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.

Squash and Chickens

Yesterday, the hub-unit and I got up at the beastly hour of 6:30 am. We got up, got dressed, forgot to take my pills, and headed off to meet some friends - then off to Half Moon Bay and the Pumpkin Festival. We carpooled. They drove. Very few people want us to drive when we carpool. I don't think its just that pieces of my car are falling off, I think its also because we have an inordinate number of tall friends. Honestly,we could field a basketball team...I might consider it if I didn't detest the game of basketball with a white hot passion.



Anyway, I think most of our friends just don't fit in our Corolla. You can see them look at it, evaluate the chiropractor bill and say "I'll drive!". Plus my car smells funny, but you can't tell that from the outside. The drive was nice and so roomy in their backseat! The fog was a thick blanket and the day seemed promising. Got a great reaction when we pointed out the San Andreas Fault. These people are from Baltimore and a little quake-shakey...Hee Hee Hee.



The Pumpkin Festival is basically an art fair with really big squash. OK, the art is a little higher end than a lot of the crap you find at those things, but its still a whole bunch of sun shelters, set cheek to jowl in the middle of a closed off street. There's wine, beer and all kinds of stuff to eat that you really shouldn't go near, most of it flavored with pumpkin, or pumpkin-worthy spices.



There's a thing that happens at large gatherings of people where food is involved. My hubby calls it "The Costco Effect". In which the amount charged for something is inversely proportional to the length of the line of people waiting to get some. My theory is that the people in free food lines usually tend to be a bit (or a lot) short for their weight. I'm not being judgemental (I have noticed that when people say they're not being judgemental - they're being judgemental.)Perhaps, though, fewer free food samples would mean less flabulousness.

I ended up buying a goofy-looking ceramic bird and a stalk of brussel sprouts. The hub bought four baby black austrolopes for work. An austrolope is an old variety of chicken which grows into a large black hen. Our friend was so impressed, he bought two baby arucanas which are way cuter than austrolopes and they lay green eggs. I understand they taste good with ham. His wife-unit was not very impressed and named them tetrazzini and fricassee. She did get a pumpkin, though...

Driving home was fun and roomy. And now the payoff for getting up at the crack of 6:30. We drove past the really big traffic jam of people just coming to where we had just left. It was a fun day, even though the sun came out and it got HOT. This caused me to have to peel off all my layers but the one closest to my skin. Not too terrible since that was my Halloween shirt. It just should never be hot in Half Moon Bay. Ever.

What is WRONG With People?

OK, the hub-unit and I just got back from Costco where we bought our Halloween candy. I don't like to leave important tasks to the last minute. Plus there was a coupon. Now, for the last few years, we have been giving out full sized candy bars which has resulted in squadrons of children making sure to stop at our house. I think this is a good thing because Halloween has gotten altogether too chintzy.

It was bad enough when they started making half-sized candy bars and calling them "snack-size". I don't know about you, but when I was a kid - I could honk down a whole candy bar, no problem. I didn't get the opportunity very often, but when I did, like Halloween, I had no problem snacking on regular-sized candy.

Nowadays, there are tiny, little midget sized candy bars that people put in treat bags, What's next - crumbs? And kids are supposed to say "thank you" for that teeny-ass morsel. How cheap is that? Now, I realize that kids get altogether too many sweets in their lives, causing obesity, cavities, and really rotten behavior. But come on.

Cheaping out on Halloween isn't going to solve anything. Cutting sweets out of children's' daily life will solve lots of problems, though. It will save their teeth, their health, and eventually, possibly, their lives. Being a weenie at Halloween will not change anything. Its called Trick or Treat, not Trick or More of What You Get Every Day. Treats are something extra special, that you only get now and again. Like annually, at Halloween.

I like bucking the trends, though, so I dress like a witch, hook up my smoke machine, and hand out whole candy bars. Some of our little hooligans hold their candy bars like they're gold, like they've never seen a whole candy bar before. Its fun and the kids love it. Their parents think I'm a weenie but they're wrong. I know what Halloween's about. Plus nobody ever smashes our pumpkins and all the neighborhood and surrounding area kids are very respectful the rest of the year. Its Karma. And candy.

Harmony Between Woman, Nature and Food

After I got Lefty worked on yesterday (she's fine -the lump was a cyst), I was being driven home in my Toyota and I got to thinking. My Corolla is about 10 years old - kind of middle aged for one of our cars - and she's running well for the most part. The problem she's having is that her peripherals are starting to fall apart.

The passenger's side interior door handle is coming apart. It works. But you have to handle it with care. The rear view mirror is loose and you have to adjust it up so it will fall to where you need it. Her clock always runs about 4 minutes fast. Even if you set it, it will run forward until its four minutes fast. All in all my Toyota is a great little car, though - her engine runs like a top and her brakes are aces.

I was riding along, stoned out of my gourd, when I suddenly realized - I'm becoming a Toyota! I mean, my engine is (mostly) in pretty good shape. My brain (usually) works. All the important stuff is functional, its the peripherals that are giving me trouble. Sprained my flipping finger disciplining my kitten. Got a cyst in my boob. Had to get work done on the plumbing to keep me from being anemic. Had a stroke and a mini heart attack.

Well, I've started trying to take better care of myself. I started before I realized I was a Toyota , but I'm going to continue with a vengeance. Only the best fuel for this engine. Whole grains, lots of fruit and vegetables, low fat (yawn ), no sugar (zzzz), lots of water - I have GOT to stop thinking when I'm stoned...Geez, what do they put in that stuff anyway? I mean, yes, I am a great little broad and my engine runs like a top but, please, if I don't eat fun food (low octane) from time to time, I'll go nuts. Mmmmm, nuts - covered in chocolate. I'm better off when I'm a Toyota...But its more fun to be a Yugo.


There's got to be a place somewhere between a Toyota and a Yugo for me to settle. I think maybe I'll be a Chevy of some kind. You know, not the most reliable but not a POS either. And I'll be able to put low grade fuel in from time to time. I won't last forever like a Toyota but I'll last long enough. Awesome! Keep my motor runnin' and have fun, too! Lovin' life - and I'm not even stoned!!!

Ugly Bra

Just got back from Tar -jay and bought an ugly B-R-A. I got it for tomorrow when Lefty gets her lump removed. They told me to get one and plan to wear it 24/7 for two days since I can't shower for 48 hours. They never told me there was torture involved...I'm a two shower a day gal. Have been for years. My showers are short and the water takes about 15 seconds to heat up so I don't feel guilty.Really.



They told me to get a sports bra to support the gals while I heal. Now that I own one, I'll probably have to wear it more than just the two days post surgery. Darn it - its a sports bra - now I'll have to take up a sport. At least I'll have to go to the gym more. This sucks.



I hope its the right size. I hate to try on clothes, so usually I just buy stuff and try it on at home. Then I give it to Goodwill if it doesn't fit. Fortunately, I'm usually right. Since the weight loss, none of my bras fit worth a darn and usually I store spare change or a pack of gum in the extra cup space. This ugly bra will fit closer, though, so I'll have to put my gum somewhere else. Plus I don't want to hurt my boo boo...



I've been trying to avoid thinking about the surgery all day. The cool beans is that I get to have my favorite nighty-night drugs, one of which is propofol which killed Michael Jackson. Which is kind of icky but with any great good luck, my doctor will be paying attention and not leave the room. The surgery will only take 20 minutes or so then I get to put on my new ugly bra and go home. Such an adventure! I think Lefty will be fine - Righty, too. They're tough old broads. And they know that when life knocks you down, you've got to get right back up and put up your dukes or life will keep whacking at you. Life's been kicking me around a bit of late, but I'm going to jump back up as soon as Lefty feels better.

Oh Sheet!

First off, let me apologize to anybody who has been trying to read this blog! I just looked over a few entries and they are typos connected by a bit of text. It seems that when I hit the space bar, the computer creatively relocates the cursor and I start typing in existing text. This explains a lot....I am a crappy speller, though...

I was thinking about housekeeping last night after I posted on this here blog. There is a woman I know - a good friend who has the cleanest house in creation. I asked her how she does it - I mean she has a mirrored tray on her dresser and there's no dust on it - and she told me. She does one big thing every day. Like laundry on Monday, bathrooms on Tuesday, grocery shopping on Wednesday, etc. Then she runs over all the visible surfaces with a dust cloth and uses a carpet sweeper on the traffic patterns every day. This woman is one of my heroes.


I tried the "one big chore a day" method of housekeeping and it lasted one day. Then I lost my list. Now I subscribe to a more organic method. My house tells me when things need to get done. Think I'm kidding? Take bedsheets for example. When they are ready to be changed,they fall off the bed. Now, to be fair, its not always the sheets' idea. The hub-unit and I share a bed with one of our two dogs and both of our cats. One of the kitties only likes to sleep there alone in the day. The other cat and the dog, however, like to sleep there all night and til about 10am. Now and then I come home from wherever I've been and find all the bedding in a large spiral in the middle if the mattress. This indicates that either there has been a pitched battle or somebody has been chasing their tail. In any case the sheets must be changed.

Laundry is easy. When I run out of undies, the laundry gets done. Folded and put away is problematic. At least its clean and dry. When the kids were little they'd play "moles" in the laundry piles. What, I should have folded all the laundry and deprived them of some sweet childhood memories? What kind of a parent do you think I was?

Grocery shopping happens when all the food has fur or I run out of gas in the Safeway parking lot ( It takes AAA forever to get there sometimes...). My hub has always had a hard and fast rule - "Never eat food with fur" and its a rule I've stuck to for my whole married life. Whether he cooks or I do - nothing has fur ...unless its been in the fridge too long and then we throw it away. Sometimes I think we should skip a step and just throw anything left over away immediately, but that seems wasteful, so we always put it in the fridge first.

Everything else gets done when it gets done. Usually when we have company. We should have company every week. Then this place would stay clean!

Not Desperate, Just Not Very Good at It

I was looking at an online scandal rag that I swear I'm not addicted to. Really. I'm not. Anyway, there was an article about the Real Housewives. I didn't read it and I don't watch the show, but I realized that, hey, I'm a real housewife! I've been working for a lot of years mostly because I loved my job, but also, I knew that I suck at housekeeping. Its like putting beads on a string with no knot in the end and frankly, I get bored easily.

Once a week, I am lucky enough to have a lady come and beat back the mess so the health department stays away. Over the years, she and I have become friends and I am amazed at her skill. She gets the whole house clean all at the same time, and I've never heard her swear. Of course, her first language isn't English, but I don't hear her muttering under her breath either. And she's never all sweaty. In fact she always looks like she just came out of a salon. She smiles a lot, too, and I know its not drug induced because she doesn't believe in using drugs.

How does she do it? I mean, I told my husband before we were married that I could cook like his Italian grandma (everybody's good at something - mine's cooking), but I keep house like, well, me. Its not pretty. Once in Ontober of 1989, I was vaccuuming and we had a big earthquake. That taught me a lesson I have never forgotten. I also told the hub when I was so unceremoniously let go from my beloved job that I cannot fire my cleaning friend. I mean why should she suffer because I screwed up? He agreed - we've been married almost 32 years and he knows about my shortcomings.

He's seen me get all sweaty trying to clean the whole house at once, and Lord knows he's heard me swear. I know lots of swear words and I know how to use them singly and in combination. In fact, sailors and stevedores learn how to swear from ME. True story.

Anyway, I'v seen ads for the Real housewives and they look like they're probably not very good at housekeeping either. They all seem to wear wigs, they swear, and to be honest, they seem a tad slutty. I may be a lousy housekeeper, and I swear, but I don't wear wigs and I haven't been slutty since high school.

So, as long as my cleaning friend keeps coming and I get help with the laundry, and nobody minds my foul mouth, I'll keep cooking and screwing up the laundry. You know, keepin' it Real...

Dresses and More Dresses

Yesterday, the female spawn and I went shopping with friends for bridesmaid dresses for my friend's daughter's wedding. There were about forty young women and various middle aged specimins all trying to occupy the same 12x12 foot space and find the perfect dress that will look
faboo on six different bodies sized 2 to 18. And shoes. There was talking and giggling and enough estrogen to float a ship.


Now, my friend's daughter is brilliant and and decided that since some of her maids wear DD cups and some wear, well, A- cups, and they all have varying sized butts, that they should each pick the style that looks best on them. She chose a designer and a color/fabric combo and asked them all to stay in those perameters. So they all tried on and liked the same dress. It couldn't have worked better if they tried.(Red alert! this won't last - smile and nod) But wait - one likes a different style. But how will it look with just one odd one? But wait again! Another one likes a totally different style. (Red alert! That one looks just like the other one - nobody will notice that little detail - smile and nod)

Now three of the ones who like the original choice, like this new dress, too. But short, not long. Oh, yeah, definitely short.(Red alert - it looks just like the bride's dress!) Hold on ,that dress looks too much like a short version of the Bride's dress. That's too matchy. Oh yeah, way too matchy. Let's try on that first one again. (Whew!) What kind of bra do you wear with that? (Don't wear one.) The back is really low. Gotta go to the gym and work on the back. We'll figure it out later (Red alert! If you're spending $250 on a dress - you should have this figured out first - say nothing - smile and nod).


Everybody found a dress and they all look exquisite. (Even the one who looked like crap in all but one of the dresses picked the one good one!) All in all, it was the most fun I've had in a while. Then we went out for dinner and drank way too much wine. The food was delish - so was the company. This wedding is going to be more fun than a day in a bridal shop but a lot less giggly and there will be men there. Whew!

Karma is Sucking

OK, what did I do? I've been doing an inventory of my recent action and I just can't figure out why my life has taken a turn for the weird. Look back at the last few years...:
2006 - Daughter gets a virus which attacks her heart, her heart fails and she gets a transplant.
2007 - Mom is diagnosed with cancer, she dies exactly one week later.
2008 - Sitting at my desk at work I reach for a Kleenex and fall of my chair. I had a stroke.
2009 - I had trouble with the finance program at work. Asked for help got fired instead.

Did I run over a sacred cow or something? Now, I realize that the first two Karmic crapfests are more about my daughter and my mom, but they had an impact on everybody around them. Including me. And you can say that yes, the daughter's heart failed but she was able to get transplanted and she's doing wonderfully, now. And my mom died just a week after diagnosis but she had been a lifelong smoker and at least she didn't suffer and linger in pain. She's with my dad now and they're happy. But still.

I'm trying to figure out what I did to cause all this. I've always liked the idea of our actions sending energy out into the ether and like energy returning to you. If you are kind and you contribute positively to the lives of those around you, the same kind of energy will come back to you. Conversely, being a rat bastard will cause bad things to happen to you. I don't think you should be nice just to get stuff back, but its just a good way to be. However, I'm starting to feel like I want to be a little more rat bastardly. I just wonder who I pissed off.

I finally recieved a letter from my former place of employment. It only took them seven weeks! Golly, I hope nobody strained anything. They are now saying that they can't afford the position. So even though I was a terrific employee - fact , the embodiment of what they wanted, gosh they just couldn't keep me...Now they're lying to me. What in God's green earth did I do, world?


Take today for instance. About two weeks ago, I found a lump in my left boob. After I had a mammo and a boob ultrasound, I was pronounced "normal" and I went on my way. Well, I got a call and a surgeon wanted to see me. So I went in to meet my surgeon. Its weird to meet a man for the first time and show him your boobies. Kind of reminds me of college...Anyway the surgeon was very nice and spent a lot of time with Lefty. Turns out that he wants to take out the lump and check it out.

He really thinks its nothing, but better be on the safe side. I agree completely and with any luck, by the time they do the biopsy, this karmic high pressure system will have passed. In the meantime, I must not squish any bugs, squirrels or reptiles, and I have to stay away from sacred cows.

Undies for Days!

I've begun to think I have another superpower. I have no control over it, but I do have power beyond the everyday. Here's what happens: if I start getting my hair cut by a female hairdresser, and she is in her childbearing years, I can bet she will be pregnant within six months or after about my third haircut. If the hairdresser is male, he will break up with his significant other within and move away the same amount of time. I have been responsible for about six children and four trashed relationships.I am sorry and you are welcome.


Aside from my sperm hair and relationship destroyer personality, I have power over factories in other countries. Every time I find undies or bra that I like, if I say out loud that I've found some dainties that I like, I can guarantee they will stop being made before I need to replace them. I mean, I know styles change but I'm talking whole brands. Now, since most clothing is made abroad, I'm pretty sure I've put a whole bunch of people out of work. Once again - I apologize.


I think my mom had the same superpower. She had a really hard to find bra size ( I get the destructo - karma, the giant - still -perky-at-seventy-five boobs pass me right by...). Whenever she found a good deal in her size she'd buy a couple and stash them. After she died and we were going through her things, my sister counted twenty-six brand new bras with the tags still attached. These were just the ones that she hadn't put into rotation yet. She had a few in the laundry, too. My mom must have destroyed factories, too! A connection to my family tree. Who knows how many generations have been affected by our superpower.?


There are probably whole branches of family trees that have been spawned by my family's fertile follicles. I just hope I didn't cause any kids to be born into families I've put out of work!The calming news is that my kids didn't seem to inherit the either power. My daughter has gorgeous hair which blocks x-rays and my son can grow a full beard in less than a week but so far no pregnancies or relationship strife that I know of. We are a unique race...

Meanwhile, any time I buy new frillies and tell my hubby that they are comfy or I like them for some other reason, he starts sniffing the air and says " I smell a factory on fire...". I just got some new undies that seem pretty good. I'll have to see how they do in the wash, but signs are looking positive. I'm not saying anything out loud - If I burn down another factory, I'll really get my undies in a bunch...

The Burger Summer

I didn't post yesterday, and I have a good reason. Really. I was having too much fun and it made me tired. See my college roommate and her husband came by and we hung out for most of the day. She's one of the few people in my life that I can have fun with just by sitting on the couch.

We really only lived together for one summer but when I remember college, I remember that this lady was my roomie. She is a wonderful artist and I blame her gift for at least ten of the extra pounds I was packing before I dropped the flab. See, in high school, she had painted a picture of a cheeseburger. It wasn't just a burger, it was the definitive burger, the last word in burgers, the reason people eat burgers...

The canvas represented a soft, fresh bun replete with sesame seeds. Nestled inside the bun halves was a glistening beef patty, perfectly cooked and dripping with juice. Melting on top of the patty, a slice of cheese was just starting to lose its form and become one with the meat. A pickle slice peeked out beneath the cheese. Although the artist claims it was a jalapeno pepper, at the time I couldn't fathom a burger without a pickle so its a pickle. I was young.


Anyway... that painting hung on the wall by the kitchen we never used and for a month I found myself snarfing burgers whenever I got the chance. Thank heavens she didn't paint a hot fudge sundaeor I still wouldn't fit in my jeans! The appartment had two bedrooms off the living room and there was a kind of wooden screen that separated the living area from the sleep zone. We stuck peacock feathers in the screen holes and told everybody to be calm, our pet lived back there.


We must have had open, honest faces back then because lots of people believed us. They would nod knowingly and whisper "What is it?" We'd say "We're not really sure, we found it, but its pretty big and it eats kittens." Guests never stayed long but we didn't care; we had so much fun together.


Of course our landlady, who lived across the driveway, thought we were hookers because we had a lot of male visitors. We weren't hookers. its just that a lot of our friends were guys and we were kind of centrally located. My roomie and I were in the vanguard of the designated driver movement because we did't let anybody drive if they'd been drinking. Since it was college after all, they'd usually had at least a couple of beers so we'd make them sack out on the floor.
We were very civic minded and who knows how many lives we saved. Plus, if they weren't too hungover the next day, the guys would sometimes buy us donuts - or burgers.

We thought the landlady was weird and she thought we were hookers. It seemed like a fair trade. My roomie had a banjo and I hada guitar. Sometimes we'd jam and we sounded awful because neither one of us could play worth a damn. The landlady hated our jam sessions because we would laugh so loud that it would disturb her cats. We just said we were trying to lure food for our pet. She did not find us nearly as funny as we found ourselves.

At the endof that summer, when we went to tell the landlady we were moving, she called my roomie pompous and me cheap. My roomie saved my from a stint in prison because I nearly went through the screen door at her. Later she seemed sad and asked what pompous was. I told her an she said "Oh - I though it meant fat." That was the second hardest we ever laughed.


Later that night we were packing and all our lights were off. Rookie mistake - we packed the lamps first. We looked out our window and into her place and there was the landlady, sitting on the couch in her place, in front of a big confederate flag we'd never noticed before on the wall. She had cats crawling all over her. Now, in her defense, she was fully clothed, but, ew. That took the sad out of moving out of that place.


Now Roomie and her hub-unit live in Oregon. We get together sometimes and I always need a burger when we do. We still have a lot in common. We both had strokes so we compare notes from timeto time. We both want grandkids so we borrowed some from friends. We still crack each other up and nobody else can figure out why. And, oh yeah, we both have cats.

Brown Fat and Other Stuff

One of the most unexpected things about taking off the extra flab is how freezing cold you get all the time. A year ago, I thought I liked cold weather because its so snuggly to wear flannel jammies and be cozy in my bed when my face was cold. Don't get me wrong, I still enjoy cold weather and warm flannel jammies, but now I love warmth, too...

I used to avoid the sun, I ran away from it like a walrus from a harpoon. Now, though, that my insulating blubber layer is gone, I find the sun oddly pleasurable. It warms my shoulders, dries my hair, and gives my body vitamin D which I need for some reason I don't understand. Sun heat is nice but the best heat is car heat. Car heat is penetrating. It soaks right into your bones and warms you all the way to your skin.

The cool beans part is that I get to buy new clothes with sleeves! I never needed sleeves before. I always wore at least short sleeves because my arms looked like those big mortadellas that hang in the window at the deli. Long sleeves were too hot but sleeveless was out of the question so short sleeves it was. Now, I wear whatever sleeves I want when I want. You know, its the little things that really get your motor running. Like sun and sleeves.

I also read that we all have something called "brown fat". Brown fat gets burned up when you're cold, so I'm surprised I don't have smoke pouring out of me all the time. And the smell of burning lard trailing me wherever I go.

Socks are also cool. My feet have shrunk so much that my shoes are all too big so now I can comfortably wear socks. The hub has the same problem only on his head. He has to wear a hat at work and his weight loss (65lbs!) has come partially from his noggin. I told him I never knew he was a fathead before and his hat looks cute on his ears. I told him that he shouldn't worry,though, everything else has stayed the same. He felt better.

The point is that you never know what fringe benefits you'll get when you do something for yourself. My hubby and I have lost 115 pounds. We're healthier, we look better, we have cooler clothes, and we've rediscovered the sun and socks, sleeves, brown fat and car heat. We had no idea how much fun we'd have when we started this journey, there's probably stuff we haven't even found out yet - can't wait!

The Party's Over...

Well, baseball season ended today. Sigh. No more Giants games til March 4 when they start broadcasting Cactus League games. Now its just football and the ass-cam shots of guys in white pants. Football's ok but the tickets are too expensive to justify sitting in the really good seats. So we watch on tv and kvetch about how much we miss baseball. Complaining hits a fever pitch in February after the Super Bowl when football is done and all we're left with is basketball and golf.

I realize that a lot of people think basketball is a great game. They are wrong. Here is why; basketball is unnatural. In order to be really good at it, you have to have a pituitary malfunction or abnormally springy legs. Or you have to have known how to perform well in front of your dumbass high school coach who put Judy Schultz back in with a sprained wrist instead of you or Laura Miller who were both fresh as daisies. And you were taller. You have to get past everybody laughing at you when you finally try a layup and you don't even hit the backstop.


Basketball is a stupid game but DON'T get me started on golf. I really think Tiger Woods is a cool guy, but golf - really? Who in Scotland thought that up? Probably some woman with an annoying husband who she tried to get rid of for the day by telling him that a good way to get rid of gophers was to hit rocks into their holes with a stick. He wasn't especially smart so he went with it. Then all his friends got into the game.

Pretty soon there were Tournaments and Opens and announcers whispering on the sidelines. The women in Scotland were happy. The men thought they had a special secret. The way I see it, the only losers were the gophers who are very unhappy in Scotland and they have bumpy heads. I wish Tiger could hit a baseball like he does a golf ball.- the Giants could use a bat.


I don't love hockey either, but once at a Seals game, a hockey player flipped me a puck. Those were my college days when I didn't need makeup and everything was perky. Also just about all the interesting stuff was several inches higher and thus visible over the rail to a guy going by fast on skates wearing a face guard. I have warm feelings for hockey - and I still have my puck!

So today we're watching football. Its cool that for breast cancer awareness, the players could opt to wear touches of pink on their uniforms. I think you can tell who the REAL men are because they are the ones wearing pink shoes or wristbands or hat brims on the sidelines. Its very cool but it does look kind of girly. But awesome - really, really awesome. Gosh, I miss baseball...

My Demographic

Now that I'm middle-aged (Actually, I think I'm old - I mean very few people live to 108...) I feel like I'm being pandered to by advertisers who do not think I'm getting any or not enough...um, you know. All those ED ads gross me out even though they're guy ads. Plus, do they think we're ridiculous or something? Who takes a "get it on" pill and then sits in a separate bathtub from his beloved? Where did those bathtubs come from? Unless they lugged them to the beach or the meadow or wherever, they must have found them there. Would you climb into a random pair of bathtubs you happened upon? Ew.

Then there are the people who are having a tense start to their vacation. You can tell they're tense - their mouths are just lines and their eyebrows are parallel to their mouths. They get to an island, pop a magic pill and take a boat to another island. Now this island is presumably deserted, but instead of just dashing behind a tree or doing it in the sand, they disappear into a convenient house and close the drapes. Who's gonna look? I mean, if a stalker went to all the trouble to swim or row out to the island with the tense, yet horny couple, heck, I figure they deserve a show...


Do NOT get me started on those idiots in the deserted bar singing classic Elvis tunes with "get it on" pill words. Why aren't they home, seducing their wives? Maybe they wouldn't NEED the pill if they spent more time at home and less with their horny toad friends. Maybe the reason they need the pill is because after a whole day of being ignored, their wives aren't in the mood when they come home. I think getting shut down enough times can confuse the plumbing and these men need to get their priorities straightened out.


If I designed these ads,they would show a couple of geezers (like me and the hub-unit) saying a teary farewell to a college bound kid. Kid drives off, parents head back to house. Front door shuts and clothes start flying. Geezers would end up in bed together, or in the shower together.
I mean, half of young Hollywood has stopped practicing safe sex and these people get on the covers of magazines. I find it unendingly silly that we're supposed to be shocked - SHOCKED! when consenting geezers like old married people or talk show hosts are discovered to have active sex lives.

Puhleeze - where do you think we got all those people who are writing the stupid ads?

In Honor of October...

Since October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and because, gosh, I haven't had enough crap in my life lately, I found a lump in my left breast the other day. I went to my doctor who sent me to the mammographer (whatever.), who sent me to get a breast ultrasound. There is no prep for this test, you just show up and take off your shirt. Easy peasy. I always put on makeup for these kind of exams. I mean if the girls are coming out, I figure I want to look good.

Much poking and prodding later, my girls were pronounced "normal". I put on my shirt and headed out to buy a sweater. You know, to show the gals off, I mean what with them being normal and all - they deserve a treat.

I have to say, though, having been stretched out on a few gurneys recently, the radiation department at Kaiser in Fremont knows how to BRING IT in the comfy department. You go in the room, its darkened. There are crisp, white sheets on the gurney. You lie down and a tech named Lily walks in and squirts warmed gel on the area in question. Its like a freakin' spa! I dozed off.


I so didn't want to leave. I checked for more lumps - no luck. Before my new best friend, Lily could call security, I put my shirt on and left. I'll find out on Tuesday if I get, I mean have, to go back for more treatments, I mean tests.

My sweet hubby took me out for Italian food tonight. He's been driving a circuitous route around Fremont lately. I asked him why he was going such a weird way and he told me it was because of my injury. You see, I'm still in the flipping my former work place off when I drive by stage of mourning my wrongful termination. My husband knows that in a totally unrelated kitten disciplining incident, I sprained the middle finger on my right hand. Flipping is painful for me right now since tendons take a long time to heal.


Anyway, in deference to my healing and grieving processes, my husband is taking the long way around. Yes, boob lumps and job strife be dammed, my hubby is a gem in the tiara in my life!

Last Game of the Year

I didn't post yesterday. I had to get a mammogram and go to a baseball game. It was a weird day. My husband and I met some friends at the ballpark. Since it was our last game of the year, we decided to treat ourselves to something delicious in addition to our customary hot dog. My original intention was to get some garlic fries but on my way down to the food court (It was a long way down - we were in the sherpa-assist seats), I changed my mind.

Garlic fries look and smell wonderful but I was distracted by a nacho-like creation a guy was holding in his lap down near the base camp. It looked like it might come from the Mexican food cart that had intrigued me before we began the ascent to our seats. When I reached the bottom, I went out into the food zone and sniffed around for a minute. Then I made a beeline for the Mexican food cart.


The nacho-like thing was sitting there on the counter behind a display window. Eloquently, I pointed and said "What's that?" The guy said "Nachos borracho." I fired back "Can I get some of that?" "Pork or chicken?" he asked. "Chicken." I burbled through a mouth full of saliva. He put chips in a container, dumped gooey jack cheese sauce on them then piled on mounds of shredded chicken then more sauce. "There's salsa" he pointed as he handed me the nachos. "Mar this work of art with a vegetable?" I thought. I had gone from zero to Neanderthal in about three minutes.


All of a sudden I remembered there was a baseball game going on. I grunted "Thanks" and headed back to climb to my seat. My husband was receptive to the change in menu. We slurped and slobbered our way through the nachos and when we finished tossed our trash under the seat where it joined the hot dog detritus. We were not at all tidy.


I grabbed my binocs and decided to check the doin's in the dugout. The Giants were in there eating sunflower seeds and spitting shells all over the ground. Drinking water and throwing their cups on the floor. Scratching, high fiving, slapping each others' butts, and no doubt grunting whenever the occasion arose.

Maybe it was the sea air, or the garlic wafting on the breeze. Maybe the whole team had nachos barracho for dinner. Maybe its just a baseball thing - everybody turned into a Neanderthal at the ballpark! It was gooey and gross, but it was fun. I'm gonna miss baseball. Its so much more fun than a mammogram but just as necessary!