Things my Ethel says

I have a most fabulous neighbor. For the purpose of my blog I will call her "Ethel". Ethel is in her eighties. The first time I met her she did not care for me - I'm sure the fact I was wearing a bandanna and carrying a boom box (don't judge we have all owned one) didn't help. Once Ethel got to know me she began to adore me - like everyone should! Ethel is like Gladys Kravitz and the Golden Girls combined in one person. Ethel says some pretty amazing things to me and I feel like they have to be shared.

About a year ago Ethel had surgery on her "girl parts" - this is what she referred to them as, I couldn't make that kind of shiz up. She was having some complications and had to go to the doctor for a follow up. (Important side note: Ethel has been single for over 25 years).

Ethel: Doctor, I don't understand why I am bleeding.

Dr: Well Mrs. X it is a very delicate area and it was very important to me that I preserve the nerve endings.

Ethel: What the HELL for?!? I am eighty years old, stitch it shut.

When she told me this I somehow managed to not burst out in to hysterical laughter, but was able to ask her one question, "Ethel, what if you wanted to have a gentleman caller over? Having your who-ha (yep, that's what I called it) stitched shut wouldn't be helpful." Ethel replied, "Oh Randi, I'm not going to have a gentleman caller over, I don't know what I would do with a man." I think if I heard Ethel and a gentleman caller it would be like an early Christmas present, assuming that their boot knocking didn't happen on Christmas morning.

Today I had another glorious conversation with Ethel.

Ethel: Our neighbor told me she is gay.

Me: Yep, I knew that.

Ethel: She is the first gay person I have ever met.

Me: Seriously?!?

Ethel: Yep, I didn't grow up with gay people.

Me: Seriously?!?

Ethel: Are you okay with it?

Me: Yep. Some of my best friends are gay.

Ethel: I'm an old lady and people being gay is new to me, but if you are okay with it, then I think I will be too. I think gay men would be fun to hang around with, they always seem to be very stylish.

Me: Yes, they are very fun to hang out with.

Ethel: You are okay with it.

Me: Yes, I am very okay with it.

Me: Ethel, do you know what the Pride festival is?

Ethel: Yes.

Me: Ethel, would you like to go with me to Pride this summer?

Ethel: You would take me? I think that I would like to go.

Just as Ethel was unsure of me at our first meeting once she got to know me she came to love me. I think that she is one awesome eighty year old and I think that once she gets to know our neighbor and other people in the gay community she will adore them as well.

My slot is regulation size for a standard valentine envelope

I have three memorable Valentine's days. Sorry DaveCall, none of them involve you.

I think I was in the second grade and the year was 1988. We had all created our Valentine's boxes and were going around the room handing out our "heartfelt" envelopes. What does this really teach a child? You had a list with every kid's name on it and you filled out a card for each person, whether or not you liked them. Trust me there were many people I didn't want to be my valentine and I am sure that the feeling was mutual. A boy in my class came up to my box and tried to shove a giant envelope in my tiny slot (holy crap that sounds dirty). He was like, "Uh this won't fit" and I was like "my slot is regulation size for a standard valentine envelope." It's memories like this that make me realize why I didn't date much. I didn't care that his love package didn't fit, I didn't need him to validate me. About a month went by and I was going through my over sized Esprit bag, which like my purse today, was a dark abyss of shiz. I found a large envelope and inside of it were three beaded necklaces and an anonymous valentine. I had forgotten all about young Mr. X trying to give me his gift, so I walked back in to class and shouted, "I think someone tired to leave these plastic necklaces in my bag. Who did this?" No one answered, but one blond boy looked very uncomfortable. Now twenty years later Facebook keeps suggesting I be his friend, I don't think I will as I never did thank him for the necklaces. I did however rock the red beaded necklace in my third grade photo. Visual picture: short chin length red permed hair, one side clipped up with a huge black banana clip, white button down shirt with the collar pressed straight up and flicked out (think Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink) and a red beaded necklace.

My second memorable Valentine's day was in 1998. I finally had a boyfriend and it was the most romantic day of the year, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. I had to work that day and Zach and I were going to dinner that night. I put quite a bit of thought in to the perfect outfit for my perfect day. My final choice was most glorious: a red ribbed turtleneck sweater, black corduroy overalls and black doc martens - even in high school I knew how to be sexy for my man. The day started off perfect, Zach sent me a dozen red roses at work - all the older married ladies were jealous of my young budget free love. Disaster struck at lunch time. I was so lost in love that I knocked my bowl of cream of broccoli soup all over my lap. Have you ever tried to remove creamy soup from the ridges of corduroy? Impossible. I had to race home and settle on my denim overalls - there was nothing sexy about the denim overalls. I met Zach that night for dinner, but my outfit was ruined and the day never was the same.

The final memorable Valentine's day was in 2002. I was living with Tiffy and Lou and we were the Fight Girls. Oh how I loved being a Fight Girl. We got home late from whatever mayhem we were involved in to find three vases of flowers on our porch. They said to Fight Girl #1, Fight Girl #2 and Fight Girl #3 and each card said Happy Ballumtimes. The three of us then of course had to spend quite a bit of time determining which of us was which fight girl. The flowers were unexpected and there was no romantic attachments and they were perfect.

If you need Valentine's Day to remind you to be romantic you are lost. If you need Valentine's Day to tell someone that you love them then you aren't really in love. If you propose to your significant other on Valentine's don't tell me, it will probably make me gag.

I should have been a cow-girl.

I never thought I should have learned to rope and ride, thank you Toby Keith, however tonight I decided to create a country Pandora station. My first choice was Dixie Chicks. This station started out fine, first song Dixie Chicks, yep, this is what I signed up for. Second song Taylor Swift -thumb down. Third song, Dixie Chicks, why yes, thank you Pandora, I think we established that I like Dixie Chicks. Fourth song, Taylor Swift - Pandora I HATE YOU. Did I not just thumb her down one song ago?!?! Pandora, I thought we had something special, but now it's like you don't even understand me, it's like you don't even listen. How quickly I can turn on technology - so passive aggressively I deleted this station. Attempt number two, Lee Ann Womack....redemption.

I have such a soft spot in my heart for country music - judge me, I don't care, and true to form I won't judge you back. There is something true, calming and incredibly peaceful about country music. In my soul I am Dolly Parton. I love country dancing - line dances, slow waltzes and honky tonks. I wonder if I could talk DaveCall in to going on a trip to Nashville? Of course we would wear matching wranglers on our trip (I do apologize if you just had to imagine my fat ass in wranglers, imagine it with pockets, it is far less painful than the brightly colored non-pocketed version).

The closest I have ever come to the Grand Ole Opry is my roommate whose fiance who was up and coming in the country music circuit. In our home the downstairs bathroom also doubled as the laundry room, room is extremely generous as it was more of a shower closet with a stackable washer/dryer. I never thought to lock the door as I thought I was home alone. My roommate, we will call her Smashley, was home. Smashley opened the door just as I was stepping in to the shower. We both screamed, my only concern was my chest as that was all I covered. Now if you remember Smashley's fiance was up and coming in the country music business. That night I came home and as I walked in I heard her fiance, we will call him Shyan Rupe, playing his mandolin. Shyan Rupe had written a delightful new song and he was debuting it just for me, it was entitled Randi the Naked Roommate - one day this gem (the song, not the second nasty image this blog has supplied you with) will be revered at the Grand Ole Opry.