Unexplored Territory

Monday, June 05, 2006

Hometown celebrities

We all have them. We run into them at odd times and in odd places. I have yet run into our real hometown celebrity, Ben Rothelisberger, or Big Ben to you Steelers fans but I am sure that will happen when I have all three of my kids in tow, one has run out into the parking lot, and the other two are giving each other black eyes.

Tonight, mini-Martha took me out to dinner because she could hear the angst in my voice (or pure desperation) when she called me this afternoon and I told her that I wasn't sure HOW I am going to make it through an entire summer with all three of these kids under the same roof. She took me to our local Greek restaurant, and it was a nice little meal.

While there, one of the local celebs walked in ... a car dealership owner. He's one of those ones whose obnoxious voice you hear on the radio a lot. Except for lately. He hasn't been a prominent force in radio commercials for one reason or another. Maybe because he isn't the cool "family" man he once portrayed, alongside his wife and daughter. Probably because he doesn't HAVE that wife anymore. Because tonight, Mr. Car Dealer was ON A DATE!

He is a weasly looking dude, really. Someone who I believe suffers from little man syndrome. And really, he doesn't have the best personality. I know this because, when I was a local beauty queen (yes... I WAS back at the end of high school ... when I was skinny and pretty .. move on, there won't be any pictures), my brother asked Mr. Car Dealer if I could use one of his convertibles to sit in for a local parade. You know, I had the whole beauty queen wave DOWN, don't you?

My ex-boyfriend, Fudd (my Dad gave him this nickname ... and yes, Robin, this is the one you know), drove the car. He picked it up from Mr. Car Dealer, who told Fudd that he needed to put the magnetic dealer plates IN the trunk when he dropped the car back off because it was going to be after hours. Did Fudd do that? Nope. Fudd left the plates on the car, and when Mr. Dealer got to his lot the next morning, all hell broke loose because the plates had been stolen off the car. He called my brother and reamed him a new butthole, and I called Mr. Dealer and apologized profusely. What he didn't say to my brother, he said to me.

And then he got Mama pissed off, so she went IN to SEE Mr. Dealer, and she reamed HIM a new one.

Needless to say, nary a vehicle has been, nor ever will be, purchased from Mr. Dealer.

So ... Mr. Dealer was there on a date. Mini Martha and I wanted to tell her to run, run far, far away ... Run Forrest!

Because any man who reams the local beauty queen and suffers from Little Man Syndrome just can't be good dating material.

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I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.

The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.

The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.

The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.

The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.