If Life Gives You Lemons....

Someone asked me this question the other day…

‘If someone bought you a book titled Cook Yourself Thin for your birthday, what would you do?’

My reply, you ask?

It went something like this….

I would probably give them a small paper cut with each page and then pour lemon juice over the paper cuts for good measure!

Okay, so you now know two more things about me..

#1 – I have serious issues!

#2 – I have wonderful off-the-cuff ideas!

The question, it turns out, was asked because this person was actually given this ‘gift’ for her birthday (without wishing for it, I might add!) She was hurt and highly offended, and I think, mentioned it to see if she was being overly sensitive... I believe that my response to said question, reassured her that she was not!

It’s interesting to me how people walk around trying to encourage others to ‘fix’ themselves. It goes back to the old ‘holes’ philosophy…. We’ve all got ‘em.

And guess what?

Most of us are keenly aware of what we need to work on.

Maybe your issue is physical, like you need to lose weight…. or gain weight (difficult to imagine having THAT problem, but some people do)

Maybe your issues are even harder to deal with, like you are mean or painfully shy or you have really low self-esteem…

I for one, am more of the Swiss-cheese variety… I have lots of holes!

Thought for the day –

Encouragement isn’t a weapon, so if you hurt someone with it, you probably aren’t using it properly!

Linguistic Contributions....

Have you ever heard an expression that seems so dumb, you can’t believe that it actually ‘caught on’?

“I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like you…”

Can’t you just picture the look on the face of the person who

received those pearls of wisdom for the first time?

(He was probably wondering how long someone had been spying on him while he was getting dressed each morning)

His facial expression probably looked something like this-

Or how about,

“So Didn't I!”

I can never get my head around this one…

Does it mean you didn’t or you did?

I’m not sure….

It’s always confused me…

I’m going to try and come up with a cool new expression (I hope it catches on!)

It may take a while, but I’m willing to wait…

It should be used when you are completely exasperated with picking up after everyone in your house and it seems like no one is listening and you are totally ready for a ‘Calgon Moment’

It will be something along these lines:

“You people are killing me! You are going to feel soooo bad when I drop dead of a heart attack from all of the stress you are causing me, and then you are going to have to explain to your father why I’m laying dead on the floor and there is a big mess of your stuff still scattered all over the house!”

On second thought, that probably wouldn’t be considered a catchy phrase and it's kind of long to remember….

And it’s not really that cool either….

Plus, I don’t feel very confident that it would catch on….

Unless….

Wait a sec!

You say that you said that same thing to your kids yesterday?

SO DIDN’T I!!!

Maybe there’s hope for my contribution after all!

Ferry and Tay.....

True story…

We have good friends, who are a married couple…

Their names are Terry and Fay.

For some absurd reason, a strange phenomenon happens when most people attempt to say their names together in a sentence. They may start out attempting to say, ‘Let’s invite Terry & Fay’, but more often then not, it comes out ‘Let’s invite Ferry and Tay’

I’m convinced that there is some type of brain-phonetics-scientific explanation behind these occurrences.

There’s probably a name for it like Firstnamicus Letterus Swapicus or FLS for short…

Or maybe not…

Fay always laughs and says she’s used to it.

Terry is not nearly as understanding.

‘You can call her Tay, but darn it! Stop calling me Ferry!’

I get it… Ferry does sound a bit ‘light in the loafers’

As God is my witness I try not to do it, but it happens

Last time I did it, I tried to smooth it over by telling him that it would be way worse for me if FLS struck us!

We would no longer be Tony & Jackie

But Jony & Tackie...

Tackie is WAY worse than Ferry, so I think he should count his blessings until they can find a cure for FLS!

Don't Mess with Librarian-types....

A year or so ago, several of the ‘girls gone sort-of-wild’ (a.k.a. my crew) and I went to an outdoor concert together. We went to see John Mayer & Sheryl Crow who were touring at the time.

We planned ahead as usual and had sorted out rides to and from so that we would be able to have a party on the lawn, which is where we were sitting…
Except that SOME of us rented chairs because we didn’t want to sit on the lawn…
Not me! I love grass stains and spilled drinks, which occasionally roll down the steep hill getting on my pants….
Not really, but lawn chairs are a sign of old age, so I steer clear!

There was quite a crowd there and it was a beautiful evening….

We were definitely ready to rock!
The concert was awesome, and everyone noticed that John kept singing specifically to me… it was kind of embarrassing, but I’m getting used to it, because he did it the next time I saw him too…

Sheryl was cool too. We all love her even if she does have a banging body AND she’s our age….

Now that I think of it…. Maybe she’s not that cool!

The concert ended and we were headed for the Wing House Restaurant where my knight in shining armor was meeting us and driving all the girls home (he’s a brave knight too)

But FIRST! Potty stops were needed…desperately!
The line was long…

REALLY LONG!
One of the girls, whom by the way, is normally one of the biggest rule followers, suggests we use the other “entrance”
…And by “entrance” I really mean, “exit”
Desperate times call for desperate measures!
Believe me!
I was desperate!

We casually walk in, like we are supposed to be there, and as soon as a stall on the end opened… my friend walked towards the open door…
What she didn’t count on was a self-proclaimed bathroom monitor who attempted to block her entry to the coveted potty!
I couldn’t quite hear what the bathroom monitor said, but I clearly did hear my usually compliant friend shout “I DON’T THINK SO MISSY!”
For a half second or so I thought we were going to be treated to out and out catfight, but I think old ‘Missy’ realized that she should probably hang up her badge and get the heck out of the way!

I should probably mention that this particular friend looks like the sweet librarian type….

‘Come on Jack!’ she barks at me.
I scoot quickly into the stall, which happens to be a handicap one, (It sounds worse than it was…really) and she comes in behind me and slams the door shut.
I say to her ‘I’ll turn around while you go’
She tells me that she doesn’t have to go.
She turns around and lets me do my thing, semi-privately.

That’s a real friend right there, if you ask me!

We get to the rendezvous point and treat our ride to a bite before he drives everyone to their houses….
and he listens to us laugh the entire trip home about how ‘our girl’ went to bat for me!


Lesson for today…

Don’t ever underestimate the power of a good friend…

and a weak bladder!

Young at Heart....

It doesn’t take much to amuse me.....

Honestly....

Years ago, one of my kids received a wind-up chicken in their Easter Basket that ‘poops’ jellybeans. I can’t remember which kid, or how many years have gone by since I first laid eyes on it, but I vividly remember thinking that the person who came up with this ridiculous invention was a genius and would most likely be my best friend if we ever met.

They would know how to charm me.

I mean, I still crack up when one of my grandsons winds the old girl up and sends her walking across the coffee table.

Even if she is ‘pooped out’ (of jellybeans) I still find myself giggling as her backside opens and closes like a garage door!

I know…

I’m immature…

I can’t help it.

And you know what?

I’m glad.

Remember these old song lyrics?

Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you
if you're young at heart.
For it's hard, you will find, to be narrow of mind
if you're young at heart.

You can go to extremes with impossible schemes.
You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams.
And life gets more exciting with each passing day.
And love is either in your heart, or on it's way.

Don't you know that it's worth every treasure on earth
to be young at heart?
For as rich as you are, it's much better by far
to be young at heart.

And if you should survive to 105,
look at all you'll derive out of being alive!
And here is the best part; you have a head start
if you are among the very young at heart.

So the next time some old stuffy person who might be younger than me, but older than me, if you know what I mean, gives me the stink-eye, I’ll just smile and know that I have something that they don’t….

A wind up chicken who poops jellybeans!

That, and a young heart!

Cock-a-doodle-don't.....

I HATE Monday Mornings! Why, you ask, am bothering you with this today, which is actually a Friday morning? Well there is a two-fold answer to that:

1. I also hate Friday Mornings

2. and also Tuesday, Wednesday & Thursday Mornings

I am what you call, a non-morning person.

I think I am just wired that way.

I’m not going to make excuses for my love of snoozing a bit longer than the ‘butt-crack of dawn’, to coin a phrase that my brother Rick, personally made popular in the early 70’s and who is also, I might add, not really a morning person… which only reinforces the whole ‘I’m wired that way’ thought.

At night as I’m setting my alarm I am often to be heard muttering under my breath, ‘I HATE this stupid alarm clock!!’

If my husband hears these words, he will almost always chime in with ‘Just turn the volume down a little if it bothers you’

This comment, further backs up my theory of the existence of a virus that causes men (and children) to purposely irritate their wives (and moms)!

I calmly explain to him, ‘I HATE THE WHAT THE ALARM CLOCK DOES! IT WAKES ME UP!! THE VOLUME HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT!!!!’

Wow! He is lucky that he has me instead of some hormonally challenged wife who would surely be not nearly as patient as I am!

Can you explain this to me? Why is it that every early bird that I know, Is slightly offended by the fact that my body clock is different then theirs.

What’s that all about?

I mean, I'm up before light most mornings because I have to be…

It’s my responsibility as a mom and a grown up.

Okay, so I don’t greet the dawn with a warm embrace…

But I do the same thing that they do each morning…. Get up to do my thing.

Why then, the hostility?

Can’t we just all get along?

You cannot even imagine the joy that I feel when I go to bed with the knowledge that I don’t HAVE to get up at any designated time.

In fact, tonight will be one of those nights!

I will go to bed and not have to pause to talk dirty to the clock on my nightstand.

I will most likely lie down and giggle, which is what usually happens when I take a moment to contemplate my situation… I’m serious…. I do….

Hopefully, I will sleep without waking up in the middle of the night all sweaty (Tony really needs to check out that thermostat!)

And oh yeah…

Don’t even think of phoning me before 9:30 AM tomorrow!

One Degree...

One degree...

It seems such a tiny thing, but in my house, trust me… it’s humongous!

“I’m hot!” I say

“It’s just you!” He says

This dialog has been going on in our home for a couple of years now. We actually spar over the one-degree difference that we each want the A/C set on.

I must also add, that I have been telling my husband for years that there is something wrong with that thermostat, because the difference between 78 and 79 degrees is huge.

I’m wondering if a power surge or storm has messed up the temperature measuring thingy inside of it and it just can’t do its job properly anymore.

I'll tell you something else…. It really gets me steamed when he says that anything is ‘just me’… I mean, what does that actually mean?

I don’t know why I find it exceptionally irritating when he talks like that. But I know that I’m not alone here.

Lots of my girlfriends have mentioned that over the past couple of years that their families purposely go out of their way to annoy them. We swap this kind of intel over a drink during our ‘meetings’, which is our code name for ‘happy hour’.

I’m seeing a pattern here. It’s so obvious that I can’t believe that the news hasn’t done an expose’ on the whole thing! I’m SURE that there is something in our environment that is making our men and children turn on us.

The most I can figure is that it couldn’t be the water supply because I drink water, and so do my friends and none of us have been affected.

Maybe it’s some kind of weird exotic viral infection that affects only our men and kids.
I surmise that we must have a natural immunity to it.

Then I get worried because I’m pretty sure that most of our ‘top scientists’ are men (don’t they usually say ‘I’ll get a man on that right away!’ in the movies?)

That means that no one will be working on a cure because the women research scientists probably won’t get the “CURE CRAZY VIRUS ASAP!” memo because some guy will destroy all of the orders before any woman will even SEE it!!!

Okay, so perhaps I am being a tad overdramatic here, but you see my dilemma, as well as my friends too.

At a recent ‘meeting’ one friend made a monumental announcement “It’s official… I went to the doctor and I am definitely in menopause!”

That news, if you ask me, is really depressing. I mean, what are we going to be discussing at future meetings? Prune juice?!

“How sad for you”, I say

I’m sure that I am AGES away from that! ‘Poor old thing!’ I’m thinking. I’m guessing that when my time comes I won’t get all those crazy menopausal symptoms that I’ve read about in Ladies Home Journal.
Not me… EVER, I tell myself.

I have bigger problems to worry about anyways.

I mean, after all, we still have to get to the bottom of this virus thing.

It’s so annoying!

And for Pete’s sake!

Will someone turn the stinking air conditioning on!!!

Celebrate!

Erin go brah!

For those of you who haven’t a clue what I’m talking about, I’m not telling Erin that she needs to give ‘the girls’ more support….
It roughly means “Ireland Forever”

Why, do you suppose, folks jump on the Irish bandwagon when March 17^th rolls around?
I, for one, always pause and listen, when I hear ‘Tura-Lura-Lural’ and also wonder about this boy, Danny, for whom the pipes are calling.
And, come on! Who can resist downing a couple of pints of green beer?

Okay, I guess I do get it.

It is interesting, though, that people will “tap into” ….no pun intended… the part of their bloodline that suits the situation….

St. Patrick’s Day - March 17^th – I’m Irish!

Cinco De Mayo - Can’t remember when that one is (JK – which is cool teenager talk for ‘just kidding’ in case you didn’t know) – I’m Mexican!

Boxing Day – December 26^th - I’m English!

Etc…

I’ve noticed that my sons do it too. For instance, on St. Patty’s Day, they are WAY into their Celtic roots, which if you do the ancestral math, probably comes close to being the largest branch on their family tree…
but do they cling to that crest for the other 364 days of the year?

NO!
If anyone asks, they are Italian… and they aren’t lying. My father-in-law was pureblooded Italian. His parents came over on ‘the boat’ (not ‘a boat’ but ‘the boat’ - which honestly I’m not exactly sure what that means, like, is there only one boat that comes over from Italy….EVER?) That is the ¼ of their heritage that they seem to hold on to.
Maybe it’s the food, or the cool flag, or maybe it’s just because that was their Grampys birthright, and that they truly adored him.
I, personally think it’s the cool slang…
‘Fuggetaboutit’ (extra points for using heavy Brooklyn accent when saying)…
Oh yeah, and the cannoli’s… one can never have too many cannoli’s!

Parts of our bloodline we may ignore.
No disrespect, but maybe we just don’t identify with it.
(or there aren’t cool slang terms that we can use and call our own)

Some of my Dad’s people were Swiss and as we were growing up, he used to love to embarrass us by telling our friends that his grandfather was the admiral of the Swiss navy, to which most guests would politely reply, “Oh Really?”…
We would cringe, and then feel embarrassed for them.
I’m sure that you have figured out the whole, Switzerland-land locked and non-existent navy thing, but some of our guests weren’t as sharp, and fell into the trap easily.
Maybe, that, as well as the lack of coolness of holey cheese and chocolate bars, is the reason that I usually don’t ‘get into’ the Swiss vibe.
(Or it could be that I am still traumatized from the whole Admiral thing)

I’m a MUTT, is what I like to tell people.
I think that they might believe that I am, in some way, putting my ancestors down.
I’m not really.
I love every little twig on my family tree.
But there is a method to my madness.
I stick with my story, so that way, I can get in on ALL of the celebrations.
All the food, all the fun, the festivities, the lingo… and am I worried that someone might be offended by my lack of foreign flag waving?

FUGGETABOUTIT!

Presents.....

A good friend of mine called me early on the morning of her birthday, to tell me one of the presents she received.

“My ex called and told me that for my birthday, his gift to me, was forgiveness.

This sounds too ridiculous to be true, right?

Oh, it really happened…

Believe Me!

(Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent!)

Two problems with this come to mind immediately.

#1 – I know there are two sides to every story, and even with keeping an open mind, she wasn’t really the ‘bad guy’ in the break up.

#2 – Surely, if he was being sincere in his desire to acknowledge her birthday in some way, he could have sent her flowers, a gift card, or at the very least a birthday card.

I stewed about it all day long.

What a nerve!

What a jerk!

What a……

BRILLIANT IDEA!

I called my friend back and told her that I was finished with giving traditional presents. I mean, how the heck many Yankee candles or gift baskets does one need? From now on, I was going to bestow upon my friends and family members, gifts that really meant something! I was already making up my mental gift list.

It looked something like this:

MENTAL GIFT LIST

Marge Marcia– the gift of happiness

Leslie Jan– the gift of friendship

Tracy Cindy– the gift of ‘well wishes’

Etc…

This was going to be fantastic! Not to mention, affordable!

Wow! I couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they opened up… NOTHING!

Now I was beginning to second-guess this plan…

My idea was not as brilliant as I originally thought. I mean, if I show up to next years Christmas Party with a beautifully wrapped package, which is filled with “joy” or maybe some “cheerfulness” for the gift exchange, I think I might get beaten to death by an angry mob!

Although…. the re-gifting possibilities are endless!

(The “ex” actually tried to give her the same ‘gift’ when Christmas rolled around….

Who knows how many times he’s re-gifted that ‘forgiveness!’)

I just don’t think my friends would buy into it.

I’d better stick to the original plan

Besides, the more I think about it, I’m realizing that my mental gift list is comprised of all the things that I already give to the people I care about, without it being any special occasion!

Don’t get me wrong…

I will still give those things to my loved ones,

But, I still need to get them ‘real’ presents

I guess that I’m going to have to crack open my piggy bank next month

when Marge’s Marcia’s Birthday rolls around!

The Buck Stops Here.....

My husband says he’s my boss.

I can almost hear your huge gasp of disbelief!
What a nerve, right? He LOVES to say it to me, because he knows exactly how I will react…. And I never disappoint.
Every time he says it, I cry, “You are NOT! I am the boss of me”…

Then I see it.

It’s that satisfied grin that says to all, ‘I won!’

Sometimes, to make it worse, he throws in “I am the boss, you can be the supervisor”

I know that you are probably thinking to yourself that YOU would never put up with THAT!
I know.
I understand.
But the fact is, that he is a great guy, who happens to have a very twisted sense of humor.

Which actually, truth be told… was one of the things that attracted me to him in the first place.
I know… I know… I must be weird, to find that attractive. (Very attractive)
Guilty as charged!

Lately though, I’ve been thinking, that I may actually let him be the boss.
Before you get your panties (or boxers) in a bunch, just give me a minute to explain.

Bosses are where the buck stops.
Supervisors field only the small(ish) problems.
The big problems need the boss’s attention.

Are you starting to follow me here?

Newspaper doesn’t get delivered on Sunday?
Sounds like a supervisor should handle that call.

Kid accidentally backs into driveway and runs into garage door after missing his curfew by 2 hours….
That’s one for the boss.

Do you see where I’m going with this?

My life would most likely get way easier if I just handled the supervisory position and left the bossing to him. I’m going to give it a try, simply so I can prove how ridiculous his outrageous claims of bossiness are.

And when I feel the time is right…

I’m going to ask for a raise!

Happy Thoughts....

I once heard a comedian describing the wonder he felt, as he watched his son looking out the car window with a satisfied smile across his face and inquired ‘hey, whatcha thinking about?’
He said that his little boy replied,
(still grinning) “candy”.

It made me think that it’s been a lot of years since I had the time to ponder the simple things that made me smile… Nearly 28 years of marriage, 5 kids and 2 grandsons, 1 blind dog, 2 dead hamsters, 2 dead gerbils, 1 dead cat and I’m guessing, at least, 38 dead fish later, my head is completely cluttered up with all kinds of stuff,
both important and not so important.
(The other 95% is taken up with the in-between kind of info)

For example, the important list might include,
names of all immediate family members as well as birthdays...
and also my family’s favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe…

The not so important (aka: useless information) would be…
Oh, I don’t know….
The lines to all of my favorite movies
(Hey! I don’t ASK for those to be in my brain… they just ARE)

The largest portion is filled with a big messy mixing bowl of random ideas and memories…
the in-betweens….
For instance, the time that I got the giggles really bad at church.
We aren’t talking a chuckle here….
We’re talking shoulder shaking, tears flowing,
and a couple of snorts for good measure, kind of laughing attack,
and to make things worse, every time I thought I had it under control,
I would make eye contact with Tony (my husband)
and fall apart all over again!
(In retrospect, I don’t think that anyone really believed
that the holy spirit had moved me...)
Another in-between, is my quest to find the missing remote
(I’ve wasted 4 hours and completely tore my house apart….
And yet, my brain-space is still holding on to it, 9 months later,
and continually wondering, where the heck it could be….)

Could it be, that maybe, I just don’t make the time; you know, clear out some old junk or at the very least defragment and optimize my gray matter. (That sounds really gross!)

But, you know what?
I‘m going to do it today…
I’m going to take some deep breaths, clear my head
and ponder some things that bring a smile…

Like my husband,…
and my five great kids…
my grandsons…
awesome camping trips…
the beach…
and, oh yeah…


CANDY!

Girls Gone Sort-of-Wild....

My Brother Rick loves my girlfriends! He's actually my eldest brother and you may have seen his picture in the slang dictionary right next to the entry for 'People Person'. He loves meeting new friends and seems to have no particular comfort zone.... his entire 'zone' is his comfort zone. Stick him in a roomful of strangers and he'll leave the room a bit later with a bunch of new buds. It's amazing actually. I also consider myself a people person although I definitely have 'zones' in which I am more comfortable. Stick me in a room filled with strangers and I'll leave a bit later with some 'potentials'... and my face and neck will be blotchy, which is what happens to me when I am pushed out of my comfort zone.... but more on that later.

I've never had trouble making friends but can honestly say that I have found friendship nirvana with the group of friends that I have been close to for the last ten years or so. We've laughed, cried, and generally been there for each other in ways that are way beyond my expectations. I know that it all sounds quite cliché' but we are like family except that miraculously, we actually CHOSE each other.

We are a pretty wild bunch.... we love to get together for happy hours, we love to talk and laugh, we LOVE to dance and be silly (some of us more than others), we even love to go to Applebee’s on Karaoke night and torture fellow patrons with our special renditions of tunes like 'Love Shack' and 'Goodbye Earl'. We look out for each other’s kids and deliver dinners when someone has a crisis. We look out for each other.

Case in point: One night shortly after one of the girls went through a divorce, a group of us went out for a girls gone “sort-of-wild” night… Don’t confuse us with the regular ‘wild’ girls you may have seen on TV commercials (and had to hide your kids eyes from) Not one of us lifted our tops to reveal that underneath we were wearing a thick strip of black duct tape over our boobs!

Here’s the deal - One of our men drops us off, and later, one of them picks us up…. We are responsible girls gone sort-of-wild! One of our favorite spots is a restaurant/club called Stumps Supper Club, which is exactly what it sounds like…. They serve down home food and delicious drinks that are served in plastic buckets with 20 or so really long straws, which have actually, I’m certain, poked someone’s eye out. By the 2^nd shared bucket, we are no longer trying to keep track of whose straw is which, nor are we reminding each other not to backwash. By the second bucket, we are simply primed sufficiently to dance like nobody’s looking. Even though they probably are… as well as chuckling…. And pointing too…. But we don’t care. We’re just the wild bunch, out there having the time of our lives!

We have all done this together enough times that we know which songs, that when the band starts playing them, it is mandatory to dance…. together… ALL together. We each have one or two favorites, and it’s a given, that when someone else’s favorite starts, we HAVE to dance to it …. Even if we aren’t crazy about it. Okay, so I’ve never even told her this before, but I really don’t like my friend Karen’s pick, ‘I Melt with You”…. But when I hear that intro…. I’m out there dancing my little heart out and loving that my friend is loving grooving out with all “her girls” to her special song. One of my favorite parts of the evening is when the band takes a break and they play a 15 or 20 minute long club mix, which usually includes newer remixed dance music which keeps going and going. I KNOW for sure that some of my “peeps” aren’t so crazy about Montel Jordan’s ‘This is how we do it’ but will still stick it out while I “raise the roof” …… which happens to be one of my signature moves, by the way.

I digress.

Back to the point. Occasionally, we will end up with some “admirers”.

I say “admirers”, because usually they try to dance their way into the circle.

I say “we”, because it sounds way better than saying Leslie, and besides, it goes straight to her head.

Leslie is a few years younger and is petite and cute and seems to be the type that attracts all kinds…. Of weirdos, that is. I should also say that she attracts regular guys too…. But seeing as she seems to be the only one of us that consistently catches the attention of the opposite sex (and occasionally the same sex) she is the example that I present to you today.

So there we were, dancing our brains out…. Raising the roof… being the girls gone sort-of-wild, when we notice that Les has decided to sit down. We boogie our way over to her seat and demand that she resumes dancing with us. (as I mentioned before… we are ALWAYS there for each other) She says something to the group, but with the music jamming and the general noise level high, we can’t really hear exactly what she’s saying. We assume it’s just some cock and bull excuse as to why she was pooping out on us. We notice that she’s attempting contact again… Wow! ‘She really is a whiner tonight!’, I think to myself. We all look at each other and laugh. After all, our husband-ride will be arriving in ten minutes and we need to get our groove on until the last possible second!

As we all shuffle out the door at the appointed time, we notice that Les keeps rubbing her arm. Good Grief! She is really being extra wimpy! I’ve been “roof raising” all evening and you don’t see me rubbing my arms!

“I've been bitten,” she announces. None of the rest of us had been bitten…. and we didn’t even spray ourselves with deep woods Off! “We were inside all night! How did you get bitten?” someone asks.

She lifts up her sleeve to reveal a large bite mark on her arm. It had teeth marks on it… like people leave…

“How in the heck did you get bitten by a person?”, we inquire. She proceeds to tell us the story of this young guy who kept asking her to dance when she sat down to take a break. She told him she had four kids and was old enough to be his mother much older sister, and that she wasn’t interested and he shouldn’t be either. Somehow, he must have thought that she would be flattered when he said that she was cute enough to bite, and then he did. That is crazy, right?! Thank heavens he didn’t break the skin…. She may have had to go through those painful rabies shots or something.

We asked her why didn’t she tell us when it happened. She came up with some story….
Like she tried to, when we danced up to her, but that we just kept laughing.

Okay, so in hindsight maybe we weren’t there for her in this particular instance. But on the other hand, I’m pretty sure that Karen’s second favorite song, which was sure to be a Rolling Stones tune, was playing when Leslie took her “little break”….

Which is clearly a breach of our dancing rules contract…

So I guess our faux pas and her ‘break’ pretty much cancel out each other. Thank heavens for that!

I surely don’t want to have to find a new posse. Because as I mentioned before, It’s not as easy for me as it is for Rick.

Not to mention all that Botchy-ness!

Sweat

I’ve always been a sweat-ball. I know that that statement may offend some, but it’s the plain truth. I have a niece who swears that she doesn’t sweat, only “glistens”…..

Okay…..whatever….

Why then, do I bring up such a subject?
Well, today at the urging of a friend, I went to an exercise class.
“I’m allergic to exercise” I say.
“Don’t be bloody ridiculous!” says she. (She’s a Brit if you didn’t already guess)
She called me with the time that the beginner’s class began. Marge (my BFF the Brit) had already been to a spinning class and spun for, I’m guessing 40 miles or so at break-neck speed, but was then planning to come and do class with my other BFF, Leslie and I, for “fun”.

I contemplated the fun I was about to have, and thought to myself that exercise classes must have changed lots since I last attended one when I was 16, back in 1978!
This was going to be great!
I would go have fun for an hour or so with Leslie and the rest of the fitness folks, then zip home and who knows, maybe I’d take a spin on my bike too.
Why hadn’t I thought of doing this long ago? Silly girl!

The room where our class was to take place in was like a mini gymnasium, which
should have set my first silent alarm going off in my head.
I HATED gym class! I hated every thing about gym class in high school and used every excuse in the books to not have to dress out. Sore ankle…. wrenched knee… migraine… bad cramps… bad cramps and period… The last one used a tad too often as my P.E. teacher told me that I should probably have my Mom take me to see a gynecologist because it wasn’t normal to have my “friend” so often.

Back to the fun room! I noticed the full wall mirror that we all were facing into and thought it looked kind of off. Leslie said it was purposely distorted and I figured it added 10 or 20 pounds to our reflections…..at LEAST! I would try not to look at my reflection too much because I wouldn’t want anyone to catch me and think I was vain.

The class began.
Funky music beats… lifted my spirits a bit…..

Then the skinny, muscle-y, (and a bit too perky if you ask me) lady began having us march in place. No Prob. I smile at Leslie and try to get into my fun mood.
I don’t want to let my apprehension spoil the festivities for her.
I’m good like that.

Next came jumping jacks followed by lunges and stretches.
Okay, so I’m not exactly having fun, but this isn’t too bad.
Even though I outweigh most everyone there…. by quite a bit….
I’m not going to have any problem keeping up.
Especially with the two white haired ladies in the middle row.
I have it ALL over them!
Move over Ethel! Jackie’s in town!

Quite a while into our workout…. I’d say at least 4 or 5 minutes, I realized that I had underestimated my opponents (Ethel and that other one). I was beginning to feel kind of winded and noticed in the magic mirror that my face was starting to turn red. At the same time, I also noticed that when I was jumping and lunging, my ‘chubby-ness’ (which is my 'cute' name for my rolls.... that's the only thing cute about them...believe me!) were doing their own thing to the beat of the music.
Great! Now, because of that ridiculous mirror, EVERYONE was going to get to see the show.

By now, perky lady was mixing up the moves and I was having trouble following. Who did she think she was, Paula Abdul? My correct move percent at that point was hovering around 15%. By the time I finally got what she was doing, she was onto something else. Every time she zigged, I zagged. It was pathetic…. I’m sure it wasn’t just me messing up….. I KNOW I saw Ethel and Co. lifting right when CLEARLY we were all doing left!

We took a 15 second break to sip our water and Leslie announced, “We’re half way done!” WHAT? Are you kidding me?
“Hasn’t it already been an hour?” I say.
“No” she answers.
I take a deep breath and try to put on my happy face, but I think it looked more like one of those old Emmett Kelley Clown painting faces where you see the misery through the grin. Back to the torture chamber, which is what I’ve secretly decided that room will be renamed in my mind.

Thirty minutes later, we emerge, wringing wet, face that is so red from my allergy to exercise that it’s likely it will stay like this until dinnertime. (I TOLD you Marge)
“We did it!!” says Les
“Yeah” I reply
“Did you like it? she asks.
“Not really” is all that I can muster.
She mutters some line of crap about it getting easier next time, her way of hinting about my return.

Les knows that it’s best not to ‘poke the bear’ when she is hot and tired.
I’m certain that they’ll be asking me to join them for more fun.
Maybe when my heart rate returns to normal, sometime next week, I’ll consider it.

Maybe tomorrow, if I’m able to move, I’ll even take that bike ride.

Holes...

Is it just me or does anyone else find the infatuation people have with celebrities a bit over the top? Okay, right about now, my closest friends are thinking, 'Are you KIDDING me?!' because I do have an “interest” in pop culture that includes all the 'hollyweirdos' as my husband would say.

I’m interested, but not infatuated….. there’s a difference….right?

Take Tom Selleck for instance. Attractive? Undoubtedly.
Probability of having a delicious scent that makes standing in a long line at the DMV in back of him strangely enjoyable? High.

Women are naturally drawn towards a guy like that….when their life seems tough they think to themselves “If only I had Tom, HE wouldn’t ask why he has no clean socks and what exactly I did all day! HE wouldn’t call me out for spending $20.00 on really great deals from Target!”

For all the wrong reasons we hold famous folks in such high esteem, considering the fact that the majority of us don’t technically know them.
For those of you who think you do, there are most likely some things that you might find surprising. For instance, he is not actually a private investigator, as many of you might have believed.
He’s a regular guy
(who does probably smell REALLY good….I know, I don’t KNOW him, I’m just guessing) who happens to have a job that puts him out there for all to see.

Food for thought, have you ever pondered that Tom (or fill in the blank to include Johnny Depp, Harrison Ford, Brad etc..) may actually have some extremely annoying habits…. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who leaves his mustache whiskers in the sink when he’s done trimming. (he probably has loads of them from the looks of that mustache)

He could even be one of those men who forget to put the toilet seat down intermittently - which is actually worse than a habitual leaver-upper because at least with those you can train yourself to always remember to put it down….

Or even worse, he may be the kind that enjoys correcting your grammar…. Especially in front of others. That last one is definitely a deal breaker for me.

Rinsing whiskers down the drain I can do.

I can even put up with the occasional “wet seat” at 3 am as unpleasant as it is to experience (especially at 3 am) and it might even cause me to get a bit cranky.

But correct my grammar and my claws come out. Who cares if I occasionally say “prescription” instead of “subscription”? I’m intelligent - even if I did once pronounce quesadilla, “case-a dealia”. So sue me because my only experiences south of the border were on I-95 when Pedro beckoned me with his signs like "eef you follow pedro's signz, ze treep seem MOCH shorter!"

A good friend of mine has an expression that she always uses which sums it up beautifully “We all have holes” Don’t get the wrong idea about her. She’s not talking about body orifices. (you went there first….get your mind out of that gutter!) The kinds of holes that we all have are the sort that makes the world go round.

“We’ve all got something” she’ll say to me.
She’s so right.
I have ‘em,
my kids have ‘em ….
my husband Tony even has a few.

But want to know a secret?
Our holes feel comfortable.
Like a pair of jeans that are broken in just right.
They feel like home.

So Tom, I’m sorry, but if you do happen to be in the line with me at the DMV, I probably won’t see you quite the same way anymore.
I won’t try to act like I “know” know you…
I’ll just stand quietly and breathe deep!