Welcome to Leslie Dishes!!!!! Read my weekly rants regarding my dysfunctional upbringing, struggles with motherhood, intolerance for stupidity and life's general observations. You'll find that I tend to get myself into trouble....often. Read how I successfully manuever my way out of these debacles. Sometimes I'm just an idiot. Enjoy. ~Leslie Bosscher
So, I'm a big girl now. I was 39 and then I turned 40. So, I guess I'm 40 now. That's weird because I don't feel 40. I think my true age is 27 because that's the age I want to say when someone asks me how old I am. When I am asked that question my inner dialogue sounds like this, "Hm. That's a good question. How old am I, anyway? I've got to be what.... 25? No, I got married when I was 25 and that man-person has been around for a very long time. Ok, so what? 27?? No, that can't be right. I have to be at least 30. Am I 30? Wow, that's old. Holy shit, I'm not 30 because that doesn't even make sense. I think I had a baby when I was around 30 and I haven't had big, engorged boobs in like....10---fuckin' A. I'm 40. No. Way." Mind officially blown. Kids that I used to babysit are adults. Ew. So, my point is, when I'm kicking it in heaven, I believe my eternal age will be 27. I was awesome when I was 27.
Speaking of heaven and aging and everything like that, It's no secret that my family history isn't great. It's not so much a gene pool, but a cess pool. Pretty much no one lived past 60 in my family. I don't know if that's a curse or a blessing. Like, maybe it's not such a bad thing to leave on a high note. Like Seinfeld. He ended on a high note, before the story line got stale.
So, do I want to live to be 92, shuffling around my nursing home, yelling at randoms, living from one bland meal to the next? Or would I rather still be active, sharp and independent when it's my time? As in, "Who me? Yeah, I'm 64, what's up? Yes, I still wear heels. Yes I still swear like a trucker. Hells yeah I still know how to party and I know all the words to Eminem's greatest hits, beeeyotch! But wait, I feel a cough coming on." BAM! I'm dead.
You weigh the good with the bad. I never want to be so old that people are waiting, literally waiting for me to die. On the other hand, if I die while I'm still relatively young, everyone will be miserable without me in their life. And I mean miserable! Hell, even I'd miss me. Dying when you're barely old versus dying when you're obnoxiously old both have perks, I suppose.
Death and old age seemed like a million years away last week when I was 39. But man, 40. That's when shit starts to go south. You always hear stories like, "Did you hear about Dan? He was just mowing the lawn and dropped dead! He was only 42!" You always hear those stories! Your 40's are when you're old enough to drop dead but you're still young enough for it to be considered a tragedy. If you're 50 and you drop dead, it's like, "Meh." Perhaps I'll think differently when I'm 50. I feel like the decade ahead of mine is always considered old. When I was in my teens, the thought dating a guy in his 20's (albeit creepy and suspect) sounded so old and worldly. Then while I was in my 20's, I thought people in their 30's were so lame. Then, in my 30's I just pictured people in their 40's just being in a sort of limbo. As in, not quite old enough to be considered "old" but too old to change careers, go back to school, have kids, etc. Now I think 40 is where it's at and 50 is practically God's waiting room. And can I just say, God bless the MILFs and the cougars for making 40 trendy and hot!!??!!
My kids had a field day with my birthday this year. They tell me I'm old constantly, but this year I had the wherewithal to take offense to their insults. At first I was all, "ha ha ha, good one!" but then suddenly my eyes got all crazy and I was like, "Ok. Shit. Just. Got. Real." My oldest one couldn't wait to tell everyone that his mom was 40 (like this deserved a visit from Guinness or something). He kept threatening that he was going to loudly announce everywhere we went that I had just turned 40. Luckily I rarely leave my house, so that didn't affect me. Finally, I came up with this brilliant reasoning. Good! Tell them I'm 40. Now I have a reason for looking like this (picture haggard). I have the perfect excuse for being old and ugly. I'm 40! Yay! When I was in my 30's and I looked like this, people were probably like, "Damn. She old." But now that I can say I'm officially in my 40's people might nod in agreement as if to say, "Yeah, seems legit." Then I decided it would be even more brilliant if I told people I was closer to 50. That way they'd all compliment me and say, "Wow! You look amazing!" No one would say that to me right now. I look 40, there's no two ways about it. But 50...damn, I'd be smoking.
What do you want from me? I lived with a smoker for the first 17 years of my life. Then I was a smoker for another decade or so, then I had kids (this aged me more ways than I can count). Not to mention the hundreds of sunburns, bad vision (squinting = crows feet) and hell-lo, I'm hilarious, so I laugh constantly (laugh = laughlines). I don't know what to say, I've aged.
So to everyone still lying about their age, you can still lie if you want to. But don't be stupid. Don't age down. Age UP! Everyone will talk louder, be nicer to you and tell you how pretty you are!
* Above picture taken at my 40th birthday. I wasn't so much upset about turn 40 as I much as I just didn't want to wear a crown. Maybe I'm wrinkled because I make faces.
They say you can tell a lot about a person by the company they keep. Based on recent events, it seems that I might need to start looking for new friends. Mainly because mine suck.
You're aware of our annual summer Olympics, yes? Every summer a group of some of our closest friends compete for the title of Core 4 champion. We go into it knowing a few things. For example, we can count on Erika to capture every, single moment on her iphone. We can count on Chad to lie, cheat and steal. And we can count on Luke to feed us because his idea of a bbq is apparently to bring a 5 course meal, complete with chafing dishes and crock pots. For the most part, I feel that my role is simply to stay vertical because I have a tendency to fall down at these things. We each know our strengths and weaknesses.
Each year the events are hand picked by last year's loser and then we collectively decide on the scoring. Among the events, we try to appease everyone by covering the gamut on our skills. There is always some sort of relay, there's always some old-school, lawn games and for the brainy folks like myself, there's always at least one trivia event. Typically the object is to either find out how much we know about each other, or else it's an opportunity to insult each other. It's safe to say that this year's theme was not to stroke my ego.
Case in point. I brilliantly came up with a game called "Majority Rules" whereas each of us asks the others a serious of 5 questions. The question could be something along the lines of "If you were conducting a job interview, who would you more likely give the job to?" and then we draw two names (Erika or Jason) and everyone has to vote on who they think the majority would vote for. In this scenario, everyone obviously would vote for Jason because he's a work horse with an ethical backbone that would put an Amish farmer to shame. Easy, right? So I thought.
Pretty much, this is what I learned about myself last night:
No one and I mean no one would allow me to take care of their children. Basically everyone thinks it's shocking that I've kept Ben and Gabe alive for this long.
Everyone would prefer anyone else EXCEPT me to talk to their kids about sex. Never mind that I actually have certification that allows me to teach reproductive health and that for three years I actually volunteered at a non-profit agency where I literally TAUGHT sex ed. Forget all that....my friends still wouldn't want me to talk to their kids about sex. Ok basically, if the choice was for me or a hobo off the street to talk to your kids about sex, pretty much everyone would prefer the hobo do it.
I learned that if Jason and I ever got a divorce, all of my friends would confidently set him up on dates but not me. I tried to spin it like, they'd set Jason up because he'd need all the help he could get. But no, they all said they wouldn't have a hard time whatsoever finding him a new girlfriend. Awesome. Maybe she can plan this whole fucking thing next summer.
When the question was asked, "Who would likely wind up in a nursing home/psychiatric home first" everyone held up their "Leslie" card.....BEFORE I even read what the choices were. I was like, "Wait...I haven't even drawn the names yet!" and everyone was like, "Doesn't matter. It's you. Hands down."
There was absolutely no disputing the following scenarios, despite me trying desperately to argue my case.
1. No one would trust me in an emergency (too hysterical, they say).
2. No one would trust me with any of their valuable possessions whatsoever (too forgetty, they say).
3. It's just assumed that I got into the most trouble in high school (despite that Chad pretty much burned his school down).
4. Couldn't have been homecoming queen if my life depended on it.
5. I would "EASILY" be the first person from the group to be arrested, even though others actually HAVE been arrested and I haven't (mere details!)
Do I really need to go on....giving example after example of just how useless my friends really think I am? I laid awake all night thinking of ways to prove to everyone that I really am a hard working, ethical, calm, collected person who can be counted on to always do the right thing. But then I was like, meh. It would just be easier to accept the hand that I was dealt.
So, you learn things about yourself. I learned that despite thinking I'm a total waste of skin, my friends all still really like me anyway. Awe! Even though they're a bunch of judgmental fuckers.
Don't worry, who'll have the last laugh from the psychiatric ward?? Me! That's who.
Grab tissues. Just saying.
This past weekend I was in the middle of some part time, freelance work that I'm doing for a company that specializes in a specific, doggie, housebreaking device. I am afforded the luxury of being able to not only write about what I love (dogs), but answer questions about dogs with regard to behavioral issues. Which, I realize is absolutely absurd because I have the most unruly and most ill behaved dogs ever created.
As our handsome boy Winston just celebrated his first birthday, I'm getting more sentimental and emotional about him. I can't believe this is the same dog whose name I cursed for 6 months. Basically up until now, the work vs. reward ratio was grossly top heavy. So much work for so little reward. Our only reward was when he was sleeping and I would have billy-clubbed anyone who woke that puppy. For months and months and months the work that we had to put into this dumb dog was obscene and the reward was miniscule. I mean, he was cute and everything, but cute doesn't pay the carpet cleaner who was basically here twice a month. Once you add up all of his necessities, vet bills, shots, homeopathic food, 3 foot rawhides every week, fancy bandanas, puppy obedience classes, in-home training (because the obedience classes didn't take), not just every Kong toy ever made but the likelihood that we single handedly kept the Kong company in business throughout half of 2012 and most of 2013, an exploratory, emergency surgery, a week long hospital stay, the bill that accompanied said surgery and said hospital stay, the countless dollars that I've had to give people because Winston ruined their fill-in-the-blank, not to mention the non-monetary damages done to our bloody hands and other appendages.
Wait--where was I going with this? Oh yes, the top heavy ratio. Until now. Life's a dream now. The damn dog was almost the death of me last year but that's all a faint memory. Now he's mostly reward and not so much work. I mean, I still have to basically put him in a straight jacket every time our doorbell rings And no one can startle him or else he'll pee all over himself. And sure he draws blood on someone at least once a week, but you can't argue with the immeasurable love he has brought our entire family. And by 'entire family' I mean me. I love him to the point where it's almost inappropriate. I hover more over him than I do over any of the kids. I mean, they can talk and they have opposable thumbs, so fuck them. You know how I have a real hard-on for helicopter moms who manage their child's every waking moment? Well, I've become that person where it relates to Winston. If Winston went to school, I'd probably be his room mom.
I'm very well aware that there are two kinds of people in the world. People who love dogs. And people who have no souls. I realize that not everyone understands that raw, guttural love for a pet. So, allow me to explain. Basically I like dogs more than people, sooooo....
Oh. You wanted a more elaborate answer? Well, I definitely don't differentiate between Winston and the other two legged members of this family. There's no pecking order here and it's obnoxious. I'd love to tell you that I love all my children the same but the fact is that my kids sometimes go through awkward stages. All gangly and gappy-toothed. And dirty! My God, they're so grubby. But Mr. Winston? Helllooo, have you seen him? He's the most handsome boy in the whole wide world. He's the kind of handsome where you clench your teeth together when you see him because you can't help it. I mean, I will stop what I'm doing, walk over to him, put my hands around his big fat head and kiss his face because I can't help myself. But, these are just the superficial reasons why I love him.
The deep down, visceral reasons are harder to explain. But, I'll try. This dog is thrilled, literally thrilled to see me every day. Whether I've been gone for 3 hours or I've simply gone to the mailbox, he is so freaking excited to see me when I get back. Sometimes if my ego needs a little stroking, I'll go into the garage for a few minutes and then I'll go back into the house just to get the reaction. Who else, in the entire world is THIS excited to see you? Your husband? Your kids? I call bullshit. Your kids don't maul you at the door, run in circles and then frantically dart through the house in search of a toy, just so they can bring it to you. No they don't, you fucking liar! Don't even. I mean, sure when my kids were little, they'd happily run to the door when I got home but that's only because their father hadn't changed their diaper or fed them since I left.
Another thing about dogs. Aside from the physical pain of accidently blowing out my knee with his massive skull, I challenge you to find a dog who's ever hurt your feelings. Or a dog who didn't have your back. Or a dog who had ulterior motives other than to absolutely, unequivocally love you. All they require from you is a little bit of affection and they'll give you back a lifetime worth of companionship with no strings attached. I can say with 100% honesty that dogs are the only creature who've provided me with this type of unconditional friendship and love. Seriously...I only wish I was half the person Winston thinks I am. People will inevitably disappoint you. Sometimes they'll hurt you, intentionally or otherwise. Unfortunately, I've been on the giving and receiving end of this. Everyone has, because it's human nature to hurt and be hurt. The same cannot be said for dogs. They're loyal until their very last breath. You will never find a soul more pure than that of a dog's. Trust me on this one. It's the most simple relationship I've ever had.
I make absolutely no apologies for my insane love for my Winston. He's perfect. It doesn't mean that I'm a shut-in with no friends. It doesn't mean that I lead a sad existence or that I lack in human interaction. It just means that I can literally count the trustworthy people in my life on one hand. One of those fingers were reserved for Luna and another is reserved for Winston. You can do the math on the other 3. Oh, and one more thing. Pretty much Winston's name backwards is God, sooooo.... you really can't argue with that logic.
As I click 'publish' on this blog and pour out a little beer for my home girl, Luna I'll just leave you with this. I'm lucky enough to have a nearly perfect husband, kids who make me proud each and every day, a sister who knows me better than anyone in the entire world and friends who make me laugh until I'm in tears. But none of these mother fuckers will ever love me as much as my dog does. Which is why this crazy-ass dog owns my heart and warms my soul.