If I were Bette Midler I'd probably just sing about it...

Warning: This post is about Girl Power. Men should proceed with caution.

I know I usually write about funny stories or clever anecdotes. Heck, sometimes I even go right for the cheap joke in an effort to get a cheap laugh (I site gay novelty towel as Exhibit A and embarrassing drinking story as Exhibit B). But, today I'm kinda feeling a little lovey dovey. Yes, I'm a little in love. And I want to shout it from the virtual rooftops.

Awww...We're like Beaches.
Without the sh*tty cancer part.

HEY UNIVERSE, I LOVE MY FRIENDS!

I do. I am head-over-heals smitten with these amazing ladies. No matter what the situation, no matter what I'm going through, these muchachas are there for me. Some of them are really "here" for me- right here, in this town, in this state, and some of them are "there" for me from wherever they are - whether it be phone calls, IMs, text messages or singing telegram. We find each other, we support each other and, dammit, we love each other.

I truly believe women need each other more then men do. We are simply wired to share; share joy, share sadness, share burden; share wardrobes.

So in honor of all this sharing, I thought that I would share with y'all just a few of the totally awesome things my friends have done for me lately:

1. Bought me salad tongs as a gift. They are really super cool salad tongs, not regular boring ones. No one ever thinks to buy salad tongs for themselves, right? But you need 'em. My friend bought them. A+.

Best. Logo. Ever

2. Hauled a big-ass dehumidifier to my house, by herself, on her day off from work. That takes Girl Power and Muscle Power.

3. Covered for me at an event when I suddenly realized that I had forgotten my dentist appointment....again. I should really look at my calendar more often. And get my head outta my you-know-what.

4. Listened, listened, listened, listened. In case you haven't noticed, I sometimes have a lot to say. These ladies know how to listen. Or at least they fake it. Either way, I get to talk...and not just to myself.

5. Made me laugh...constantly. I have some pretty funny friends - some seriously killer comedic brain power. You know who you are. You inspire me every day.

6. Made me a gin-and-tonic at 3:30pm on a Tuesday. Don't judge. You have no idea what kind of day we were having.

7. Kept me sane when my hubby was away for soooooooooooooooooooooooo long. Okay it wasn't WWII or anything, but it was a long 5 days. And without my friends it would have felt like 500...and I might have sold my children.

8. Offered to help cover my gray. No one should have to color their hair alone. Not at home. Not the first time. Not without an audience. (Stay tuned for blog post entitled "Aren't you DYEING to know what happened??")

9. Got me out of my house. Need I remind you that I work from home? I've got a Cabin Fever of 104.5. Invite me somewhere....anywhere...I'll come. I promise. My friends get me out. One of them is even flying me to Chicago just to catch up on life. Yeah, she is amazing. You should be jealous.

Confetti and coordinated outfits
not required.

So thank you to all of my friends. And thank you to all the other amazing women out there who take the time to love and support their own friends. We're a team. A really hot, smart, sexy, take-no-prisoners, got-ur-back, watch-out-world-we're-united team.

Now go hug someone.

- Mimi

PS: I do have some pretty great, wildly amusing male friends. I also love you to pieces. I just don't want to borrow your clothes.

Putting the DAMN! in Damsel.

My face has been stuck
like this for about 2 weeks.

Can it really be only two weeks ago that I nearly entered myself into the Ms. Provincetown pageant? (I subsequently realized it's not for actual women.) Was it really two weeks ago that I was on that blissful vacation high? Gosh, it feels like a lifetime ago. That must be because the past two weeks have been a totally sh*tfest a bit more challenging. Flood clean-up is not what it used to be.

But as Blanche DuBois famously said, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." And lately I've had the urge to hug a lot of strangers. There was the Verizon guy that fixed my internet AND programmed my remote; the guy at the Apple store that resuscitated my lifeless phone; The troops from the remediation company that won the Battle of Little Big Mold in our basement. Then there was the lady working at Dunkin Donuts that found my debit card. Oh and the entire local fire department - yeah we’ve gotten especially close lately. We have regular date nights now thanks to my water-damaged smoke detectors and overwhelming fear of carbon monoxide .

Try it with a Southern accent.
Works even better.

So I won't bore you with all the sordid details of the who did what, where, how and why of the past two weeks. All I'll say is that I've played the Damsel in Distress more times than a respectable, mature woman really ought to. Don't get me wrong. There have been plenty of good reasons. It's been a constant smackdown of one crisis after another and my delicate girly brain just can't take any more of it.

Why Big Kind Sir, can you please help little ol' me?

(Let's be honest, ladies. We've all played Damsel for some not-so-good reasons too. Works every time. You men are suckers).

Take Wednesday night approximately 9pm. I was enjoying a peaceful night at home. My kids were finally asleep. My husband was traveling which meant I was a little lonely and a little extra tired. But it also meant I could eat cereal for dinner and rewatch the SYTYCD finale...again. It almost evens out, especially with a glass of Bordeaux.

So picture me: On the couch, in my comfiest, frumpiest pajamas, cereal on my lap, wine in my glass, brain blissfully disengaged, and eyes glued to the TV behind glasses 2-inch-thick. Probably a little more detail than I should admit, but we're all friends here.

And then the fire alarms go off. All of them.

DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN!

DAMN! for SO MANY reasons. DAMN! because I was relaxing and so happy on the couch. DAMN! because my kids had finally fallen asleep and I was deathly afraid of waking them up. DAMN! because I jumped and spilled wine on my shirt. DAMN! because maybe there really is a F*CKING FIRE! DAMN! because I have to run all over the house and pull the g*dDAMN hardwired alarms out of the ceiling to shut them up. DAMN! because the fire department had already been here twice in the past week!

And DAMN! this time one of them is quite dashing.

If I wasn't happily married this could have been a fantastic way to start a romantic comedy about my life. (Though perhaps in the fictionalized movie version I will be wearing adorable-yet-sexy matching pjs with my hair effortlessly tossed up in a gentle bun. No glasses. No zit cream. No wine spills. And maybe Natalie Portman as a younger, single me and Harry Conick, Jr as the fire chief with the heart of a jazz singer?)

Now that's good casting!

It was seriously a huge heart attack. But the firemen were awesome. They searched high-and-low all over my house checking for fire hazards, carbon monoxide, and kittens stuck in high up places. They talked me down from my panic attack. They reassured Little Ol' Me that we were safe; that my boiler was not about to blow up; that we wouldn't die that night of CO poisoning. And then they reinstalled all my smoke detectors. And tested them. And double checked. And the dashing one winked as he left and said, "See ya 'round, pretty lady." (Okay, fine. That last part only happens to Natalie Portman in the movie.)

I gave them my best Damsel in Distress. An Oscar-worthy performance...had it only been a performance. But I'm hopeful that they went back to the station feeling a little proud of themselves for saving me from the Big Bad Nothing. And I went back to the couch, and back to my cereal, and back to my evening.

And we all lived Happily Ever After.

At least until they came back the next day to check a gas leak.

Thanks but no tanks, Provincetown!

Well hello, everyone.  It’s been a busy couple of weeks since we last spoke.  A LOT has happened. There was that big hurricane and then we went on vacation and THEN we lived without phone or internet or TV for almost a whole week (gasp!).  I seriously think my brain has been on complete and total overload.  In fact, I'm just kind of writing this blog with no clear plan or agenda for what I'm going to say. Let’s see, let’s see, let’s see… what. to. dis. cuss...

Enjoying my post-Irene
lakefront view.

How about the seven feet of water in our backyard?  Nah… this blog is a comedy, not a tragedy. 

How I hugged the Verizon guy when he finally fixed my internet?  Hmmm...Best left out. It was uncomfortable for both of us. 

How our landlord told us to just hire "workers looking for odd jobs" to clean the post-flood mold in our basement?  That would be HILARIOUS (if it weren't true. ugh)

How I had the best vacation of my life and am so in love with my family?  Nope.  That would break Rule #2 and Rule #3 as outlined in my own manifesto.

How about my NEW bikini???  YES. Great idea!  Let’s start with that.

So...I did it.  I wore a bikini!  A real one.  No tanki part.  And it was kinda tiny too.

After my experience earlier in the summer (as recounted this post) I decided it was time to let my stomach see the light of day.  It had been about five years, one [GIANT] pregnancy and two kids since I last had the metaphorical balls to show my stomach on the beach.  It was time to go for it.  And trust me, ladies, there is no better place to break the bikini ice than Provincetown, MA!  Good ol’ Ptown, where the gay men aren’t lookin’, the lesbians don’t care and your husband is the only straight man on the beach. (FYI, that is not the official town slogan.)

Of course I had only packed my trusty tankinis.  I mean, I wasn't expecting to have such an epiphany about swimwear.  But Ptown really is THAT amazing.  It's beautiful.  It’s friendly.  It’s welcoming.  It’s colorful.  It is the kind of place that can make anyone feel instantly comfortable - with or without a bikini (homophobes excluded).  

So I went shopping.   The racks were pretty bare and I almost lost my motivation.  And then I found it. Way in the back of the store, crushed between a weird pink stomach-cut-out-one-piece-thing and a terrifying beach towel that looked something like this...

(Yes that is a hairy-chested man...and yes, he is holding his crotch...and yes, he is smiling at YOU.  Gay novelty towels are not for the faint of heart, people.)

It was last one on the rack.  It had palm trees and Hawaiian flowers on it, but who cares.  It fit (sorta).  And I bought it (on clearance).  And I wore it (in public).  

Take that, Jersey shore.

Seriously, it was a big step for me and something I never thought I’d ever EVER do again.  So how about a little virtual recognition from the crowd? (hold for applause)  Awww, shucks.  Thanks, guys.

As for the rest of the vacation...pure bliss.  The sea air transformed my kids into two perfect angels who listened well, ate well, slept well and FINALLY learned to pump their own legs on the swings (This is a huge score and will replace hours of annoying pushing time with an equal number of hours in playground phone-talking time - ring you soon, beotch!).  

It was a true vacation.  An escape.  A retreat. And I feel like one lucky lady, stretch marks and all.

'Till next year, Ptown!  Stay fabulous!