A Writer’s World

We all have those moments where the door of humor and smartass-ness is wide open. Moments that make you giggle. And when those moments happen, you have to grab onto them and embrace the humor, embrace the opportunity to be witty and have a but of fun.  As a writer, I love to have fun with language.  It gives me a special kind of happiness.

As a freelance and contract writer, I often look around job boards to see what project I might like to work on next.  I saw a job posting that looked particularly interesting. I filled out the application, and came across this question:

Q: What pronoun(s) do you associate with?

I was immediately torn.  Do I respond properly, and give them the answer for which they are looking (regardless of biology, what do I feel like I am?). Or do I take the opportunity to put my first thought down and fully embrace the opportunity to be a firt class, super witty smartass?

I stared at the question, weighing both options. A job application, give a straight answer.  But I am a writer…and how many times in a lifetime will I get an opportunity like this??  I started to sweat, the temptation to be a witty smart-ass was gaining traction.  I couldn’t breath, the room started to spin…Give a straight answer or be witty??

Finally I took a deep breath and…

and wrote the answer:

Q: What pronoun(s) do you associate with?

A: I don’t associate with Pronouns. I like Verbs though, they get things done.

I smiled with satisfaction as I hit the Next button. I probably won’t get the job, but that is OK. Sometimes you have to take the unexpected opportunities to be witty anyway.  But really, what do you expect when you ask a writer a question like that?

Life is short. Make it fun.

Sitcom Moment 3,846: Muesday Much?

I have often said that my life resembles a sitcom, even a dramedy on certain occasions.  These “sitcom moments” are things that happen in real life that would be hysterical if you were watching them on TV…those moments that are so embarrassing or awkward or funny that you would never think that they would actually happen in real life.  But sometimes fact is stranger, and funnier than fiction.

Take this morning for example.  It started out a bit like a Monday (even though it is Tuesday).  Everything just seemed to be going wrong.  My father didn’t want to get out of bed…which means I was late into the office (or later than I wanted and was planning on getting to the office).  Much like a toddler who doesn’t want to get up and eat breakfast, many times my Dad has to be coaxed.  This is time consuming and a bit exhausting.  And then there was no more coffee for that 2^nd cup.  Hmmmm, will have to stop on the way to work to grab a cup…

Meanwhile, there is a special review meeting that I should be at my desk to Skype in to join, but since running late getting Dad up and eating, I’ll just dial in…except it isn’t the normal dial in.  This meeting is only a Skype. I don’t have Skype on my mobile.  No problem, I’ll download it. My efficiency cannot be stopped. I am on a roll and  run out of the house, not even taking the time to grab a jacket for the cold morning.

I manage to download Skype for Mobile while driving to QT for coffee.  In the parking lot I complete the many sign in, verification, notification, etc. steps to initiate Skype (I think about 20 in total).  Finally, able to join the meeting!

While on mute on I walk in the store and manage to fumble through the coffee making process…except that there is no sugar canister, they ran out.  GREAT. They do have the little packets of sugar – the ones that contain a half a baby teaspoon of sugar in the large by comparison packet. But I always feel bad about the 25 or so packets I have to put in my coffee, so I avoid the guilt altogether by pouring out the coffee.

As I toss the cup in the trash there is a pivotal moment in the meeting….my boss thanks me for the hard work I have done on my assignment…and there is a pause, for me to say something, anything, some kind of comment back.  Except I cannot find the home screen for Skype to unmute the mic and say thank you…and more silence…then someone says an awkward comment about maybe I cannot join the conversation….and I am frantically searching and pounding on my touch screen phone, cursing under my breathe.  Surely onlookers thought I was having a seizure. After what seems like an eternity, the moment passes and the meeting moves on.

After blowing my moment in the meeting, I reenter my car, no coffee in hand, and notice a loud smell.  Cigarette smoke. My man generously took my Dad to the doctor’s office the day before, but did not air out the car well before parking it for the night.  OK, no problem.  I’ll drive to work with the windows down. In 34 weather. With no coat.  Well, at least I won’t need the coffee to be fully awake.

After prying my frozen hands off the steering wheel, I walk into work with a windblown hairstyle that could have only been inspired by a mad man with an electrical outlet. It was truly an awe-inspiring mess. There are a few double takes from co workers as I pass them and smile, holding my windblown head up high.  If you are going to be a mess, at least be dignified about it.

I imagine a young Goldie Hawn or Kristen Wiig pulling off a scene like that, not something that would be in my life. And that is my Muesday (Monday + Tuesday) Sitcom moment.

I can hear you laughing.

Why Yes I love Turkey…a Little too Much!

We all have those traumatic childhood memories…you know the ones…they are those things that you try not to think about at night. Those memories that send a chill up your spine when you do, and you push it out of your mind just as fast as it popped in. Traumatic and shameful, no amount of therapy can truly exercise some demons. Most of my childhood memories are happy, but there is one in particular that still haunts me.

Her name was Tina. I am sure in some other life she may have been wonderful, but in this life, with me, she taunted me endlessly. She was the terror of my 7 year old world. She would chase me and I knew if she caught me she would rip me to pieces – one look at her hard cold face told me that. I would see her face in my dreams and wake up screaming in a cold sweat.  Getting home from school for most kids was an exciting thing to look forward to, but for me it was an experience in terror. She would wait by the fence that bordered our yard, pacing back and forth waiting till I got close enough. A few times she even somehow got on the other side of that fence into our yard and chased me till I ran into the house screaming.

Who was she? Tina was a turkey. Literally. And she was evil. She hated me with a fierceness that I did not think Possible of our fine feathered “friends”. Some of you might laugh at my torment, but you have an angry, bitter bird come after you with their sharp, angry beak and see how long you stand still.

And Tina was an unusually large turkey….she was almost as big as I was (at least that is how I remember it in my 7 year old mind). She was the biggest turkey I had ever seen, and she was usually coming right at me to…to peck my eyes out or take big chunks out of me.

I had nightmares about being chased by her. You know the one…where you are running from something but you are running in slow motion, and they are running at normal speed. Except Tina was a turkey, so her legs went unGodly fast. And in this nightmare she resembled more of a terrifying version of the Road Runner than your friendly Turkey that gets spared every Thanksgiving by the president.

One time I got up the courage to turn around and throw a big rock at her…and when she stopped for a moment I even did a little bravery dance and a “Take that you big stupid bird!”   And that must made her even more angry, which I did not think possible. She proceeded to chase me with the speed only reserved for evil spirits in bad cheesy horror flicks. But this was no movie, this was real. I barely escaped the fiery fury of her evil beak.

So this Thanksgiving, and every Thanksgiving, I truly enjoy my turkey dinner…maybe…a little too much.

Beauty and the Chainsaw

I had wanted one of my own for quite a while but was not since I was not allowed to use one until in my 40’s. Maybe because I am such a klutz that loved ones were afraid I would cut off fingers or even a leg.  Nope.  So, when my father’s chainsaw quit working, I took that as a sign that I needed my own.  Yes, now, the Pinktank has a gas powered, powerful chainsaw. And I like it!  The only thing that would make it better is if it were pink.

So, my wonderful boyfriend and I were out in the middle of the South Georgia heat, at 3pm, sawing through vines, limbs and trees (nothing motivates a man like his girlfriend having a chainsaw). Now it is it is HAWT down there if you have never had the pleasure to visit the area in the summer.  So, if working outside you need to make sure you have tools that make whatever you are doing easier.  I think I lost weight working outside, lifting the chainsaw up over my haed to cut as high as possible, and sweating like a very non-southern belle.

There is something very liberating about being a girl and handling hard “power tools” like a chainsaw. Doing such things makes me feel empowered as I let out my inner Lucy Lawless (think Xena). It is good to get out of the house and have dirt under your nails, leaves in your hair and sweat on your brow.  Not only is it good exercise, but it is fun…once you get past the whole it’s-so hot-you-can-melt part.

And it was helping my parents, who are getting older and do not enjoy working out in the heat anymore (Even though it is so hot in their house they should have a tropic island theme and hand everyone lei and an umbrella drink). So even though it was hard, dirty work, it was good for all parties involved.

And  I still have all fingers, toes and limbs!  (BTW, my boyfriend has been exceptionally wonderful since buying said chainsaw…)

Sitcome Moment #2,549: Life is a Bathrobe

You should always make sure there are no escape routes for house cat to escape, or you might end up chasing said cat all over yard  – in your flimsy bathrobe,  on a windy morning.

Went out to feed the little stray that has been staying around the house when my ca jumped and ran outside.  This is not good, as I had to leave in about 20 minutes so I had to get him.  But I was in my little bathrobe (was feeding stray in garage where neighbors could not see).

Had to jump out, on the lawn, on a windy morning. In my little bathrobe, calling this cat trying to get him to come to me.  Running around chasing this cat, who thinks it a fun game to run fro his human, while holding my bathrobe closed in the wind….

I felt like a was trapped in an I Love Lucy episode. Because my life is a sitcom.

Yes, I can hear you laughing.

Sitcom Moments: Don’t Leave Home Without Them

It was a regular morning, just like any other.  I crawled out of bed, put on some pants and drank a delicious cup of coffee. Little did I know it would soon be a sitcom kind of moment day.

I got ready to take my car down to the dealership for it’s regular maintenance and my sister was picking me up from the dealership. The plan was to grab a quick bite at the donut shop across the street and head back home to hang out and catch up.

It was on my way to the dealership that I realized what had happened…in my half asleep haze and hurry to get to the coffee pot, I slipped on my yoga pants…with no underwear.  Not a big deal one might say. Except that, not being a morning person, and my brain not being fully functional early on a Saturday morning, it did not occur to me until it was too late to turn around and go back home to fix this commando faux pas.

Oh well, I am just going to the dealership and the donut shop drive through…no real big deal, right.  Except my sister wanted to stay and eat at the donut shop. OK, we’ll go home from there.  Nope.  Then, while waiting to hear back about my car, she suggested we go thrifting.  Yay!  I love thrifting.  And it’s not like you have to get dressed p to go to thrift stores, so it should be ok.

And then she saw some cute pants for me to try on.  OK, here is where I had to draw the line.  One simply cannot try on thrift shop pants sans the proper dress, so to speak. So I had to confess.

Me: I can’t try them on today…because (in almost a whisper) iamnotwaeringpanties…

Sis: {small pause} Bahahahahahahahahaha!  My sisters laugh could be heard throughout the store…How can you forget to put on underwear??

Me: Well, I was half asleep and just needed enough clothing on to get to the coffee pot without flashing the neighbors…and then I was still kind of asleep when I left. And I just forgot.  Then realized on the  way to drop off the car…oh shit!  But we were going back home right after the donuts, so didn’t hink it wold be a big deal…

Again she laughed…and was thoroughly entertained the rest of the morning and afternoon, as she picked out more activities to be done before heading home. Indeed, I negotiated trading in my car at the dealership after my next oil change. Then there was the bead shop, where it was everything in the world of beading and making your own jewelry.  Then it was several antique shops, and buying some small pieces of jewelry for new outfits.  And last but not least, there was the wine tasting…and tasting and tasting.

I mean, if I had known all of that was going to happen I would have worn pant(ie)s!  Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of letting the lady breath and be free just as much as anyone.  But a bit of planning is unusually involved.  There is nothing quite like an accidental day of commando.

Yes my life is a sitcom…or an SNL skit.  I can hear you laughing.

My Sitcom Life: American Tashedy Story

We all have those days where everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Otherwise known as Murphy’s Law. That was my morning yesterday.

I set a pack of chicken out to thaw the night before in preparation of cooking a favorite recipe.  Those who know me know that I foster rescue kitties… So I get up yesterday  morning and what to my wondering eyes does appear? But the sight of pieces of chicken breasts, half eaten and scattered far and near. So the morning was spent tracking down what remained of the chicken. And let me just say that stepping on a piece of chicken early in the morning before even having coffee is not fun.

After the chicken was all cleaned up I got ready and it was time to leave. As I leave I realize it’s trash day. So I lean in to put my things in the car, and put my knee up on the seat. As I try to get out of the car…I notice the heal of my stiletto shoe is caught in the hem of my dress. So there I was, bent over, half way leaning into the car, hopping on one foot while reaching around to unhook my shoe. Finally got untangled.

Then it was time to get the trash can out to the curb. The very heavy trash can. And I tried to walk this very heavy monstrosity down a very steep driveway in 4” heels. And thought several times I might get run over by momentum of said trash can.  Legs can only go down a steep incline so fast in heels…and the trash can was gaining speed. Suddenly I saw my life flash before my eyes as I imagined the headline:

American Trashidy: Death by the Can

Forget Grandma getting run over by a reindeer, try singleton gets run over by the trash… the headlines would find ever clever way possible to frame the events that led to my death.  Thankfully I was able to steer over to the grass where I could dig my heels in (literally) and the trash can did not roll so easy. But it was a close call and I thought the trash can was going to win.

I am sure these events were very entertaining to my neighbors to say the least.  They were probably drinking their coffee and laughing that the new girl was dancing around and trying not to die a trashy death.

The rest of the day went surprisingly smooth, after I actually got out of the driveway. Such is the life of a clutz.

I can hear you laughing.

When a Klutz Mows the Lawn

There is nothing quite like experiencing life as a Klutz. Take it from me, nicknamed The Pinktank since I was a child. Life is a series of missed steps, wrong-in, bad outs, embarrassing moments, almost disasters, slippery treads, delightful trips, spills and fumbles…and that’s just for starters.

For much of my adulthood, I have been banned from using my  parents riding lawn mower. It’s much like my eternal ban from snow-skiing – there are just certain things which in which a klutz should never partake.

So a few weeks ago when I was at my parents house, helping out because my father was so sick, the idea of me mowing the lawn came up. And it was passed that yes, at the tender age of 41, I would finally be allowe3d to used that elusive riding lawn mower. As my father shgowe3d me how to use it, where the gears where, what they did and when to shift, I was almost giddy I was so excited.

And then, it was time. My father handed me the keys, smiled a half wistful, half OMG-I-hope-she-does-drive-this-thing-iunto-the-water look.  And as I climbed up on the powerful machine, I felt like an adult. I turned the ignition and felt the horse power. this was going to be fun.

And indeed it was.   That little lawn mower could go, fast. I remember watching the TV show Home Improvement with Tim Allen. There was one episode where he and his Tool Time co-host did some kind of race with riding lawn mowers. I did not understand how this could be fun or exciting until I got on one  myself. And it was full throttle. I was zipping around the yard, mowing the long over grown grass, having a blast. I was doing donuts around the trees and loving it.

And then.

And then something happened. I thought I left enough space, but I didn’t. I felt a jar as it happened, then I turned around to see it. And t here is was…the water pump I had just run over, water spewing out of it about a foot or so high. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I just sat there, lawn mower running, for just a moment, staring at the water pouring out of the broken pipe.

Crap. (not the word used) I ran over the water pump. I will never live this down.

I ran in  and got my Dad, his immediate question of “what did you do??” ringing in my ears.

“Well, at least I didn’t drive it  into the water,” I said, smiling sheepishly.

And hour and a half later, with the help of my wonderful father and amazing boyfriend, the water pump was fixed. We had to turn of the water to the  house – during the hottest part of the day – saw both ends of the broken pipe to make sure it was a smooth “Break”, get new piping, put glue-stuff on it, and attach it to the old piping. Piece of cake. Thank goodness my dad was around to tell us how to do it.

And that is what happens when a klutz mows the lawn.

I did gt back up on the mower and finished the yard, without incident. I went slow and did no more donuts around the trees…but man it was worth it, having all that fun. And sometimes you just have to have fun anyway, live a little, enjoy the moment and do donuts around the tress and such. Make a fool of yourself, laugh out load and just say the heck with the rules. Just make sure you don;t run over the water pump in the process!

I can hear you laughing.

Sitcom Moments: Adventures in Travel

I have many times said that my is a sitcom. And nothing seems to prove it more than traveling..

Sunday morning I slept a little elate, got up, made coffee, cleaned up and got everything ready for the trip. There were some last minute things to throw into the suitcase, but I was actually 10 minutes ahead of schedule. Until….

The plan was to get gas, catch the Marta train to the airport and head out of town to Vegas. I would have an easy hour to roam around the airport.

Moment #1 – Since I am in the new house, I had to plug the Marta station into the GPS…But it could not find the satellite. Try Google Maps. And Waze. Neither of them worked. Crap. (Not the word I used)…After fiddling with the 3 GPSs (what is the plural of GPS…GPI?) I unpacked my laptop, go back in house, turn on laptop, get address, get and print directions. I grab a cup of ginger ale on the way out (this is important for later). Only 20 minutes behind schedule.

Moment #2 – Go back out to the car, packed up laptop again. It’s beautiful outside, so open the sunroof for the drive…COLD cup of ginger ale that I placed on top of car, is now in my hair, in my lap, on my favorite jeans and green shirt and all over the car. Crap! (not the word I used). Run back inside, change shirt and pants…except everything that currently fits is packed in suitcase. Finally find something. Go back to car. 45 minutes behind schedule.

Moment #3 – Go to gas station, only to see that purse was left at home. Get $6 worth of gas with cash I have in car, go back home, find purse under seat of car where it landed when took out the laptop. Finally leave the house an hour late. Go directly to airport.

Arrive and fly out without incident. Land in Vegas 1.5 hours ahead of my friend and travel partner. After his flight gets in, we spend another hour tracking down his suitcase that arrived on another plane. After getting into hotel, we decide to have a drink in the bar. It’s good to see him after so long and catch up before going to bed.

Moment #4 – Get up to use the bathroom. On the way, I fumble around in the very dark room…and SMACK my nose on the corner of the wall. Crap. (Not the word I used) The noise from the smack is so loud, it wakes up my friend who asks if I am OK. “I’ll tell you in a minute.” Go into bathroom, discover nose is bleeding profusely. Crap! Crap! (not words used). Come out ?? minutes later after bleeding stops. Then upon returning, I cannot stop laughing at how ridiculously humorous the situation is.

The next day I fully expected two black eyes, but thank goodness, all was fine, though my nose was very sore. What is it about me breaking bones while traveling?

Moment #5 – Manage to go the entire day without incident, until walking in botanical gardens filled with cacti…and loose my balance while reading one of the little plagues….fall into a small cactus. Thank goodness there were no spears.

The rest of the trip was great, and will write about that later. Yes, my life is a sitcom. I can hear you laughing…

I am Secretly Bridget Jones

Upon looking back on my life…I release that my life resembles that of a movie…not, not Armageddon. No, not Sex in the City (it’s more like Zip in the City) .No, it’s more along the lines of Bridget Jones’s Diary. Minus the Blonde hair.

While I have never “bonked” my boss, I have dated co-workers. (Never do that. Really.) I have worked in media as a reporter, DJ, traffic person, etc. No, I have not dressed in a Playboy Bunny constume (yet), I have been known to do and say the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time and make an idiot of myself…pretty much on a regular basis.

I am extremely clumsy and can find myself in embarrassing moments at any given time (stay tuned for regular tales of chaos as I try to concur the fix-up “To Do” list on my house – Ada vs. the yard, the lawn mower, ladder, the paint can and brush, the calk gun, the leaf blower, the what-ever-the-is-in-the-dark-corner-of0the-garage….).

And my tales of romance, except for one major disaster, have been quite entertaining. There have been many moments of “Really?” not to mention uncomfortable moments with my doctor as he advises me that if I want to have a child I need to “hurry up,” as it’s not good for a woman of my age. (Never thought my doctor’s biological clock would be ticking harder for me than my own).

And then there is the now infamous 20lbs that has attached it’s self to my thighs…and stomach, and underside of my arms, and chin. Seriously, what’s up with that? The upside is that the Girls are looking full and fabulous. I don’t diet, and eventually when (if) it ever gets warm, I’ll be outside running, jogging and hiking those extra pounds away.

All I need now are two fabulously handsome British men fighting over me. No? Well, there’s always the next chapter. Until then, I will enjoy my Bridget-esc like existence. And write the tales of this life for all to be entertained.

The Turture Store

Technical skill comes easy for some, others, like me, have to work at it. I love technology, work in the industry, and can make the internet sing. However, some of the more basic hardware issues, like which cord, adaptor, plug-in thingy (yes, that is the proper technical term, at least in my dictionary) works with what, is beyond my capabilities.

I love computer gadgets and power tools, I just don’t know how to use them. I go to the tool section of the hardware store and my mind just whizzes with all of the possibilities…it’s like going into a magic store. These things make other things work.  OOoooooooo, ahhhhhhhhh……

Don’t get me wrong …I can change my own oil, change my own brake pads, calipers, spark plugs (when I had a car that actually had them), change and even rotate my tires, and a few minor tasks like that. I can paint a wall, use a big monkey wrench to take apart the pipe thingy under the bathroom sing to fish out a lost contact lens (not that that has actually happened…just hypothetically speaking). I even changed out the plug on my dryer, hooking up the red, green and red wires….

But don’t ask me to change to ringtone on my iPhone, or set up my wireless router, or get my TV to connect to my wireless network…Or, know which connector/chord/adapter thingy is required to tether my two monitors together at work. It is simple, I was told…just get this one kind of adapter…

Apparently it is hard for the guys at the computer store too…because I now have to go back for the third time to get the right connector/cord/adapter thingy. I hate going into computer stores because most of what’s in there looks like ancient torture devices.  I start getting dizzy, can’t breath…I think I may be allergic.

The first thingy was a DVI-A, when I needed a DVD-D. Except the store doesn’t carry those. OK, could I connect one through the port and one through a USB? Yes!  This made me very happy…until found out that the USB<->D89 adapter is the wrong one.  Again.

So, I am actually going to carry the cords that the two monitors would be connected with if they went that way…and maybe that will be easier…And hopefully my next trip to the torture device, eerrrr, I mean, Computer store, will be the last one for this task.

The Art of the Move

They say that movement is an art – if you have any doubt, just watch someone do ti-chi. But what about the art of moving? You know, all that is involved in packing and moving? I am convinced that this too is an art…and maybe should even be considered an Olympic sport.  After all, you have things like packing weight in appropriate boxes, box wrangling (the art of finding free boxes), Creative packing (example: packing collectable with sweaters, using towels to secure plates so that they do not move or break). There is the art of speed packing (how fast you can pack when moving day is here and there are still 1,001 things still not packed). And Deep packing (just how much CAN you fit in a box before it implodes and falls apart?)…

Then there is all the labeling. Most are fine with simply writing the room -Kitchen, Master bath, living room…but not me. No, there is an art to this too.  For those of us who truly believe is raising the bar…not only are the boxes labeled to the room, but they are numbered with a general list of contents. Then there is a master list written in a notepad that lists, in detail, in numerical order, exactly is in which box. No more wondering where the paper towels or coffee pot are, no more going through 15 boxes just to find the toothpaste, or clean sheets. No, just go to the boxes numbered and grouped for that room, and go t=down the itemized list of contents.

There is skeezy neighbor dodging – us girls are especially experienced in this area. For example, I got a text from my next door neighbor tonight asking if he could help me pack…at 11pm. I politely said thank you, but it was late and I was done for the day, about to go to bed. Then here it comes…The (and I kid you not) answer: “If you are tired can I give you a good massage am very good. And you are moving and I don’t know if I will see you again and I like to have a beautiful memory of…you. :)”  More like he wanted a beautiful memory of my vagina. Um, NO.

Seriously? Men, let me help you out and give you a little advice here: If your neighbor has lived next to you for 3 years and has Never shown an interest in your what-so-ever…save yourself from the embarrassment of the “Hell will freeze over before That ever happens!” response…and just don’t do it. Choose to be a nice guy who just offers to help move – no other “offers” attached. M’kay? Good.

Next is the Friends Drama Frenzy category. Because one cannot have a big move or life change, without drama from friends. So the trick is knowing which ones to cut, and which ones to keep…kind of like Kenny Rogers in The Gambler. Because there is normal Everyone-is-just-tired-tired-from-helping-you-pack drama, and there is the W-T-H-? Drama. Drop the ones who bring the WTH? ones…you don’t need them. Stop. Drop. And Run. Like the wind. And don’t look back.

And we cannot forget my personal favorite category of moving..The I-am-a-klutz-and-am-trying-not-to-trip-and-break-my-neck-or-anythng-in-the-boxes category. Yes, my name is Ada (middle name Grace) and I am a Klutz. And during this packing marathon, I have tripped over boxes, tape, kitchen things, piles of clothes, bubble wrap, dishes, the contents of drawers, the cats, the floor, my own feet (well the last two I trip over even when I am not moving)…

Last, but not least is Drink and pack…that involves the amount of wine that can be consumed while packing, and still have the items still effectively packed and protected. In other words – does it look like an adult packed the box, or a 5 year old? While wine (and chocolate) help make everything better, it may be time to cut back if it looks like Santa’s very young elves packed your Grandmother’s china. Not good.

So the art of moving is just that…an art. Truly. So, even though it is a time consuming hassle, enjoy it, make it fun and try to to break anything…

 

Spanx For Playing

We should open a store called Forever 39 and sell wine and Spanx.

Being a curvy girl is a wonderful thing. And I have found that I truly love my new-found curves. Because you are soft, curvy, feminine and very womanly. It’s great to have hips, but, thighs and boobs.  And it’s great that I little invention called Spanx helps keeps everything from spilling out and bulging over in the tighter fitting knit styles that are so popular today.

What is not wonderful? Trying to wiggle, squirm, squeeze and contort to get into these Spanx – especially every time you have to go to the bathroom.  I think I’ll pass up the gym today – I’ve already had my workout. Anyone who has ever worn them, or even seen these tiny things come out of the package, has wondered how in the heck are these going to fit? You know what I am talking about.

There are 1 piece top and bottoms, then there is the one piece – which I have – that smooths everything, tummy, belly, hips and thighs. It is perfect if you have a long-ish outfit. Basically it takes an act of congress to negotiate out of the one piece Spanx. No matter what you are wearing (today it’s a dress) you have to take all of it off just to get to the Spanx. So you better hope the stall has enough room to get undressed. After you take your clothes off, then you have to take off your panty hose, if wearing them. Ok, that’s easy enough, just takes time. Then you get to the magic that keeps everything the place.

You have to do the Out-of-Spanx dance, that makes you look like you are from Outer space. First, you get the straps over your shoulder, and slowly suck in as you peel the Spanx off of your upper torso.. Then you wiggle to get the Spanx off your waste…and then…it’s the hips. If you are like me…and you have lot s s O’Hip…this is a challenge. You suck in, wiggle, woggle (yes, that is a word) stretch and eventually they will slowly start to budge.

After you get them off, then you have to contort, wiggle and dance to get them back on. You have stretch the Spanx beyond what it seems their capacity to be and smooth them out to make sure everything is in place underneath and nothing is bulging in the wrong spaces. Once everything is in place, you can put your clothes back on and step out of the stall.

So men, if your girlfriend, who looks fabulous in that dress, is taking a long time in the bathroom, changes are she may be stuck in Spanx. (Think of the episode of Friends where Ross gets stuck on those leather pants…). It’s also a bit like Bridget Jones wearing the panties that make it more likely to have sex, unless the dress comes off….but so be patient– it takes a lot to look this hot. But don’t worry, we’re worth it.

Gravity, the Universe and the Speed of Light

I am surrounded by geeks. And I love them. my nephew, my sister, my Dad, and most of my friends are total gooks. Which makes me a geek by association. Kind of. But not really. When it comes to the complex topics of Physics, computers, math and the time space continuum that many geeks discuss, I am like Tim on Home Improvement – I butcher things. My inept ability to understand then misquote geek-worthy topics is very entertaining to my friends.

I had quite a lively conversation last night, after watching and episode of the Big Bang Theory (a show that reminds me of many of my family members…even though my nephew hates it because he says they get any of the scientific facts wrong – he could be Sheldon). The conversation had to with the Big Bang, the speed of light, gravity and the size of the universe. Very deep; scientific topics for a simple writer like me. However, I think I came out the superior debater.

What my friend said was as follows {As written by him because I knew I would completely butcher it}:

The Universe is about 93 billion light years across. But it’s only about 14 billion years old. Einstein said that nothing can exceed the speed of light. If this were true then the Universe could not be more than about 28 billion light years across. And yet it is more than three times that distance from edge to edge. What does this mean? Well it means that Einstein was wrong. Everything is moving faster than the speed of light. And what’s more, Einstein knew he was wrong. He knew that gravity propagates instantaneously. That is, the speed of gravity is infinite. So it happens naturally (things going faster than light), all sorts of examples.

He tried to get out of this hole in his theory by proposing that mass made time-space curve. He claimed that we perceive this curvature as gravity. Complete sophistry. Space does not curve, and there is nothing magic about the speed of light. Except that it is fast. Really, really fast. So fast it is currently beyond our grasp. That is why it has been hard to disprove for so long. We all make mistakes. And he was totally right about E=MC2 So, he’ll always have that.

My Theory, as written by me:

{Disclaimer: The following theory of how I think the universe was created is a joke and not meant to be taken seriously. There is no actual scientific proof of my theory of how the universe was created, however if there were it would be called “the Universe According to Ada Theory” reading the following may cause extreme laughing, spitting out of drink or food from mouth due to extreme laughter, tears running down cheek, jealousy over my quick wit, sides hurting from laughter, difficulty breathing due to laughing os hard, extreme entertainment, a feeling of light headedness, a good mood, extreme happiness, a sense of well being and a craving of chocolate.}

Gravity is not instantaneous because it is in direct and separate proportion to mass. Therefore, the fact that gravity exists everywhere across the universe at the same time is only because of the mass attached to the gravity. You cannot have mass without gravity or gravity without mass. The two are not mutually exclusive.  What caused the big bang is that Schrödinger’s cat was put in a clear box, where you did not have to open it in order to determine if the cat was dead or alive. This caused a complete implosion followed by explosion of all matter known to the universe.

The end.

How Being a Misfit is Good

I have a confession to make. And it’s pretty big, so you may want to sit down. Here it is: I am a misfit. Yep. Totally. Absolutley.

According to the Briggs-Meyers personality test, I am an ENTJ, which for those people who know me in reality, describes me to a T. And I am also quite a bit of a misfit. I am clumsy, often put my foot in my mouth, my entire life is a sitcom of embarrassing and Bridget Jones type situations. And my lack of ability to spell on this blog puts me in rare company. Let’s face it, anyone who manages to drop their drug test pee cup in front of a super hot guy, or trip over a couch in a furniture store just has to accept the fact that they are different.

But everyone else is different too, that makes me normal. Kind of.

Being a misfit is not all bad. Many people and companies can benefit from the “misfits.” These traits are what also make me creative and able to write so well. These traits are what give me the ability to communicate with such a huge cross-section of people about such a wide array of topics. These traits are also what get me into trouble from time to time.

Details are very important. and they are the bane of my existence. I am horrible at details. When I was in school, I could do the math in my head, but hard a hard time getting the right answers when I worked  them out long hand. Want to see both a frustrated student and teacher? Try a student who can only do the math in her head, and a teacher who can’t get the student to get the right answer worked out on paper. I couldn’t explain how I got it right, but the teacher knew I wasn’t cheating because I did not have access to the answers.

Which is more important though, the ability to pay attention to detail, or the ability to concentrate? Not sure. I do have great concentration abilities. Which is good because I am so bad at details. I have to concentrate very hard to be meticulous. And it works. I often uncover details in my research that no one else can find and am able to put the information together in ways others can not connect.  And the great thing about being an adult and not in school is that you can just call it “instinct,” and then you don’t have to explain it on paper.

Listening is also a great ability to have, but it is one that does not come natural to me either. That is because many times my brain is going so fast with ideas that I miss out on what the other person is saying. I have to concentrate, once again, on slowing down and make a conscious effort to listen. That takes an effort. So what it boils dow to is this: If I care about you I will listen to you. If I don’t, I won’t. Because if I don’t care about you, why would I care what you have to say? It’s not very politically correct, but that is the reality.

What I have found about listening  is that it’s an intensely intimate act. To quiet your own thoughts down enough to hear the other persons voice is tremendous. To really take in what they are saying, comprehend the meaning behind it, and listen to what they are not saying as well. Listening is an act of compassion, caring, empathy and love. Because just the single act of listening creates connection. You cannot truly listen to another and not feel a connection, whether positive or negative.

Listening also forces you to take a step back and consider other possibilities. I am a bit of a control freak, but if I listen to what someone I care about wants, and it is different from what I want, I have to let go. I have to give up control and let the other person in. Listening forces you to let go, because if you care about the other person, what they want and how they feel, you want them to be happy. Others cannot be happy if you are always in control.

Another thing that makes me a misfit? The fact that when I am in my car I have conversations in my head. I think of how the best way to handle meetings, conflicts and conversations. I plan out what I need to say and how. That is how much of a control freak I am. So listening to others helps me stay connected with others. Listening helps me let life unfold on it’s own, without my interference.

Those are the big things that contribute to my misfitness. There are also the issues of my extreme clumsiness, my inability to grow houseplants without killing them, the fact that I must walk on my tip toes when happy or when going up stairs, the extreme need for a daily fix of chocolate and a ridiculous work ethic.

But looking around, many others have those issues too. So maybe we can all be misfits, together.

Rules for Christmas

I saw this on a friends Facebook Status and had to share!  Please enjoy and get ready to laugh!!

 

1.Avoid carrot sticks. Anyone who puts carrots on a holiday buffet table knows nothing of the Holiday spirit. In fact, if you see carrots, leave immediately. Go next door, where they’re serving rum balls.

 

2. Drink as much eggnog as you can. And quickly. It’s rare… You cannot find it any other time of year but now. So drink up! Who cares that it has 10,000 calories in every sip? It’s not as if …you’re going to turn into an eggnog-alcoholic or something. It’s a treat. Enjoy it. Have one for me. Have two. It’s later than you think. It’s Christmas!

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3. If something comes with gravy, use it. That’s the whole point of gravy. Gravy does not stand alone. Pour it on. Make a volcano out of your mashed potatoes. Fill it with gravy. Eat the volcano. Repeat.

4. As for mashed potatoes, always ask if they’re made with skim milk or whole milk. If it’s skim, pass. Why bother? It’s like buying a sports car with an automatic transmission.

5. Do not have a snack before going to a party in an effort to control your eating. The whole point of going to a Holiday party is to eat other people’s food for free. Lots of it. Hello?

6. Under no circumstances should you exercise between now and New Year’s. You can do that in January when you have nothing else to do. This is the time for long naps, which you’ll need after circling the buffet table while carrying a 10-pound plate of food and that vat of eggnog.

7. If you come across something really good at a buffet table, like frosted Christmas cookies in the shape and size of Santa, position yourself near them and don’t budge. Have as many as you can before becoming the center of attention. They’re like a beautiful pair of shoes. If you leave them behind, you’re never going to see them again.

8. Same for pies. Apple, Pumpkin, Mincemeat. Have a slice of each. Or if you don’t like mincemeat, have two apples and one pumpkin. Always have three. When else do you get to have more than one dessert? LaborDay?

9. Did someone mention fruitcake? Granted, it’s loaded with the mandatory celebratory calories, but avoid it at all cost. I mean, have some standards.

10. One final tip: If you don’t feel terrible when you leave the party or get up from the table, you haven’t been paying attention. Re-read tips; start over, but hurry, January is just around the corner. Remember this motto to live by:

Quote:
“Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand and wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming “YEE-HA!!! WHAT A RIDE!!!”

The Benefits of Being Sick

Flu season is here, now, just in time for the holidays. Chance are that if you don;t get sick, you will know several people who do. Coughing, sneezing, blowing your nose, and feeling like crap is no way to spend Christmas, or anytime for that matter. But, as irritating as it might be, every cloud has a silver lining, including being sick. continue reading for the upside of feeling sideways.

Only when you are sick can you be as crabby and ornery as you want…and people just smile, pat you on the head, say you really must be feeling horrible and the give you more chicken soup.

Dress any way you want. You could come around the corner wearing polka dots and paisley, and no one would say anything. You could wear the most baggy, unflattering outfit, and again, people just smile and give you more chicken soup because you obviously don’t feel well at all. I love wearing my ugliest, most comfortable pair of pajama’s and my fuzzy fish slippers. If I am going to be sick, I am going to also make everyone around me nauseous with my ugly PJ’s.

You get to work from home. You can also show up late to work and most people just appreciate that you tried to show up and work. If you look really bad, they will beg you to go home and feel better soon.

You get to indulge in really bad day time TV Let’s face it, Day time TV is horrible. Except when you are sick. Then, somehow, Judge Judy, Cops, Jerry Springer are all your friends and are great TV. Under the influence of cold medicine, almost any horrible daytime TV show can seem Emmy worthy. So just sit back and enjoy…indulge in your guilty pleasures.

You can eat what you want. No one questions what you eat when you are sick. You could have a diet of nothing but chocolate, and as long as it makes you feel better, no one will complain or say anything. So get to know Ben and Jerry a little better…I know you want to…

People do things for you. When you are sick, people are willing to make you tea, bring you hot soup, make sure you are comfortable, enjoy it while you can, because as soon as you feel better, it will be back to normal.

So, while being sick is o picnic, enjoy the perks. And take your vitamin

Stop. It’s Snuggie Time

It’s that time of year again, when the nights are cool and another blanket gets [ut on the bed. The air is crisp with the promise of the season. You may say it’s winter, you may say it’s the holiday season, you may say it’s Christmas, and you would be correct. however, there is another season that is often overlooked, though highly celebrated by many. What season is that?

It’s Snuggie Season!  That’s right, the celebrated blanket with arms. You may laugh now, but there is nothing like wrapping up in the sweet softness of the Snuggie. And you have many choices of colors and patterns. My coveted Snuggie is the basic blue…but you have orange, pink, even leopard print to choose from. And if you are a sports fan, you can choose you favorite team as well.

So go ahead, wrap up in the warmth and comfort of the Snuggie…you know you want to…

Me in my Snuggie

The Set Ups

Now that word has spread around that I am once again single, everyone has taken it upon themselves to find dates for me. I am getting offers for set ups like crazy. Even the head of security offered to set me up with some very nice men.

Why not?  If nothing else I will meet some nice people and make some new friends. And it is a compliment that they think highly enough of me that they would set me up with their friends.  And they all want to see me happy and in love. Who am I to argue?

And when someone comes recomended by a friend, you trust them a bit more than just any stranger you happen to meet, though a girl still has to be cautious. Plus my friends know if they set me up with a jerk I will write about it. So I go forward with an open heart, a smile on my face and good friends wanting the best for me.

Let the set ups begin!

How to Survive the DMV

I had to go to the DMV this morning, otherwise known as Hell.  While no one has an enjoyable trip to the DMV, there are things that can be done to minimize the affect. Please learn from my mistakes.

Go early: The only lines that might be longer at the tickets sales lines for a science fiction convention. But don;t count on it.  Arrive early, maybe even the night before with a sleeping bag.

Always wear make up and have hair fixed: Never run out of the house and go to the DMV without looking your best. Because as soon as you do, you will find out they need a new picture. I ran out of the house this morning, hair pulled back, no make up, not even showered. Yep. I am now the proud owner of the worst drivers licence photo. Ever. And I am a vain woman.

Bring coffee: I know the sign says no food or drink, but if I have to get up early on a Saturday morning, because the DMV did not mail the licence, then they can prey the container of caffeinated goodness out of my cold, dead hand. That coffee is the only thing standing between me and sanity when they tell me I need to fill out another form and go to the back of the line. Again.

Bring a book: Or make sure your smart phone battery is fully charged. Or your kindle. Or a deck of cards. Or a  portable tv.

Bring every kind of paper work: Old licence, passport, social security card, fitness club card, red cross card, library card, all your mail from the last month, your mother’s birth certificate and proof of your fathers blood type. Carry a suitcase in if you have to, but have all paperwork with you. They will ask for it, especially if you don;t have it with you.

Wear comfortable shoes: You will be standing in line for quite a while. Also make sure you wear warm clothes if it is winter as you may be standing outside because the line is stretched out half way around the block.

Bring snacks: They come in handy when waiting in line for hours and hours. I pack cookies because I get irritable when hungry. Don’t make me stay hungry, you won’t like me when I am hungry.

Flirt: Whether you are a man or woman and whether they are a man or a woman, if it helps move you through the line faster, work what God gave you. Just sayin’

Follow these tips and you will make it through the experience of the DMV. Good luck!

Halloween Costumes, Training and Movies, Oh My!

We all have those times where we just want to be a little sponge and soak everything up. And we all have tiemns in our lives where things just start falling into place. The new training for the promotion has begun at work and it is excting.  I always love learning new things and what I am learning will expand my skill expenentually.

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By the time they are done training me, I will be writing for the website, be able to manage all content in the system, and develop the company site to accommodate the content and look they want.  I think they are actually going to give me that part of the company website to manage. Which is incredibly exciting for a company this large and well known. And when I get to that point, my income potential with this company will have grown a tremendous amount as well. And that is always good (at least in my mind).

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So Viva la training!

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It’s only Wednesday and already the weekend is looking to be a very busy one.  Friday is celebrating with my girlfriends. Several of us have had great things happen, so we must celebrate. A girls night out on the town. Atlanta may never be the same again.

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Saturday will be hiking and taking pictures up in the falls again. This may be the last time to be up in the mountains before it gets cold. and I am hoping the leaves will be at peak and not have all fallen off. I do love taking pictures and am currently looking for photography classes to take.  It is a goal this year to get a real professional camera, but in the meantime, there are digital photography classes that one can take for regular cameras.

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Halloween is a great time for parties and costumes. It has been a few years since I have gone to a costume party and I am excited about it this year. The last time I dressed up I was Morticia Adams. It was much fun and I loved the long black wig I wore. This year should be even more fun as a friend of mine and I are going as Batman and Catwoman. The costume is super sexy:

 

I am Catwoman…hear me meow…

Sunday is a day of writing and movie watching. What better way to have a great Sunday than writing while Harry Potter and Indiana Jones are playing? And I have a wonderful TV for all the special affects.  And I have decided I really like the super hero, comic book movies.  I want to see the lastest Batman movie and I want to Netflix  several over the next month or so. I may even cook a big pot of chili or spaghetti Sunday.

The trip to Chicago is a few weeks away, so all that is left is to decide which show to see. There are a few more weekend trips in the works, but this is the one about which I am the most excited.

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I have been slowly working on my book now for quite a while and have decided it will be done by the end of the year. To help keep me motivated I have decided to join a writing group. Someone I used to know once said it helped him with motivation and deadlines. The same might work for me as the end of the year approaches. I really want this book complete.

I am also looking for a group of knitters to join, thought hat might wait until after the fist of the year.  Knitting will go with my theme of being still and I will be able to make scarves, baby booties, blankets and such. If you thought I was  a complete old lady/nerd, you were right. Maybe I will put my hot catwoman costume on while I knit so I don’t feel so much like a little old lady…

Hello, My Name is Ada and I am a Klutz

For those of you who know me personally, or who read this blog, you know I am a klutz. In life we all must accept who we are and our limitations. And for me, I really have no choice but to accept my clumsiness  and not only admit to it, but own it. When you absolutely cannot hide something, own it. It makes things a lot easier.

The latest adventure in my life as a klutz was at lunch today. I am in the breakroom heating up my Lean Cuisine culinary frozen delight, when a gorgeous man comes in. We exchange pleasantries, no big deal. He is waiting to use the microwave. When my dish is done, I get it out, grab my drink and…and…

And something goes terribly wrong. It happened so fast that I have no idea what exactly happened. One minute I was walking, the next minute, there was Lean Cuisine all over my shirt and down my front. For those who wear darker colors because they don’t show stains…let me assure you that even the blackest shirt is no match for Lean Cuisine.

I felt my cheeks burn and I am sure I was scarlet. I looked around for anything big and heavy to crawl under. Nope, nothing. There I was, Ms. McClumsy in the break room with Mr. Mcgorgeous.

And as if spilling my lunch all over myself in front of gorgeous man is not enough, then I nearly fall when I slipped over the little bit of said lunch that is on the floor and not on my shirt. Yep. 4′ stilletos and slippery lunches do not mix, in case you ever wondered. The man was very nice and helped me clean it off the floor. He managed not to laugh while I was there, though I am sure that he busted out laughing as soon as I left.

If I have to be clumsy, why can’t it be in front of someone’s grandmother? A nice little old lady? I can hear you laughing. And in life, we must not take ourselves to seriously. We must be willing to laugh at ourselves. Of course for someone as clumsy as I am, laughing at ones self is a daily accurance.

Beautiful Illusions

In life there are things that I call beautiful illusions. They are those things that we really, really want, or think we want, because they look or seem so perfect. But when we get a closer look, we realize things are not always what they seem. It could also be called the quick-sand effect, depending on how far you step down into it. What kinds of things qualify as beautiful illusions?  So glad you asked.

Those Shoes: Oh yes, I see them in the store, those beautiful 5” stilettos and I must have them. I try them on, they fit. I walk around a bit in them in the store. Yep, perfect. Then I get them home one wear them the next day to work. And my feet are in Hell. But they look oh so good. That is why I may be barefoot at my desk. Beautiful Illusion.

That Man/Woman: You know the one – he is tall, dark, handsome, successful, smart, blah, blah, all-the-things-that-make-you-melt, blah. And then you go out with him. And Wow. And then you get to know him better. And wow he is a mess 6 ways to Sunday. He is the man who looks good “on paper”, but is a mess in real life. But you have to get to know him a bit first – past the paper façade and into the every day nitty-gritty part of life. Beautiful illusion.

That Job: Wow, it is right up your alley, is in line with your career goals, great pay, benefits, co workers, location, etc. And then you get in and start working it. And at first it is all that you though it would be…and then you slowly start to see that you are in the bottomless pit of the Twilght Zone and things are not what you thought they would be. Schedules, pay, benefits and expectations are shifting. Maybe more overtime, maybe bad projects, maybe your co-worker that sits closest to you needs a shower…whatever it is you see that it was a, you guessed it – beautiful illusion.

That relationship: You have liked them for a long time and knew that if you could just get together, you would be perfect and live happily ever after. Then stars line up, and fate smiles down on both of you as Cupid’s arrow strikes. And then…things are awkward. schedules are mis-matched, they have bad habits, ideologies that you assumed were them same are not… and what is going on with the their bad table manners that you never seemed to notice before but now you can’t stand? Did they always smack that loud when chewing?? Nope they are not horrible, but not the person you thought they were and that Happily-Ever-After escaped on Prince Charming’s white horse named…Beautiful Illusion. Which sometimes leads to…

That Ex: you know the one…it’s the one who got away. The one if you could only have another chance with, both of you could make it work. And then you get that magic chance, and you know, just like getting the magic shot in the last few seconds of the game – you’ve got this one covered. It will be the story book endings to end all story book endings. You shoot, the ball goes in a straight line for the basket, it hits the rim and…then…all of those same issues that broke you up are still there, staring the two of you in the face. And they brought their friends. Holy crap, you don’t remember any of this in the Let’s-get-back-together-contract. The basket bounces off the rim and into the hands of the other team. Beautiful illusion.

That recipe: Oh you saw it in that cook book or magazine, and it looked so yummy!  You could not wait to try it out. So you even create an occasion for it, tell others that you care going to cook this great new recipe you found. You go down the list, buy all the ingredients, get all the measuring g cups out, and you are ready. You mix it, mash, bake it, cook it…and…it is awful! WTH? You look at the recipe and go over the ingredients again. Making a mental checklist of everything you included. No, you did not leave anything out, all the measurements were correct, cooking time right as was the temperature. So why does it taste like dirty gym socks soaked in vinegar? Beautiful illusion.

It happens to all of us, even the best of us. No matter how smart we are or how smart with think we are…we cannot escape them. They are lessons learned and funny stories to be told with friends over dinner and drinks. They are the hiccups in life that keep it from being too boring and predictable. After all, if everything worked out the way we thought it would…where would the excitement be? And think of the stories and people we would miss. As long as we learn from the experiences we have, then nothing is truly ever lost.

My Little Confession

It is a confession that may come as a surprise to some of you, but I think those that are the closest to me may already know or at least have a strong suspicion. And now, after reading a blog my sister sent me (http://blog.penelopetrunk.com/2010/09/15/when-is-it-okay-to-use-the-f-word/), I have the courage to tell the world. I am a closet F-word user. That’s right, I love the word, though I dare not use it (out loud) on a regular basis.

And I don’t mean using it when I stub my toe or get aggravated at my computer. No I mean “Lovely fucking weather we are having, isn’t it?” kind of thing. My love affair with this word started back in radio, when I worked mainly with men. I got into the habit of using it in regular conversation…and loved it. When I got out of broadcasting and into a more corporate environment, I had to keep it to myself – it is not professional or classy to drop that word in everyday conversation. And I am a lady….a lady who loves to say the f-word.

Now, there are rules, even for using it often and every day. I do not believe you should ever say it to someone when you are mad at them. To be cussed at like that shows an extreme amount of disrespect and it just is not nice. Fighting is the time to stop cussing, not start. No cussing around children or the elderly. Again, respect should be given to these groups. I can’t cuss around my parents. Aside from the fact that my mother would still put me on restriction and send me to my room, I just could not disrespect them like that. No cussing in hospitals, restaurants, libraries, or museums, unless it is very soft where others cannot hear. You never know when children or someone older may be close, and they may not want to hear it. Plus to do so in public like that does, I believe, show a lack of class.

But outside of that, I really like to let it rip. I often say the word silently in my head as I speak to others at work…though I have let it slip out a few times. It is like I am being a bad girl, even if I don’t always say it out loud. It’s like my dirty little secret – my secret little potty mouth. Except when I have had a few too many classes of wine…well, or tequila, or vodka, or alcohol period. Then my secret little potty mouth isn’t so secret anymore and I use the f-word indiscriminately and with total abandon. And I fucking love it.

And when you say it you should say it with passion. Don’t just waste the use of such a great word. There are so many ways it can be creatively inserted into life. Such as:

• That’s fucktastic!
• I have a fuck-ton of work to do.
• Wow, fuck duck, in a truck.
• Fuckityfuckfuckfuck!
• For mcFuckins sake!
• congatufucklations!
• He’s Dr. McFuckUp
• Absofuckinglutely
• Ms. Mcfuckalot
• Mr. McFucky-Pants
• fucklings
• fuckocrates
• it’s a fucktation
• Let’s go for a fuck-a-about
• fucktivation
• fucktically incorrect
• fucklationships
• fucktimental
• a fucktasm
• {insert your own here}

Yes, it can be such a fun game to see just how many words you can unsert the f-word in. Great for playing while waiting at the DMV, standing in a long line at the grocery store, or when in that long meeting at work.

Maybe cussing could be categorized as one of my vices, maybe even an addiction. It makes me feel good, because it makes me feel like I am being just a bit bad. Flipping the proverbial finger at those popper types. I obey the laws of the land, I have social graces and can carry myself in almost every kind of situation with grace and ease. I pay my taxes, don’t cheat in poker, I don’t drink too much (usually) or do drugs, I drive within the speed limit (mostly) and can be considered quite boring.

So it feels so good to come out and confess that I love the f word. Like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Oh yes, my hair and nails may be done, my clothes and shoes may look great, but get too fucking close and you may hear quite a few colorful bits come out of my mouth. Now it’s not a dirty little secret anymore. So thanks for reading and ya’ll have a nice fucking day!

My Addictions and Vices

A good girlfriend of mine and I were talking last night about our addictions and vices. Everyone has them…those things that get us through, that we cannot live without. Here are mine.

Chocolate: Addiction. No big surprise here, I am a girl. There just is nothing quite like good chocolate ice cream, or biting into a truly decadent piece from Godiva. Or my absolute favorite, a Cadbury Cream Egg. Truly amazing and something I absolutely cannot live without. I must have it.

Music: Addiction. I blame this addiction on my parents, as I learned it from them.  They always had music playing when I was a child. Whether classical, rock/pop or country, it was always around. And then I got into radio…a place to feed that addiction to music and make it grow even bigger. There I was right in the middle of everything. And it was wonderful.

Musicians: Vice, bordering on addiction. I love musicians, always have. Not the scruffy, starving, I think I can almost play a guitar type. I mean the real deal, the ones who truly have it in their soul and truly are talented and play beautifully. I seem to have a thing for guitarists and piano players. I just love watching them play, it is like magic.

Wine: Vice. I am not sure if it is the wine, or everything that comes with it and surrounds it. There is nothing like having a really good glass of wine while I soak in a bubble bath. A glass of wine with dinner can make it truly a masterpiece, or just enjoying a glass of wine with great conversation. It could be with my best friends, or a man, either way, I love wine.

Kisses: Vice. Though if a man is really good, it could become an addiction. And I especially love being kissed in the rain. The. Best. Love those slow, sensual kisses, that are almost in slow motion. A girl doesn’t get kissed like that often, and when she does, she remembers it (that would be a big hint guys). And I love when a man either cups your face in his hands, or brings his hands around the back of my neck and grabs a bit of my hair. A good kiss and I am nothing but quivering jello.

Writing. Addiction. I have to write. Almost every day. If I do not get my fix, I am crabby and just feel off. Sometimes I have writers block and may go a few days without writing anything, then others times (like now when it just pours out of me. I cannot control it and I could not stop if I wanted.  Even when I do not write publically, I have on online journal and a handwritten journal as well. I am always writing.

Romance: Vice. Whether it is a sappy chick flick, or a man I am dating giving me flowers and saying cheesy things, I love romance. Because I am a sap. No matter how I try to deny it, there it is, staring me in the face.

Men with facial Hair: Addiction. It is sexy and manly…and a man who knows how to use it is deadly. The best thing? When they run their facial hair all over my body (did I just write that out loud??). OMG. Heaven. And there is a little spot on my neck, that  will make my knees go weak. I get chills.

My Smart Phone: Addiction. If I am away from my phone for too long, I suffer separation anxiety. I don’t know why, but I have to have my smart phone with me at all times. Even if it is off, or on silent, it still must be close.

Books: Addiction. Again, blame this one on my family who started this addiction with me from an early age. Everyone in my family reads. And growing up, my mother read to us and had more books than a public library. Books give me comfort and make any room feel warm and welcoming, I think. And there is nothing like curling up with a good book on a cool rainy day.

Yes, for good bad, or indifferent, these are things that make my life a better place. That help me get through the day, and help me function. These things  make me happy, keep me There are other things, like prayer, Faith, God, family, love, my friends, but those are necessities.  Now excuse me, I have some chocolate that needs attention.

Politically Incorrect Confessions

In everyone’s life a little political incorrectness must fall. And Happy Monday!  Here are some politically incorrect confessions…may they bring you a smile on a Monday.

Flight Attendants: I really like my flight attendant to me female. I know, it’s horrible and I am a horrible person. But I also like my plumber, my mechanic and my AC guy to be a man.

Discipline: I really think it is OK to spank a child. Not abuse them – there is a difference. I also think that is it Ok to put kids on restriction, take away their TV, iPod, computer, iPads…or whatever if they are not respectful and courteous. I think kids should say Yes Ma’am and No Sir, they should do their chores, and get good grades in school. And I think that if kids are never mad with their parents, then the parent is doing something wrong. Parents should actually be parents, and that means being the authority figure and telling them no sometimes. But I also think kids should be treated with kindness and respect as well. They should be allowed to express themselves and their opinions as long as it is in a respectful manner. And I do believe they should be spoiled…but taught to understand that they are very fortunate to be spoiled.

Manly: I want a man who is manly. Meaning, I want him to have facial hair – because it’s manly (love, love LOVE). And yes, I want chest hair and lots of it. Why do men shave their chest? It feels like you are snuggling up to a Brillo pad…really, guys, don’t do that. And I want them to sweat, that is manly too. A deep voice, oooohhhh, yes please. No fru-fru hair products, manicures, pedicures, whatever metro-sexual thing going on. Rugged. Manly. Afpha-male. Thank you.

Pants: I really don’t like the whole show your boxers thing the boys are doing these days. Really, what’s up with that? I get that it is a fashion thing, doesn’t their ass get cold? Especially in the winter? I mean down south you really don’t have to worry about it as much, but what about up north? And what about…shrinkage? I just can’t uunderstand why someone would, especially in the winter, volunteer to do that. And they say women go to extremes to look good.

U: I remember when I was on the online dating sites (never again!) I was surprised by the amount of men who sent me email to introduce themselves using ‘U’ and ‘R’ and ‘N’…if you are trying to impress a woman, especially if she is a writer…please, please, pretty please, spell out the words “you’, ‘are’ and ‘and’. Thank you. And no shirtless shots please. We know you have a chest…and that picture falls under the TMI category, kind of like a girl telling you all about her cats on the first date.

Baby Daddy: What is up with the whole Baby-Mamma, Baby-Daddy thing? When did that slang become part of American Main Stream English? Maybe because I am a writer, and prefer proper grammar (though I am not perfect at it), but this term just bugs me.

Payment: I really like the man to pay on dates. Always. Yes, I know this is not a popular opinion in this equal rights world, but I am an old fashioned girl and I want to be courted, and I want the man to pay the tab. Thank you.

Sitcoms and dramas: This is very politically incorrect, but I really love sitcoms and dramas much more than the reality TV. There are a few good reality TV shows out there, but I think most of them pander to the lowest common denominator. Give me something inspirational, smart, or where I can learn something, and I will watch it. But watching someone with a bad northern accent get drunk and fall over…not so entertaining.  Give me the Big Bang Theory, Bones, Two Broke Girls, How I Met Your Mother, Criminal Minds, CSI Miami, NCIS…something with interesting characters, witty banter, smart retorts, and hysterical situations…and I am a happy girl. I will even put down my book.

Being a Housewife: Here is the biggest politically incorrect statement of all…I would love to be a housewife. Yes, there it is, I said it. Yes I have a very successful career, love what I do, have a great fulfilling life, and I do not need to be rescued from anything…but I would still love to not have to worry about being the breadwinner, take care of kids, write when I wanted and be taken care of otherwise. I would do that in a heartbeat. Most people who know me would be very surprised – they think I am wildly independent, single hearted, never get married type. They could not be more wrong. The most fulfilling thing I could ever do, I think, is be a stay at home mother and wife.

How To Edit a Followers’ Comment on WordPress

How To Edit a Followers’ Comment on WordPress

1. Go to your blog’s dashboard.
2. Click on Comments button under the discussion section in the left hand column of the screen. This will take you to the comments section of the dashboard. All comments that have been posted on your blog are stored and can be accessed here.
3. Click  on the Edit button, which is the fourth button from the left. The menu will appear when you scroll over the bottom section of the comment.
4. Edit the comment as needed. You can delete text, add text, change the name/user on the comment, add links, add quotes, add code (especially useful for those who know a lot of about IT), even change the date and time the comment was submitted.
5. When done changing comment, click Update in the right hand corner.

This feature allows the administrators of the blog to completely change any comment anyone posts on the blog. An administrator could even make it look like another person posted the comment, completely erasing the original comment and changing the commentators name and email address. The only thing needed to make said change is knowing the information of the user you would like to make it look like left the comment.

What does this mean in layman’s terms? You can make it look like anyone you want commented on your blog and make it look like they said anything you wanted them to say.

This concludes the How To tutorial on WordPress. There will be a quiz later.

 

 

 

Happy Home

We all have those times, or maybe it’s just age, where we are just happy at home. It is a Saturday night, I have several invitations for activities, and yet I am happy at home.  Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy going out, catching up with friends, nice dinners, a night dancing, live music and such. But lately, I have graciously declined many of these invitations for the option to stay at home, read, watch some TV, work on projects, or have a small group of friends over. And these day I seems to favor smaller get togethers rather than large ones.

And it is true, I will see a friend this week at a small happy hour get together, but passed on her invitation to attend her large birthday party tonight. Maybe it is due to the fact that I am redefining myself socially, reshaping my group of friends and the kind of people I have in my life. Maybe it is because of many things.  Maybe that is because while I know many, many people, I only have a small group of close friends. Reguardles of the reason however, there truly seems to be no place like home. I cooked a great meal, shared it with family, watched a little TV, laughed a lot, did some house work, and a lot of talking. And right now, that is just heaven. Right now, happiness is grounded in home family and faith.

Some Funny Things

Some strange and funny things about me:

• I walk on my tiptoes when I am happy, and most of the time when I am walking up stairs.
• I love what I call Bachelor Food. It is a dish that my father gave me and I loved it. It is mayonnaise on a Saltine cracker (spread nice and thick), with a slice of cheese and a dill pickle on top. Sound disgusting? Good, more for me. 🙂
• I am a messy eater…and if I wear white, the chances of  me spilling something of a darker color on it raises 150% It is not a matter of if, but when.
• I have a beautiful singing voice and can out-sing Celine Dion. But only in my car.
• I prance around the house. A lot. Especially when I am happy.
• I hum when doing dishes or other housework.
• I hate taking the trash out and filling my car with gas.
• I try to be a good housekeeper…but sometimes it just isn’t in me.
• I will loose my purse, my keys, my cell phone, my drink and maybe even my shoes, at least once a day.
• I steal men’s socks. Yes I do. This started back in the 80’s when the big bulkie socks were in style. I would go and raid my fathers sock drawer. Eventually Mom told me he didn’t mind me stealing his socks, but he was getting low so could I please replace them?  So, every father’s Day, Christmas, Birthday, anniversary, I would give my Dad socks. And still do to this day. He expects them and will get very disappointed if he does not receive them from me.
• I love my work and can be a bit of a work-a-haulic.
• I never fart. Ever. Even if you think I have, I haven’t.
• I still have some stuffed animals from my childhood and will never get rid of them.
• I love painting my toe nails.
• I always put my hand over my heart when the National Anthem Plays…even if no one else is doing it.
• If I go to a live sporting event – especially a ball game – I MUST have a chili cheese dog.
• I love lipstick.
• I listen to my radio very loud in the car…most of the time at the top volume (turn it up to 11).

Welcome Back

Last night after work I made a detour and went to the salon rather than directly home. I had decided, after a day of wearing really great shoes, that I was in desperate need of getting a pedicure.  A girl getting a pedicure is nothing new, but for me it was a return of sorts. See, I have not gotten a pedicure, manicure, or hair treatment even, since August.

Since August I have been busy, getting my feet back under me, and just did not place much value on these things. These wonderful things that I did for myself on a regular basis before August. I have a monthly massage set up …that I have only been so once since then. My regular mani/pedi appointment was filled by new customers, and my hair? Well, lets not even go there. Let’s just say that it is in need of some help now that it has grown out longer, and as it continues to grow out from my once super short pixie.

Last night I sat in that wonderful heated massage chair, put my head back on the pillow the owner of the shop pulled out for me, and just relaxed as I got “The Works.” As the hot was place on my feet, as they massaged my feet and legs with the exfoliant, then the lotion, then the hot stones, then they carefully painted my toes and made my feet pretty, I almost started to cry. It had been so long since I had done anything to really treat myself, to pamper myself, make me feel special or girly. A bubble bath sometimes, but outside of that, nothing. The money has been there, it just that, well, it’s just that I haven’t done those things for myself in quite a few months. I kind of let myself go a bit, I guess you could say. I guess maybe I felt as ragged on the inside as I did on the outside.

So I let things go…my nails, my hair, my car, my workout routine.

But no more. I left the salon with pretty feet, and a pretty smile on my face. You must spoil yourself, at least a little. You must do things that bring you enjoyment. The secret is to never take those little things for granted and to always enjoy every bit of them.

My toes are pretty, and next week there are appointments for that monthly massage (4 months over due), a hair appointment for a cut and style, and a manicure. And I am getting names of a mechanic that is trusted to take care of my car, because that is way overdue too. I really am sick of looking at that bumper and feeling the bad axel. The car is not part of treating myself though, that just needs to be done.

At least for me, doing those things to treat yourself helps you enjoy life, helps you really live. Some may think those things are basic upkeep, and they are, but to me they are more. They are part of celebrating life, celebrating yourself. Because I can totally immerse myself in that moment, close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of the massage or the pedicure, or that hair style. And after all, I am worth it, because life is worth it. And life is just too short to have ugly feet, or bad hair, or unkempt nails, or an unrepaired car, or ugly shoes even.

I have missed treating myself. I have missed that feeling of appreciation for those things. I have missed the pure enjoyment of them.  I have missed having pretty toes and fingers. And the satisfaction of a good sweaty workout. I have missed the feeling of running several miles without a break. I have missed that sense of personal accomplishment.

Me: Hello life, Good to see you. I’ve missed you since I’ve been away.

Life: Welcome back.