natural! Too funny! Love your blog! WTM's unite!

11/05/2005 8:18 PM  
Blogger Lisa said...

OMG, I had Kelly green bermuda shorts with my yellow I-zod shirt, Docksiders...ewwww and my purse with the whale motif. Why didn't someone just shoot me?

I confess...I own about 8 pairs of Birkenstocks but that is QVC's fault! I was going through post pardum depression...trapped with two kids in diapers while doing the stay-at-home mom thing, armed with credit card. I wouldn't be caught dead in them today.

And I had C-Sections with lots of drugs. I don't do pain. What can I say? I am no Mother Earth by any means.

11/06/2005 5:06 PM  
Anonymous Snowlady said...

I love your blog. Just moved from east coast metropolis to small midwestern town a year back and I'm seeing myself in your oregon stories.. god help me if I'd moved THERE ! :)

12/07/2006 3:33 PM  

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