If He Throws It...

This morning we took the daughter unit to the airport so she could go back to Seattle where she lives. Its been great having her home and we were sad to see her go. So, what do we do to disperse the sad? Go to the zoo, of course. The zoo has long been my refuge when sadness hits. In fact, I don't know why I didn't just check in to a cage last August after I was mysteriously fired from my job of twenty years. I went to the beach then instead but I have been known to do both beach and zoo sojourns when I was really sad and my ignominious firing certainly qualified...

Today, though, the hub and I were sad but we also needed to walk 10,000 steps so the zoo was a no-brainer. The funny part was that even though we spotted zebras and giraffes almost immediately upon entry, we really had to dig for the rest of the animals we found. There were a couple of gorillas meditating in their enclosure. The new baby was not one of them but they had a cute picture of him on a post outside the area.

We saw the river otters. Napping. Didn't want to watch the penguins being fed because we've seen it before and its really stinky! So we went to see the big cats. I love them! Once, when the kids were little, we went to see the cats and there's a big, thick window right at the end of the exhibit which runs right up to the main lion family's enclosure. As we walked up we saw a large group of people standing at the windows, laughing.

Upon pushing our way to the window, we saw the big daddy lion on his back with his lion junk smashed right up against the Plexiglas. It became one of those times where you laugh so hard that you lose all the strength in your legs. And it was impressive . His giant daddy lion mane was nearly as grandiose, but I don't think that his hairdo was what attracted his ladies (use Tim Meadows "Ladies Man" voice).

Another time we watched the Albert Einstein of chimpanzees lure a group of visitors closer and closer by tossing chunks of moss at them. After he got them good and relaxed, he reached down and picked up a more traditional chimp missile and chucked it into the crowd. Then he sat back and watched the fun. I liked him on a personal level and I wanted him to be my friend.

Today we heard chimp sounds and went to see what was going on. The geezer chimp (might have been my old friend - he hasn't aged well ) was holding something made of paper in his pitching hand. He looked at the people, did a dance then hauled off and hurled it at us. A trainer retrieved the object. Turns out it was a copy (I'm not making this up) of National Geographic magazine! The chimps have a subscription and they read it every day. Is that the coolest thing ever. I know it charmed my socks off!

We saw kangaroos hopping around and I want to find some kind of pocket-sized apparatus that makes a "boing" sound. Then I want to go to Australia and watch a herd of kangaroos while I activate my boinger at regular intervals. I have simple needs. Right now, I need to get ready for bed. And I need socks - I left mine at the zoo and my feet are cold.

At least now the sadness is dispersed what with the zoo visit and the eleventy million texts we've exchanged since she hot back to Seattle. I love modern technology. And the zoo. I really love the zoo.

Jury Duty

Today I had to go to jury duty. I usually have my shrink write me an excuse note to get me out of it but today I decided to do my civic duty and I headed up to Oakland. Well, I decided to do my duty and I really didn't think they'd call anybody in the week between Christmas and New Years. Well, they did! Now, I have some directional issues (not from the stroke - I've always been challenged in that area) so the hub came with me to see that I wound up at the courthouse and not Jack London's reconstructed wilderness shack. After an initial false start, he got me turned the right way and we ended up at the correct locale.


After two hours of sitting and making fun of the other people in the room, making trips to the bathroom and watching the surprisingly non-boring orientation video, we got a break. A two and a half hour break! We walked to Peerless Coffee where our daughter used to work and got a cup then we found a bathroom in the grocery store next door. Off to Jack London Square where we visited the above mentioned cabin and went to the potty in Barnes and Noble. Then we started searching for a lunch venue and stumbled upon the Legendary Palace.


Considering the fact that its legendary, and a palace, I'm surprised I'd never heard of it before. Its a dim sum restaurant, which is some of our favorite Chinese food! The cool part about this place is that its freaking cheap! Our other favorite dim sum place, Yank Sing, in San Francisco would cost twice as much. Although they do have a much wider selection. Limited selection notwithstanding, the food was delicious. When we were done eating we took a picture of the really cute family at the next table.

They were an elderly Caucasian man and his Asian wife with their two gorgeous granddaughters. One was college age and the other was probably an eighth grader.They kept passing the camera around so we offered to take a picture of all of them. What a bunch! I think the old couple was a wartime romance of some kind. They are visiting from Canada for the holidays (they told me that - the rest I figured out.) and giving lots of advice to the older girl (I got that by eavesdropping). We picked a great place to have lunch! Didn't go potty there, though.

Back at the courthouse, I kissed the hub goodbye and he headed back to BART. Then I stupidly took the stairs up to the fifth floor where I sat in the hardest chair on the oldest courtroom in Northern California. Yes, the Hemorrhoid Maker was also skinny. When I saw a lady with a giant ass unable to wedge herself into an identical seat, I thanked the good Lord that my flab was gone. By the time I caught my breath, the judge was giving us our instructions. Don't talk, read, Google or tweet about anything that goes on in in this courtroom. (Including that the flag needs a good pressing?). Then we went back downstairs to fill out a really big questionnaire.

We have to go back in a week to get interviewed. Since I have friends who are cops and lawyers AND since my handwriting is illegible (since the stroke ) I'll probably get kicked, but I gotta say - that trial looks juicy and it would be cool to serve on it. I mean, civic duty doesn't have to be boring, does it? Plus, the judge seems like a really nice guy, and the bailiff is a total biscuit. Really, not boring at all.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

The hub unit and I are supposed to walk 10,000 steps each day. This is to keep the flab at bay. It works for the most part but it gets a tad dull to walk around the little lake in our neighborhood over and over, I mean, its cool in spring when there are baby ducks, great blue herons that eat baby ducks and pelicans that don't do anything to baby ducks but are my favorite bird so I wanted to give them a shout out.

In winter there is nothing but kind of ratty ducks and Canada geese that are no longer welcome at home. Plus, they're doing work on the lakeside and the path so its a little uneven. I was kvetching about the lack of an interesting and smooth walking path when the hub had a stroke of brilliance. He suggested that we head up to San Francisco to walk. The man is a freaking genius!

San Francisco is perfect because it has smooth sidewalks, ratty pigeons instead of ratty ducks and shopping! One day, we walked down to the Farmer's Market and had fish tacos. Another time we met a friend and wound up at a really good Italian restaurant for lunch. Then we went into Shreve & Co. and a salesman let us try on a ring that cost one million dollars. (Said in Dr. Evil voice with little finger extended...)

Today, we found a really good taqueria and had a grilled chicken wet burrito. We do more than eat, of course, we walk and walk and walk until my hips hurt and my toes bleed. We usually end up finding something cool in a store window and I convince the hub that we really need it. Done shopping, walking and eating, we limp back to the car or BART and make our way home.

Burrito notwithstanding, it has been working. When we eat, we share and we walk our butts off. Excuse me while I bust out a few verses of "I Left My Butt in San Francisco". Tony Bennett, eat your heart out!

Merry Christmas!

Its Christmas night and the hub and I are watching a movie. We did most of the family celebrating (read: eating ) yesterday and it was wonderful since both my kids and my surrogate grandson were here. I was in Heaven! My son brought his beautiful girlfriend who is a whiz in the kitchen. I want to start planning their wedding but they don't seem ready for that juggernaut so I'm going to satisfy that jones by butting in on my best friend's daughter's wedding which will be in June.

I also butt in on my next door neighbor's kid who is four and wonderful. He has really good taste for a four-year-old so I was a little nervous about the gift I picked out for him. Turns out a stuffed elephant that farts was the perfect gift. We took it down to our other neighbor's house to show it to her and on the way home I got to see one of those quintessential kid moments that is so charming and adorable that it makes your heart do a flip flop and your eyes fill up with tears.

We said good bye to our neighbor and my little buddy took off running back to my house. Halfway there, in the middle of his lawn, he stopped and looked up at the dark sky. "Whatcha doing?" I asked. "I'm wooking for Santa Cwause." "See anything?" "Not yet." "Well," I said, "its kind of early and you're still awake" " Yeah," he said, "its kinda earwy." Then we continued back to my house. Oof!- there goes the heart again...

Presents opened and booze imbibed, everybody repaired to their own houses to await the jolly fat man (Yes, we insisted on designated drivers.) It was so great to have both my babies home at the same time! And my surrogate grandson. He calls me his Diddy. I decided that a Diddy is a woman who is ready to be a grandma but whose kids aren't ready to have kids. No point in wasting all that good granny energy - go find yourself a pregnant lady and become friends with her.

I was lucky, my neighbors were already friends with me and the hub when she got preggers. This was good for me because I didn't have to risk the suspicion of stalking to find my pregnant lady. Also, they know I'm not a weirdo so they don't freak when I do something like give their little angel a farting elephant for Christmas.

Then you just wait for the baby to be born and let your granny flag fly! My best buddy whose daughter is getting married has a son who is about to become a daddy. More Diddy opportunity!
Neither one of my kids is burning up the sheets making me a biological grand baby (and they shouldn't - I haven't had a chance to butt in on their weddings yet),so I will grab the opportunities life presents me.

Life has been a tad unkind this past year. but I've decided to dig deep for the good stuff. Some of those things are my friend's daughter's wedding, my surrogate grandson, and - my son's girlfriend's teen aged daughter who said she'd be my pretend granddaughter. I asked and she said yes like it wasn't odd or anything. I guess you can't have too many grandparents. Or surrogate grand kids. Or Diddies.

Diners, Drive Ins and Death

I'm sitting here in the recliner watching one of my favorite TV shows. Its Diners, Drive Ins, and Dives. In this show a guy, named Guy, goes all over the country and finds little holes in the wall where they serve food which, if eaten regularly, will kill you. Every now and again you see a vegetable, but as soon as one appears it is quickly shrouded in lard and fried within an inch of its life.

Every time I watch this show (weekly - I'm hooked) I find myself looking at the charismatic host and wondering why he's alive. He tries all the food on the show and sometimes it looks like he eats more than just one or two bites. Heck, just one or two bites of some of these things would send a person's blood chemistry into orbit.

OK, he was just talking about a deep fried, bacon wrapped hot dog. I think I'll buy stock in statin drugs. In Guy's favor, he's not as lardy as you'd expect. That's not to say he would ever be accused of being thin. At least he looks like he enjoys his job. That might lower his blood pressure a notch.

What's sad is that I know he'll never visit the restaurant where we just ate dinner. The hub and I each had a grilled salmon spinach salad with the dressing on the side. I had a glass of white wine which I feel guilty about because wine is fattening. Now, Guy is eating a hot dog burrito! With cheese. As if I hadn't figured this out already - life just isn't fair!

When I was young and able to eat like a bulimic pig on a binge I didn't realize how lucky I was. I didn't enjoy my food nearly as much as Guy obviously does. I wish I'd have eaten anything with as much relish as Guy is polishing off the chili dog he's working on. And I don't a mean chopped pickle condiment, I mean gusto and enjoyment.

Anyway, I'll continue to watch Diners, Drive Ins and Dives and fantasize about all that melted cheese and fried food. I'll also pray for Guy's arteries. He seems like such a likable guy, I'm not looking forward to reading about him having a stroke or a heart attack. Although then he might show up at my salmon and spinach salad restaurant. We could compare stroke stories. It would make a lousy TV show, but I'd have fun. I bet Guy would, too...

Helpy Helperton

I finally got off my butt and started wrapping Christmas presents today. It was either that or make more cookies and I'm trying to lose weight not pile the lard back on. First, I had to pull the presents out of all my cunning hiding places. Well, my closet. So, I got the presents out and piled them on the coffee table. Then I went in search of the wrapping paper.

We have a plastic wrapping paper caddy which is stored in the garage. Our garage resembles that room at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark where they stash the ark. Only our garage is less organized. A lot less. I knew the general vicinity of the wrapping paper, but not the exact location. A little bit of poking around with a broom handle and I found it on a shelf.

More poking dislodged the caddy and, surprisingly, it slid down to me without spilling its contents all over the floor or hitting me in the face which I was expecting but not looking forward to. I hauled it into the living room and deposited it on a chair. Now I needed tape and scissors. I found two of each because I lose things in the blink of an eye.

I had the TV on and as I was settling down to work, I looked up at the screen and saw Martha Stewart making brownies with Snoop Dogg. It was so weird I had to watch. I decided to eat lunch. A chunk of leftover lasagna later, Snoop was done and Martha was frosting a snow globe cookie. I settled down again and finally started wrapping presents.

The hub and I have an eight month old kitten who is very cute and helpful. His name is Wilson and the sight of paper, tape and ribbon flying all around the room got his little kitty motor running. In fact, he got so revved up that the attacked the Christmas tree and pulled off everything he could reach. He can reach really high because he's a good jumper.

The problem is that I am totally smitten with this little mammal. I'm such the proud parent "Look - he's pooping outside!" "Where's the camera? Wilson's stretching!" "Shh - turn off the alarm, he's sleeping..." He was running all around, crashing into walls, furniture, presents, and completely charming the heck out of me.

Meanwhile, the Christmas presents, which I am usually anal about wrapping perfectly ( I don't even cross the ribbon on the bottom of the package - I do it under the bow - like I said - anal .)
look like they were wrapped by a third grader with eye/hand coordination issues. Maybe that's why Wilson came into our life, to keep me from being anal about anything. 'Cause that was all I had!

Well, the presents are wrapped ( at least covered in paper ) and stashed under the tree. This is the first year in a decade that we have been able to leave them there. Our little Cairn Terrier had territory issues and he would mark anything we left on the floor so we knew it was his. He passed away last January, though, so now the presents are safe. Except for claw marks...

Cookies are Bad

I haven't blogged lately because I've been making cookies. I have a thing about Christmas cookies.When I used to work, I got lots and lots of them for Christmas. And lots and lots. And I ate so many of them that my butt started looking like it needed its own zip code. Finally I decided that I would just taste each kind of cookie then toss the rest. That way, when I told people they were delicious I wouldn't be lying... I'd really know.

The problem with that was that it still added up to forty bazillion calories a day and my behind absorbed every single one of them. I could have solved the problem by having my jaw wired shut but that was impractical since I had to talk to people. Not eating the stuff was out of the question. I have a very acute sense of smell and it makes resistance futile to say the least. As a result of my lack of control, and a whole bunch of meals at the local taqueria, my cholesterol was high enough to stand on and hang Christmas lights on the roof.

And as a result of that, I had a stroke. Long story short, after I rehabbed, the hub and I enrolled in Kaiser's Medical Weight Management Program. We call it Fat Camp. It helped us get the weight off and my cholesterol numbers no longer cause my doctors to clutch their chest and shriek "Dear God, why are you alive?"when they read my chart. I feel better, too.

The problem is that this is my first Christmas cookie baking season since I lost the flab. I am making cookies for my neighbors. I'm making pizzelles, a crisp, Italian, waffle-like disc of deliciousness that is subtly flavored with anise. They don't tempt me like brownies and they're different from everyday Christmas cookies so people won't throw them away. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Plus, I really love the dough...

So tomorrow is our weekly Fat Camp meeting. I'm not really looking forward to going since right now I'm sitting here with a belly full of pizzelle dough. My butt flab is thrilled but I feel like puking which I won't do because that's bulimia and I will not go there. I just hope I can make it through cookie season and come out the other side still fitting in my jeans. In fact, what I'd really like to do is take off about 5 lbs. I smell a challenge. And, as I said, I have a very acute sense of smell.

Tiger Likes the Tail

I've been hearing a lot lately about this golfer guy, code named "Tiger" who can't seem to figure out how to work the zipper on his pants. I mean, sure he can get it down just fine but he doesn't seem to be able to keep it up. The zipper. Everything else apparently stays up just fine - over and over again.

What really ticks me off about this whole situation, and I feel I have a right to weigh in here since I'm bombarded ad nauseum with details on a daily, sometimes hourly basis, is that I really like tigers. One of my favorite places at the San Francisco Zoo is the Big Cat house at feeding time. They don't do that any more since one of the tigers chewed off the arm of one of the trainer/feeders. Still, I think tigers beyond cool especially when they growl. The hub and I went to the zoo on the first day it opened after Tatiana the tiger chewed up that kid on Christmas a few years ago. I felt bad for the kid and his family but also that poor tiger since she got killed for basically just doing what tigers do.

Apparently, golfer Tiger was just doing what Tiger does, too. A lot! But I have no sympathy for him. In fact, I think he should change his name to Horndog. There's something else I don't understand. Now, it seems like a skeevy guy who cheats on his wife would pick a mistress based on looks. Affairs have never seemed to me to be intellectual pursuits. I mean, if you're gonna go, you might as well go for the fantasy, right? Have you ever seen a picture of that guy's wife? She looks like the person you cheat with - not on. I don't get it. She's Swedish, for Pete's sake. Geez...

Plus, Tiger's wandering private parts have been all over the news. So much so that today I actually heard a news person opining on Tiger's response to the scandal. They compared it to the Dave Letterman and Alex Rodriguez "models" for dealing with their similar situations. And Jenny Sanford filed for divorce today so her idiot husband can do all the "hiking" on whatever "trails" he wants. I'm beginning to fear for civilization.

There's an irony here. Tigers last name is Woods. I always felt that was kind of cute based on the fact that he was a golfer and they use woods to hit balls. Now there's a whole new connotation. The balls go into holes and, oh golly, this just goes on, doesn't it? The jokes just write themselves. I wonder if there was any teabagging involved...

Baby its Cold Outside

OK - I get it newspeople - its cold. I have to run my heater. My skin feels like potato chips. My hair looks like gray hay. Yup, that's some breaking news. Two weeks before Christmas and its freaking cold. When did weather start being news? I remember - it was the El Nino before the El Nino before the last El Nino. Now all El Ninos are huge news since the first time El Nino was reported on in the news.

I don't remember the year, but I remember Chris Farley in a hula skirt on Saturday Night Live announcing that "El Nino means The...Nino!" That one provided lots of news-worthy weather, although the news people reported that El Nino can be responsible for everything from extreme weather to ordinary weather depending on the relative strenth of the Nino. Whoopee.

I feel strongly that weather should only lead the news when its a real barn burner. Like Katrina. Although, to my mind the important part of that story was less the storm itself and more the lack of preparedness and follow up by the government. There was a lot of news there - just not about weather.

When my kids were little, there was a huge and devastating fire storm in the Oakland hills. I spent that day alternately reassuring my son that the fire could absolutely NOT burn all the way down Highway 880 and get to our house and checking to see if that big white house had gone over the cliff yet. It was nearly impossible for a seven year old to understand that even though the smoke and ash could float to our house, the flames were safely tucked up in the Oakland hills burning the crap out of that big white house.

This firestorm was bonafide news and I was glad they reported it. I was obsessed with that big white house. It finally went over the hill and I was able to tear myself away from the TV. You might be thinking that a really good mother would have kept the TV off so her nervous child wouldn't have to see the fire. You would be right, but in my favor, there was nothing I could do about the smoke and ash in the air and I really HAD to know about that house. I figured that since we had to see and breathe all that crud, we might as well know what was going on.

My point is that cold weather two weeks before Christmas is not news. The 40 foot waves off Oahu this week (a result of El Nino) are really newsworthy. Forty foot waves! Cool!!! Now, if it snowed here in the Bay Area and it built up to the point where I could ski to Safeway, that would be awesome. And news.

Getting your undies in a bunch because its cold in late autumn is like getting all worked up because chocolate tastes good. Or because waves wash into shore. Or because dogs are cool. Cats, too. Stuff that's supposed to be is stuff to kvetch about, not news. Like the cold. Since I've lost my insulating blubber layer, I feel the cold more intensely, but I don't want to hear about it on the news " Yes, Biff, that lady in Newark froze her ass off again today, more at 11." Please...

Christmas Time's A Commin'

Ardenwood Farm's annual Christmas event was this weekend. Its three days long and I got to participate all three days since I'm unemployed (add your own assorted grumble words here - make sure they start with "f"s, "s"s, and "b"s). It was a lot of fun and someday I hope to get the feeling back in my feet and my ass.

On Friday, the kitchen where I usually work was fully staffed so I was put in crafts. There were about a million strips of green, white and red paper pre-cut. I was there to help kids make paper chains. This is pretty easy duty because most of the 700 kids in the park were older than kindergarten, in possession of all their digits and at least as smart as a house cat. There were some exceptions (and some preschoolers) though, and they needed extra help. If I told them to "roll the paper", I found they could visualize the circular shape they needed to make a chain.

Then came the glue...Do NOT get me started on glue sticks as a means of affixing one piece of paper to another! A glue stick is only slightly more useful than the paste we used in second grade but at least you could eat that stuff. Most of the kids were fine, but some of the parents were nuts! I thought of some good uses for the glue sticks - many of which started with the glue stick creatively applied to a parental orifice. In the park's favor, liquid glue was not an option since these chains had to go directly home and couldn't be drippy.

Saturday, I was in the kitchen. I love being in there because there is a buffer zone between the volunteer (me) and the park visitors (all the people). Officially, we can't let people get too close to the wood burning stove - they might get burned. However,none of the volunteers have a degree in wood burning stove but we all crowd around the thing! Saturday I burned a spoon and a pair of scissors. Sunday, I sacrificed another spoon to the gods of fire, along with a couple batches of cookies and 7 pancakes but no human flesh! (this time).

Anyway, the visitors all enjoyed our wares and I perfected a very Vanna White-ish hand gesture for demonstrating the location of the firebox on the stove. A few visitors laughed and I found myself hilarious, so I consider it a successful addition to my repertoire. I only ate about a tenth of what I wanted to eat, but I did OK, all food considered.

The funniest part of the weekend was on Friday when the local high school choruses were there. They had all practiced like crazy and did a really great job. The kids all got to check out the park and all the craft and food stations. Every single one of those horny little weasels hit the mistletoe table, then took it into the trees to see if it worked. It did.

They made paper chains, sachets, and book marks but mostly they made out. It was pretty funny, but largely because none of them were mine. Nice kids - maybe next year we should say that anybody over 8th grade can attach a condom to their mistletoe. I learned a lot this weekend - and not just about paper chains...

Code Talkers

Have you noticed that a lot of the time people talk in code? When I was a kid, code for "She's fat" was "She has such a pretty face..." It was usually said with pity and a tilted head. Sometimes it was followed with "Bless her heart" which has always been code for "Don't hurt me, God, I'm gossiping." In college, a chubby girl was "Reubenesque". It gave the insult a veneer of class. Now, chunkoids are "curvy" although even skinny women have curves. We get them when we become women. Some men have curves even though they're really not supposed to. There's no word for a fat guy. He's just big. And nobody blesses his heart for it. They probably should, his heart is busy trying not to explode...

We use lots of code in everyday life. When my best buddy said "I'm so glad you're enjoying your new kitty", that was code for " Stop yakking about your damn cat!" But then she's always been more of a dog person. Especially since she accidentally ran over her neighbor's cat who was napping under her back tire. The cat was deaf and didn't hear the car start, plus it was really old.

"Interesting" is another code word. It means anything from "stupid" to "odd" to "I hear banjo music". "Amazing " is a good code word because you can say it while you're yawning. Its easy to hide total boredom behind a couple of "amazings" especially if you stretch out that middle "a".

I was at the Farmer's Market last summer when I saw some people picking out bags full of small, round, green and brown fruity-looking things. The sign said "Chinese apples/jujubes" and then a price. Funny, I always thought Jujubes were those hard fruit flavored things you get in the big boxes at the movies. Who knew?

Anyway, I had been curious about those fruity looking things for a while so I asked the mom-unit of the group what they were. "Chinese apples - sweet very good" she said and then she hit me with a code phrase that apparently transcends cultures and languages, to wit: "Good for the digestion" and she pointed at her stomach. I bought a bag full, brought them home, washed them and began to eat.

About two hours later, I discovered that "good for the digestion" actually means "Will give you gas that could knock over an elephant". For the next couple of days I was unfit to be in public. Of course, I have a delicate digestive system - one errant kidney bean can cause me to barricade myself in my house for 24 - 36 hours! I never ate those jujubes again - in fact, I avoid the table they occupy at the market. I wonder about that lady at the market and her "good digestion". Bless her heart...

One More Thing...

There's a song that is in no way a Christmas song but has been co-opted by Christmas song singers because its about stuff. You know - things. The song is "My Favorite Things" and its a show tune. A Sound of Music tune. My hub hates that movie because of a childhood trauma, but I've always enjoyed it. That song, though ,gets to me and here's why:

"Raindrops on roses" - Well, here in California it rains in the winter (when we're not having a drought) and most of the roses are done blooming in the rainy season. In the summer, you can find dew drops on roses, but you have to get up really early and if I have to choose - I prefer drool drops on my pillow.So the song starts out weak in my opinion. "Whiskers on kittens, OK that's cute, but anything on a kitten is cute. You could say "Gravy on kittens" - it would be gross but it would be cute. Evoking baby animals is just cheating as far as I'm concerned.

"Bright copper kettles" - are best for making candy! "and warm woolen mittens" - I'm allergic to wool. Besides that, though, wool mittens are the worst for making snowballs. They soak up water like a sponge and then your hands freeze. If you're not going to throw snowballs - what is the point in putting on mittens? Shearling mittens (fuzz inside) are best and it would fit in the song.

"Cream colored ponies" - What's wrong with brown ponies? Or black or white ponies? Probably that's why they followed that lyric with "Crisp apple strudel". You can't argue with that - especially the apple strudel from Victoria Bakery in San Francisco. Oh my... (mopping up drool ) I think you can add flab just by sniffing that stuff. With a cup of coffee - who needs a pony? "Doorbells" - Might be the UPS guy! "and sleigh bells"- probably not the UPS guy - might be Santa! and "Schnitzel with noodle" OK, that sounds good. I'd eat it. "Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wing" - geese fly in daytime not night - duh.

"Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes" - those dresses would stay white for a minute or two, max. And those sashes - they'd wad up into clumps and the ends of the sashes would fall into the toilet and get gross. Plus after the visit to the potty, the back of her dress would get tucked in to her undies and everybody would laugh at her when she walked out of the bathroom. (sigh) I sucked at childhood..."snowflakes that fall on my nose and eyelashes" OK - fun as long as the shearling mittens are in place. And you leave your glasses in the kitchen, on a table. "Silver-white winters that melt into spring". I see muddy dog and cat prints all over my house. I'm a lousy housekeeper but even I have standards. Mud prints cross the line.

Dog bites and bee stings suck, but so do gravy covered cats, frozen fingers sad ponies, drool, an eyeful of sunshine when you're looking at geese, filthy, soggy satin dresses, and mud.The food would be good,though. That song is really depressing when you think about it. Its like a litany of a horrible childhood. So sad. Who ever thought it made a good Christmas song?

Things To Hate and Love at Christmas

Well, its almost December and the Christmas season is in full flower. There are so many things to love about the season, it sounds cliched when you start to list them. I'm going to do it anyway as soon as I finish listing the things that really piss me off. You can do this if you are half curmudgeon on your mom's side as I am. Here we go: I detest songs that aren't about Christmas but toss in the word "Christmas" to get air play. Case in point - "Last Christmas" by George Michael. I'm sure you've heard the insipid drivel... "Last Christmas you gave me your heart and the very next day you tore it apart..." Its a break up song - not a Christmas song. When I hear that piece of crap I want to punch Santa Claus.

I hate pfefferneusse. First of all, it is a stupid word. I know its not English but its dumb. And those nasty, plastic, chemical tasting, squishy excuses for cookies taste like they've got styrofoam as a main ingredient. The only good part is the icing. If you are ever at a Christmas party and you find pfefferneusse with the icing nibbled off tucked in a napkin and stuffed in the trash, come and find me! We'll chat...

If there's one more performance by a skanky, rehabbed, slutburger of a singer trying to evoke a child's wonder of Christmas by opening their eyes really wide and enunciating really well, I will vomit in my Christmas stocking. The only ones who can successfully evoke a child's wonder of Christmas are - children - and that only lasts for a few years. Then wonder is out the door and greed steps in, settles into the recliner and starts barking orders and making lists.

The only thing worse than Christmas sweaters on humans is Christmas clothing on pets. Bitches, please...pets are not decorations. Dogs and cats are inherently adorable. When you put antlers on them, it does not add cuteness - it takes away their dignity. Newsflash - the dog in the Grinch story is fictional. That's why he's cute - not because of the little antler on his head.

Lastly, (and I know there's more stuff about Christmas that irritates me but I can't think of it just now, or it hasn't started bugging me this early in the season...) I'm getting sick of muzak versions of Christmas music. Those overly arranged songs with too many strings make me want to smack Rudolph - right on his little blinky nose.

Now, I love the smell of Christmas trees. In front of any store that has seasonal greenery on its sidewalk, you will find me with my nose buried in an evergreen, sniffing. I love that smell. The sound of the Salvation Army bells is a great Christmas thing. I always carry dollars for when I see one of them. I really like it when they give me a little candy cane... Butter cookies are wonderful especially the ones with almond extract in them - frosted. Mmmmmm! Christmas is the only time of year when non-chocolate sweets are acceptable.

Good Christmas music is marvelous. Today at FoodMax I heard a Rat Pack-ish rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and I almost popped open a redi-mix martini. It was so good! As I said, there is much to love about the Christmas season. That's probably why the other stuff gets my undies in such a bunch. And it's still November! By Christmas Day, I'm probably just going to have to go commando since all my undies will be tangled in a giant wad. Better add new undies to my list...

Not A Lot like Prison

We had so much fun today. The hub and I went to San Francisco where we met a friend we worked with 30 years ago on Alcatraz. Yes we all worked on Alcatraz. We were park rangers when it cost $2 to ride the boat over to the island. The tour was free - still is - you pay for the boat although it costs a whole lot more to go take the boat now than it did in 1979.

Considering that the place was a prison, and a generally depressing place when it was open, we had an unseemly amount of fun when we worked out there. We all had to walk the mile and a half tour route three times a day and it was uphill the whole way. As a result, we were all skinny as rails so all the seventy five cent beer we drank at the Eagle bar had no effect on our flab quota. Sometimes we'd meet somebody in the bar had been on our tour and then - free beer!

Alcatraz was a terrific place to have a party, too. We just had to make sure the beer smell was gone by the time the first tour went through in the morning. Once, a bunch of us decided to spend the night on the island. We went crabbing off the dock and reenacted the bludgeoning murders that happened on the island on the delicious little crustaceans so we could eat them. The bad part was that the night watchman was a vegetarian pacifist who quit his job shortly after our crab dinner. Oops - our bad. We were kind of gross.

We gave good tour, though. Once I was leading my group up the hill and we stumbled upon a group of really tall, very beautiful, half naked women. They saw us and ran screaming into a tent that I had never seen before. I recovered my composure and called to my group. And called again to the men. The other people that were there informed us that they were shooting a Macy's ad and their spotter got distracted (hmm wonder why?). They were very sorry.

I finally wrangled my men back into my group ( I might have lost one short, bald guy but his wife didn't seem to mind). Anyway, I started giving my tour again and looked down at my drab NPS uniform. One lady read my mind and piped up "Oh honey, if you can look good in what you've got on, you can look good in anything." I loved her instantly and wanted her to be my mommy.

Alcatraz was a great place to work and we enjoyed ourselves immensely. I think the visitors could tell how much we liked working there - it had to show in our faces, our whole beings. We loved that place - still do - but we can't drink beer like we used to and if we tried to walk one and a half miles uphill three times a day five days a week, we would die.

Motivationaly Speaking

The hub and I just got back from a special edition of Fat Camp. We listened to a motivational speaker and Chris Farley notwithstanding, she was really - motivating! She stands just a shade under 5 feet tall and she weighed 281 lbs at her heaviest. She lost150 pounds and has kept it off for four years. Now, I wish we hadn't seen her just three days before Thanksgiving because I was really looking forward to honking down half a turkey, but I think that might have been the plan all along.

Last night we went to some friends' house for dinner. I offered to take dessert, and I made brownies. This was difficult for me because I love brownie batter. Also brownies, cut correctly spew many, many, huge juicy crumbs which I like to eat. I managed to get enough batter into the pan to make a batch and enough brownies onto a platter to qualify as dessert. The crumbs were delicious...

The great thing about this practice Thanksgiving dinner was that the hub and I got to find our stumbling blocks. Mine is mostly the whole dinner. I'm a carb lover and Thanksgiving dinner is like my version of heroin. A kilo of stuffing, a kilo of potatoes (sweet and mashed) and don't get me started on the pies.In addition to the carbs, I can totally snarf a good pound of turkey and the odd thing is that if you weigh everything I eat on Thursday and add gravy, I guarantee I will put at least twice as much flab on my hips as the weight of the fix (I mean food).

They say that the average person will put on 10 pounds between Thanksgiving and New Years. It takes 3500 calories over and above what you burn to gain one pound...that's freaking 35,000 extra calories! Dang. I'm gonna have to watch it. Not like I used to watch it - straight down my gullet. Plus, we're having a contest in Fat Camp. Everybody who wants to puts in $5 and the one who loses the most (unlikely that everybody will lose), or if everybody gains (likely as heck), the one who maintains or gains least wins the pot.

Competitive weenie that I am, I'll try to win. My desire to triumph over my adversaries will help me avoid temptation. My need to win will trump my desire to stuff myself with cookies. But then, that may have been the plan all along.

Tell Me a Tail

Lately, I've had lots of time lately to spend with my pets. The dogs have us trained to get them treats whenever we go into the kitchen. If we don't, the larger of the two (a Border Collie) woofs at me til I do. The two cats are cool looking and really pretty but they are dumb as dirt. Once, we were trying to figure out what animals cats are stupider than. We got to krill and couldn't think of anything else. They are fun, sweet and really cute, but haven't got the brains God gave a turnip. Now, I'm not saying that dogs are that smart, but compared to cats? Einstein!

One of the coolest things about all of them is their tails. Wilson, our kitten, sometimes notices he has something attached to his butt which really makes him mad so he grabs his rear end with both front paws and attacks his tail. He ends up somersaulting off whatever surface he happens to be on which is usually our bed. When he lands on the floor he sits up and looks around completely bewildered. Then he saunters off as if to say " What? I didn't do anything."

The dogs just use their tails to register emotion. They wag when they're happy, hang when they're sad and go under their legs when they're scared. It would be so cool to have a tail! I wouldn't want a prehensile one because I would feel compelled to climb things and I really don't like heights. I would wag it a lot, though.

If people had tails it would make clothes a lot different. I can just hear them on Project Runway; "Heidi, look at the embellishment on the tail area!" "I was just noticing that, Nina, its brilliant!" Furniture would have to be designed to accommodate tails. I can see that recliners could be a problem but when I found a chair I like I would wag like there is no tomorrow.

I would wag my tail at the gym unless it got caught in a weight machine. Then I'd yelp and put it between my legs when I got it out. When I saw the hub or my kids, I'd wag it like crazy. When I went by my old work place, it would stick straight out and bristle like a big mascara brush. A tail would be awesome on cold days - You could wrap it around your feet instead of slippers. On April Fool's Day, your tail could tap people on the shoulder while you're looking totally in the other direction. Plus you could secretly hold tails behind everybody's back if you had a "thing" going on. There are all kinds of kinky possibilities which I am embarrassed to go into but use your imagination.

I think I need to spend less time contemplating my pets. I'm starting to really want a tail. And not just because I'm thinking kinky. Can you imagine sports teams congratulating each other with tails? Football pads for tails? This could go on for a really long time. I have lots of time on my hands...

Love Me, Love My Hair

I was raised by a mom who loved me but had really odd ways of showing it. Nowadays, and since my kids were little, parents have known that its important to make sure a child has a healthy self esteem. Its gotten to the point that its not unusual to run into a kid with an ego the size of a Buick. Then you want to run into them again. But, I digress.

My mom was of the opinion that a person, particularly a female person, should never like her looks. Her hair was to be scorned, processed and dyed (in her favor, she did have a kind of Pepe Le Pew meets Cruella DeVille thing going on under the dye). Faces are places to put makeup ("After 16, a woman needs to wear makeup every day" ), and bodies are to be reviled and forced to lose weight whether they need to or not. But not by doing excercise. Just by eating less and less. Its a wonder my sister and I aren't anorexic. I do take Paxil every day, though...

The wierd thing is, my mom was an extrordinarily beautiful woman. She always reminded me of Snow White, what with the black hair, blue eyes and pale skin. She also had a rack like Marilyn Monroe. Since she never nursed babies (It wasn't done in the '50s) so those puppies were perky til the day she died. I got my chest from my dad - literally. Oh well, they say small busted women have big hearts and I do.

Once, when I was about seven, I asked my mom if I was pretty. If she'd said "yes", I would have felt good and forgotten all about it. What she said was "Looks aren't important - what's important is your personality". She was right, of course, but not hearing "yes" meant "no" to my larval brain. And I have remembered that all these years. She also always told me I needed to lose "5 more pounds". I also should wear my hair short because the long hair "adds 5 pounds" My mom had a thing about 5 pounds. Every Christmas she "gained 5 pounds" and was "on a diet"She must have gained and lost 5,000 pounds over the course of my childhood. Five pounds at a time.

It bugged her that I didn't really care about my weight, hair length/style, ("After 16 - pigtails belong in the barnyard") or make up. She said one day that she was too young to have a gray haired child. I said it wasn't that gray and I didn't want to dump chemicals all over my head so I look young. She said "Oh, no you're not one of those women who likes their gray hair!" Heaven forbid I should like my hair. I've been working out like a maniac lately so I'm liking my body, too. Mom's ashes are probably whirling around in their urn.

Anyway, I know that "5 more pounds" was Momese for "I love you", but it wasn't great for developing self esteem. I've lost 50 pounds now and it would be cool to be able to show my mom but she'd probably say "You're going to keep it up, right? And lose 5 more pounds." Then I'd have to scream until no more sound came out and eat til there was no more food in the house. Hey, I think I just figured something out - I wasn't a fat ugly kid - I was normal!

Warmth in Winter

When I was a kid, my family moved with my father's job to Copenhagen, Denmark. There were lots of cool things about living there; travel, culture, history, but the neatest things I came across and what I carry with me to this day from the Great Frozen North are the covers on my bed.

We went to Denmark from Houston, Texas, where covers on your bed were really just a formality. You certainly didn't need them to keep warm - warm was the default state of existence in Houston and covers were usually kicked off. They were a nod to tradition, but not technically necessary for sleep.

In Denmark, people used eiderdown comforters. I loved them! At the time I was 11 years old and I didn't realize that all those little eider ducks had to die to make me toasty. Even in summer, the comforters were nice for optimum snoozability. In winter they were crucial. In Danish they were called a"dyne" which looks like its pronounced "dine" but its not. Pronounced correctly and passed through my American filter, it comes out "doona".

Nowadays, there are dyne fillers that are synthetic and much cheaper than genuine duck down. Plus you don't have to denude a little duck butt to get it. I like the down ones, though, because, well, because, oh heck, I'm a pig, they're nicer than the fake ones. Sorry ducks.

There's a bit of science to sleeping properly under a dyne. You lay still and don't flap the covers around because you are busy generating a warm air pocket around yourself. If you want to turn over, you can't raise the covers up and flip, you have to slowly rearrange your body so the air pocket stays intact. It becomes second nature quickly when you're a kid. When you're trying to drum this behavior into your grown up hubby's head - it can take 25 - 30 years.

I usually get in bed before the hub-unit and get a nice envelope of temperate air generated. He comes in and instead of raising a tiny flap of dyne and sliding under the covers, he raises his whole side of the dyne and breeches my air pocket! He has improved over the years but since we only use the dyne in cold weather, he has to relearn the procedure every winter. My hub is good at a great many things getting into bed with a dyne is not always one of them.

Anyway, I was thinking about stapling his side down, but that would probably damage the dyne. But I'm cool with his misappropriation of my air pocket as long as it only happens once or twice a year. I enjoy my dyne. It reminds me of my childhood in Denmark. In Denmark I learned that Gorm the Old was the first Viking king, beer is good, and that nothing beats a dyne for a great night's sleep!

Inspector Gadget D.D.S.

Sometime in the last year, I broke a tooth. Last time I went in for a cleaning, they found the broken tooth and made me an appointment to get it fixed. I forgot to go to that appointment. See, I have very ambivalent feelings about dentists; not the people themselves, but all those tools and the sounds and smells. Well, I went in for my current cleaning last week and my tooth had not miraculously fixed itself. Even though I willed it to. Stupid tooth.

So, I went into the dentist's office today, hardly shaking at all. I sat gingerly on a wing chair in the waiting room. I prefer the sofa, but another Nervous Nellie was parked there. She got called in first. We avoided eye contact as she disappeared into the back. I sent silent good thoughts her way. The door opened again almost immediately and they called my name.

I marched back into the bowels of the dentistry and plopped in the really comfy chair ( I really want one of those! ) and my dentist came in. I've been going to this same dentist for nearly 25 years and I adore him. He's a total gadgetophile, so I know my teeth and gums are state of the art. Plus the hygienist always loads me up with enough floss that I never have to buy it. So I score big time!

Today, I got numbed up beyond all imagination, then the dentist and his assistant performed the most intricate manual ballet with water squirters, air sprayers, sucking devices, and wads of cotton and gauze. At one time or another, there were lights, cameras, and action in my mouth. I didn't know my lips could stretch that far! I was fine until he started up the drill which makes that whiney sound. As soon as I hear that, every muscle in my body clenches and Dr. Nice Man asks "Does it hurt?" I say "Ngo - ith dust the sownd". He says "I'm sorry, there's nothing we can do about that." I bet if a method to get rid of that sound exists he'll get one and if it doesn't, he'll invent it.


He'd have retired years ago but there are always new dentist toys. In fact, today as he was numbing my bottom lip to Angelina proportions he told me he'd ordered a device that can numb just one tooth at a time. It hadn't come yet - but soon! I knew I should have forgotten this appointment, too.... There was a really cool thing, though, after he got my tooth drilled out, he took pictures with his computer gizmo and sent the photo to a little magic machine. It carved up a chunk of toothish looking stuff into exactly the shape that fit my tooth! A little glue, some drool and I was on my way with a brand new crown and I didn't have to wait with a temporary for a week.

Here are four words I never thought would issue from my brain: I love my dentist! If he ever does retire, I'll have to haul my comfy chair to his house and wait on his lawn til he comes out to check my teeth. I'll take along some dental toys to entice him. It could work...

Football Night in My Living Room

So I'm busy sitting on my butt watching the Patriots grind the Colts into the turf. I enjoy watching football. I do not understand the game beyond the basics but its fun to watch. I really like Peyton Manning even though he's a Republican. Hey, nobody's perfect. He has a rocket for an arm and he's really funny. Peyton is one of the few athletes on TV that they put in ads who is genuinely funny. Tom Brady is a handsome man who is also a great quarterback. He is very fertile and apparently can cause a woman to conceive just by appearing on the cover of a magazine she's holding. I think he's a little effeminate looking. But then I like a scruffy guy.

I enjoy looking at Randy Moss, he's what they call a "tall drink of water". He's a wide receiver. No clue what that is and he's not really wide at all but he catches a lot of balls. Randy used to be a Raider but he was better than all the other Raiders combined so he became a Patriot. Dallas Clark is a Colts tight end. I like tight ends because they tend to have them. In fact if I played football, I'd like to be a tight end, just so announcers could say my name and "tight end" in the same breath.

It would be weird to be a center because the quarterback gets very familiar with your nether regions. Centers rarely have tight ends. They do have big guts, but "big gut" is not an official position. If I was a center, I would worry about gassiness. That could be devastating in an important game - I mean imagine if its 3rd and goal and your team is 4 points down. There's one minute to go in the fourth and the center lets one go just as the Q.B. puts his hands in the center's wahoo and starts calling the signals . What does he do? Blame the burrito he ate at lunch? I think the center would have to step up and accept responsibility for vaporizing his team's chance at the playoffs.

Like I said, I understand the basics but all this route, pattern, halfback, fullback, stuff simply doesn't compute. Just give the large man the ball and let all the other large men jump on him. Once, when I was a teenager, I met Joe Namath in a restaurant. He always looked small on the field on TV but in person he was HUGE! He signed an autograph for me and my sister "Love and peace, Joe Willie Namath." My mom checked to see that he wrote the right kind of "peace" before she let us have them. Joe was a playa and my mom had a dirty mind. Great combo .

So, the Colts are showing signs of life, the cheerleaders are shaking their things and the beer products are stupid (a can that changes color when its cold - really? But those ads are really clever.) and I'm still sitting here watching. I've decided that if I had to choose I'd take Payton over Tom. Sense of humor goes waaaay farther than girly good looks any day!


UPDATE: Colts win! I chose well...

The Story of Smokey & Boo Boo

I know the title of this blog is "Emptynested", but I have to admit that we've had a fledgling living here for the last year and a half. After I had my stroke, our daughter came home to help me out. This was very sweet of her, and I am grateful for everything she has done to help. I'm also ready for her to move back to Seattle. The daughter-unit discovered the first time she moved to the Emerald City (for college) that she loves living in the city and when she moved back here to the 'burbs, I think we both discovered that she probably should stay there.

We had some hamsters once that illustrate this point perfectly. Originally, we had one hamster; a female named Smokey. The son-unit came home from third grade one day so excited. "Mom! guess what?! Vince (all my son's friends had old guy names) has a hamster and its a boy! We could have babies!" I said "OK - we'll put them together for one weekend and if anything happens fine - but we're not going to do it again." The hub said "If?"

The next Friday, Vince and his mom showed up with the hamstud in a shoe box. We put him in Smokey's cage and they eyed each other suspiciously across the wire floor. The fact that my two kids and Vince had their faces pressed against the bars and kept urging them "Go on - do it!" probably ruined the mood. Plus, I don't really think the kids knew what "it" was. I said "Maybe they want some privacy." The little weasels ran off and got a box which they decorated with hearts. Over a heart shaped hole in the end of the box they wrote "Hamster Tunnel of Love. Maybe they did know what "it" was...

The hammies went in the box. Then back to the cage. Long story short - despite the kids' best efforts, Smokey conceived and gave birth to 12 babies three weeks later. Smokey was a great mom and didn't eat her babies. In fact, the only one she bit was me when I tried to comfort her. You know, mom to mom. Anyway, we were lucky as heck because we were able to line up homes for everybody. At three weeks old the little hams were old enough to go to their new homes and people came to pick them up. We'd decided to keep the one all gray one. She got her own little cage and we moved her into it

One person came to pick up with a broken cage so we gave them the one the grey hamster was in and put Little Gray in with her mommy. Just until we could get another cage. As soon as her daughter's tootsies hit the pine shavings, Smokey went into Vicious Attack Hamster mode and went for the young one's neck. Gray gave back pretty good, but she was way out-sized and nearly lost a back leg. She survived and we named the her Boo Boo.

And I came up with my theory that once a grown daughter moves out, its probably best for her to stay moved out. So nobody tries attack anybody else. Visits are great and I will really miss her, but I don't think I'll miss the part where everything I do is wrong. Makes me want to rip some body's leg off.

Normal as You and Me

I was reading a report about the abolition of gay marriage in Maine. What bugs the dickens out of me is that there are some people who seem to feel so smug about their "victory". I mean, these same people would storm the state capitol with pitchforks and flaming torches if their right to marry was rescinded (They would use these things because they are backwards people and they would employ backward ways.) And the weird thing is that they say they are "defending" marriage.

They are defending marriage by abolishing some of them. This makes as much sense as building a neighborhood by burning down some of the houses. I know two gay couples. They are both pairs of women. One couple is married and one couple decided not to bother. When the first couple got married, there was no earthquake, the sky didn't open up and the hub and I didn't suddenly have the urge to sever our relationship. Both couples have two kids, a pair of boys and a pair of girls. They are all fantastic parents.

They are good parents, not because they're gay. They're good parents because they spend time with their kids and teach them well. All four of these kids are smart and well adjusted. They go to school, play sports, have friends, and go to baseball games (my personal yardstick for good parenting). Golly, they're almost the same as kids of straight parents!

Both couples own homes, go grocery shopping, one of them attends church. They do yard work, attend kid's plays, go to work and host birthday parties. In a crowd, you can't pick any of them out as "the gay ones". What, then, is the difference between a gay couple and a straight couple? Well, the only difference seems to be very, very private.

Now, I have a lot of friends who are straight, married couples, too. The fact is, I don't know, care, have any desire to even think about what they do in their bedrooms. The thought of most of my friends and their hubbys naked gives me pause, and makes me throw up a little bit in my mouth. In fact, some of them might even do some of the same things that makes people go nuts about gays (heh-heh, I said nuts...) Why are these conservative weirdos who push the anti marriage laws so preoccupied with gay sexual practices?

I think they're perverse. They need to get their heads out of people's bedrooms and their own behinds and leave loving, committed people alone to live their lives as they see fit. Or we might confront them with pitchforks and flaming torches. If they can't understand love and commitment, maybe they'll understand that.

New Short Hair

I decided to get my hair cut short. Well shorter anyway. I really like Ellen Degeneres' hair in her Cover Girl ads so I decided to go for something like that. I confess that I like everything Ellen does and if I wasn't married and she wasn't married and I was a lesbian, I might have a real crush on her. As things stand, though, its just sincere admiration. But her hair is very cute. Really. And her ad is in every magazine I've looked at lately so I figured "No prob - I'll just go in show the stylist the ad and snip, snip - I'm done!"

I have been going to a very good hair cutter, but I made the mistake of announcing to the ether that I really like her work. Within days the place her husband works announced it was closing and she told me they were being transferred to L.A. I feel I must apologize to all the people at the NUMMI plant in Fremont - now where will our Toyotas come from? Sorry, guys - my bad...

Anyway, I went to my local haircutting chain and put in my name then I went to find the ad in one of the magazines they surely had there. Vogue, Alloy, Highlights and Glamor later - no ad. She called my name. "I'm looking for a picture!" I called out. "Check the style book" she called back and found it for me. Ellen was not in the style book. But there was a cut kind of like hers so I showed the stylist. "That's very short" she said disapprovingly. "I know" I said "I want it short like a boy's haircut". Boy's hair very short" She had some sort of Asian accent I couldn't place but it was heavy on skepticism.

I could have left at this point, but when I decide to get my hair cut - I have to get it done. Plus, I already had the drape on. I went back to the chair and sat down. Stylista put the picture on the counter and kept using it for reference. Razor cut, look at pic, razor cut, look again, scissor snip, look yet again. I kept an eagle eye on the proceedings. Well, I had my glasses off so my eye was somewhat less acute than an eagle's. Kind of like my dog who has cataracts.

Keeping the cataract eye in the mirror, I was surprised to see a shape I liked beginning to surround my head. Stylista had asked how I wanted the back and I nearly said "I don't know - you're the one with the license." (Where is that thing, anyway?) but I just said "Short." She kept snipping, whacking and looking and things were going pretty well, then she said "Want to see back?" "Yes" I said as she whirled the chair around and I grabbed my glasses. She handed me a mirror and I looked. I liked! Yay!

With my glasses on I even liked the front and I think she did, too. Now I'm home and I showered off all the little hairs. Its fluffy and short like Ellen's. But gray, not blond. Its cute,though. I discovered something about hairstylists today, though, I picked the one with the cute haircut - I would have been smart to pick the one who gave it to her. I got lucky and even though she didn't laugh at my jokes, (and therefore has questionable taste) she did what I wanted when she clearly thought I was an idiot. She was wrong but girlfriend can cut hair so I like her. Now if only I can keep her local and un-pregnant...Next time I'll take a picture of Ellen.

Poison, Yummy, Yummy Poison

We just got back from my sister's house where she tried to kill us. Here's the story: Our nephew's birthday was November 1 but that was the day after his 23rd birthday/Halloween party. Coincidentally, it was also Day of the Dead which suited the Neph's demeanor on that day. So we celebrated his birthday tonight and that's where the attempt on our lives happened. My sister served us really good Mexican food from a place in Hayward.

It was delicious, filling and it didn't need salt. By definition, this means the food was poison. The Hub and I have learned this in our Fat Camp classes. To wit; if food smells really good - its poison. If it tastes good-its poison. If it fills your belly and makes you happy- assume you've been poisoned. If it needs no seasoning at the table-its going to kill you slowly by attacking your heart. All fruit juice is poisonous because its fattening.

Here's the thing, all our lives, we've been told that food-yummy, yummy food is good for us. We were lied to. Most food is bad for us and its relative badness is directly proportional to how yummy it is.. Oh, sure, you won't die from eating lots of broccoli but you won't really be living either, will you? Carrots, too, plus they'll turn you orange if you're not careful.

Just 100 extra calories a day, over and above what your body burns will add up to a weight gain of 10 pounds annually. Over the years this can really add up. I know - I lost 55 freakin' pounds and the hub lost 65. That's a whole lot of food we didn't eat. And a whole lot I ate to get there! I have to admit, putting on all that flab was fun. A Mexican dinner or Italian dinner, or Chinese, or Thai, or American, or any dinner that tastes good, eaten frequently enough, is going to kill you.

I love Indian food. There's probably some that is healthy, but everything I've tasted is delicious (strike one), salty and spicy (strike two), and fried (strike three - you're dead). Every time I used to snarf down a somosa or a dosa or a guab jalomb, I'd wonder "Why are these people alive?" That's why I suspect I didn't taste the full spectrum of Indian food. The fact is there are lots of Indian people who are not only alive but look healthy. They must be hiding something...

So, I'm sitting here digesting my delicious poison dinner. I feel fat and happy and really,really sleepy. Tomorrow, its back to bland and fiber rich. Maybe I'll have a glass of wine before bed. No, I better not - that stuff'll kill you!

Cute Shoes / Cruel Shoes

What is it about cuteness? I mean it makes sense when we're talking about baby clothes and itty bitty shoes and sockies. Now those are so cute you could get a cavity. And little kid clothes are cute, too. Tiny little stubby pants and sweet tiny dresses are adorable, right?

I bought my daughter a dress today that is really cute. She is 24. The dress is adorable and with some colorful tights and a cute top, she'll be even more darling. Her clothes aren't stubby or itty bitty but they're still cute. When do we outgrow cute? I got a new sweater today that is...well...cute but that's OK because all my old clothes were so much bigger that my new clothes look little in comparison. So they're cute.

The sad thing is that my new bras are also much smaller than my old ones and therefore - cute. I hate that, and I can't store packs of gum in them any more. Plus, I have to find a new place to put my keys when I don't want to carry my purse and I'm wearing leggings with no pockets. Hey, it happens sometimes.

I also wore a pair of shoes the other day that I had owned for a long time, but never worn. I got them on ebay and they didn't fit when I got them but of course I held on to them. They fit now, and they're really cute, so I decided to break them in so I can wear them whenever I want. Now I have flayed skin on both my heels that even giant, super thick sports band-aids can't cushion. There will probably be scarring, but that will go with the scars I got from my birthday shoes which were really painful - but really, really cute.

I've gotta say that I do have teeny, tiny little feet so I wear very small shoes. So they're cute just by smallness default. Before I had kids, my feet measured out to a 4 1/2 E and once a shoe salesman measured them and actually started laughing. I asked him what was so funny and he said "You have no toes!" After I proved him wrong by kicking his ass, he sold me a pair of shoes. They were really comfy and so cute!

The Evil Empire II

Sitting here watching the Yankees throttle the Phillies makes me think about lots of things I'd rather be doing including, but not limited to: oral surgery, a colonoscopy, emptying my dog's anal glands, touching a worm...You get the picture. I really don't like the Yankees. Or the Dodgers. I think its attitudinal. As in they have a big one and it bugs me.

I guess if you make a living off your innate talent, you have to have a pretty high opinion of yourself. Especially if you are the best at what you do. Which the Yankees and the Dodgers are - darn it. I have a really good friend who is a gifted artist but she has no attitude. I think its because she doesn't sell her art. Yet. She's starting to get noticed up in Oregon in her town, though, and people are interested in showing her art. If she starts selling her stuff - I'll probably have to go up there and dope slap her. You know, as a friend.

I don't have a very high opinion of myself but I was getting an attitude one day. Driving to Big Lots, where I go frequently to replace my ear buds that the kitten likes better than anything labeled "cat toy". I was overcome with a wave of hatred for the people who took my job from me. Through my gritted teeth, I actually hissed "I hate them" as I was getting out of the car. Suddenly, I felt a big dope slap on the back of my head that nearly knocked me to my knees right there in the parking lot. I looked around and saw nobody standing there. I realized - it was God.

God was right there making sure I didn't get swallowed up in negativity. I didn't know God was a fan of the Stooges! And I know the old saw - don't spend time on hate - life's too short. Well, I've got lots of time on my hands, and nothing to do with it. It would be really easy to become a real hateful curmudgeonly, crabby old lady. God's just making sure I don't lose my nice self to my Yankees baseball player self which simmers somewhere below the surface.

Probably the Yankees are nice, too, if I got to know them. I would rather eat dirt but I might get surprised. You never know. Anyway, I'm thinking of trying to make a living by just my wits now so I'll probably get dope slapped again. Maybe more than once...

The Evil Empire

The Phillies just beat the Yankees in World Series game 5. I'm rooting for the Phillies even though they're kind of named after girl horses. I've always thought of them as the My Little Ponies of baseball. The Yankees are just so businesslike. There's no joyous abandon in their play. Its a job and they're good at it but they're not fun to watch.

Plus, have you taken a look at their pitching staff? Those are some seriously large men! Phil Coke pitched in relief tonight and he looks like he shops in the "husky" section at Sears. I think you can actually see C. C. Sebathia from space when he's on the mound. Its nice to know that you can eat ice cream and still play professional sports but he looks unhealthy to me. I like skinny pitchers like Tim Lincecum and Randy Johnson. Pitchers should look like scarecrows, With hats.

Catchers need to be chunky so they can block the plate. They need to look solid. Like anchors. Pitchers should be limber. Outfielders can be solid, but they have to be able to run. Same with infielders. The main thing is they should look like they're having fun. I saw only one smile in the last two games in the New York dugout. That was on Nick Swisher's face and I think its because he used to play here in California. I really wish Nick Swisher wasn't a Yankee because he's a really cool guy and a lot of fun to watch.

Anyway, the Series goes back to New York now. Now the Yankees will have home field advantage. They'll probably win. They'll jump around and spray each other with champagne and have a parade. Sigh. It will look like its supposed to look, but it will just feel wrong. Someday the Giants will win it all and they'll do it right!

Pithy Conversation

I have a Muslim friend. She's one of the smartest people I know and yet she has only recently learned to read and write. She was married to a complete jerk at 13 and became a mom to an angel at 15. She had two more terrific kids and divorced her lazy, jerky wife-beating asshat of a husband about five years ago . He went back to Afghanistan and she became an American citizen.

Sometimes we get to chatting and its usual girl stuff. How much she does/doesn't want to get married again, how far our boobs have sunk, how funny old men look naked (she takes care of a geezer and has to help him shower sometimes), our kids and, now and again, God. The really funny thing is that our respective religions are pretty similar in most respects.

I'm what you might call a confused Christian. She is very devout. She enjoys Ramadan primarily because she likes the religious aspects of it. But on a practical level, she always loses a few pounds and looks fabu! My friend has questions just like me and I find that very comforting because I figure if somebody as religious as she is can ask about stuff she doesn't understand - I'm golden!!!


The other day we were talking about my former place of employment (The Place Who's Name Must Never Be Uttered In This House Again) and she said. "I hate them, I don't even know them but I hate them" I said 'I can't seem to get past my anger - and you know, the Bible says we're supposed to be forgiving." She said "The Koran says we're supposed to forgive, too, but its like my stupid husband - I can't do it yet." I told her that I knew forgiveness would come but I can't just say it - it has to be felt. She said the same thing about her ex.

I just got wrongly terminated! She had the crap beaten out of her for years! This woman is better than therapy! I think I should get her a little stand like Lucy in Peanuts. She would so rake it in!!! We should also have a little restaurant on the side. That woman can do things with a kabab you wouldn't believe! I can make cookies. And tea...

Anyway, its great to have diverse friends. Sometimes we each have notions the other considers weird and I don't think she really understands my fixation with baseball, but for anything important the college educated, married woman born in Utah and the formerly illiterate, divorced Pashtun woman are on the same wavelength and its wonderful.

By the way, to all anti immigrant people in the word - She sent all her kids to college. Her oldest son is a computer dude, her daughter is a nurse practitioner and her youngest is currently battling health problems but he will get back to work as soon as he can. Her job? Housekeeper.

Tired Pools

Today I went on a field trip with my sister's fourth grade class. We took buses to the Fitzgerald Tide Pools north of Half Moon Bay. When she asked me to chaperon, I was leery. The worst headache I ever had was on a school bus with my daughter's second grade class on the way to the California Academy of Sciences in San Francisco. But this would not be a school bus...oh no we would ride to the tide pools on a chartered bus with a bathroom and TVs!!!

Somebody gave the school a grant or something and it was awesome. If I never had to ride on a school bus (you know they transport you to Hell on school buses) again, I'd rent myself out as a field trip chaperon. No kidding, the kids were smart, polite, and adorable. Plus, they treated me like a queen (a really old queen - they were worried I was going to eat dirt walking on the seaweed, so they took my hand, steadied me and made sure I was safe...) My sister is a fantastic teacher - she had them so well prepared they were telling the docent things she didn't know!

One of the kids in my group is a high functioning autistic and he's very particular about his shoes. He was content to sit on the edge of the tide pools and dig in the sand. Then one of my girls decided he was missing all the fun so she went and got him and convinced him to come and see the sea urchins they'd found. He went along and, of all the kids, stepped right into a tide pool and soaked his shoes. He informed our whole group that this was the worst field trip he'd ever been on an we needed to leave right NOW!

Fortunately, it was time to go back to the bus, or as I call it Heaven on Wheels. My little autistic friend made it back intact, then shed his shoes. The docents loved our classes - really! They were very lovable. In fact, if I was 45 years younger - they'd all be my new best friends. We headed back over the Dumbarton Bridge and got back only a little late.

It was the most fun I've had in months and it was with a bunch of nine-year-olds. Which tells you a thing or two about my social life. These are some seriously sweet children, though, and it was fun hanging out with the sister-unit. When I got home, I did a self check on my grief process...hmmm...still pissed? Yup, still pissed - well, I may be moving slowly through this phase but at least they can't take away my new best friends. Can they? Now its time for wine and sleep - lots of both. All in all - a great day...

DMV Photos

Just finished watching the first game of the World Series. I know it doesn't count because the Giants aren't in it but it was a pretty good game. The Phillies won, so that was awesome. I think everybody expected the Yankees to win, including the umpires so several questionable calls went against New York. There's been a lot of bad umpiring this year, but you don't expect it in the World Series. That's like having a burned out battery on the space shuttle...

I also have a question that's been dogging me since the beginning of the season. At every ballpark, there is a big screen that projects pictures of each player during his at bat. These pictures are blown up about the size of a king-size bed sheet so everybody in the stadium can see what the players look like. Now, these are athletic young men, handsome even. Why do they have the DMV photograph them?

They can take a nice looking young man with big, brown eyes and a wide smile and turn him into something that makes you hear banjo music. Why do they do that? Major League Baseball has lots of money, they could get a decent photographer. Jeez - the Yankees are rolling in cash -they could hire Annie Leibovitz!

In the 1970's MLB decided to try to make the game more attractive to women so they put the players in really tight pants. I know that's when I became interested in the game. Now, I'm not suggesting boudoir shots of the players, but couldn't they use photos that make the players look at least like they have an IQ larger than the number on their back? At the very least - make them look happy to be there...!

Lying, Cheating, etc.

I am a liar and a cheater. Well, technically, I didn't lie, but I cheated my butt off. In fact, if you go back to the site of my transgression, you might find my butt there, on the floor, all by itself since I'm sure nobody else has cheated there and now it has no friends. Here's what I did: The hub and I went to Kaiser the other day to get our flu shots. He'd gotten his seasonal shot when I was there getting Lefty worked on. He has asthma, though, so he was in the risk group for H1N1 and he needed that. I needed both.

There was a bit of a line and when we got to the front we told the screener lady what we needed. The hub-unit was okayed for the H1N1 but she nicely told me that I didn't fit the criteria for the shot and I should just get the seasonal. I was a little disappointed which is odd because I'm terrified of needles. I guess I just don't like rejection. I also know that our family tends to get everything that comes down the pike to the nth degree and I so didn't want to get sick and almost die again...

Anyway, I sat in the seasonal shot chair. The nurse rubbed alcohol on my right bicep. Then there was that awkward moment of waiting for her to jab me. I'm always tempted to bolt at this time but the whole line was watching for lack of other entertainment, and I didn't want to embarrass myself. The jab came and it was so gentle and painless, I swear I heard a unicorn sigh. Maybe it was me - I do have a bump on my nose.

After I got my shot and finished embracing my shooter and swinging her around in circles, I went over to the H1N1 station where the hub was rolling up his sleeve. He got his shot which seemed to hurt a little. When he got up, the nurse looked expectantly at me and after a nanosecond of hesitation, I plopped into the chair and exposed my left bicep. The nurse swiped it with alcohol and stuck the needle in my arm. It did sting a little. I mean I shouldn't complain since I bogied the shot illegally. Still...

When I got home and regaled my daughter with my trickery - she said "Gee, Mom, now somebody won't be able to get a shot because you did." She knows right where all my buttons are and loves to mash my guilt one...It worked. I've been feeling like a big poopyhead ever since, imagining some asthmatic child, pregnant woman or geezer gasping for breath and feverishly gulping down water to prevent dehydration. "If only they hadn't run out of vaccine" their caregiver would weep. Oh, I feel like a pig - a swine...a swine flu swine. Ughhh! Plus they came up a shot short so next year the easy, laid back process will involve guard towers and paperwork.

Then today, I heard that the supply of vaccine is beginning to catch up to the demand, Yay! Apparently, the virus they used to produce the vaccine grew slower than expected, so the vaccine company got delayed, but its catching up. Whew! Now my pregnant geezer child can get his, her, their shot! I just hope when they go there they don't trip over my butt.

Let 'em Be Kids!

I have a bone to pick with some of my fellow women. Especially those who have daughters. Now none of us mothers of daughters, well, not many of us anyway, look at our little baby girls on our laps in the hospital or their crib at home and smilingly say "Gosh I hope she grows up to be a skank!" If you don't want your kid displaying skank-like behavior, having sex when they're still wearing training bras, and getting pregnant before they're out of high school, stop modeling that behavior! Geez - some people just don't get it...

Now last summer we were all shown (by a master) what happens when we just tell kids "Don't do it - ' 'cuz you'll make baby Jesus cry". Yeah, that abstinence thing didn't work for me and its still not working all these years later. But neither is the subliminal advertising that goes on all over the place. Especially Subway. The hub and I stopped in for lunch today and during the course of our 6 inch turkey & ham two women walked in with their girls and we were left shaking our heads.

Mom number one had uncombed hair and Spongebob Squarepants jammy pants on. No, she didn't look skanky exactly, but she looked slovenly and there was her kid drinking it all in. How hard is it to drag a comb through the locks and toss on a pair of jeans?Can't fit your jeans? I had a giant lard-butt for many years and I discovered the joy of elastic - waist pants. Comfy as jammies. Feel like jammies. Are NOT jammies. And maybe it was her aunt, not her mom, but aunties are role models, too.

Mom number two was wearing a pair of sweatpants. Marginally better than jammy pants. But these had the word "Juicy" plastered across the butt. That butt was certainly juicy. It was HUGE! , still its tacky to advertise on your ass. I've seen those kind of sweats with all kinds of words on them "pink, cute, beautiful, perky, and rock-hard." Ew. I don't care and I bet an eight year old (they can read, you know) is mortified when mommy describes the goods right there on her tushy for everyone to see. But the message is there.

In years of working with kids, I noticed that it seemed like families in which Mom wears skanky clothes - not just pants but slutty tops as well, there is a lot of discussion about boyfriends and what boys like. Conversely, boys are getting the same messages, but in a "you want this in a girl" kind of way. The result? Pregnant teenagers. And if you have a teenager who gets pregnant and you're a complete idiot, you will parade said fertile teen on the national stage and after they break up her baby daddy will pose for Playgirl magazine.


I will have to look at the pictures because my curiosity will overcome my taste and good sense plus they will probably be posted on my scandal rags online. Then I will have more things in my head that won't leave. And moms with juicy butts will probably tell their daughters that this is a "hot guy - he'd like girls in mini skirts". Message sent and recieved.

Gymnastics

I went to the gym today and communed with my fellow gymasauruses. I'd call us gym rats, but most of us are too large and waaaay too stiff in the joints to be compared to anything as nimble as a rodent. I didn't have to chase any oldsters off any machines this time but, I gotta say, some of these people totally bring it in the fitness department. There was a guy, covered in tattoos, who was old enough to be my...well, babysitter, and he was lifting about a million pounds with each arm.

He was also doing what every guy does on that machine, watching his arm muscles bulge in the mirror as he lifted. A little old lady, perhaps ten years older than I am...rode happily on a recumbent stationary bike the whole time I was there. I know she was happy because she smiled like Mona Lisa the whole time she was riding. Now, maybe she was happy, maybe it was a drug induced smile. Or maybe she was the model for DaVinci when he painted the Mona Lisa. In which case she's a whole lot older than I thought and I want to get to know her pharmacist...

The Mahogany God was there. I haven't seen him for several months because I forgot what day it was when I saw him before. Now I know - Friday morning. Let the stalking begin! Really, though, he was one of the few people there under 60. Plus he looks like he was carved out of... mahogany. By a great artist - like Michelangelo! This whole Renaissance artist connection to my gym is starting to get kind of interesting.

I mean, I can't prove anything, but I may have stumbled upon some kind of space-time continuum. When I got home and went to take a shower. I got undressed, squinted my eyes and looked in the mirror. I always squint first - its like putting Vaseline on a camera lens. Some long hair and a sea shell and Yes! Botticelli's Venus! OK, I was squinting so much my eyes were closed and it was all my imagination.

That said, I have to allow that looking for evidence of a hole in Time and a connection to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles will make it a lot easier to get up on Monday and go to the gym.

Fat Camp

The hub and I just got back from Fat Camp. Its really called Medical Weight Management Class but we like to get down to the nitty gritty so we call it Fat Camp. Now, since we started last March, he has lost 65 pounds an I have lost 55. That's 120 pounds! We've lost an eighth grader! Or a Saint Bernard. Anyway, now that we've lost the flab, the problem is keeping it at bay. See, its not really lost so much as its hiding.

Yes, its hiding there on my hips. Vestigial shelves that were on their way to being wide enough to balance a cup of coffee on. Its hiding on my hubby's belly waiting to obscure his view of his feet. Its there on my thighs, ready to chafe at a moment's notice.

We started this weight management plan on a liquid diet for four months. We dropped the lard like it was hot, but now we're trying to assimilate regular food into our lives. The flab loves it! It wants more and more and more....My flab loves carbs. It entices me by dangling bread, crackers and pasta in front of my brain. It wants to get big again and we are trying with all our might to keep it small(er).

That flab is very sneaky stuff - today it teased me with an oatmeal cookie. With raisins. Dipped in chocolate. Under ice cream, nuts and whipped cream. See, I think the flab really didn't want to go away -I got rid of it. It feels good, but sometimes the flab is stronger than I am. Even though I've been working out and I know the flab never lifted a fat cell.

The battle is joined. My problem is that Flab's ammo is stuff I encounter in everyday life. My ammo is lack of Flab's ammo. Its a real connundrum. A riddle wrapped in an enigma sprinkled with bacon bits, dipped in ranch...Oh crap!

Phillies Beat the Dodgers!

I know, baseball season is officially over since my mighty Gigantes are done for the season. Timmy's back in Seattle and the Panda is home in Venezuela. I don't know where anybody else went - they didn't say. Probably some sports bar somewhere, nursing a beer and rooting against the Dodgers. Its what any sensible person would do.

The thing is that there is this technicality called the post season and the Phillies just beat the Dodgers in it. Yay. It was a good game and there were some players worth watching, not just for their athletic abilities. Now, I adore my little Giants because they are cute and I mean that in a totally mommy way. A couple of these Phillies, though, are cute in a majorly cougar way.

It was a fun game to watch. Jayson Werth is a complete biscuit until he opens his mouth which he did in a post-game interview. Now if he had sounded even remotely intelligent, I might have suggested a trip to the World Series. Fortunately for our finances, although he looks like a Mercedes, he sounds like a Yugo, and that was a bit of a disappointment. Still, major eye candy...

There's also one of my favorite lounge lizard names on the Phillies. Shane Victorino. Not his first name, Shane which is relatively normal, but Victorino. If you turn it into two names you get "Now playing on the main stage - put your hands together for Vic Torino!" He would then bust into a cheesy rendition of "Volare" or "That's Why the Lady is a Tramp".

Cole Hamels is another weird one. If you misspeak, it becomes Hole Camels which is pretty funny. Like the entire camel as opposed to Camel Holes which are only a small parts of the camel or large empty areas in the ground shaped like ungulates.

Anyway... now the Phillies go to the World Series. If I can't root for my Giants with Timmy and the Panda, I'll have to cheer on the Phillies with Jayson, the Lizard and a Hole. It won't be my favorite but it will have to do.

More Stuff I Didn't Want To Know

I've been thinking about more things I wish I could shake out of my ears. Like polyps. I've had them removed from...places and my doctor took pictures of them - in full color - and presented them to me before I left the recovery room. They're pretty but I could have lived a long time without knowing what they looked like. My hubby had some polyps removed from his sinuses. While we were in the examining room his doctor shoved a camera up his nose and when he said ""Look - you can see the stalk..."Ew. I bolted. Mine were prettier.


Thanks to my steady diet of TV and the geezer shows I watch, I know about ED and that if the general keeps saluting for four hours - its a bad thing. It sounds like it would be a good thing but they talk about it really fast at the end of the ad so you can tell its not. I've also learned that going potty frequently is not just the purview of women. Men sometimes need to leave the golf course. To pee! Imagine that!


The thing about those ads that doesn't add up is that some of the uncomfortable men they show are canoeing or fishing. In boats. On water!!! What kind of idiot wouldn't just go over the side of the boat? Of course, its a useless activity to try to find logic in TV ads, but they really should have a modicum of respect for the intellect of their audience.


I wish I didn't know that calamari is the food highest in cholesterol. Well, what I suppose I really wish is that it wasn't the food highest in cholesterol because I really like it. But it is what it is.
I wish I'd never seen a snake eat a mouse. They're probably not that high in cholesterol, because snakes live on the things, but seeing the process is gross - because even though I know mice are a scourge - they're so cute. And snakes are kind of evil looking. Cool but evil looking.


Speaking of mice - I wish I didn't know what decomposing ones smell like. They used to get into our dryer vent hose to get warm and then cook when we turned on the machine. Then they would rot and stink up our house. That smell is so distinctive and the olfactory being the most evocative sense -that when I watch CSI and they say "Smells like decomp" I know exactly what they're talking about. I wish I didn't - but I do.

Stuff I Don't Want to Know

When my daughter was one year old, and I took her for her well check, the doctor discovered she had something weird in her belly. Long story short, he had discovered a Wilms tumor on her left kidney. During the next week and ensuing months, the hub and I learned all about surgery, kidneys, chemotherapy drugs and other things we never wanted to know. Same thing happened with her dyslexia and 20 years to the day after her kidney surgery, we learned all about heart failure and transplants.

Its no wonder that along the way I learned all about anxiety and panic attacks. All I have to say about that is thank God for Paxil and its generic counterparts! The point I'm dancing around is that sometimes you learn about things you never really wanted to know about and all that stuff is stuck in your brain. It takes up valuable space and keeps other information (like where you parked your car) at bay in your brain.

For instance, because I like to read scandal rags ( I need to pay attention to unimportant things sometimes - I just wish I could shake everything out my ears when I'm done with it.) I happen to know there is a woman in this world named Kim Kardashian. She is famous because she has a giant ass. She has two sisters who are famous because their sister has a giant ass. They have a TV show which I have never seen because if I did see it I would have to wash my eyes out with soap. That would really hurt.

The thing is, until about six months ago I had a fat ass and nobody put me in a TV show. I have lost my ass, though, but I have a sister - but my first and last names start with different letters and I'm not dating a football player. But I have a hubby and have for 31 years - so ha fat ass lady! I also know the names of all the Spice Girls and all the Beatles' birthdays. Why do I remember this crap? I was lousy at history because I couldn't remember dates to save my life but I can tell you that Geri Halliwell (Ginger Spice) named her daughter Bluebell Madonna. Make it go away!!!!

I think all the trivia I know is a protective coating so I don't dwell on things like actinomycin D is the chemo drug which caused my baby's hair to fall out, or that 15% of schoolkids are dyslexic, or that I know how to pack the holes in her belly made by drains and the LVAD that circulated her blood while she waited for a heart. Yeah, I guess I'd rather have Brad and Angie's kids in there.

Plus, when you're playing Trivial Pursuit you totally want me on your team. I can smoke anybody in trivia games because nothing unimportant ever leaves my brain. Just pair me with somebody who knows history.