The Soundtrack of My Life?

The last time I blogged, I believe it was snowing. We're about there again, except we're in the middle of a record week for warm temps.

(Thanks for the weather update, Lid, now we resume blogging.)

I am trying to keep a family history blog since I joined Ancestrydotcom, so that takes up time that I could use here, instead, writing about ...  nothing, as I used to in the good old days. 

So I'm jumping back in with a meme which you answer with a song that fits the description. I'll do five today and then take it up again. Feel free to leave your own choices in the comments!

Day 1: "A song from childhood"  I'll go with: "Keep on Dancin'," by the Gentrys. I still love the percussion and the fake ending. Love these images from the 60s and 70s, too.

Day 2: "A song that reminds of your ex boy/girlfriend"
The last ex-boyfriend I had was 1981, so ...
the song from the vault would be "Blue Morning, Blue Day," by Foreigner. Here we are at our senior prom. Years later, I realized I was dating a Dave Coulier doppleganger. This boy has passed way, rest in peace.

Day 3: "A song that reminds you of your parents" "Let Your Love Flow" My mom dearly loved this song when it was popular, which made me kind of not like it, because when you're a teenager, it's wEiRd when your parents like what is popular. (No worries; I have been repaid. 3X.)

Day 4: "A song that calms you down" "Summer Breeze," by Seals and Crofts. Who needs pot when you've got this song.

Day 5: "A song that is often stuck in your head" This is a three-way tie. 1) "Sister Golden Hair"  2) "How Long" 3) "Sentimental Lady"



Yes, I have a thing for the 70s, but please share your choices, even if they're from the 21st Century!

Mugged by Muggers

Oh, how innocent they look.

But this morning, I was fixing their first bottles of the day, when all of a sudden I felt 40 hands pulling on my sweat pant legs. Then I heard a chorus of wails, completely synchronized: "WAIIIIIIL, {breath} WAIIIIIL, {breath}". I'd been hit by the shortest, swiftest gang in town.

They pulled my waist band down over my hip. De-pantsed me, if you will. Mugged, by the scoundrels pictured in the mug shot above. Has anybody seen this gang of two? Oh yeah--there they are! Headed for the outlets, cords and every other dangerous thing in this town.

Trendy Nana

Thanks, Friends, for your welcome back and encouragement here. Navigating around the new editing system is a little frustrating because change is just difficult for me--change in job throws me, change in blog editing throws me, change in supermarket shelf arrangement REALLY honks me off. That last one is as shocking to me as someone rearranging my underwear drawer.

But I digress, already, in only my 3rd post back.

I'd like to get back to blogging about the really significant things in life, such as "Trendy Tops."

What? You say you aren't aware of the awesomeness of Trendy Tops? What's the matter with you. You act as if you didn't just lose your job and now spend all your time on FB, watching TV and cleaning spit up on aisle 2 aisle shoulder, side and thigh. (We have prolific spitters.)

Well, for you who are still living in total trendy oblivion, here is the commercial. You might want to speed ahead to around 1:00 so that you can see the most powerful punch in a sales presentation to grown women ever.



So my lovely blogging friend Lelia Chely wrote a status update about this product, and all of her friends and I had a good laugh at the silliness of it.

And then I promptly went on line and ordered them.

Let me just say that by the time I completed the order, it totaled about $35, and that was just a couple of days before I knew I would not have a big chunk of income I'm used to. So when I realized my job was vanishing, one of my first thoughts was, "Oh NO. I already ordered the Trendy Tops!"

Well, the TTs finally arrived.

I really like them. They're like a tube top for your butt. Tube bottoms? No, I think the marketers chose the better name.

How could I resist buying?  I'm trendy, and I do wear tops, even though I'm an unofficial Nana. Anyway, even Nanas have a little "oopsy" once in a while around the middle and backside, IF youknowhatImean.

So call me Trendy Nana. And here's the proof. No muffin, no buns. Just sheer middle aged trendy gymnastical modesty. I know you'll want to have your credit cards ready after this:




(Outtakes)

Month Three in the "My Hair Does Not Grow" Series

INITIAL CUT, ONE MONTH, TWO MONTHS ...

THREE:

ARE YOU SERIOUS???

Scientific proof: My hair does not grow. If it does look the tiniest bit longer, it's because it's limper. Which rhymes with "whimper."

I take supplements. I eat protein. I treat my hair with the tenderness of caring for a newborn premie. I'm careful not to over process it, over heat it, etc. I condition it. I talk to it in the hopes it will grow like a well-attended to plant.

Stubbornly stunted.

What do I really want? About this length again:


I'd also like to be two years younger, as in these pics. I want this length not because I think this is beautiful hair; I do not. But I felt like a girl then. I have not felt like a girl in 3 months. Sigh. Plus, I gained weight. Double sigh.

But ...

There is hope.

I have a little trick up my sleeve I can't wait to tell you about. I'm working out the details tomorrow. Until then, I will not talk about the hair again until "something" has changed. Winky-wink.

"I is Kind, I is Smart, I is Important, and I is OLD"

Siiiiiigh

Yesterday I turned 49.

You know what that means.

One year from today: 50


Yes, 5-0, just like SNL's Sally O'Malley.

In my posse, when you turn 50, they do this to you:


They force a Red Hat Society hat and boa on you, amongst other hiLARious treats.

But even though I woke up and found myself 49 yesterday, it was still better than when I awoke at 30.

When year 30 dawned back in 1992, I was 9 months pregnant. During the night, a blood vessel burst in my eye, and I looked as though I had bright red blood all over the white of my eye. My hair was permed. I had on a big, dark green maternity tent and was on my way to church. And someone snapped a picture.

Ever since then, he's been known as "Jorge the Lefty."

So in an effort to be the best I can be in this my final year in the decade of what I once foolishly thought was old but now realize is not, I registered for the Indianapolis Indy Mini-Marathon in May. This means I have about 200 days left to ready myself to run 13.1 miles.

I is kind, smart, important, old and I is CRAZEE.

Anyone else out there fall in the same category?

Because the Texting, It is Hrd 2 Undrstd

Yes, even the Pope texts. More and more mature folk are texting.


And so it was only a matter of time.... Yes, this came in an email. But it is so good, so good. Creator unknown. Enjoy.

Since more and more Seniors are texting and tweeting there appears to be a need for a STC (Senior Texting Code). If you qualify for senior discounts this is the code for you:

ATD: At The Doctor's
BFF: Best Friend Farted
BTW: Bring The Wheelchair
BYOT: Bring Your Own Teeth
CBM: Covered By Medicare
CGU: Can't get up
CGIP: Can't get IT up
CUATSC: See You At The Senior Center
DWI: Driving While Incontinent
FWB: Friend With Beta Blockers
FWIW: Forgot Where I Was
FYI: Found Your Insulin
GGPBL: Gotta Go, Pacemaker Battery Low!
GHA: Got Heartburn Again
HGBM: Had Good Bowel Movement
IMHO: Is My Hearing-Aid On?
LMDO: Laughing My Dentures Out
LOL: Living On Lipitor
LWO: Lawrence Welk's On
OMMR: On My Massage Recliner
OMSG: Oh My! Sorry, Gas.
PIMP: Pooped in my pants
ROFL... CGU: Rolling On The Floor Laughing... And Can't Get Up
SGGP: Sorry, Gotta Go Poop
TTYL: Talk To You Louder
WAITT: Who Am I Talking To?
WTFA: Wet The Furniture Again
WTP: Where's The Prunes?
WWNO: Walker Wheels Need Oil
GLKI (Gotta Go, Laxative Kicking In)

Of course, here's the other end of the spectrum:



Are you a texter?

Feminine Machismo?

I was in Walmart today picking up two large cartons of bottled water. While lifting the 2nd carton, I got my finger caught in the thick plastic covering at the end where you insert your hand to carry it. The carton was in the air, and thanks to gravity vs. my noodle arm muscles, was rapidly spiraling into the cart with my finger still stuck. I felt like I had pretzel twisted my finger.

At the same time my brain registered, "MORTAL PERIL!!!" a woman and her child rounded the corner into my aisle.

She was just an average mom like me, with an average kid, who probably wouldn't have given me more than a passing glance had she known I was hurt.

But here's where my latent machismo kicked in: For some reason, I did not want her to know I was trapped in my water carton or that I was in an incredible amount of scary pain.

Later, when analyzing my reaction to her, I remembered that men do not want people to know they're sick, or heaven forbid, hurt.

I had reacted like a man.

I cannot explain why I held in the noises I should have made to express my pain. I cannot explain why I refused to grimace. I cannot explain why I faked a smile at her. I just know I did not want to appear ... weak.

What a tough load to bear--fully human and yet wanting to portray imperviousness to pain, without even understanding why.

So I believe I got in touch with my masculine side today. If I weren't on a vegetarian kick right now, I'd say, "Pass the beef jerky" or something manly like that. But thank goodness I've returned to normal, and I can cry and enjoy a brand new shade of lipstick with much oohing and ahhing. No shame!

Do you ever have random expressions of guy-ness?

Church Christmas Pageant Camel

I have watched this about 10 times.

On Wearing Curlers

Twenty-five years we've been married. Still, every time I walk out of the bathroom with curlers in my hair, he laughs. And laughs.

Twen-ty fiiiiive long years of curler laughter.

Is this hilarious to you? OK, I leave the sides down, which is weird. Maybe mildly amusing, but not gut-busting.



One time, when I was a teenager, I was watching a Merv Griffin show on which Burt Reynolds was a guest. He was jokingly complaining about long it took Loni Anderson to prepare herself to go out on a date. At the end of the story, Burt said, "But when she walks out looking that spectacular, how can you argue?" I have always remembered that corny 80s story and remind Jorge of the wisdom of Burt quite often.

But really ... honestly ... isn't the hilarity worth this: my Derek Zoolander "Blue Steel" look of modeling intensity? That man of mine needs to learn to appreciate me like Burt did Loni!




Don't forget to come back and link up this Thursday for sharing your tree and special ornament(s)!


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I Forget How to Do Cold

I've lived in middle America all of my life, which means I've done winter a few times.

At the beginning of each winter, though, everyone here has to readjust to the cold, and the older you get, the more difficult it is, except for one thing: as you age, you tend to drive slower. Like a stopped clock being right at least twice a day, there's bound to come a time when that slow driving is appropriate, usually the first snow/ice of the season, when you don't look like you're driving slow because you're old; you look like you're driving slow because you have common sense that the young whippersnappers don't have. But you're really just old.

Anyway.

I'm struggling to adjust. Today it snowed, and I could not find the new Isotoner gloves I bought just before Thanksgiving. I've worn them a total of one time, and now they are lost. The bones in my hands ached from the cold.

My big black parka kept unzipping from the bottom. I hate when that happens.

My nose ran when I walked across the parking lot. There were no tissue balls in the pockets from last year.

I had to take a heavy load on a dolly across the parking lot. In the snow. Dollies don't have snow tires. They should.

When I left work, I forgot that my car had sat outside all day and that I would have to scrape the windows. No scraper on board.

But I did not do what my young co-worker confessed to today: turning on the wipers and opening the door, which resulted in snow being swept into his car. "Rookie mistake," he said.

I plan to be ready to tomorrow. I will actually wear boots, which means I will not have to putter across the parking lot like Tim Conway's shuffling old man. And I will find those gloves before I walk out that door and zip off to work at 25 mph. I will wear Chapstick. I will play Christmas music at my desk and roast--not chestnuts--but my toes--not on an open fire--but at my space heater.

Winter is here. Tomorrow, I will be ready.

On Sneezing

You know it's bad when you sneeze so much that you blow the Post-It notes off of things they're attached to, like your monitor, phone, folders and framed pics. Come think of it, you know it's bad when you have Post-It notes stuck to every surface on your desk, flat or bumpy, because you can't remember anything.

Anyway, I'm on a roll. A sneezing jag, if you will.

My boss always has a certain number of sneezes he must get out of his system before his sneeze-a-thons end. I think it's four, and they're Texan sneezes, so look out.

Still, I don't think he has blown Post-Its around like a snowstorm.

Once, when I was in middle school band, I sneezed numerous times, too ridiculously many to count. The band director stared at me as if to say, "Finished?" But I just kept on, not even on tempo. Finally, with that swoopy conductor thing that band directors do, he silenced the band and sat in feigned awe, watching me sneeze. Of course, everyone laughed. Then I excused myself to his office, where I set all of his sheet music on fire and laughed while it burned.

Just kidding. I finished the jag.

I wonder if my sneezes blew any of his papers around on his desk?

That is all for today. For now.

Here's lookin A-choo, kid.

Why Hasn't JJ Abrams Contacted Me About a Creative Writing Project?

So last night in a dream, I noticed a bowl of dog food at my feet.

I thought, "I wonder what dog food tastes like?" And then I picked up a kibble and munched.

"It's kind of bland. But the after-taste is bad. No wonder they have bad breath."

Then I walked away.

The end.

Are you kidding me? In a chance to fly above the tree tops, go back or forward in time, to possess any super power--I chose to taste dog food?

Good grief! With a bright imagination such as this, it's only a matter of time until J.J. Abrams of Alias, Lost and Fringe contacts me.


Abrams: "Lid, we're stuck on a scene in which the "real" Earth's Fringe Team investigates people who have been put into an unbreakable trance by a mysterious box. Any creative ideas about what substance in the box could put such a hold on people?"

Me: "Yes! Just as Agent Olivia Dunham arrives on the scene of citizens walking around in various states of zombieness, she notices several mysterious boxes of dry dog food opened and strewn about. Suddenly, she thinks, 'Hey. I've always wondered what this tastes like .... "

Would You Like to Ride to Work With Me? I Didn't Think So

This morning, I noticed my eyebrows needed tweaking, but I was in a hurry, running late.

Those two situations are not compatible.

Unwisely, I used a little battery operated trimmer and mowed through my brow. (Of course!)

Yelling at yourself in the mirror does not bring back an eyebrow.

I decided to forego makeup until later, so I grabbed all of my stuff and headed toward McDonald's, which had two lines going, lines not long enough to make me late, but long enough for me to finish my face.

I inched my way through the line, adding blush, lipstick, concealer ...

I gave my order and proceeded to the point where the two lines combine, only to notice a woman in the other line inching her way toward the junction.

Clearly, it was "on," to see who would get to the merge point first. The song "Louie, Louie" was on the radio, which inspired me to "go":

Louie Louie, oh no, me gotta go, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, baby.
Louie Louie, oh baby, me gotta go
I said we gotta go now
Let's step on out of here
Let's go!

The racing blood that lurks somewhere within me as it does my actual racing brothers won this contest, even though I had only one eye lined with brown liner and half an eyebrow on that same eye and the top of my hair pinned up on my head in a hump. I felt like Courtney Love looks in this, my favorite picture of her:

Sometimes victory is not pretty. But it's the win that counts. Sweet victory!

Oh, I SO won.

But I noticed as I drove away that my sack and coffee cup were damp.

I pulled into my parking spot, got out, noticed there was liquid dripping down the driver's side door. *shrug*

I got to my desk, put down my food, checked my messages, etc., and saw out of the corner of my eye coffee seeping out from the bottom of my giant cup, running all over and down my desk.

I don't believe in Karma, but if I did ....

So even though it's just a typical Thursday morning, that's how I got myself to work.

Wanna ride tomorrow?

Toenails From a Man. Humor Me.

Random Stall & Instant Vacation

On Thursdays, I usually post my own answers to the Random, but time got away from me. That's really bad: I don't have enough time to do my own blog meme. Instead, here is a little peek into my random head about how to get an instant vacation. I may or may not be back tomorrow with the Random answers--I'm getting ready for a weekend at the lakes with my girlfriends, so we'll see. Sometimes it takes me the equivalent of a weekend to pack for a weekend.


Look at this pristine white sand and these beautiful handiworks of God called shells. This is sand from the beach at Siesta Key and shells I collected from the shore.

Believe it or not, this is in my bedroom, soon to be at my desk at work.

How, you ask?

Simple! By putting my treasures in a fishbowl, I can take my beach anywhere I want to go. And guess what--no joke--if I stick my face right down into the bowl, I can smell the ocean!!


If only I could figure out a way, like Jeannie, to blink my eyes and be IN my "bottle!"




What would be in YOUR instant vacation "bottle" or "bowl?"

The Fire, The Biker, and the Bulldozer

They say things come in three's.

Proof:

3 Billy Goats Gruff
3 Times I have to wave at the person at the 4-way stop before he truly believes I mean "Please go now."
3 Times a Lady (Lionel Ritchie and the Commodores, who never should've split)
3 Pee-pees by my dog on her potty pad until I have to change it
3 Stooges
3 People in front of me (not necessarily Stooges) in the Wowmart line until they close it and I have to race those 3 to the next open line.
3 Open check out lanes at Wowmart out of 400.
3 Bee Gees. Plus Andy Gibb, the 4th, Gibb, but he and another Gibb Brother are deceased, so really, 2 Bee Gees. That is the only story problem I've ever worked correctly.

Anyway.

First I reported about setting the table on fire (maybe) at my friend's daughter's wedding reception. Then I told you about the biker who hit me from behind when I was walking.

I realized I have neglected to tell you about the 3rd incident this week: the day I knocked a toddler down.

Oh yes I did.

I was leaving the doctor's office where you get that annual appointment featuring paper aprons and humiliation, and as we are all prone do, darted out the exit as if I were being shot out of a cannon.

Ka-boom! I heard a thud near the bottom of the door, and realized, "I have hit something small. Probably not a cat. OHmygosh, I have hit a baby!"

A baby it was. In fact, it could not walk. He must have crawled away from his mom, pulled himself up on the door, and then had the surprise of his young life when the door flew open and knocked him backwards.

Oh, the agony. (Me, not the baby, who just seemed stunned.)

I apologized profusely (a theme in my life) as the mother apologized to me for letting him get away. We both felt awful.

All day long, I just kept thinking, "I knocked down a baby. I knocked down a baby. What kind of person bulldozes a baby?"

The only bright spot in this is that it was my 3rd "incident" in a week, so I should be good now.

Until next week.

And yeah, I know you think I make this stuff up, but I don't. I truly knocked down a BABY.

Weekend Update

Is it hot in here, or am I just having mid-life night sweats and hot flashes??

Oh, it's all three. Nice.

Don't know what the weather is like where you are, but baby, it's hawt here. I'm not complaining, though. I'm reserving all my complaints for January-March of 2011.

Friday: Worked during the day. Shopped for something to wear to my multi-year Facebook reunion on Saturday. Did not find anything. Except a really good smoothie at a little place in the mall.

Saturday: Ran a long run. Felt good. Then I did a little housework and got ready for the reunion. Went to the reunion at 5 pm to hand out name tags and take money. I was so distracted there that I did that job for maybe 3 people, and then the hosts had to take over, but that was OK, because you know as hosts they didn't have enough to do.

Got reacquainted with many people, missed many others. It was nice, and I laughed a lot. Not crazy about my pics there, which I have no control of in the sense of people posting them on Facebook, of course.

I wish to heaven I had not lined my lower lids. Why I did this, I do not know because I never do. As a result, I look like a raccoon with a name tag stuck in my armpit.

Sunday we went to a local event called "Ribfest," where I enjoyed BBQ chicken, grilled corn on the cob, peanut coleslaw and a big old waffle cone full of butter pecan ice cream. Passed on the deep-fried pie & deep-fried cheeseburgers, though. Too early to start storing up fat for winter energy. That's next month.

Today is Monday, and upon coming into work, I realized I had a gyno appt. at 10:30. My, what a pleasant surprise!!!

School starts this week on Wednesday.

I should probably go to the grocery since I've only gone twice since we came back from Florida on July 10.

Ok, that's the riveting update from here. Be sure to tune into tomorrow if you are a Random Dozen fan; it starts again, just like school! Let's get "reunited," friends!

I'm Still Processing, But I Do Have SOMETHING to Share

I'm still processing my trip and getting used to being back in the saddle again. I have been to Walmart. I have seen Stick Man (Have I told you about Stick Man?) and I have now gone back to work as of today.

When I last sat at my desk, my computer was slower than molasses through a straw. I couldn't wait to leave it behind, along with other everyday annoyances. However, when you run away from a problem, you always have to face it again at some point, and so it was with the computer.

It would not boot up today. AARGH! I was so frustrated! I thought, "WHY does this have to happen to me? Why couldn't I just come back here and start up a normal day? Why did I have to face a problem first thing? HOW LONG O LORD?" And then I realized: someone had turned off my monitor while I was gone.

So, you know. Never mind and all that.

Yesterday, I pointed you toward vinegar. Today, I point you toward money.

Free money.

I went to "Unclaimed Money, Indiana" and searched my name. Turns out I can quit my job and go live on the beach because I'm owed the stunning sum of ....

Wait for it ...

$22.48.

Yes, Two-Two-Four-Eight. Twentah-Too, Fortah-Eight. Who do we appreciate? Unclaimed Money, that's who!!

I have no idea what/who/how. I just know I found $22.48 in my pocket book, so to speak.

WOWZERS!

So you should check, too, to see if your state is holding your pocketbook for you while you went to the powder room. You never know what might have fallen out!

Weekend Recap

Friday: Jorge drove to IL to be in a wedding, yes IN a wedding, even at the ripe old age of 47. The kicker: Groom is 27. All groomsmen well over 6 feet tall; Jorge is 5'7". Should be an interesting photo.

Friday night: I ate at Subway by myself. Enjoyed the new orchard chicken salad sandwich. Bought something to wear on my anniversary vacation that is quickly approaching.

Saturday: Cleaned my house and cooked all day. Saturday morning early, did my weekly "longer" run, only to be thwarted by a barking, growling dog run amuck and a motorcyclist who mildly harassed me. You are reading one mean lady at that point.

I posted about my frustration on Facebook and received about 40 comments of people trying to help me arm myself for protection while running.

Saturday night: Jorge returns. I am a grouch.

Sunday morning: Church, Subway with family, where I enjoyed the orchard chicken salad sandwich because overkill is how I roll.

Sunday afternoon: Anniversary pics taken outside until the sky broke open and we were forced inside. As soon as I can share, I will. It was fun. Except that part where we tried to do a dip-kiss like dancers do and I'm lucky to have a skull that is not cracked.

Sunday evening: Life group (or small group, or cell group, whatever your preferred terminology is). Cindy from Girls Group brought me a special surprise to protect me when I run:





A 357 Magnum is impressive but probably too "fumbly" to carry. So I think I'll stick with pepper spray, also given to me by Cindy!

I had never touched a gun before this, and did not know how to hold it. Then the group made me go outside and pose with it. Someone snuck a video. We live exciting lives here in Muncie.

How was your weekend?

Hair Update

FACEBOOK UPDATE: For you who advised on the hair yesterday: I got a trim-cut, layers that I can squish up & leave wavy. This useless update truly reminds me of the AT&T Backflip commercial: "This just in on FB and Twttr, local bachelor age 41 has just enrolled in ka-rah-te" : "Local secretary receives cheap haircut conducive to 80s videos/humid summer days." What do you do with your hair in the Dog Days of Summer?