Category Archives: Friends

The Struggle is Real

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The Struggle is Real

In 2016 my daughter went through an intense hand sanitizer phase, it was sandwiched between the days of making her own slime and travel soccer. She was not alone, all of her tween BFFs were afflicted with the same disease, a hallmark of the middle school years for girls.

Such a carefree time when my biggest concern was….can they actually get drunk from smelling this sh*t? How many hours can 5 tween girls spend in Bath & Body Works? Why am I the only mom schlepping these girls to the mall? What is a reasonable amount of hand sanitizer and is that affected by the buy 12/get 82 free sale? So many questions as we navigated our way through the days of olfactory overload.

Fast forward four years and now that once annoying and inconvenient phase has gifted us with a plethora of outdated and funky smelling gel. I haven’t seen traditional hand sanitizer in any store for over two months. My supplies are dwindling so I had to put on my mom jeans and raid the leftover stash from my daughter who has since moved on to grunge, goth and her two faves Brian May & Gordon Ramsay. If you have a tween or teen daughter, chances are you have a similar stash if you didn’t get all Marie Kondo and throw them out three years ago like a responsible parent, tsk, tsk.

If you do have a stash on hand of the 2016 Bath & Body Works Collection, please allow me to provide a little guidance. Here’s a review of the three bottles of hand sanitizer that I “borrowed” from my daughter’s room earlier today.

Chill Out

Sage advice B & B W. The bottle features a penguin wearing a grass skirt on a beach with a palm tree. That would be a nice place to chill out. Trying to sort out what part of the world this penguin is from, perhaps the Galapagos?

Anyhow, the scent (inhales deeply while holding the canister in my right hand, the left hand flutters in an upward motion).…it smells like a pina colada with strong notes of Axe deodorant. That’s a brilliant move by the marketing department – 98% of the male middle school population wore Axe deodorant in 2016. Bravo!

ISLAND *MARG*ARITA

WTAF B & B W. This bottle has a boozy looking drink on it with a partial white face with blondish hair which looks Trumpian. I think someone in the marketing department may have gotten a contact high from all the product. The median age of your hand sanitizer demographic in 2016 was 11 years and 7 months. Are they supposed to drink this sh*t or are trying to sort out which parents aren’t paying attention to their kids purchases and then question their decisions 4 years after the fact. Touche, sorry I got side tracked.

The scent is (inhales once again, same hand motions)….tough to dissect this one, it’s complicated. There is a hint of lime with a suggestion of future bad decisions and a twinge of vomit. Well played marketing, well played.

The Struggle is Real

This bottle features what I can only guess is an ice cream container with a spoon. The ambiguity of the artwork is a good call since your customer can fill in the blanks – is it an ice cream container or cookie dough, what’s your comfort food of choice? And really it’s never too early to introduce emotional eating is it? It has become clear to me that you are casting a wider net then I originally anticipated. Perhaps you went into this venture hoping to appeal to tweens and their boozy and/or mildly depressed moms. Sure it was a reach but I do appreciate the effort. Whispers…my comfort food is Milk Duds.

Last time, inhales deeply (forget the hand motions, who are we fooling this stuff all smells the same)….ah…this is a familiar scent…Hawaiian Tropic Sunscreen and wait….ah yes, the tears & sweat found only in a middle school gym locker room. You’ve out done yourself with this one. You have the perfect formula for happy scent with a dash of realism. I suspect the adult version of this replaces the gym locker room scents with something like unrealized dreams and cortisol.

The struggle is real, it sure f^cking is.

No Net

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No Net

I haven’t wanted to write for months. I’m having a difficult time coming to terms with the enormity of this situation. I force myself to do the self care things that have helped  me to remain sober for more than 36 years…I eat well, exercise, start my day with gratitude, pray…yet, I find myself fighting that gravitational pull. That invisible, powerful force that wants to take me down. I don’t want to die, I just don’t want to do anything.

Early on I acknowledged to myself that I wasn’t going to Marie Kondo my way through this mess. I may get around to tidying up my desk of shame in the kitchen if the urge hits. I will not be learning a new language, sewing masks (they would suck), or (sigh) writing the great American novel (or the mediocre pandemic novel).

I’m shadowboxing depression and my usual moves are tired, weak.

I go through the motions anyway, a weird automatic setting that kicks in like a worn out, haggard looking Stepford Wife. I feed my family (a seemingly endless loop of meals), I do the laundry, I get my ass outside to walk, I check in on my elderly clients and my mom, try to find the humor…I’m struggling, I mean, aren’t we all?

Mind you, I have no reason to complain. I live in a spacious house with people that are not abusive or threatening. Sure we get on each other’s nerves but I’m not in danger here. My awareness that other people do not have a safe space haunts me. Women are getting beaten by abusive partners, children live in fear of their parents, many people are hungry, cold and without adequate shelter and I feel powerless.

I worry about marginalized people, the ones that were barely making it before the virus. Minorities afraid to wear masks in public because that may be more dangerous then not wearing one…people living on the street, those scraping by paycheck to paycheck, the uninsured, the ones with no safety net whatsoever…I used to be a member of that club.

It sounds great to call grocery store workers heroes. The truth is most of them work to survive, they don’t want to stock shelves, run the register or listen to you bitch about a lack of mangoes, they don’t have a viable alternative. They prefer to live indoors with electricity and running water.

Prior to this sh*t storm it was not unusual for me to be at several grocery/specialty stores in a week, sometimes several in a day. I would take my elderly clients out food shopping, to the butcher, etc, then I would go shopping for my family. If someone wanted the Brooklyn Bread, I would drive 15 minutes to that store….croissants, no problem, 12 minutes in the opposite direction. Need Italian cookies (the real ones with an almond base and pignoli nuts), I know a place (stated in a NY accent with exaggerated hand gestures). Back in the carefree days of early March, I was the step & fetch it gal for my family for each whim and craving. That horse has left the barn and in the immortal words of Ke$ha, I ain’t coming back.

Tik Tok Bitches

By the second week of March I realized that exposing myself to multiple stores in different geographic areas was high risk. So I hunkered down to one local store, once a week (or less) and made due with what I could get. I also shop for my mother and my elderly clients, I look like a hoarder whenever I go. I tried the online shopping with dismal results so this is my new normal.

I happen to know one of the workers at my store. Lindsay (not her real name) is a friend of a friend. Sadly our mutual friend passed away a few years ago and I was the one that broke the news to her. We have bonded over our grief and are on friendly terms. I always look for her when I shop, let’s face it, that’s pretty much the only real life social interaction I get outside of my home.

I was shopping two Fridays before Easter, April 3rd. My intention was to get enough for three households to make it past Easter. It was a monster order. My large cart was overflowing and I required two carts to get everything to my car. Lindsay bagged my groceries and helped me take groceries to my car that day. I was careful, I had a mask on even though it wasn’t required yet. I have a habit of bringing hand sanitizer in my pocket when I go into the store so I can put it on before I touch my door handles. I took those precautions.

As we were loading my car, Lindsay talked about wanting a mask. I happened to have an extra one in my car. Nothing exotic, just a basic dust mask. A different friend of a friend gifted me with a 4 pack of them about a month ago. I offered one to Lindsay and she accepted with gratitude. That was the last time I saw Lindsay face to face.

On April 15th I got a Facebook message from Lindsay. I commented that I missed her in the store when I went on April 14th. Turns out Lindsay and her partner both tested positive for COVID 19, they were 8 days into isolation. She didn’t go into too many details just that it was awful and scary. I offered to shop for them, cook, anything…she declined said they were covered for now.

I haven’t heard from her in a week.

 

 

If you have the means and feel inclined, I urge you to donate to the charity of your choice during this time. Here are links to two charities that are dear to me –

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fed Up!

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Fed Up!

Everyone is in full on crazy mode right now. Hanukkah and Christmas are just around the corner, weather has been a complete mess for a large swath of the population and I still need to figure what to get my Brother In-law.  Since my surgery last month I have become pretty good at saying – “nope, not doing it” and Christmas is no exception.

I have gotten gifts for my kids, the hubs and my nieces and nephew…I’m just not stretching much beyond that this year. I may attempt to make biscotti, maybe not. I tried to bake something last week and it made me awful to be around. I go into a weird rage when I attempt to bake, it isn’t pretty.

Clearly I’m not the only one feeling the pressure, a local mom posted this picture in a Facebook Group –

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Sure, it’s all fun and games until little Timmy goes to school and starts discussing how Snowball landed on his dinner plate and it takes a few beats for his first grade teacher to realize that mom has probably been hitting the eggnog a little too hard this year. Or perhaps the offspring of this stressed out parent is observant and wonders why Snowball’s right leg is longer than his left (inquisitive little monster). Then dad has to come up with some convincing backstory on the fly about a sledding accident in 2004. I tend not to lie simply because it’s too exhausting.

It’s not just the holidays making me nuts, it’s the recovery from my ACDF. The other night I went to a women’s networking holiday party. It was great to get out and feel human again. Bonus I ate a meal that I didn’t shop for, cook, serve or clean up – that is always a plus. I got a bit panicked when it was time to leave because a snow squall had come through and I was afraid of slipping on ice and snow. My friend graciously walked me to my car as I held on to her arm (just in case). Then I had a white-knuckle ride home on black ice. I am usually excellent about driving in the snow – since the surgery I’m afraid of getting into a fender bender or skidding off the road. I’m sure this will calm down as I get further into recovery but right now I’m feeling fragile and it effects me in ways that never have before. I don’t like this new version of chicken-shit me, not one bit.

I went back to a modified work schedule a couple of weeks ago. The modifications mean I do not drive Rob and Laura around anymore, not for the foreseeable future. Instead I visit them at home, run solo errands and do some cooking for them. This has been working out except one day last week when Laura forgot I wasn’t driving them anymore. You haven’t lived until a 93 year old woman is pissed off because you won’t take her to the laundromat. Luckily a driver was coming the next day to tackle that task.

One of the new chores is to assist Rob with the spraying of the fruitcakes. I didn’t know this was a thing until about a month ago. Rob made 22 fruitcake loaves and one wreath back in November. Since then, he sprays the bounty every Wednesday. The loaves each get 5 sprays of brandy and then they are sealed in a Ziploc bag and placed in an airtight container. The wreath gets about a dozen sprays. I’m fairly certain the wreath is an alcoholic, it’s a broken mess. I didn’t get the specifics but I did see the results and I explained what a smash cake is to my friends. We have deemed the boozy treat a smash wreath and that should totally be a thing.

This week was special because it was time to remove the cheesecloth. Pieces of liquored up fruit were falling off like a drunken avalanche. Rob (a non-drinker) was scooping up the bits like a kid who just busted up a Pinata. I’ve never seen a 95 year old move with such cat like reflexes. After a few fistfuls his aim was off on the spraying and the right side of my body smelled like a bar at 11:59pm on New Year’s Eve. Luckily I made it home without getting pulled over. I may need to change my sobriety date.

On the plus side, I still have my sense of humor and luckily I’m not the only one….this gem popped up on Facebook the other day. I like this an unreasonable amount. Happy-whatever-you-celebrate! 80406706_1768755406589367_978716565929197568_n.jpg

 

Jack with a Rack

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Jack with a Rack

Heard of Elf on the Shelf? The popular tiny toy spy that has parents shouting “Oh shit!” most mornings in December when they realize they forgot to move him the night before. Maybe slow down on the eggnog Susan so you can make those magical Christmas memories.

Here’s a rundown in case you aren’t familiar….Elf on the Shelf is basically an overpriced toy that comes with a backstory and a high probability of some minor childhood trauma. The elf is supposed to “watch” your children and return each night to the North Pole to help Santa determine if each kid makes the naughty or nice list.

The elf typically lands in a different spot from the previous day and sometimes it gets into some shenanigans (Photo Exhibit A) – if parents forget to move the elf, eventually kids start to question the legitimacy of the stew of lies you’ve been feeding them.

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Well this is Jack with a Rack (JR). Jack with a Rack is made for adults. He/She/They (your Jack, your rules) is here to get you through the stresses of the holiday season. Jack doesn’t care if you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, Las Posadas, Diwali or Chinese New Year. Jack is down to be your drinking pal, bed buddy or silent partner in crime. So get jacked with your new friend this December, we won’t tell Santa!

 

Ethel, Not the Prairie Dog

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Ethel, Not the Prairie Dog

If you are a regular reader of the blog (all six of you), you may recall that I named my inner critic Ethel. I’m pretty sure we all have an inner critic, that asshole in your head that makes you second guess your life choices. Sure sometimes they make a valid point, for instance, meth is always a bad idea. Other times it’s less obvious like beating yourself up over that new bold haircut (psst…they rarely go well) or that second slice of chocolate cake.

I visualize my inner critic as an elderly prairie dog named Ethel. Ethel has bifocal glasses that lean so far down her snout they are in danger of falling off her face. She wears hand crocheted sweater vests in terrible color combinations like orange and fuchsia with a splash of brown. Her right hand is on her right hip in that universal condescending stance. Her nose is scrunched in judgement and as a means to keep those glasses from sliding off her sour face. Oh and she’s fat but we don’t discuss that because fat shaming is wrong. She wears sensible brown shoes (to match the vest) and she has a broken pen behind her left ear. That pen hasn’t worked since 1992. Anyway, this post is about a different Ethel, but wasn’t that a fun distraction.

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A nude shot of Ethel. You have to imagine the ugly sweater vest, bifocals, brown orthopedic shoes and broken pen.

Last night I stayed with an almost 92 year old lady named Ethel who prefers to be called Jane (keep UP). Her son in-law recently passed away and the family was at his wake. Ethel, I mean Jane, is one of those fun feisty nonagenarians. I didn’t have to do much except bring her food and follow her cues as to how social she wanted to be.

She’s fiercely independent and very lucid with the occasional lapse of judgement. At one point she wanted to ask her daughter about how the Thanksgiving turkey was cooked…not a great idea to call during a wake. I tried to distract her but her will won out and then she felt bad. I assured her it was fine, that the phone was likely on silent and I got the answer via text. In case you’re wondering, the bird was cooked for 14 hours at 200 degrees Fahrenheit, it felt wrong to ask for more details than that.

Jane gets a glass of wine promptly at 7pm, Chianti if you’re curious. After the vino my new friend started spilling family secrets. It’s amazing how much one glass of Chianti can yield, perhaps governments need to change their tactics when dealing with hostile prisoners. We’d probably get further along than we do with water boarding…but that’s an entirely different kind of post.

I will keep the family secrets in the vault but I can share one amusing tale. Jane was in Ireland on vacation with her daughter in-law (Debbie) and a friend (Ann). They were on their way to Trinity College in Dublin to see The Book of Kells exhibition.

For those that don’t know (including myself until 5 minutes ago) The Book of Kells was created around the year 800 and contains the four gospels. The emphasis of the book is on the 340 folios made from calfskin vellum. The book is primarily visual as much of the text is either truncated or erroneously repetitive. So it’s basically a fancy biblical picture book y’all! Here’s a link in case you find yourself in Dublin – The Book of Kells

On this particular trip, Jane discovered a deep dark secret about her friend Ann. Ann was (in the CIA – that’s Catholic Irish American, not the other CIA) a closet smoker. Jane caught her smoking a few times and pretended not to notice (much like I pretend not to see people I know at the grocery store).

Years earlier her other travel companion, Debbie, lost an arm to cancer. She had a prosthetic arm but it was too heavy so she usually went without it. The three of them were walking in a spread out single file line on their way to the exhibition. Debbie, the youngest, was far ahead. My new friend Jane was in the middle and Ann, the closet smoker with undiagnosed emphysema, was the caboose.

Jane: Ann if you don’t slow down….so help me God I will rip off your good arm and beat you over the head with it! Miss smokes-a-lot can’t keep up!!!

True story.

 

 

A Tale of Two Turkeys

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A Tale of Two Turkeys

Happy almost American Turkey Day. I guess we can still call it Thanksgiving though my childhood version of Pilgrims and Native Americans sharing a farm to table style of meal has been destroyed by, I supposed some level of…what’s the word, awareness. Yes we are colonizers, land grabbers, murderers, rapists and pillagers or at least most of our ancestors were to some degree. If you can put that in a dark corner, lock the door, anoint your feet and pray for forgiveness….then follow me toward a new version of Thanksgiving.

We typically host Thanksgiving dinner because we have the big dinning room table (seats 10). My husband helps to clean the house but most of the cooking, shopping, cleaning and planning falls on my shoulders. NBD I’ve cooked at least 30 Thanksgiving birds in my tenure – I’ve tried them all from Butterball to heirloom organic and all the Tom’s in-between. I’m a tad tired of it at this point. The idea of having my hand up inside some still ice coated underbelly of a 16 pound bird mid morning the last Thursday of November is no longer appealing. You guys, I get a pass this year!

I’m just shy of three weeks post OP from my ACDF surgery and therefore I still have activity restrictions (THANK YOU sweet Geezus, thank you) – translation – I can’t handle the bird duties this year. Whoot! Whoot! and hells yes! We are still hosting (big table) but my hubs is making the bird. I will make a vegetable, soup and cranberry sauce – everything else will be purchased pre-made or brought by guests. What’s that smell – pumpkin pie??? No friends that is the smell of kitchen liberation!

Now you may recall that the hubs is an Engineer…that basically means he has an innate need to over analyze, speculate, theorize and generally drive himself crazy trying to determine the best course of action in any given situation. Don’t get me wrong, these traits have made him a very successful business man (hence the big table) and have provided us with a really nice lifestyle…it’s also a tad amusing.

The hubs has been studying everything turkey related – brine, dry rub, defrosting, infusion, best cooking methods, pans, racks, twine, spatchcock, voodoo and Reiki. I’m kidding about the spatchcock – I’m afraid to send him down that rabbit hole. OK I just whispered spatchcock with no explanation and now we wait…

He purchased the first turkey last Friday. It was frozen from the upscale market that we prefer to go to for meats and Brooklyn bread. Here’s a bio –

Chad – 1st Turkey

Born May 2, 2019, Lancaster, PA

Parents – Fred & Ethel

Siblings – Chelsea, Carlie, Christopher, Chet, Charlie, Chickie, Charlotte, Chuck & Zoe

Hobbies – Clucking, chasing breezes, looking for Da Vinci code clues under pebbles, Scrabble

Weight: 14.46 pounds

We have 13 people expected for Thanksgiving Dinner so it’s a little small but we can make it work. Chad was the largest organic bird in the bin.

Three days and 17 hours of additional turkey studies later….

The hubs decided yesterday that there needed to be another turkey option and he went to the even more upscale Italian market. Second turkey bio –

Antonio – 2nd Turkey

Born – June 1, 2019, Brooklyn, NY

Parents – Tony & Maria

Siblings – Little Tony, Anthony, Ant, Tina, Marie, Guido, Giovanni (Gio), Angela & Joey

Hobbies: Stick ball, poker, making pasta with Nonna and frequenting the Bada Bing Club!

Weight: 12.67 pounds

I’m going to be honest and say I have no idea why a second turkey was required. Antonio is currently in the freezer and he’s not talking. For the record I have my own idea of the ideal turkey (one that comes prepared). Ideal turkey bio –

Nick – Ideal Bird

Born – January 20, 2019

Parents – Tom & Sheila, Backyard in Philly

Siblings – Carson, Donovan, Randall, Michael, Vick & Jim

Hobbies: Cheese steak connoisseur, E-A-G-L-E-S!!! fan, fly fishing, snorts butter by the pound and deals hardcore whoop ass in bar brawls on South Street.

Weight: 16.43 pounds

Whatever you celebrate may it be happy, with plenty of reasons to be thankful.

Fixed It

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Fixed It

Well hello my blogging friends. I am happy to report that I got through my ACDF with all parts in tact and a few extra…two discs replaced using a combo of my bone and donor bone and a nifty titanium plate with 6 or 8 screws. I feel frickan’ fantastic and I’m not high right now. Got out of surgery a little over 24 hours ago and I am amazed at how good I feel. I suspect there will be some pitfalls along the way but wow what a difference. My right arm is my arm again, not some alien appendage that causes me pain 24/7. I forgot how good it feels to not feel bad all the time. It’s like a rebirth. Anyway, that stuff is nice but boring so let’s get on to the funny stuff before I go night-night.

The hubs and I got caught in traffic on the way to the surgery check in. The traffic was so bad I grabbed my backpack and walked the remaining 4 blocks. I did that to get there on time only to encounter an empty desk upon arrival. That was unsettling but I had faith in the surgeon so I didn’t walk out the door. The vacancy lasted long enough for me to call a general service number to confirm the room number, yup I was at the right place. So much for my efforts for being on time. I just got seated in registration when the hubs came through the door.

After about half an hour I was sent to hospital purgatory. It’s a holding pen before you get to the specialized OR area. This was a fun place. It was set up like an ER with curtains for privacy between beds. The first lady took basic information when she asked me my weight I told the hubs to cover his ears. She said I could whisper it to her, so I did. He said she’s probably lying and sonofabee I was but only by like 2 or 3 pounds and I rounded down so shoot me.

Anyway, I happened to get my period that morning because WTF not. I am 51 years old folks this should be in the rear view mirror and yet here we are…I mention this to another nurse who had the task of rubbing me down with antiseptic cloths (this would be the worst porn scene ever). Anyway I mentioned the menses to my new friend and she gave me mesh underwear and a sanitary pad that could double as a mattress. It was YUGE. I kind of felt bad for the pad, there was no way it was going to live up to it’s potential. I’m at the trickle stage this pad was worthy of postpartum tide. Oh and on one trip to the bathroom part of my gown went into the bowl so I had to explain that mess and get a new gown, at least I entertained the staff.

It was clear that I had at least an hour to go or so in purgatory so I encouraged the hubs to go get something to eat. He was already on Yelp looking for options, he didn’t fight me when I made the suggestion. Mind you it was noon and I didn’t  have anything to eat or drink since Midnight. I would have given my still tingling zombie arm for a coffee at that point. Half an hour after the hubs leaves…

Me: If you send me food pics I will cut you.

Hubs: I literally had my finger on the send button,

Me: Get yo fine azz back here…it’s moving day.

Half an hour later I was sent to OR prep and he was sent somewhere else, a waiting room.

Hubs: I miss u

Hubs: OK, just remembered u don’t have ur phone, so I’m talking to myself.

Once I got settled into my room I sent him home to be with our kids. My friend Kristy dropped by to bring them dinner – a chicken parm sub and a Brooklyn Pizza from our favorite local place.  I also got soup from Lisa, my Rocky Horror partner. And Amy just went full on ridiculous she made soup, cookies, orzo salad and salmon….oh and my friend Iris made me a spectacular chicken soup with matzo balls and magic. I am blessed beyond measure friends. I hope you all have people like this in your life.

Anyway back to the hospital stay. People joke all the time that hospitals are no place to rest and damn that is so true. I had a roommate Joan, 83 years old. She was in so much pain they had to take her for an MRI to see what was going on. Her surgery was way more complicated than mine and I felt guilty for feeling so good. We chatted a good chunk of the night because neither one of us could sleep, too much beeping, plugs coming undone, the compression sock alarm that nearly gave me a heart attack. Every time I needed to pee I had to be untethered by a nurse, it was an ordeal.

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Rare pic of me wasted.

The lab lady came in at 4am to take blood as if that’s a normal thing…we can’t wait until 8am for this? My surgeon came by for a visit at 5:57am, he must sleep 4 hours a night, max. I was glad to see him though he said the surgery went “perfect” and I believed him because my arm was feeling awesome. I got to shake his hand and thank him and ask weird questions about bone grafts. I won’t bore you with those details let’s just say I have some cadaver parts and I’m totally cool with that. I plan to donate my body to science when I die so perhaps I will be able to return the favor.

So in-between the chats with Joan, vitals being checked, alarms going off and the 4am Vampire – the man across the hall from my room threw several tantrums throughout the night. I heard him being abusive to staff, screaming without regard for any of the other patients and just all out acting like an enraged toddler, it was ridiculous. He was at least 20 years younger than Joan who was in extreme pain and was pleasant with everyone she came in contact with – this guy was the opposite. Needless to say I didn’t sleep much.

I got discharged at 11am and I walked out the door, no wheelchair. First stop was a Starbucks to supplement the tepid weak coffee I got with breakfast. There was a lot of food for breakfast, I only ate the grits (Paul I’m sure you would make better grits). Got a Chai and walked the three blocks to the car, it felt good to be outside. Things were going pretty good, until they weren’t.

About 20 minutes into a 45 minute drive I had to vomit. Told the hubs to pull over, he didn’t. Instead he handed me a Mutt Mit (dog poop bag) and I used that, tied the bag to avoid spills and repeated the process two more times. The fact that he had the foresight to think of this raised his stock considerably. We handled that like champs all the while doing 60MPH headed home like we practiced it. Now I’m waiting for my neck to be sore from that mess so tomorrow may be a rough day.

Anyway, it’s been smooth sailing since then. Fingers crossed we stay the course.

 

 

Cruisin’ Like Cattle

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Cruisin’ Like Cattle

Hello friends seems like ages since we’ve chatted. The blame is solidly on me I just got back from a cruise. My teen daughter and I went on an 11-day Baltic Sea cruise (insert gasps, I know it was amazing) to see incredible ports. The real thing that appealed to me about the trip was seeing my niece and her boyfriend (the one I hope she marries) perform on the ship. My niece is a vocalist and her BF is a dancer…so yes, they are in their twenties traveling the world on a luxury ship, no rent, fed well and getting paid. I won’t get into the dicier bits like the sadistic entertainer that terrorized the other cast members the first three months, the six figure student debt or the fact that they will be homeless when they disembark (move in with me kids).

There are two types of people that cruise, the cruise addicts and the rest of us. I’m not sure how the cruise addicts afford their habit. I met one gentleman who had been on a cruise for over 100 days this year. He was in the front row of every performance so we talked a bit. His brother joined him on this cruise and they were theater enthusiasts. During Born to Dance, he applauded loudly and shouted WOW! after each number.

Most of the cruise addicts (CA) are brand loyal. That makes sense you get perks for being a repeat customer. We were on a Princess cruise and there are different levels of loyalty programs. You get cabin upgrades, better dinning and laundry services as you make your way up the ranks. I don’t anticipate ever falling into this category of cruiser because my husband isn’t onboard (ba dum tss) with the idea. We prefer a more in-depth local experience when traveling.

It was one of those mega ships, with passengers and crew, it has the capacity for 4,906 souls. Yup, that’s a lot of people waiting for bacon at the breakfast buffet. Surprisingly enough it didn’t seem that crowded most days. It wasn’t warm enough for the pool for a  majority of the trip so there were no lounge hogs. Disembarking was the clearest indicator of how many people were there and that was handled efficiently….it all went off the rails at the airport.

My group, Green 7, as we were affectionately known boarded the bus without incident, like cattle unknowingly headed to slaughter. I did notice one woman, known as Texas, act a bit aggressive in the bus line, I tried to ignore her. When the bus arrived at the airport we had to fetch our luggage from a tent and walk across the street to the terminal (note to self, take a taxi next time and avoid this ridiculousness). There were hundreds of us going through this same process. Still organized chaos at this point.

When we got in to the terminal I did the kiosk check in, that was fine. Then I went to find out where to drop off our luggage and things took a turn. After checking the board and asking two different airport reps, I was told a luggage lane wouldn’t be open until 3 hours before the flight. We got there 3 1/2 hours prior to flight so I needed to keep checking the board. Once that opened everyone made a mad dash to the luggage counter and suddenly the bacon line was a distant fond memory.

I think 90% of the people were from the cruise ship. Some were still wearing their cruise medallions on a lanyard or carrying bags with the Princess logo. I recognized purple shirt (she talked about jewelry and $80 lipstick the entire bus ride), Texas was there and a large group of people from San Diego and Hawaii. The flight was to JFK in New York and it was a mixed bag of final destination and connecting flights.

One very aggressive group was from NYC when I told one lady from that group that I was from Jersey she gave a nod like she knew I could drive crazy and get loud. They totally took advantage of the mild mannered large group from the west. At one point two lines merged into the one entrance and people had to take turns. Texas had a few words with me as we approached the entrance from different directions. She acted like we were at a deli counter and her number was ahead of mine, bisch please. She was twenty years older than me so I let her go.  I kept reminding myself that I didn’t know which one of these assholes I would get seated next to on the plane so that kept me in check.

Finally we ditch the luggage and then it’s off to security. At this point we’ve been at the airport for two hours and it’s hot as hell. Copenhagen isn’t real keen on air conditioning. We get to security and my bag gets pulled for my daughter’s aerosol deodorant. After that we start looking for a book at the airport shops. She found out that she needs to read two books before school starts on September 3. We were hoping to find, The Book Thief, at the airport and no we don’t Kindle. Sadly they sell about a dozen books in English and that wasn’t one. Next stop, bad Denmark version of an airport hot dog, then, passport control.

I finally had a chance to use a restroom so one more stop. Things were fine until this –

IMG_9810.JPG

I can tell you this much, the toilet paper does NOT dispense from the bottom. That part is locked tighter than Fort Knox. I broke two nails and invented three new curse words trying to pry the bottom open. Nay, nay my friends the paper is supposed to poke out of the center except it didn’t. 

We finally get to our gate and who do I see – Texas, purple shirt, NYC gang and the nice group from the west. My goal was to be the very last person to board, I scoffed at the line and played online Solitaire from a distance. I was very fortunate and got seated next to a sweet couple from Hawaii. We were previously in the luggage line together and we remained civilized despite the chaos around us.

When we got to JFK we realized that the travel nightmare wasn’t quite over…it took 90 minutes to clear Customs. These lines resembled something you would see at an amusement park, turn left, then right and repeat that pattern 78 times. Instead of a fun roller coaster at the end, you get a kiosk which requires your passport and takes the world’s worst photo after 15 travel hours (4 of those hours spent in lines).

I’ll write about the fun stuff in future posts, stay tuned.

 

 

 

 

Venus on the Half Shell

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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.

 

Laundry Fairies and Other Absurdities

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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?