Winter Camp

Life is a learning experience. And sometimes you just have to find the humor and laugh a bit. I found this moment when getting my father’s things together for him to go to the senior rehabilitation facility.  Since he will be there a few weeks, they had a list of things to make sure he brought with him.

I think I must now know what parents go through when preparing their child for summer camp.  I went in his closet and gathered everything I thought he might need. And he definitely has the closet of a man who has lived in South Georgia.  It’s is 35 outside and he has 4 sweaters.  I had to dig in the bottom of a back drawer to find the thermals and a few sweatshirts.  (Santa will be bringing him warm clothes this year…).  His favorite blanket, pillow, glasses, house slippers all added to the pile.

But before any of those items can make it to his room, they must all be labeled.  So I got out the trusty marker and wrote his name on everything.  This is definitely like summer camp.  He gets fed three times a day.  They have activities for him to do.  There are doctors and nurses on staff.  They make sure he is not bored and stays busy.  He gets to meet new friends…

Then I go down the list admittance gave me …Underwear, check.  Shirts, check.  Pants and jeans, check.  House shoes, check.  Tennis shoes…um??  He is 80, he doesn’t wear tennis shoes.  And sweat pants for him to work out in?  Oh, dear…I saw a trip to the store in the near future.

While at the store I fought back the mischievous urge to buy the flashy fluorescent colored tennis shoes and went with the more sensible looking ones.  Only to have to return them because they were the wrong size.  Only to have to return them again because his feet were swollen and he needed a larger size. He now has some jazzy new sweat pants and matching shirts.  No doubt he will be stylin’ and profilin’ in the physical therapy gym. All he needs now is a great pair of sunglasses.  And he is scheduled for a hair cut and shave later today.

I have noticed that he is in the sweat pants all the time now when I go see him.  He may never wear jeans again. At some point when I visit him I am fully expecting to hear ZZ Top’s Sharp Dressed Man playing in the background as he walks down the hallway.

Yes, he is a man on a mission; that mission being to work hard and get strong enough to come home.  Until then he will be whooping it up at Winter Camp.




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…)

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…


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!
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:

“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

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!

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.




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).

My Life is a Sitcom #3,412: The One with the Garlic

I have many times written about my life being a bit of a sitcom, meaning there are moments that are so…wrong, funny, embarrassing, surreal, that you just know it would be really funny if you were watching it on TV. But you are not, you are actually living it. Well, had another one of those moments today…

About 11ish, I noticed the very strong smell of garlic. It was strong enough that I was wondering if someone was wearing it around their neck. And throughout the day, it just seemed to get stronger. Seriously, did someone think we work with vampires?? Geeze!

I left work about 6…and grabbed my container of lasagna that I brought for lunch but did not eat (hey, sometimes a girl just needs a greasy cheeseburger!). The container sat at my desk the entire day, as I never did make it to the kitchen to put it in the fridge. And as I was walking to my car I noticed that strong smell of garlic was also following…because it was the lasagna. Great. I usually have several people stop by my desk/cube during the day and noticed I had fewer visitors today. I just thought everyone was busy.

I chuckled to myself, a bit embarrassed, and headed home, lasagna in the car, in the passenger seat next to me. It only took a few stinky minutes before it was overwhelming me in the car.  It was like having someone with (really) bad indigestion in the seat next to you. I rolled down the windows (I don’t think it was even 60 outside). There I was, windows down, heat on high because of this super garlic lasagna. I imagine the aroma coming out of the car was like a group of people smoking a lot of cigarettes.

I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I pulled into a gas station and just threw the whole container away. It still took a few miles with the windows down to completely get the smell out of my car. I can only imagine what my poor co-workers went through today…and hope I will not be known as Garlic Girl.

I lead an exciting, sitcom and garlic filled life…don’t be jealous. I can hear you laughing…

Odds, Ends and a PSA

Saw this and thought it was very powerful…


Saw this and thought is was a bit funny –

What Mystifies Steven Hawking? Women.



I have caught the funk, that bug that is going around. The man came over last night and competely took care of me. It was so sweet. He brought me cold medicine, got me whatever I needed to eat/drink, fixed soup for me. He is the first and only man I have ever let around me when I have been sick. Usually I just say that I want to be left alone. I could get used to this. 🙂

Sitcom Moment # 6,421: The Princess and the Pee Cup

I wrote this in 2010, but someone recently asked me to re-post. So here it is. Please note that I am not responsible for anyone being hurt by laughing to hard, or if your drink comes out of your nose…Enjoy!

Went to get my pre-employment drug test for the AT&T contract today. Not a big deal.  Did the pee in a cup thing and as I brought it out to set it down on the counter, the lid on it slipped and the contents of the cup spilled on the floor.

As the nurse/lab person and I looked down in disgust (and me in total horror of embarrassment), I happened to look up and saw one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen standing waiting to sign in.  He had a look of horror on his face too.

Proof once again that my life is completely together…until a cute guy is around.  If it was a little old lady standing there the lid would not have slipped at all.

I REALLY just wanted to crawl under something big and heavy.

I can hear you laughing…

My Own Limitations

Art consists of limitation. The most beautiful part of every picture is the frame.
Gilbert K. Chesterton

Don’t believe what your eyes are telling you. All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding, find out what you already know, and you’ll see the way to fly.
Richard Bach

There are three methods to gaining wisdom. The first is reflection, which is the highest. The second is limitation, which is the easiest. The third is experience, which is the bitterest.

We all must know our limitations. Knowing what we can and cannot do keeps us out of trouble and in line. Yes, even for a risk taker like me, knowing what my limitations are keeps me in line. We must also never take ourselves too seriously that we cannot not at ourselves and our limitations.  So here, for your knowledge and entertainment are a list of my most glaring limitations and things I simply will never be able to do or be good at.

Grace: No matter how hard I try I will never be graceful. Period. Not even if I trained at the Russion Ballet would I have grace…and I am pretty sure they would not even let me in the building, because I would probably trip on a piece of floor on my way into the building. The grace police would come and escort me out Yep, it would ugly.

The Ability to sew: I skipped Home-Ec in school, and it shows. I can sew a button back on a coat, or maybe fix the hymn on my pants, but beyond that…you really don’t want to trust me with sharp pointy objects (see above).

Singing: I can only sing in my car…and occasionally in the shower. Well actually I can sing everywhere, but I do not because my voice is so beautiful that no one would ever buy any album but mine, and I would not want to ruin all of those other music stars.

Drinking: I will never be able to drink more than two drinks before getting tipsy. Trust me, I’ve tested this one.

Poker: I will always loose at poker. Unless it’s Texas Hold’em, then that is completely different. I rock that game. And I suck at all others.

Jeopardy: I will never be able to question all the answers, no matter how hard I try, no matter how many books I read, no matter how much I cheat…it will never happen.

Whistling: I will never be able to whistle. I have been trying to do this since childhood. Maube it’s time to stop.

Wiggling my ears, rolling my R’s: Same as above, though I will also never quit trying. I keep thinking that, just like the lottery, today may be the day…

My check book: Ever since I was a little girl I have been able to do math in my head but not on paper.  It took forever to find a teacher to understand that I was not cheating when I could tell her the answers without actually working the problem. My check book is the same way. I can keep track of every bit of math…until I actually try to write it down in the registry.

Shoes: I cannot pass up a great pair of shoes that are on sale. I have tried. I have failed. Now I just don’t go into the shoe store unless I have money.

Spelling: I try, I really try…but typo’s will be the death of me. And the sad thing is that I am an editor. But I can spot  misspelled word or bad sentence structure a mile away on someone else’s work. But my own? Fahgetaboutit! IT must be like a psychic trying to read their own future…

Christmas Trees: I cannot Not put up a Christmas tree. Yes, it leans a bit to the left because of the Christmas Light Incident of 2009…but I don’t care. It is still my little tree and I will put it up every year…with as many lights and ornaments as it can possible hold. IT may be a little tacky, but it’s my tree.

Oreos: There is a reason why it is plural. It is because I cannot eat just one…or two…or even three. I must eat the entire bag.

So there they are, my limitations. Of course there are many more, but those are a good start. My therapist would be so proud!

Sitcom Moment #37…Oh Christmas Tree

Written a few years ago and thought I would share. Enjoy!

This year I could not wait to put up my Christmas tree, so last night I broke out the new artificial one (the cat peed on the one last year, so had to throw it away).  As I weaved the lights in and out of the limbs on the tree, my heart filling with the joy and excitement that only the season can provide, I noticed the light strand was a bit tangled.

Now, if you find yourself in this situation, please, unplug the lights before untangling.  I did not do this and found myself temporarily blinded when finished and looked back up at the tree.  Well, in the true spirit of a Pinktank (my nickname), I tripped over where the lights were plugged into the wall – falling, blindly, flailing, into the Christmas tree.

As the tree and I not so gracefully fell to the floor, I could hear “Chestnuts Roasting…” playing in the background.  When the fall had been completed, I was tangled in a combination of lights, light chords and Christmas tree limbs.  Surely anyone watching would have died laughing, as I clumsily tried to stand up, still attached to the tree; it jerking and moving in ways that are completely unnatural for an artificial tree, and I spitting out plastic needles.  The cats had run into the corner, shaking in fear that this Christmas tree monster might come and eat them (maybe this will be enough to keep them out of it).

I did finish decorating the tree and no ornaments were harmed…can’t say the same for the tree. It is now a little lopsided and leans a bit to the left.

Maybe Santa will put some Grace in my stocking…

Clumsy Girl

Today was a very good, albeit, clumsy day. I truly do not know what was wrong with my feet or where my coordination went, but it was not with me. On the first day of my new job I tripped, tumbled, bobbled and once nearly fell into my chair.  It all started when I dropped my purse while trying to get into my car with my morning coffee…and just continued from there.  My new co workers are going to start to wonder if I have turrets or something if it continues.

Other than that is was a very good day and I think I am going to like it there. the people are good, the energy vibe is good and it seems to be a place where I can really dig in.  Just the way I like it.

Now, if I can just manage to find my coordination by tomorrow…

God Has a Sense of Humor, and No Sense of Smell

Church. For me it centers and grounds me, gives me Peace – along with doing yard work and planting (seriously). This morning I really needed the centering and comfort that the service, the music, the priest’s voice, the voices of the angelic choir, the stained glass windows offer to me. Just sitting in the church itself gives me a feeling of security and warmth, like being wrapped up in a warm blanket.

The service was very good, the sermon meaningful and the music always wonderful. Then it happened. That taboo thing. Especially for girls, especially in public, especially in CHURCH.

I farted.

Yes, tooted, passed gas, whatever the one of a thousand names you want to call it. I farted in church today.  Not a great moment.

It was not one of those long drawn out ones that men seem to be so proud of being able to produce, but more along the lines of the fast ones, the ones that sound like a small gun went off…in church. Thank goodness it was not loud enough for the entire congregation to hear, but those sitting on the phew next to me heard, as did those directly behind me. And the looks I got during the “Peace”  I got a several strange looks (For those not familiar, during an Episcopal church service, you greet those next to you and say “Peace be with you”) It was a bit uncomfortable.

Also uncomfortable – sitting, standing and kneeling during the rest of the service with my buttcheeks pressed firmly together so as to assure there would be no repeat performance . As soon as the service was over I shot out of there like…well, like…as fast as I could shall we say. But after that what else could I do? Go to the exit, directly to the exit. Do not pass gas (again), do not collect $200…

The whole experience was a bit assinine. {for once misspelled on purpose}

I can hear you laughing.