BLOG: 6's & 7'S
I wrote this post for Erica Lucke Dean last year and since my funny bone has been way too serious this week, I thought it would be fun to replay it here:
I’ve always been open to new experiences and the stranger the better. I’ve swam with sharks. I’ve been slammed in a mosh pit. I’ve performed in a pickle costume. It’s fun to say, “oh, yeah, I’ve done that,” and I say that a lot. But I’ve yet to be asked if I ever mud wrestled, so I’ll just answer that for you right now. Oh, yeah, I’ve done that, too.
Twenty years ago, I worked as a Nurse in Tulsa, Oklahoma. My good friend, Sue (name changed to protect the innocent) was a Physical Therapist. That was her day job. On the weekends, she mud wrestled at a local bar dressed as a medieval princess. One night, her designated opponent had called in sick, and she asked if I would step in.
Female mud wrestling was not new to me. In my early twenties, one of my roommates mud wrestled for extra money. Twice a week, she would put on her French maid costume and prance around a mud filled ring, then strip down to a skimpy bikini and roll around with another girl to the delight of a bar full of men. A bar full of men with a lot of money, I might add, as she would bring home more in her two hours than I brought home all week.
I had my reservations. It wasn’t the rolling around in the mud, or the googling eyes of horny men that bothered me. It was the bikini. Although I was in one of my ‘thin’ stages at the time, I had never worn a two piece bathing suit. Call me a prude. But after being told I would be paid one hundred dollars for a five minute bout and a promise that I could wear a low cut, side out onsie, I said sure, why not? Always willing to help out a friend.
I met most of the other wrestlers in the dressing room, very normal young ladies, most with respectable day jobs. They went over the rules with me, keep it safe, no ripping off bathing suits (it was a high class bar) and make it a show. It was all very…nun-like, and I use that particular word for a reason. Yes, after putting on the costume I was to wear for the evening, I would soon be making my mud wrestling debut as Sister Sludge, the One Fun Nun.
The plan was to wrestle for five minutes, then to let Sue pin me for the win. She would then move on to the next round and my work would be done. But as the crowd cheered, my competitive nature kicked in and I got serious. “What are you doing?” she whispered to me as we rolled in the muck. “You don’t want to win.” Oh, yes I did. I slammed her a little too hard and crawled on top. Nuns rule.
After taking my celebratory hosing down, I went back to the ring, ready to take on the cute little daycare worker I’d met backstage. But it wasn’t her that showed up. It was the Cave Woman. And not sweet little Ayla from Clan of the Cave Bear. It was Andre the Giant in drag. I turned to Sue who was standing in my corner. “What the hell? She wasn’t in the dressing room!”
“No,” Sue replied. “She has her own dressing room.”
I reminded myself that this was a show and there were rules. Confidently, I turned back toward my opponent, just in time to be hit in the face with a mud ball the size of a small dog. “Start prayin’, Sister,” she snarled. And, that I did.
The Neanderthal picked me up and twirled me above her head like a baton, then threw me to the ground and stomped me with her size 13’s. I rolled to the side of the ring as she grunted through bared teeth, and lumbered toward me with her arms raised high, exposing underarm hair that would shame a Sasquatch. I was trembling, I feared for my life, and raised my hands to cover my face. And that’s when I noticed.
I had broken a nail.
This bitch was going down.
I remembered my Dad always said that everyone has a weakness. I went first for the testicles. The Wookie was not pleased. She picked me up and wrapped me in a bear hug. I had no choice but to hug back. Then I remembered another bit of fatherly advice: Cheaters sometimes win. I quickly untied her bikini top and held on to the strings. She slung me to the other side of the ring, but this time I was the one that came up laughing.
That match was quickly called, and I was forever banned from the mud wrestling ring for ‘breaking the nudity rule’. Whatever. I had two hundred bucks in my pocket and an undefeated record.
Check out Erica's blog for a daily funny!
How do you tell your son congratulations on finishing his final comp exams toward his PhD? I guess you could send wine or flowers or even a card. But I am 1) broke and 2) not your average mom. I decided to punk him instead. Knowing that my son is an Obama supporter, I decided to send him text messages from a fake service called 'Mitt by the Minute'. The problem was he'd recognize my phone number and I'm not phone savvy enough to hide it. I needed help, and I found that help in my friend, Erica Lucke Dean, who is 1) a prankster herself and 2) has a cell phone with a Georgia area code. Perfect. So while my son sat in a bar with his peeps celebrating his academic success, Erica and I were communicating via the computer and she sent the first message:
Thank you for subscribing to Mitt By the Minute. A fact a minute about Mitt Romney. To unsubscribe, reply with f9877OIT43226.
Which was followed by a 'fact' (that we made up) every minute until he finally went completely over the edge.
Of course he tried texting back 'stop' and 'unsubscribe' and everything else he could think of, but his texts were met with "I'm sorry, that response is not recognized" followed by another 'fact'.
It took about ten minutes before I got the phone call.
"Mom, I've got a problem. Someone keeps sending me these little tidbits about Mitt Romney every minute, and I can't unsubscribe. It keeps saying 'unrecognized' when I try. I called T-mobile and they said I'd have to change my number to get it to stop!"
Me: Well son, you shouldn't have subscribed to it.
He: I didn't subscribe to it!
Me: What kind of things are they sending you?
He: Mitt Romney played Daddy Warbucks in an off Broadway production of Annie.
Me: Really? I didn't know that.
He: No! He didn't! Oh, my phone just beeped, here's another one. (Pause) Mitt Romney is your real daddy.
Me: I don't remember ever being that drunk. But, of course, if I was that drunk, I guess I wouldn't remember.
He: Mom, this is not funny.
Me: Well, maybe it will be interesting to learn a few things about the guy, right?
He: NO! Here's another one: Mitt Romney is unofficially Team Edward.
Me: Huh. I'd have thought him more of a Jacob kind of guy.
He: I can't believe you are not taking this seriously. My phone just beeped: another one. Mitt is going to ask and you better tell. WTF?
And so it went until I thought I heard him start to prematurely bald. I messaged Erica to send the last text:
He: OMG! Another one!
Me: What's it say?
He (laughing): Your mother says congratulations on your comp exams. And stop being such a wimp. Ha! This is great. I've been punked!
Me: Oh, yes you have.
He then texted Erica back with :
Ha ha hilarious, you win. I was panicking that I was being spammed. That was really good, I definitely got pranked!
And she added one more:
Mitt by the Minute is unsubscribing you for not playing along. Your information will be forwarded to Obama by the Minute.
Here are some of our other 'Mitt by the Minute' texts to my son:
Mitt Romney once saved three babies and two kittens from a burning building.
Mitt Romney is an Olympic gold medalist, an ex-Navy Seal and fishes with his bare hands.
Mitt Romney cares about you.
Contrary to rumors, Mitt Romney is not rich. At least by rich people standards.
If elected, Mitt Romney will appoint Chuck Norris as Sec of Defense.
On the weekends, Mitt Romney plays Rocky in the Rocky Horror Picture Show in Salt Lake City.
Mitt Romney would have never cheated on Robert Pattinson.
Mitt supports changing the name of the Hoover Dam to the Hoover Darn.
The next round of drinks are on Mitt.
So while other parents will send the traditional congratulatory card and flowers, those will long be forgotten during the next few grueling years of dissertation work. But I don't think my son will ever forget that on the day he passed his comp exams, he got PUNKED.
Check out Erica Lucke Dean's humorous blog at www.ericaluckedean.com
And also meet my son, Dillon Stone Tatum, PhD student extraordinaire, a scholar with a sense of humor www.dillonstonetatum.com
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