Category Archives: America

Venus on the Half Shell

Standard
Venus on the Half Shell

I had a wonderful outing with Rob and Laura today. When I arrived Rob presented me with some spoon bread that he made special just for me. When a 95 year old man puts himself through the effort to cook for you, it’s very humbling. Honestly anytime anyone cooks for me I’m thrilled, this was just extra sweet. Spoon bread tastes like cornbread and I marvel at how someone who eats this stuff on the regular hasn’t succumbed to heart disease. It’s filled with the artery clogging goodness of butter, milk with more butter for good measure, eggs and cornmeal. It’s tasty and lethal to mere mortals like myself. I took a few bites, proclaimed it delicious and took it home to savor later. Seriously this dish should come with a defibrillator.

As we were driving to the grocery store we had our usual carefree chatter. I was discussing travel because I’m leaving for a cruise this weekend. We got on the topic of paintings and I mentioned my all time favorite was Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli. Rob mentioned that his mother used to refer to that painting as Venus on the Half Shell and in that moment I felt such regret for having never met the woman. Now whenever the question of which person, living or deceased, would you like most to converse with, my answer will be Rob’s mother. Raise your hand if you agree….that’s a lot of hands in my imagination.

When we got to the grocery store, Laura asked Rob if he wanted his walker. He hesitated a moment and then agreed. I got the shopping cart and gave it to Laura as Rob went on his merry way. Here’s the interesting bit…Rob agreed to that for Laura’s sake. Laura has been struggling more with mobility and refuses to upgrade to a walker from her cane. The grocery cart is basically a socially acceptable walker in Laura’s mind. Rob figured this out in seconds and I pretended not to notice.

As I was getting them tucked back into their home after our outing, Rob took a moment to look me in the eye and tell me how much he appreciates me and that I am like a third daughter to him. I assured him the affection was mutual. Then two minutes later I threatened to brawl with Laura if she didn’t surrender the grocery bag that was half her body weight. She gave me a steely gaze as I took the bag from her.

Me: Let me get that Laura, it’s really heavy.

Laura: Grabs bag with determined look.

Me: Seriously, I will fight you on this.

Laura: Steely gaze.

Me: (Struggles to take bag, maintains eye contact and smile the entire time) Thank you.

 

Advertisements

The Customer Service Merry Go Round

Standard
The Customer Service Merry Go Round

If you were a teen or young adult in North America in the 80s or 90s you may remember a clothing store called Merry Go Round. We used to call it the touchy-feely store because the staff would literally paw at you when you crossed the threshold. Kind of like the scene from Pretty Woman when the Mary’s fall over themselves to dress Julia Robert’s character.

Shopping Scene

To be clear, Merry Go Round wasn’t high end, it was middle of the road filled with trendy clothes. You didn’t go there to get a classic pencil skirt or linen anything, you went for Cavaricci style pants, polka dot dresses, acid washed anything and the occasional shiny strapless dress in electric blue. Once I got drafted by a fellow shopper to try on stuff that he wanted to buy for his girlfriend. You only say yes to that BS when you’re young. For twenty minutes I tried on clothes and sauntered out into the store for a personal fashion show. The sales staff should have split their commission with me that day.

Anyway, I had an experience today that reminded me of the touchy-feely store. I got my oil changed at one of those quick oil change places. I’d mention the name but then the Russian bots might figure out my real identity and I can’t have that.I’ll actually be in Russia this time next week (oops I may have said too much).

Anyhow, you pull into the bay and stay in your car as the service is performed. They were kind of slow so before I could blink I had three dudes surrounding my car. I might have been flattered with all of the attention if they weren’t pulling out filters from every crevice of the car, suggesting I replace a $4. part with their $46. identical part. At one point a guy was removing the glove box to check the cabin filter, it felt weird. I just wanted that 15 minutes to read a book. Um, thanks fellas, that’s a hard pass. Here’s my $25. coupon, skip the extras and let’s move along.

I did have a customer service experience that went better than expected. This morning I got an email from Hollister requesting feedback on an order that hasn’t arrived yet. This was particularly annoying because I just got notice that delivery will be delayed and the clothes won’t get here in time for our trip. I replied explaining my frustration, fulling expecting that email to die a lonely death in cyberspace. Much to my surprise, Tara from Customer Service offered to next day ship the order and said she would waive return shipping costs for the delinquent order. I passed though her willingness to assist shifted my experience from negative to positive. Amazing how simple it can be to make that switch.

 

We On FIRE!

Standard
We On FIRE!

They stood around watching the house burn. It was quite a spectacle, the crowd grew larger with each moment. Massive flames visible, engulfing the structure, smoke could be seen for miles. Onlookers speculated about the cause…

Man: Maybe she left the stove on?

Woman: Possible, that happened to a friend of a friend once….actually, they think the cat started that one, jumped on the stove and hit the nob just right. Insane!

Man: Could have been smoking in bed or in a recliner, fell asleep…wake up with your hair on fire, literally!

The fire continues to burn and spreads to the next house…

Mayor (grabs a megaphone): Y’all need to step back a bit, this fire is getting out of hand!

Woman: Indeed it is, I heard it started with a space heater.

Man: What? That’s nuts it was 60 degrees last night who uses a space heater when it’s 60 degrees!

Woman: My momma that’s who….she has circulation problems, always cold.

The fire has spread to several buildings now with no end in sight…

Kid: Instead of talking about how the fire may have started, why don’t we try to put it out?

And this my friends is how it seems to me when people discuss mass shootings in America. They want to blame mental illness, video games, the avocado shortage, Mercury in Retrograde, shitty parenting, a lack of Jesus, racism, politicians and big pharma. The common denominator in mass shootings is GUNS, 100% of the time. Let’s start there because we on fire.

HaPpY BiRtHdAy Blanche!

Standard
HaPpY BiRtHdAy Blanche!

For those that are new around here…I write under a pen name. A couple of years ago I came up with a character (Super Cringe) for my pen name because sometimes your alter ego needs an alter ego. You still with me? Super Cringe has a real dog who also has a fake name, Blanche. I know it’s all very complicated…it has to be to keep the KGB off my back. There’s no way they could untangle this mess….anyway, here’s a fake conversation with my real dog who may or may not have a birthday today.

Super Cringe: Happy Birthday Blanche!

Blanche: It’s my birthday? That’s wonderful, do I get treats?

Super Cringe: Way to get right to it Blanche. Is it because your older now…you can’t remember the gift we gave you on Monday?

Blanche: What gift?

Super Cringe: The chicken with the squeaker…you seemed pretty excited about it when we gave it to you. Remember we gave it to you a couple of days early because the boy was going on vacation with his friend’s family….

Blanche: Ahhh yes, the chicken, where is that thing?

Super Cringe: Seriously, you lost it already?

Blanche: Oh, wait a minute, I hid it in the laundry room…that’s a relief. When does the boy get home?

Super Cringe: Sunday

Blanche: I don’t like it when a member of the pack leaves, it makes me anxious.

Super Cringe: Is that why you smell funky?

Blanche: Bish please, it’s been 100 degrees and I’m wearing fur, you’d smell funky too.

Super Cringe: Fair point. Happy Birthday Blanche!

 

IMG_8507.JPG

Give me that chicken!

 

Laundry Fairies and Other Absurdities

Standard
Laundry Fairies and Other Absurdities

Hi blog friends, sorry for being so scarce these days, summer sucks up free time better than Bounty Paper Towels (Bounty feel free to send me a case or two of paper towels for that spontaneous ad placement). I usually have a teenager buzzing by me in the kitchen and a geriatric(ish) dog that insists on sleeping directly under the desk in my kitchen. In short, there’s no privacy which cramps my style.

For those that read my last post the wedding went fine. A few highlights which are better left as bullet points (your imagination will be more exciting than the actual events):

* The temperature on the day of the wedding was triple digits (100 Fahrenheit, 38 Celsius). The air was so thick you could chew it which, didn’t do my hair any favors.

* My mom popped over as my husband and I were in a the last precious minutes of getting ready to avoid being more than 20 minutes late. She wanted to see my dress. I never went to a prom so I guess this is my fault. You just don’t expect your mom to want to see your wedding guest dress at the tender age of 51.

* The hubs got dressed in a parking lot and was spotted in a drive by.

* There were at least six women wearing a slightly different version of my dress. One dress in particular was the shorter version of my gown.

* There was minimal drama which I am not at liberty to discuss. No cops were called and no punches were thrown. Some may be disappointed by this so here’s something to satisfy that – Brawl

*The hubs and I rolled in around 2:30am and our bedroom door was mysteriously locked. Both kids deny locking it, the dog looked guilty. We were able to break in with a paperclip and a credit card.

In other news, my daughter and I are going on a Baltic Sea Cruise next month and I am super excited. My niece is a vocalist on the ship and her BF is a dancer so we will get to see both of them perform multiple times. Oh yeah and the ship goes to six ports – including Russia. So I’ve already drafted a novel in my head about a middle aged women who takes a tour in St Petersburg and is arrested by the KGB for Facebook posts that include this –

Putin

If you don’t see me in September send in the Seals. This is just a girls trip the hubs and son will be home. We’ll be gone just shy of two weeks. A friend of mine recently went away for the weekend and she is currently buried under a mountain of laundry.

Friend: (Can’t go out today) …..need to get caught up on laundry…

Me: You mean the Laundry Fairies didn’t keep up while you were gone?

Friend: They don’t even show up in a GIF!

Me: Haha because they don’t exist, even in fantasy!

So if the Kremlin doesn’t get me, the laundry will. Do any of my blog friends have summer vacation plans?

 

 

 

 

I Do!

Standard
I Do!

Today is a big day, it’s a family wedding on the hubs side. For those not in the know, my husband is first generation Italian-American born and raised in Brooklyn. Now download every stereotype of New York Italians into your brain and imagine those people at a fancy wedding venue, that’s what I have going on tonight.

The hubs and I are at the stage in life where the wedding invitations have slowed down. If we get invited to a friend’s wedding, it isn’t their first. Most nuptials we attend now are for the grown children of friends. Every time we attend one of these events I am filled with gratitude that we eloped. We plan to offer our kids bonus gifts if they elope instead of having a big wedding.

I like a party, it’s just so much pressure and expense. Tonight’s event is black tie optional and it starts at 7pm, that means formal attire. For this minimalist makeup, tousled hair, sports bra wearing woman, formal takes effort. Significant effort. It’s also expensive as hell just to be a guest.

About 6 weeks ago I went dress shopping with a friend who is kind but doesn’t mince words. That’s who you want with you when you attempt to dress yourself for a special occasion. We started out at Nordstrom Rack. I tried on about 37 outfits, most were dresses in various lengths with a few jumpsuits thrown in for giggles. It was painful.

There were a few outfits I simply could not figure out how to get on. That’s an immediate pass, the idea of getting stuck in one of those makes me shudder. The last time I went shopping alone I had to will myself to become disjointed to escape the dress I apparently had no business trying on. If I have to summon my inner Houdini it’s simply not worth the effort. I have a real fear of having to claw my way out some overpriced frock which I’m forced to purchase because I went all Hulk-woman on it. No thanks.

You don’t have a complete understanding of how much you detest your body until you’ve seen it encased in something that mere moments ago brought you hope and a twinge of excitement. Exuberance gets replaced with disappointment, self-loathing and a general sense of WTF. An hour or so into the expedition I still needed a dress so we drove to the mall. The mall is my least-happy-place.

The stores and the dresses all started to look the same. I was sticking with black because I like my clothes to match my soul. OK it’s slimming I’m not the anti-christ FFS. On the 56th attempt my friend and I agreed on the dress I would get. Sweet relief, that task was done. Never mind that I had to order up a size from my usual which put me into the size which I swore I would never wear…sigh. Basically, I hated myself the least in this particular dress so I bought it.

The next day I started to question my choice. Self doubt crept in and tapped me on the shoulder. For those that aren’t familiar, I have named my self doubt Ethel. I envision Ethel as Grandmotherly looking prairie dog, she wears a knitted sweater vest and she has bifocals. She also swears a lot, has a tattoo and chain smokes Marlboro Reds. Ethel is a straight up bitch, she has too many opinions and she is persistent AF.

Anyhoo, Ethel convinces me that the dress is all wrong. In fact, she tells me it’s hideous and that I look like a bloated Morticia (Addams Family) in that lacy ace bandage. I panic and begin to look online for something else. After several hours, I purchase a gown that may or may not work. That dress arrived a few days later and Ethel told me that it was even more ridiculous than the first, so I punched her in the face and decided to embrace my inner Morticia.

Next on the agenda was shoes. Gawd I hate heels. I love the way they look…walking in them however, is a fine art that I have not mastered. A couple of years ago we went to a wedding in Malibu, California and my feet still ache when I think of the shoes I wore. Once again I am torn between wanting something that looks good and what I can actually pull off with minimal scarring (emotional or physical). As mentioned before, this wedding is NY Italian, anything under 4 inch heels will be laughed at. The 81 year old grandmother will be wearing stilettos and I’m not even kidding.

My primping is minimal but the basics need to be covered. This week I got a mani/pedi and freshened my hair color. I actually got my hair done yesterday and I have done very little since then because I don’t want to lose the blow out. Seriously I have limited my time outside (current temp is surface-of-the-sun hot) and I skipped the gym to avoid needing to wash my hair. These are sacrifices one most make.

For some this may seem like a lot…to you I say Ha! I guarantee you some guests have had surgical procedures to prepare for this wedding and yes I am serious. The results of cool-sculpting, breast augmentation, Botox, chemical peels, tanning salons and varicose vein correction will all be on parade this evening, I have no doubt. Don’t even get me started on the teeth whitening, I may be blinded by 9pm. I’ve got nothing against those procedures I’m just too chicken to try them out (oh and I’m cheap).

Stayed tuned for the details of how it went…

Oh Fiddle!

Standard
Oh Fiddle!

It’s been a while since I posted about Rob & Laura, they’re doing fine. They’ve had lots of visits with their children. One daughter asked me to check on a cut that Rob mysteriously acquired last week. She really wants Rob to put a bandage on it. When I mentioned this to Rob he informed me that it had a bandage on it already, it’s called a scab. Alright then.

Last week Laura was a bit miffed about the laundromat. She muttered about getting there late and how bad it is if you don’t get there early. I took the bait and showed up 20 minutes earlier today to see if that would alleviate the problem. She was pleased that I was early then in her exuberance she forgot to bring the laundry detergent. That set us back a bit and I got concerned when I heard her say “oh fiddle” from the back seat. “Oh fiddle” is the 92 year old version of Code Red, I acted with extreme caution. If I heard “Fudge!” I would have considered turning around and calling it a day.

While Laura was doing laundry, Rob and I went to the grocery store. We only needed two things and I asked Rob if he wanted to use a cart or his cane, he went with the cane. As we were crossing the parking lot I stated “And they’re off!” in my most announcer like voice. Rob didn’t miss a beat and added “Like a herd of turtles!”

Upon entering the store we heard, “cleanup in produce”. We both chuckled at that because it happens 100% of the time and we go twice a week. Then we looked for Marty, the useless grocery store robot. As we were making our way toward the check out, Marty approached, it got a little weird. At one point Marty got stuck between an older man in a wheel chair and me. George was on my right, Marty on my left and the wheelchair guy was left of Marty.

I could tell Marty was confused as he went back and forth in incremental choppy movements because he didn’t have a clear path out. I was hoping the circumstances would cause Marty extreme frustration resulting in fried wires, a mechanical meltdown of some sort.  For a moment I imagined the encounter would render him incapable of fulfilling his duties (which seem to be limited to aggravating customers with a precision focus on geriatric clients), no such luck.

On the way out Rob commented that the cart with four wheels was easier to navigate than his cane. I remarked that he has a walker which also has 4 wheels and that got me some side eye. I replied with “oh fiddle”.

Because I Can

Standard
Because I Can

I am quietly sitting in the main level bedroom of a nicely appointed house that dates back to the 1890’s. It’s insulated well enough that air conditioning isn’t required despite the high summer temperatures outside. The windows are open and I can hear the chatter of cows from the farm that borders the back yard. I can hear those same cows from my own home which is within walking distance. Here though, I get to eavesdrop on the more nuanced conversations, beyond the distressed mooing that occasionally travels to my patio. The cows are conversing in more hushed tones.

Each room in this house has been lovingly filled with precious items.  Long ago gifts, remembrances and highly sought after antique flea market finds that probably took months, perhaps years, to procure. The individual pieces are meaningful, eclectic and likely filled with sentimental value. A lot of love went into decorating this home and perhaps a twinge of obsession, the result is a timeless casual elegance.

The items themselves are a bit worn around the edges. Faded like the lingering scent of fabulous meal after the dinner dishes have been cleared. It seems more poignant with some of the newness ebbed away by time, longevity has it’s own allure which, something shiny and new can’t quite grasp.

After several minutes Thelma, jumps down from the bed and visits me at my corner chair. A petite orange tabby, she sniffs my feet for a few minutes. I attempt to pet her which yields a do not touch look so I stop myself and decide to ignore her. After a few minutes she bites my knee because that’s what cats do. My involuntary jolt sent her scampering away for the remainder of my visit. Her sister, Louise, is out in the yard somewhere planning her next kill or rolling in the grass, sunny side up. I won’t hear from her unless she wants to come in which, she will announce by jumping 4 feet up, onto the screened porch door. Thelma & Louise keep things interesting around here.

During the olfactory interrogation, I can hear the Serena Williams match on the TV in the kitchen. A man’s voice is giving an unofficial commentary of the match…”Oh no, Geezus!” and “Come on Serena!” are on a repetitive loop. I’m happy that he has a distraction even if the end result isn’t what he wanted. He is passionate about something separate from the care-giving which likely consumes him. In this small way he is reclaiming something important for himself and I wish more caregivers would do that.

Before he leaves for the gym he stops by the bedroom. He tells me that they just got back from vacationing at the beach where they got married decades ago. I wonder if his wife has any recollection of that now as she lay snoring, midday, in the bed they still share. He gives her a long, gentle, emotional hug as he prepares to leave and I try to become invisible in that moment.

I see the hospital bed close by and I wonder which one of the two beds she will pass in. Probably the hospital bed, it will likely happen before the unofficial end of summer. I push against the inclination to imagine a similar scenario in my own life as I silently ask God for another 20 (pretty please make that 30) years of health and happiness with my husband. I am momentarily engulfed in the absolute knowledge that this is all temporary. I’ve seen this situation play out about 100 different ways in the ten plus years that I have been a hospice volunteer. It’s usually some diabolical form of cancer with the wife caring for the husband or the daughter caring for a parent. It always leaves a print of sadness on my soul which gets absorbed and gently tucked away.

When I prepare to leave, I notice the fireplace in the bedroom has writing on the header. “Fairy Tales Really Do Come True…” is painted in pretty cursive. A swirl of emotions courses through me. I don’t believe in fairy tales, I had to rescue myself and yet, my life is blessed beyond anything I could have imagined as a child. For the thousandth time I question why I do this…why do I place myself in the center of someone else’s heartbreak. The answer is always the same, because I can and those that can, should.

 

Insomnia Inspired Ted Talks

Standard
Insomnia Inspired Ted Talks

Today’s post is brought to you by…INSOMNIA. I don’t drink or do drugs so sleep deprivation is the closest thing I have to a mind altering state. So while I’m experiencing my “buzz” (more like static in my brain) I thought it would be fun to write something. My sleep deprived brain has selected possible Ted Talks as my topic du jour. Seems like there are Ted Talks for just about everything by lots of folks so why not throw my not-sleeping cap into the ring.

Possible TED Talk topics:

Insomnia – Still fleshing this one out some ideas will be researched further…Why does my brain come alive at 3:14am? Is shoulder pain an early warning sign of a heart attack? Dear gawd why do I have to pee again? It’s too hot….now it’s too cold. Why does my mother hate me? I wonder what happened to Lynn, that chick I hung out with in 1987? What are my kids going to do for a career? I wonder where the hubs and I will retire. I hope the dog lives until both kids finish high school, unless she’s incontinent and then… What was I thinking when I decided to get ferrets in my mid 20s?

Women’s Wrongs – Yeah I know some of you are tired of this topic, too bad. The US Women’s Soccer Team is such a blatant example of the pay gap that it can not be ignored. Reproductive rights in jeopardy and rapists still getting away with well, raping. Terms being used to describe pedophiles and predators in main stream media – young women and underage are used improperly, it’s simply children.

Feminist is not a dirty word, discuss.

Politics – There doesn’t seem to be any room for center anymore and this frightens me. People are dead set on teams – Red or Blue, we need more Purple. I want reasonable gun control. I want accessible health care for everyone. I want affordable (not free) college/trade schools. Pro-choice is not pro abortion. I want criminals to be punished and not be able to buy their way out of jail. I want justice system reform. I want racism to die a lonely painful death. Speaking of death, I want the right to die on reasonable terms. We need to make public education a priority. We need to collectively stop being war mongers. Equal pay, equal rights for all not just the privileged. My campaign slogan – Just don’t be an asshole, OK?

What are your Ted Talk topics?

 

Livin’ La Vida Loca

Standard
Livin’ La Vida Loca

You ever hear a song and get instantly transported back to a person, place or time? It’s one of the magical aspects of music – how it can take you to a different time and place. I experienced a casual version of that yesterday when this came on –

Livin’ La Vida Loca

I was instantly taken back to 1999 when I worked for a software company in New Jersey. It was a great time in my life. I was a fiercely independent, a career woman, in love with my boyfriend (married that dude) and I weighed 107 pounds (sigh). I was on an upward trajectory and it felt good. I owned my little house by the sea, I was on the path to self actualization, truly.

This song in particular reminds me of the receptionist who worked for the same company. She was the textbook picture of a hot Jersey girl. Her hair was gorgeous, long brown perfect curls, big hair that did what it was told.  She was tiny (so tiny, under 100 pounds tiny) with a huge attitude, she was awesome! Her last name was, wait for it….Fox. I shit you not. Ms. Fox had a mad crush on Ricky Martin and I think she may have had the power to get him to switch teams, at least for one night.

About four years into my tenure, the Office Manager sent out an email to the entire office. It announced the arrival of twin girls including their weights in CCs….Ms. Fox had gotten herself a boob job. The email gave co-workers permission to openly gawk at the new twins (under clothing of course, it wasn’t a brothel for Gawd sake). I ran over as fast as I could, they were spectacular!

Related image

Not real, none the less, still spectacular. Jimmy Kimmel (The Man Show) once declared on the topic of breast implants – “If they exist, they’re real.” So I am invoking the Jimmy Kimmel defense of fake boobs to include this GIF.