CatDecenzo’s Weblog

Just some mundane madness

All Wrong Thong

I try to be careful, since I’m as old as Medusa, that I celebrate my years of wisdom and try to embrace the Goodyear rubber tire I have going on midcenter, midlife.  I don’t want to be 18 again…ever…and try to ignore the road map of spider veins on my legs, laugh lines [cough-crow’s feet-cough] and the gray hairs sprouting from my roots like an out-of-control July 4th rocket.

And although I often get compliments on my choice of wardrobe at the office, I always chalk it up to having a daughter who keeps me fairly modern and tasteful without going over the edge. I have complete trust in her that she’ll tell me when I’m starting to look like Lindsay Lohen’s mother or, worse yet, that I’m starting to look like Lindsay Lohen.

But I had a rather eye opening experience last week that brought me back to the reality that I am indeed getting on in years, and to acquiesce, cry uncle and remember my age…maybe just a little.

ThongI sometimes pull my daughter’s thong out of the drier and just shrug as I attempt to fold the 1/345th yard of fabric, thinking to myself, “Why does she bother?”  But curiosity got the better of me one day as I said to my daughter, “What’s it like having dental floss creeping up your butt?”  She just rolled her eyes, saying regular underwear gives her bigger wedgies than the thong does.  And I had to admit – as I looked at the summer white slacks she was donning that were so tight if she farted, she’d blow her shoes off – that this type of undergarment probably has it’s place in the world of fashion.

I’ve always believed the only way to truly learn something is to experience it. And I’ve had a pair of skin-hugging taupe slacks that I rarely wear because they hug my crinkle-cut French thighs and ass, and I thought to myself, “Time to experience this.”  I would have borrowed a thong from my daughter’s drawer, but I was too lazy to search for my bifocals to find those little balls of yarn.

So off I went to the store, my braveness intact, sunglasses hiding my identity, to buy a pair for myself.  After spending an hour looking for a thong in mom-large, one lonely pair jumped out at me with that “Please adopt me” look that at least had some semblance of triangulation that might just do.

UnderwearBut something didn’t quite feel right as I pulled out my Senior-Citizen-Ten-Percent-Off-On-Tuesdays card to purchase my jock-strap sized thong. I tried to avoid the glassy-eyed glaze of the 25-year hot cutie that was waiting on me with that “What’s Wrong with This Picture?” look in his eye….

Maybe I’ll stick to my black slacks…they go with everything.


June 22, 2009 Posted by | Random | , , , | 2 Comments

Mother…mother…is that you??

I used to just sigh – my heart overflowing – when my son, as a small tot, would look up at me with big brown eyes and all his cuteness and ask, “Mommy, can I marry you when I grow up?” I remembered my mother saying my brother used to ask the same thing of her when he was little…I hope.

But never – ever – did I remember hearing my son say, “Mommy, can I BE you when I grow up?”

But I’m going to start watching which of my sexy slingbacks are slithering silently from my shoe shelf.

Apparently, a mama-wanna-be in New York posed as his dead mother to collect on her social security and rent subsidies.

Creepy is as creepy does….and the Mommy Master got away with it for six years…and looked damn good doing it! Great mani and pedi, Pink Posey lip gloss, the works… Gives “mama’s boy” a whole new meaning, doesn’t it? Obviously, the FBI took awhile to notice his unibrow and adams apple the size of a hard-boiled egg on steroids. And all the Mary Kay in the world won’t tame that hair lip forever.

PsychoIt was one thing to impersonate his mother, but he also came to believe the ruse himself, believing he actually was her.  When taken into custody, he claimed he was with her when she was dying and that he “breathed in her last breath.”

I think I just threw up in my mouth. Now it’s getting Norman Bates creepy. And he would have gotten away with it, except he got greedy and tried to sue his son – I mean himself – for forging a title with her – I mean his – signature – claiming his property was illegally sold by her – I mean him.

I’m feeling a Weekend at Bernies sequel coming down the pike…

Note to self: Have talk with son.  The bedazzled taupe Manalos are off limits…

June 17, 2009 Posted by | Random | , , , | 1 Comment

Whad’a U Problem?

Seems a group of angry Italians (I know, I know, it’s redundant) are wanting to fuhgeddabout Miller Lite beer because one of their commercials portrays them as thuglike.

In one ad, one of the actors from the Sopranos enters a liquor store and asks the owner if he needs protection. And in another, “Vincent” threateningly asks the bartender if he’s a wiseguy.

What’s this world coming to? What ever happened to just laughing at ourselves and all of our inbrededness, (Is that a word? Well, you get my drift, paiasan….), whatever our background may be!? You don’t see me belly-aching because they portray the Irish eating fish ‘n chips and sloshing down green beer on St. Patty’s Day…we’re all potatoe-eating alcoholics, and damn proud of it!

mafiaI married my Italian husband cuz he’s a greaseball wack job…and I wouldn’t want him any other way. I feel very safe on the arm of someone who measures up people by their shoe size. And that large bag of cement in our garage makes a great door stop. He won’t sit in a restaurant with his back to the door, and when those home security door salesmen come to our door, he reminds them that he already has security..and it’s in his back pocket. And when the Johovah’s Witnesses come to the door, he simply mumbles, “Beat it, kid, I hate all witnesses.”

There are all kinds of reasons he’s proud to be Italian. He has great organizational skills. He has an in-depth knowledge of pasta shapes. He’s not embarrassed to wear fur. At Christmastime, I have the best nativity scene in the neighborhood – one Mary, one Jesus, and 32 wise guys.

And, the best of all, we’re all set for retirement because he netted more than $50,000 at his first communion.

You had me at “Ciao, bella.”

June 4, 2009 Posted by | Braggin' Rights | , , , , , , | Leave a comment