This might be the beginning of a midlife crisis.  Thirty-five qualifies as mid-life, right?  I'm pretty sure it does.  I was watching Good Morning America and yearned for a life in NYC so bad I felt myself wanting to explode.  I missed the smells of car exhaust and roasted nuts on the corners.  I missed the energy, the hustle and bustle, and the diversity of the people.  I missed the life I once dreamed of there.  For the few years I got to live there in my early twenties, I did appreciate it.  I took pride in the job I had worked so hard to get and felt accomplished by finally making it there.  I thought I'd stay in NYC, fall in love, and maybe eventually move to a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights.  At that time, kids really didn't even cross my mind or marriage for that matter.  I was really only concerned about falling in love and pursuing a career.  I thought I'd shop spend my Saturdays at brunch in Soho with friends then maybe heading to Bloomingdales to check out their latest sale, and finally finish the day with a matinee at the Public Theater or some off-Broadway production.  My craving for NYC is not something that can be cured with a weekend trip to visit friends.  It is more like coming to terms with the loss of a dream.  I guess you can have everything in life, just maybe not all at the same time....but a girl (or middle-aged woman) can still dream, right? 

The hard part about this is I am perfectly happy in my life.  Happier than I ever thought possible.  I am still madly in love with my husband of and we have perfectly energetic little kiddos.  I spend my days pouring my love and life into them.  I spent the first 25 years of my life trying to run away from Texas (which is not a bad place), and what do you know it is where I ended...up for now.  The adventure hasn't ended, it has simply changed.  

Operation exit plan begins

I have been at my current job for 6 years.  For me, 6 years in one place is a really, really long time.  Prior to this job, I like to think I had a career- a career I was passionate about and proud of.  I worked long hours and at the end of the day I felt fulfilled.  My current job has been tolerable and simply a job.  It gives me extreme flexibility which has been especially beneficial now that I have a little one and I like my boss.  My biggest struggle at this job has been pure boredom, which I justified to myself wasn't a good enough reason to find something else.  I made a promise to myself long ago that I would never stay at a job I hated.  I watched my step-mother go to a desk job for 30 years she was miserable at day after day and I never wanted that life.  And more than anything, I'm reminded time after time that life is short, so don't want to spend the time I've been given on Earth miserable.  I know we all have the power to change our current situation, but sometimes (especially for me) it takes having a current shitty situation to make the change.  Today at work, I was notified of some changes.  I came home and told the Hubby the time had come.  I am going to quit my job.  He gave me a, "Ya, sure ya are" kind of look. Now we aren't exactly in some cush comfortable financial situation.  If I quit my job we definitely would not be shopping at my beloved Whole Foods, but we'd survive on one income until I pulled myself out of the water. But today,  I really did come home thinking I was going to quit, like tomorrow.  How could I let my little girl watch me go to a job I will soon most likely hate?  What kind of role model would I be?  Then it occurred to me, that quitting a day after I found out about a change, before the change even took place, wouldn't exactly be the best example either.  So after a night of contemplation and returning to blogging after a long hiatus, I've come to a better conclusion.
I'm going to start my exit plan. 

See what you want to see

If I haven't mentioned it before, I have a huge fear of cars.  I hate driving and riding in them.  If I have an opportunity to fly somewhere instead of drive I will do it.  I will take a 50 minute flight over a 3 hour drive any day.  I could go on and on about my fear of cars, but bottom line is I hate cars.  

The Husband and I were walking home from dinner recently.  As we approached our place, we noticed two cars with their lights on in our parking lot, but not in parking spots.  It appeared to be a fender bender to me.  I did my best to take a good look at the damage trying to not let those involved in the accident see me starring.  It was obvious nobody was hurt.  

"Did you see that?" Husband asked. 

"Yeah.  I hate cars, but it didn't look too bad," I reply with my head turned trying to get one more look.  

"What? Look again," He said. 

Standing there in plain view was a sixty something year old man, walking around the cars with nothing but his socks on.  Nothing but stripped socks.  He and two others (the two others were fully clothed) were speaking as though everything was normal.  How did I not see the naked man?!  
On second look, now trying not to get busted starring at the naked man, I realize there is no car accident.  Absolutely no damage to either car.  
I took this as a lesson.  We see what we want to see it life and it is all about perspective.  Many situations can be handled positively by the way we view them.  In this situation, my fear of cars and accidents got in the way of a good, hard laugh at a naked man walking around town.  I never want to miss out on a good laugh. 

The Flood

The massive down pour and floods outside today brought me back to my flood story of 1991.  

It was a Wednesday, D.A.R.E. (Drug Awareness Resistance Education) day at school in 5th grade.  I had to wear my black D.A.R.E. t-shirt with my green plaid uniform pants. 

On a  normal day, we wore yellow blouses, so the t-shirt was a welcomed uniform change.  My grandfather who I refer to as Popo, picked me up from school everyday in his 1978 blue, 4-door Chevy Caprice.

I loathed this car and having to drive home in it when all the other kids at school got escorted home with their mom's in their SUV's and mini-vans (yes, little spoiled brat I was).  The rain was really coming down on this day.  We took the same route home every day and just because it was raining Popo was not going to deviate from the path.  Popo was as stubborn, strong-willed, wonderful man.  We successfully road on our normal path until we hit traffic.  Cars were stopped on the freeway avoiding driving through an under pass that was filled with water.  We sat there for an hour or so looking at the underpass continue to fill with water.  Frustrated with the never-ending traffic, Popo decided he was going to give it a try.  He was going to attempt to drive through the water.  I pleaded and pleaded with him not to but it was no use.  As soon as he drove forward into the water, we knew we were doomed.  The water started creeping through the cracks of the door into the car slower then faster.  We both panicked.  The back seat windows didn't go all the way down, so he had me crawl over to the front seat.  I was a hefty 5th grader weighing in at about 170, so getting me through the window even rolled down all the way was a bit of a challenge.  He sat in the drivers seat as he pushed me out the window.  He told me to go get help.  I was convinced Popo was stuck in the car and wouldn't be able to get help unless I got help fast. The car was quickly filling up with water.  I ran along the rail of the freeway until I got passed the water.   There were roaches and snakes along the road. Once I got passed the water I was running on the freeway.  There were no cars coming of course because of the water.  The closest exit was about 1/2 a mile away.  I ran as fast as my body would let me. The first business I came to was a McDonald's.  Drenched in rain water, I asked the manager if I could please use the phone to call my mom.  Why didn't I call 911? Not sure.  As a 5th grader all I could think of was calling my mom.  When my Mom answered the phone at work, I said something like this, "Mom! Popo is stuck in the car.  I got out but he is in there still.  I don't know what to do.  I am at McDonald's and he is in the car.  I ran on the freeway with roaches crawling on my feet."  McDonald's diners immediately came to my side taking the phone from my hand to talk to my Mom.  It just so happened an ambulance team was taking their break.  They took me to the side and let me know they were going to get my Popo out. "Hurry! He had cancer and has a bag to pee.  I don't know how he can get out." He did indeed have an encounter with cancer three years prior and was in full remission. Pretty sure that was unnecessary information I shared.  My brain somehow associated cancer as a reason he couldn't get out.   They sat me down with some nice strangers and the manager got me a complimentary Big Mac and Dr. Pepper.  I sat there for what seemed like hours when finally Popo came walking in.  I rushed to give him a hug.  "Your Popo is a lot stronger then you made him out to be,"  the ambulance men told me.  I was so relieved to see him.  Soon after, my Mom rushed in to pick us up.  I finally felt safe as she hugged me letting me know it was all going to be okay.  When we got home, I couldn't wait to get my clothes off and take a hot shower.  My Mom stayed with me in the bathroom as I undressed and told her about running on the freeway (I did think it was really cool and still mention it each time I am driving with someone on that highway).  As I pulled my pants off, I screamed to my mom, "Ewww! Mom! I even got dirt in my pants!"  She came to my side putting her hand on my shoulder informing me it was not dirt, but my period.  This my friends, is my story of my first period.  I started crying.  I didn't want my period! None of my friends had it yet, why did I have to?  Right when I thought my day couldn't get any worse it did.  In an effort to console me, she told me I now had her permission to shave my legs if I so chose to. It didn't make me feel any better. I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water run down my face to clear the tears.  
My Popo continued to drive the Chevy Caprice for the next 15 years until he passed away.  It had a moldy, old wet smell to it, always reminding me of the day of the flood. 

A facial to calm the nerves, not so much

In an attempt to slow the aging process and help my lessen my anxiety for my upcoming birthday, I decided to pamper myself.    I made an appointment at the Aveda Salon down the street for a facial.    I walked into the serene spa area with dim lighting and the fresh spa scents.  I am handed a chilled glass of cucumber water as I am introduced to Lindsay, an attractive brunette, who would be conducting my facial.  

Lindsay leads me into a private room. As she hands me a robe, she says "You if you keep up with your facials, you can look like me one day.  My  20th high school reunion is coming up and I can't wait to shout from the rooftops that everything on me is real! I know it is hard to believe but I am 38 years old.  I take exceptional care of my skin to maintain my youthful glow." 


Yes, she is a very attractive woman, but if I had to guess her age I would have estimated about 45.  All together she is a beautiful woman with a frame full of curves, long wavy brunette hair, and crystal blue eyes.  She leaves the room so I can get into my robe and lay on the table getting comfortable and ready for my one hour of relaxation.  Lindsay returns to the room frazzled. 

“My kids are coming to pick up the keys to our house any minute.  My boyfriend is coming over to the house tonight as well, and he hasn’t met the kids yet.  I’m hoping they both don’t show up at the house before me,” Lindsay tells me, seeming a little agitated that conducting my facial will put her behind schedule. 

“Oh, that will be interesting,” I respond keeping my eyes closed for the highly anticipated relaxation time seconds away, anticipating the silence to begin. 

Her phone rings.  Phone?  There are signs all over to silence your cell phone before entering the serene spa area, why doesn't she have to follow the rules? 

“Honey, I am in with a client right now.  I left the keys at the front desk for you. I can’t talk right now,” Lindsay informs her son. 
As she speaks to her son, she continues the facial only using one hand. 

She hangs up the phone as though this is her normal spa conduct.

Five minutes pass.

“Whooow, just got my cycle,” Lindsay declares.  “My mentural cycle,” she confirms as though I had the slightest bit of confusion of what cycle she was referring to.

“Honey, do you have a tampon?” she asks me as she digs through her purse. 

“No, sorry,” I respond in disbelief at the lack of relaxation I am experiencing thus far. As I open my eyes I even notice the No Cell Phones sign hung in the room. 

She leaves the room to insert her tampon.  Upon return she exudes a long sigh of relief.

“Now that’s much better. I am sure you can understand.  I actually got my period last night while I was on my first blind date.  What just happened there was a surge of flow and I didn’t want us to have a mess on our hands,” She said.  
GROSS. 

“I understand,” I respond now deliberately giving short answers in hopes that the relaxation part of the celestial spa experience sets in any minute. At the same time, confused over when her cycle actually started.  On the blind date last night, or five minutes ago when she asked me for a sanitary napkin.  

“My best friend set me up with this guy last night.  We decided we were just going to stay in.  We went through the drive through at the Taco Bell to pick up some dinner and bring it over to my new place.  I wore a tight white sexy skirt that accentuates my butt.  When I got out of the car he noticed a stain on the back of my dress.  Sure enough I had gotten my period.  It always hits at just the right time,” Lindsay explains, "We still managed to get frisky if you know what I mean." 
I did in fact know what she meant, but wish I hadn't gotten the unwelcomed visual in my head. 

When the facial was complete I couldn’t help but wonder if there were cameras in the room and that Ashton Kutscher was going to pop out and declare that I had been Punk’d. 

Instead, I paid my $75 and left in need of another spa day.  Just another day in this crazy life. 

The Couples Shower

I first heard of a Couples Shower when I was asked to be a Maid of Honor to my childhood best friend.  We were 23 and she was the first of my friends to marry.  I had no idea what it meant to be a Maid of Honor other than it meant she liked me the most.  She was the one that told me I planned the bachelorette party, showers and lead the way for the other bridesmaids.  Yes, I was really this clueless.  She suggested a Couples Shower.  Hmmm. Okay...This really meant nothing to me. So now what?  I started planning by making a list of couples who would be invited to the shower.  I had recently found myself single from my college boyfriend of 3 years and was wondering who I would find as a date.  A couples shower meant it was for couples to attend, right?  WRONG.  I quickly learned it basically meant a coed shower hosted in honor of the couple.  Ohh, that makes more sense.  Little did I know how many couple wedding showers I would attend in my twenties (I ended up being a bridesmaid over 10 times).  There are good intentions behind couples showers.  I think it is an attempt at making a shower more of a party for everyone.  However inevitably, I found they still feel like showers.  Somehow Husband managed to not attend any of the couple wedding showers with me, so when I told him we would be going to a couples baby shower he was totally confused.  He was totally perplexed over why he had to attend a baby shower.  Aren't those usually just for girls?  I assured him he would not have to watch the couple open gifts.  I had found this another advantage of couples showers.  Usually there is a table set up where guests set down their gifts, then they are escorted to the bar where most people spend the rest of the night.  I tried to sell it to him as a party, BBQ kind of environment (the way others had described it to me), when I knew damn well what we were walking into.  He tagged along with a smile on his face, but I could see the confusion in his eyes from the minute we walked into the shower.  The hostess comes up, greets us and offers us a drink.  "Suzy made a diaper cake, you have to go see it," She said.  
"Oh, sounds good.  I love cake," Husband replies. 

 The Husband was very disappointed to learn there was no actual cake, just a bunch of diapers piled up with ribbons as he said.  I made sure the Husband had a beer in his hand the whole time to help make the time move along for him.  Right when we thought it was time to leave, we are escorted in the gift opening present room.  Husband gives me a look and I smile going to get him another beer.  So, if you are going to have a couples shower, don't have guests watch you open gifts.  It makes for a better time for everyone and make sure the bar is well stocked. 

What a ride that turned out to be

It seems I am the youngest volunteer at the Alzheimer's Association by about 40 years or so.  When I go in to help out with administrative duties my fellow volunteers are mostly retired.  I try to get to know each of them personally.  Charlotte is the newest volunteer.  She has short gray hair, with heavy bangs cut straight across.  She kind of has an Anna Wintour look to her, but not Anna's sophisticated her style.  

She wore skinny jeans with Converse tennis shoes, not something I am used to seeing someone in their seventies wear. Certainly one of the coolest looking senior citizen I can ever recall laying eyes on. I struck up a brief conversation with her as we stuffed envelopes together and found her to be very interesting.   I find I learn a lot if I take just a few minutes to listen to what an older person has to say.  I am listening to her tell about her days living in New York City when mid-sentence she stops, looks at her watch and declares it is time for her to leave.  I kindly say good-bye and watch her walk to what appears to be a storage closet.  We are at the administrative offices in a standard, office building on the seventh floor.  She pulls out her bicycle from the closet, complete with basket and all.  I assume that since she has a bicycle she lives close by.  It is raining outside, so I decide to ask if she needs a ride. 

"I'm happy to drive you home.  I don't want you riding your bike in the rain," I said.

"Thank you, but I live close and don't mind," Charlotte replies.

"I insist.  Especially if you live close," I said.

I get her to agree and we head to my car.  I have a small Honda with no bike rack which I had not thought about when I asked if she needed a ride.  After a lot of maneuvering we managed to stuff the bicycle in the backseat of the car.  The rain is really coming down. 

"Where I am I going?" I ask Charlotte.  

"If you want to take me somewhere, will you take me to Nordstrom's?  There is a shoe sale," She said. 

I'm not very good at saying no to people, especially hip senior citizens.  I'm just wondering how she is going to take her bike into Nordstrom's, go shoe shopping, and get back home.  We are 5 miles from Nordstrom's and we do not live in a city with friendly public transportation.  I think there is a bus, but that is about my extent of knowledge of public transportation here.  I drive her to the shoe sale in the rain storm the entire time trying to figure out in my head how this is going to work.  Am I going to wait for her while she shops?  Turns out that is exactly what I do.  I wait for her to shop.  She finds 4 pairs of nice shoes.  I'm talking red bottom designer shoes that I'm pretty sure weren't on sale.  Two hours after leaving the Alzheimer's Association I deliver Charlotte safetly home with her dry bicycle and four new pairs of shoes, wondering how I get myself into these situations. 

I am once again having trouble controlling my mouth.  When people ask what has been going on or how am I doing I actually tell them the truth instead of giving a simple "Oh not too much" answer they are expecting.  The truth takes them by surprise. 

"My mom married my grandfather.  Its legal and everything.  I was adopted as a baby.  So technically it is the woman who adopted me marrying the man whose daughter gave birth to me. It really isn't gross if you think about it."  

Exactly how am I expecting people to react to this?  I laugh loudly each time I say it, especially when people react super serious.  I am noticing my laughter makes people even more uncomfortable.  What is possessing me to do this?  I was on a conference call with someone half way across the country who I have only met once in person.  I found it necessary to tell her exactly what is going on with me.  As the words start coming out of my mouth I realize how ridiculous I sound as a thirty year old woman telling this story, but there is no turning back now.  This is something I've struggled with throughout my life, but am finding increasingly problematic as I age.  When I was younger my age could be used as an excuse, but now I am turning into the crazy lady.  My goal for the next day is to refrain from telling strangers and acquaintances my personal stories. Think I will be able to do it?  Yeah, me neither. 

Cheese orphans pulling at my heart strings

This Cheese Orphan display at my grocery store pulls at my heart strings every time I push my cart buy.  Maybe it is my love for cheese, or maybe my connection with the word  orphan (although, I was adopted, I was not an orphan), but this sign convinces me to buy some odd shaped, perhaps almost too old to eat piece of cheese.  Brilliant advertising on their part.  I actually feel sorry for the neglected pieces of orphan cheese in the basket.  I now have a space in my refrigerator for the cheese orphans to rest.  Most importantly, this gives me yet another excuse to fill my body with my favorite food, Cheese. 

Bathroom encounters

My office has a restroom but I prefer going down the hall to what I like to refer to as the private restroom.  It is one of those single rooms where you go in one at a time.  It is hard to tell if anyone is occupying the restroom without pulling on the heavy door handle.  As I pulled the handle the door opened and a woman walked out.  She opened the door letting me walk in.  I kindly thanked her.  However to my surprise, instead of closing the door behind her she walked into the private restroom with me, locking the door behind her.  I quickly assessed the situation in my head.  Was I in danger? Na.  She was an elderly woman, perhaps in her 80's wearing a hat with a large brim. I work at a hospital so I concluded she must be coming to the doctor and shouldn't be a threat.  I could take this old lady if I had to, although I would do just about anything not to get into a fight (never happened) and especially with an elderly woman (not sure how my job down the hall would feel about this).  In shock I stood there with my bag in my hand.  She begins to tell me that she is a children's book author and illustrator. 

Today she had a book signing at a local book store.  She also likes to watercolor.  I stood there nodding my head letting her finish, praying for a private moment to relieve myself.  I feared I might pee myself and needed a plan.  As she continued to talk, I unlocked and opened the door for her, gently leading her out as she continued to speak.  I gave her a few "OOoo's and Aww's" before closing the door, and firmly locking it.  Finally alone at last.  After I finished with my business, I opened the door to find her standing there.  As I walked out, she continued to talk to me and followed me back down the hall.  I cut her off mid-sentence, telling her I must get back to work and it was nice to meet her.  This is the kind of nonsense that seems to happen to me on a daily basis.  I started out thinking I was in the company of a crazy lady but after a little reflecting I realized she was probably just lonely and needed a friend to listen. 

Crazy, Weird, Happy

I'll be the first to admit, I can be very immature.  This weekend was no exception. My Mom got remarried in Las Vegas.  This is my Mom's 3rd marriage.  My Dad and her divorced, her second husband and dear step-father passed away in a car accident, making this her third go round.  I prayed and prayed for my mom to find love again, and truly am thrilled for her.  

I'm used to a life where it is just my Mom and I (and of course now Husband).  I am used to being the one looking out for her and helping her with decisions.  With her new husband in the mix it adds a new dynamic.  Her new man, let's call him John, is a wonderful, kind, man who is head over heals in love with her.  I've never seen a man worship the ground my mother walks on like John.  They met and were engaged in less than two months.  I like a man who knows what he wants.  Here is the kicker.  Now prepare yourself, because your head might start spinning a bit.  
As I've mentioned before I was adopted at birth, not orphan Annie style, so please no sympathy.   My adoption was closed which means I had no contact with the biological family. Just so nobody is confused, when I refer to my Mom this is the woman who adopted and raised me and who I consider my one and only mother.  A few years ago, my biological family made contact with me.  Earlier this year, my Mom and John met.   John is my biological maternal grandfather.  That's right.  My mother married my grandfather. They are 5 years apart in age.   John's daughter gave birth to me almost 31 years ago.  Crazy, weird, and very happy story. 
So needless to say, it was a surreal weekend.  The celebration consisted of Mom, John, Husband, Me, Jules (John's sister) and Jim (John's step-son).  Husband had the honor walking my Mom down the aisle.  When the minister asked him who gives this bride away he froze unprepared for such a questions.  He looks at me desperate for help with the answer.  I mouthed to him to just say I do.  He stumbles a bit and manages to get the words out of his mouth laughing at the same time.  During photos after the ceremony the photographer asks "Now who belongs to who?,"  Looking at me he continues, "Now, this must be your Mom because you two look alike, but huh, you also kinda have your new step-dad's eyes."  
I burst out into laughter as I normally do in uncomfortable situations.  Mind you nobody else is cracking a smile.  My mom just nodes her head and answers that she is my mother and that is that.   
The photographer takes my Mom and John aside for pictures.  From the corner of my eye I notice John kissing on my Mother's neck.  Now, I've come to realize no matter how old you get, you never get comfortable seeing your Mom involved with public displays of affection.  This wasn't a peck he is giving her. He is practically giving her a hickey in the Vegas wedding chapel.  The photographer steps over gently pulling John off of her.  John has a huge grin on his face.  I'm not sure how my face looked, but I'm pretty sure it was not a smile.  
We sit down for dinner and I decide I deserve a glass of wine tonight.  I rarely drink and cannot hold my alcohol to save my life.  Give me one drink and I will tell you anything you want to know.   I no longer have secrets because I have at one point or another let them all out after one drink or so.  Jim raises his glass to give a toast.  It is thoughtful, touching, and appropriate.  When he is done, I take the cue to give a toast.  I have nothing prepared.  I only thought about getting myself through the evening, I didn't even think about needing to give a toast.  My toast went something like this.
"Well, I didn't have anything prepared, but I guess I should say a few words.  This is some crazy ass weird monkey shit (not sure why I threw a monkey in there).  I officially realized God has a greater plan and we have no control over life after this situation here. (at this point I feel husband's hand on my arm signaling I should wrap it up) I'm very happy you two found each other and I wish you a lifetime of happiness. Cheers!"  
Hmmm, no response from the audience.  Strange.  Not one of my better toasts but I figured it could have been worse. Overall it was  great weekend, but I still am in disbelief that my mother married my biological grandfather.  Once again reminded that I have little to no control in life. 

And today I look like...a model?!

Husband is a police officer.  Have I mentioned that before?  He called me from work last night telling me I was the talk of the police station.  Husband informs me that a fellow officer and good friend of ours Adam, had brought an underwear ad to the police station.  He was showing it around the station asking everyone who it looked like and the unanimous answer was me.  Officers said my name without any prompting.  As I've mentioned before I have a familiar looking face.  I get told very frequently that I look like somebody or strangers think they know me from somewhere.  The news that officers thought I looked like a lingerie model came as a very pleasent surprise.  I spent the evening with heightened self-esteem thinking I must be a hot wife.  Images of Heidi Klum and Victortra Secret models filled my head.  I wonder which one they thought I looked like. 

I am not one of those girls who thinks of themselves as pretty.  In fact, I have a hard time looking at myself in the mirror.  Yes, I have some issues I know.  So I was surprised and delighted by this new image of myself.  I was feeling pretty young too.  Much of these officers passing along the picture are still in their twenties so I did consider the title of cougar, but I was fine with that too.  I danced around the apartment feeling pretty sexy.  I was seriously feeling MyInnerCheerleader. 
Husband brings the ad home with him.  NOT exactly what I was imagining.  It was an underwear ad just as he had described.  NOT a lingerie ad as I had interpreted it as.  These were full coverage, middle-aged, larger boned women in a Macy's ad. Nothing men look at and find attractive. The woman they thought looked like me was a compliment, but the ad was by no means sexy.  More like a teacher (not sexy teacher), or a Mom like ad.  They wore those beige, practical, comfortable bras.  When one of my friend's got married, her husband's one request was that she trash her beige bras because they reminded him of his grandmother. 

I couldn't stop laughing at how I had misinterpreted things.  And there is my reality check for the day.  I feel 31 getting closer and closer.  It might be time for me to toss out my practical beige bras for some lacy, black sexy somethings.  

Lesson in PDA

I'm a gold card holder at Starbucks.
I'm not gonna lie, when I pull out my gold card at Starbucks I feel like I am the equivalent of an American Express black card holder.  I feel exclusive and important.  With my recent purchase of 15 drinks, I had a free drink of my choice to redeem.  I chose the most expensive drink I could think of- a iced, venti, soy, vanilla latte. 

 I normally get a cup of coffee that takes little to no time to wait on.  My venti specialty drink on the other hand required my patience.  I headed over to the drink counter, somewhat unfamiliar territory for me, and placed myself behind the other thirsty, caffeine deprived patrons waiting. I couldn't help but notice a couple waiting in front of me.  A blond lady probably in her early forties wearing capri pants and a black baseball cap, stood behind her man with her arms wrapped around his stomach.  I watched her hug him close as her hands moved up his arms.  She massaged both his arms at the same time, then turned it more into a scratching motion as she went up his sleeves.  Then to my dismay, her hands came back down to the front of his shirt, going up his shirt to his chest.  With her hands still up his shirt, she outlined the lining of his pants with her fingers, and caressed his back.  All of this was happening in the public of Starbucks waiting for our drinks.  Hurry and get these people their drinks so they can get back to the bedroom!  I suspected these two were not married and in the early stages of dating.  I checked out their ring finger status and my theory checked out.  Not married.  Leaving I contemplated if the woman was trying to make it known to all the other caffine junkies that this was her man.  I left being very aware of public displays of affection with my PDA monitor on.  Husband and I do have a tendency to hold hands and sometimes steal a quick kiss in public, but I was not going to allow this activity today. 
Later in the day we headed off to church.  I noticed two couples a few pews ahead of us where the woman was rubbing the man's arms, and back (over the clothes this time thank goodness).  This continued all through mass.  Yes, I should've been spending more time praying than analyzing the PDA, but I couldn't help myself.  I justified it by assuming the ladies molesting their men during mass weren't doing much praying either.  I inspected the ring fingers of both couples.  Both couples were married distinguishing my theory from earlier in the day.  My lesson of the day was to try to keep my hands off my hot husband as a contribution to those around me.  You never know who is watching. 

Elevator friend

I share the elevator down to the first floor of my office building with a grungy, forty- something man.  He notices my black rolling bag (not very stylish but I needed it for my aging body aches).  

"You in sales?" he asks me.  

"Yes, how could you tell?  Is it that obvious?" I reply.  

He goes on to tell me about his experience in sales.  He does not look like your typical, attractive, well-dressed sales man.  He smells of cigarette smoke, wears baggy clothing and is in desperate need of a shower and shave. I can't help but wonder what he was selling and who hired him.  It is just the two of us on the elevator.  As he tells me his story, he begins to fart.  Yes, fart.  Obvious, popping fart sounds continue as he tells his story.  Stuck on the elevator, the smells are starting to engulf our small space.  When the elevator doors open, he continues to walk side by side with me.  I stop at the restroom door about to head in, and give a friendly good-bye to him.  When I come out of the restroom, he is waiting for me.  He continues walking to the parking lot with me, FARTING.  I'm a little uneasy with this strange man following me to the parking lot, but noticed the security guard following us and felt a little more at ease.  He happened to be parked a few cars away from me.  Attempting to hold in my laughter during this encounter, I hope in my car and let it all out.  

How do these things continue to happen to me? 

Salads require a fork

I stopped by Central Market to pick up a quick salad to bring back to the office. Central Market is a grocery store but it also has a cafe. 
"Can I have a fork?"
She hands me a plastic spoon. 
"Oh, this is a spoon, I need a fork please," I said.
"That is all we have.  You are going to have to adapt." Check-out lady replies.

I started laughing thinking this must be some kind of joke and quickly realized as she gazed at me with a straight face this was no joke to her.  It was a spoon or nothing. 
Adapt?  I am going to have to adapt to using a spoon instead of a fork for my salad?  Really?  I don't think so. I'm not in the wilderness or anything trying to adapt for survival.  This is Central Market in a very upscale suburb. I walked off in search of finding a fork in the store.  I quickly found one realizing check out lady was just being lazy. 

Chin Hair Encounters

I was a late bloomer with the boys.  I had a group of very good guy friends, but nothing past that.  When I finally announced to my Mother that I had a boyfriend my sophomore year of college she was beside herself with excitement.  She couldn’t wait to meet him.

We arranged for a dinner meeting.  Normally a little rough around the edges, Charlie came dressed in his loafers, pressed collared shirt and jacket, trying to impress Mom.  Mom came in one of her sexy new dresses that hugged her curves.  She had a knack for fashion and was always dressed in the latest trend. 

“So Charlie, what is your major?” My Mom asked.

I watched Charlie lean in towards my Mom.

“One second, you have a piece of hair on you, I don't want you to get it in your food,” he said as he reached just below her chin, close to her neck. 

“Ouuchh!” My Mom screeched, getting the attention of other diners at the restaurant. 

THE PIECE OF HAIR WAS ATTACHED TO MY MOM'S CHIN. 

“Oh, I am so sorry, I didn’t, uhhhh...,” Charlie was at a loss for words.

“Can you see it?  Pull it out?” My Mom requested.

Charlie hesitated before going in for the kill, grabbing my Mother’s chin hair.  He yanked once, twice, and then..

“There, I got it,” He said as he showed her the black piece of hair. 

I sat stunned and unable to control my laughter.  

Dorky dentist jokes and tears

My dentist is a middle-aged, dorky looking, glasses wearing kind of guy.  He is just the kind of person you feel comfortable poking at your teeth and gums.  I went for my 6 month check-up.  He laid my chair back, turned on the bright light above the chair, and started telling one of his corny jokes.  

Dentist: Your Husband is a police officer right? I've got a joke for your.  A blond woman gets pulled over by a blond male police officer.  The officer walks up to the car and asks for identification.  The blond woman pulls out her mirror, looking at her reflection and hands the mirror to the officer.  The officer looking into the mirror at his own reflection says, if you I knew you were a police officer I wouldn't have pulled you over.  

I let out my signature laugh, which is about all I am able to respond as he continues examining my teeth.  He continues speaking with what I anticipate to be another dorky dentist joke. 


Dentist:  I'm known as the funny man.  I've got lots and lots of jokes. A few years back,  I sat next to my mother-n-law as she lay on her death bed.  I loved her like she was my own mother.  As she took her last breath she asked me to tell her one of my jokes, and I couldn't think of one. I froze.


I start nervously laughing thinking I missed the punchline during tolerating the poking and prodding.  


Dentist: She took her last breath and was gone.  I never got to tell her my last joke.  I often wonder what one I would've told her. 


I look up, realizing this is not a joke.  My Dentist is crying.  His tears are dripping down his face down onto me as I continue to lay in the examining chair.  This is really happening!


Me: I am sorry.  


I think to myself I must do my best to just leave it as that and do not continue speaking.  I never know what might fall out of my mouth.  He finishes the examination, never reaching for a tissue or whipping the tears.  


Dentist:  Your teeth look great, but I still think you need those wisdom teeth out.  Great seeing you.  


He pats me on the back and walks me to the check-out counter.  
Just another day in my awkward life. 

Food trucks and Japanese friends

I am a fan of food trucks and especially when they are all together in one place.  Over the weekend we attended a food truck festival in Dallas.  Delicious! 

 My favorite was Ruthie's Rolling Cafe's grilled cheese.  Definitely worth trying if you get a chance. You can customize your grilled cheese to include different cheeses, and meats.  The special dipping sauce is a must for flippin and dippin your grilled cheese. 

We ran into our friend Joe at the festival and went for a drink with him after our bellies were full from trying all the varieties of food.  He was meeting some other friends who we had never met. 

Joe: Are you guys okay with Japanese people?  My friends are Japanese.

Us: Not a problem.  What do you think we are racist?  Of course we are fine with Japanese people. 

What Joe neglected to inform us of was that they spoke very little English.  We sat at the bar attempting to make small talk with an obvious language barrier.  One of our new Japanese friends returns from the restroom with some questions about a conversation he over heard in the urinal.  

New Japanese Friend:  The man in the bathroom said he wanted his friend to put his coch in a box.  What does that mean?  He said, "Man, why are you coch boxing me?"  

Me:  I think what the person meant was coch blocking.

Japanese Friend:  He did not want to put his friend's coch in a box?  What coch blocking?  

I look at husband for help answering this one. My social anxiety is kicking in and I can feel the sweat developing down my back.  I'm not sure how to explain this without offending anyone.  I can't find words to continue and start belting out my very loud laugh. 

Husband:  Don't mind my wife, she has social anxiety.  It means the guy is trying to hook up with a girl and his friend is doing something to make it not happen.  

Our Japanese friends look even more confused trying to figure out social anxiety and coch blocking in the same conversation.  Directly addressing my personality flaw did not seem to help anyone, but me.  I like putting it all out on the table.  I can admit my flaws and even likes when Husband does the explaining for me.  
The back and forth went on for a while.  The language barrier made it hard to explain coch blocking and social anxiety. 

I'm pretty certain they still think the term is coch boxing. 

You get what you pay for

I am frugal.  I like to attribute this to the lifestyle changes I have been required to adjust to through these thirty years.  Hair cuts and color are something I especially try to keep the cost down on.  I go to a styling school and have the students color my hair.  So far, this works great.  The only downfall is having to allow 5 hours for a partial highlight.  When I had a $10 haircut from the students it was a disaster.  Swoop bangs swooping the wrong way.  I walked around with a piece of hair hanging by the right side of my face too cheap to get another professional stylist to correct it.  

The time arrived for another haircut.  I searched the internet for a decent salon with below average prices.  After a recommendation from a friend I decided to give a new salon a try.  They advertised a $25 haircut and shampoo.  I liked their prices and the recommendation.  It is in a very high end part of town leading me to confident in my decision. 

I walked in the salon.  A large woman weighing in at about 240 sat at the front desk, wearing a Fruit of the Loom looking old t-shirt, no make-up, her hair was hardly brushed and pulled back into a straggly ponytail,  she wore large outdated glasses with flip-flops.  

"Hi, I have an appointment for a haircut," I said.

"Great, I'm Christina and I will be cutting your hair," She replied. 

Her appearance should've been my first clue.  Being the beauty industry, looking the part should be a required, if not a red flag I neglected to notice her lack of beauty regime.  She also wore sweet Mom jeans.

As she cut my hair, I noticed her lack of attention, but brushed it off.  This was a cheap haircut and I know I usually get what I pay for.  We engaged in small talk.  Another woman walked over and Christina and her started discussing their child.  I looked around and realized the salon was run by lesbians.  I have plenty of friends different sexual preferences.  However, I have found the stereotype for lesbians in regards to how they dress giving off a butch vibe to often be true (not always, calm down my lovely lesbian ladies).  The salon was full of butch, very kind, stereotypical lesbians.  However, not the look I was going for.  My personal style borders on the butch side (especially where my shoes are concerned) and didn't need any help furthering this path.  

Time to check out.  That will be $60 I hear. 

"For just a hair cut?" I question, jaw dropped. 
"No, a haircut and a blow dry," She said as two others approached the counter.  
I handed her my credit card, pissed.  I was very disappointed with my $60 haircut and blow dry, but  I am timid as it is and wasn't about to start an argument at this joint. 
Once again lesson learned.  No such thing as a free lunch.  Check the fine print.  Get the details. 

Bosses are just people too

You never really have the ability to understand something another person is going through until you experience it yourself. This becomes clearer and clearer to me the older I get. You don't understand the joys and importance of getting married until you've done it, you don't understand how special being an aunt or uncle is, you don't understand what it feels like to lose a parent until it happens to you...the list goes on. Today clarity came in realizing how it feels to be a boss. A friend and I use to complain about our bosses all the time, and now years later after we have both been in manager positions we realize the difficulty. Bosses have to keep a fine line between friends and boss, and it is hard. We all want to be liked even if we chose to admit it or not.  Bosses are just people too. 

Hmmm, on second thought I do recall recently comparing my boss to the North Korean government. 

 Some bosses are treated the way they are for a reason.  There goes my sympathy, right out the window.