This takes the cake ...

Allow me to set up the scene ... leftover strawberry shortcake sits on a plate, covered in plastic wrap, on a shelf in my fridge. Cake is coated with an inch-thick layer of whipped cream and giant red, ripe strawberries.

In shuffles Nonno, as it is close to lunch time. I see him open the fridge, reach in and begin to hear the familiar sound of lip-smacking, which to me is like nails on a chalkboard. I leave the house in disgust.

Later, I go to open the fridge. My hand feels something crusty on the handle. There is red, sticky, dried strawberry glaze and whipped cream covering it. Inside, a pastry case crime scene. The plastic wrap has been torn away from the cake and left open, revealing a huge gaping void in the center of the layer cake. Pieces of vanilla pound are scattered everywhere, crumbs of cake matter lying lifeless atop soda cans. The trail of terror continues as I discover crumbs leading to the sink, where the entire faucet head and handles are also smeared with berry glaze and whipped cream, now dry and beginning to yellow. More morsels of the cake killer's victim clog the drain.

I stare at the carnage in disbelief. Grabbing a fistful of cake is something I didn't think anyone would ever do, unless they were 1) a neanderthal or 2) really stoned. I guess I can add "eighty three years old and clueless" to the list.

Make-a Shake-a Hands

In a basic Italian conversation, I can hold my own. My kids are not bilingual, but over the years have learned a fairly decent collection of Italian words and phrases, mostly vulgar. We do not encourage they practice those.

One of the first words they learned was Nonno, the word for "grandfather", which is coincidentally what my gut reaction is on hearing the news of his arrival. Although my version sounds like NoooooooNooooooo!

He brought cheese. Again. And who doesn't love an abundance of unmarked, hand-packaged, smuggled-in-luggage-for-15-hours cheese?

The cheese. This time, it spawned hard candy.

He has settled into his routine. Morning begins with a breakfast of coffee-soaked chunks of thick Italian bread. I don't know which is more disgusting, the sight of the mushy bread floating in over-microwaved, burnt cappuccino or the lip-smacking and slurping sounds he makes as he spoons it into his mouth. The GoDaddy Super Bowl ad's smooch fest audio pales in comparison.

Our dog is the sweetest pup you'd ever want to meet, and submits lovingly, belly-up, to everyone. Except Nonno. She growls and barks at him constantly. She won't even take the bacon he offers. Maybe the way he yells "Make-a shake-a hands!" at her has something to do with it. MAKE-A SHAKE-A HANDS! Then, when she runs away, VA FA NAPOLI! Which means, in essence, go to hell! As if it's HER fault.

"Make-a Shake-a hands? Not on your life."

After breakfast, he takes the keys to the only available vehicle, one of our company vans, and sets out for a day of come what may. It's only been a week, and we've had to disconnect the "How is my driving?" telephone number listed on the back, due to "unusually high call volume" and a few death threats. Even the Asians were calling.

At this point, I'd rather be in Napoli.

The Big Cheese.

He hasn't even arrived, and yet the confusion begins.

He specifically told my husband, numerous times, he is arriving in Newark, NJ.  When asked, are you SURE it is NEWARK and not NEW YORK, he replied yes, yes, yes New-Ark in New-va Jersey.

Good thing my husband checked online flight status moments before he planned on stepping out the door with our kids to go to Newark. Turns out, there is no arriving flight at Newark today from Rome or anywhere else in Italy. Turns out, Nonno is landing in NEW YORK at JFK.

WTF will be the tagline for my next 30 days.

Am I left holding the bag ... again??

The other day, I started out of the house using a Spice Tonight canvas bag to tote around my MacBook. My husband reacts ... "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" I ask, what's the big deal? We debate for a moment, and I can tell as his composure becomes more tense there is no convincing him that my benign advertising of an adult sex toy/video emporium is okay. So. I turn the bag inside out, repack my shit and ask "Better?"

Fast forward to this morning. I see my OTHER Spice Tonight canvas tote (they must have had a sale that day) as it was left in the back seat of my car, stuffed with a beach towel, goggles, a damp bathing suit and other assorted necessities for an afternoon swimming at the Y. My tweenage daughter forgot to bring in the bag. She also forgot to turn it inside out!

And what of "the best laid schemes .."

I remember as a kid, the hundreds of times when my father would go into silent mode. It was either due to a fight with my mom, or simply being generally pissed off about his current situation (job/bills/life). Sometimes, this would last for weeks. We would all be walking on egg shells, although I  think my mom sort of welcomed the break from having to interact with him. Then, always, there was something that triggered his re-emergence. A call from someone he liked, Christmas Eve, an especially funny episode of All In The Family ... and he would be back to his normal self, as if the snubbing of his entire family never happened. No apology, no nothing. Move on and never mind. I remember feeling so happy when that moment arrived. Looking back, it was fucked up. Yet, to this day, I love him to pieces. And I think I understand it, or at least can rationalize it on many levels.

Life can be tough, but sometimes marriage is tougher.

One of my more popular posts "Camel Toe As A Fashion Statement..." had some of my adoring fans busting my stones for being someone who never wears underwear. This can't be further from the truth.

(click link for redirection if reading the Camel Toe post interests you, as it should)

http://honeydewbranchweed.blogspot.com/2012_03_01_archive.html

I do wear panties. I own quite a number of panties. Here is proof of that:

It's just that my dog enjoys them more than I do.

But what I don't enjoy at all is saying the word "panties". I feel both childish and motherly when I say the word "panties". Go ahead. Try saying "panties" without feeling the need to lick a lollipop or to offer a clean pair. Hearing it gives me the heebie-jeebies, too.  When my husband utters the word during sex, my toes curl for all the wrong reasons. "Underpants" sounds old and ugly, though. "Underwear" sounds too practical, not sexy. So what can he say?  My friend has a similar problem with the word "moist." Suffice to say, if he and I were to ever have sex,  mention of "moist panties" would be a definite mood-killer.

As you sit there in your skivvies, I must ask you ... what word do you hate to say? 

Keywords and British Accents

My most popular (as in most viewed) blog posts are Married Blonde Looks For Dick and Camel Toe As A Fashion Statement. In fact, CTAAFS is my number one read blog post, AND those exact words are my number one keyword search. I am amazed at how many people google "camel toe". Here are some other search examples as listed by my site stats:

camel toe
camel tow (now, you KNOW this was a mis-google-guided nomad with an injured animal)
cameltoe commando
married woman mad for cock
honeydew horny (huh? sounds like a weird fetish)
urgent honeydew sex wanted (ok, now I'm convinced there is such a thing as a honeydew fetish. Who knew?)

Yes, I'd love to report that my blog posts are intelligent musings on important, thought provoking topics, but I am not there just yet.

On that note ...

I spent some high quality time with girlfriends over the weekend. At dinner one night, a bus boy quickly caught our eyes. He was the tall, Giorgio Armani model type with chiseled cheekbones, beautiful thick hair and lips, as delicious as they come. He asked me, very softly, if I was finished with a bread plate before he removed it, and on hearing those four or so words, his level of sexual intensity rose. A British accent! Scalding hot.

Fast forward to me back at home watching porn. I like porn, but after a while it bores me and I am looking for something new but not really sick or too violent. And it has to be free. So, that doesn't leave me with a whole lot of options. I think about bus boy Brit and decide to search "British" on the free sites. I tune in to a group sex thing. Everyone is speaking with a British accent. And I am immediately turned off! Somehow, "oh fuck me harder" and "I love your big cock/tits" said with a British accent sounds wrong. Maybe it is because all I have ever heard throughout life spoken with a British accent was either high-brow theatre, comedy or drama, like The English Patient or Pride and Prejudice. At one point, I muted the video. I just couldn't get past how incongruent the audio/video felt to me.

I wonder if other non-Brits feel this way? It can't just be me. Or can it? Don't answer that.