Secondhand Sunday

I've decided to make Sundays my Secondhand day. I'm basically too lazy to think of anything new to say so I thought I would re-post a "vintage" entry.

If you aren't in the mood for repeats, please feel free to change the channel.

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Happy Sunday!

BOO!

My friend, Michelle, and I went to go see Drag Me to Hell last night. We were surrounded by teenagers and 20-something boys but I think she and I shrieked the loudest in horrified delight. It was great.



I judge the quality of a scary movie by its "jump factor". The number of times you JUMP out of your seat at an unexpected moment. This movie had plenty of jump factors.

Michelle is the only one I can get to go see these movies with me. I have never dated a man who will go to the theater to watch one or even rent one.

Here's a clue for you guys. We rent a scary movie. I jump in fear. You grab me to protect me and "accidently" cop a feel in the process. Do I need to put together a manual or something?

I've asked guys to go with me but I just can't seem to convince them.

"Hey, can we go see that new movie tonight? Satan's Spawn?"

"Oh God, no, I hate those movies."

"C'mon, I'll protect you..."

"I said, no. I don't like scary movies."

"For me....???"

"No! You can't make me go," as he curls up in a fetal position, sucking his thumb.

Can someone explain this to me?

Members Only

I got the boot. Again.

When I started this blog in January, I looked around the vast blogging world to see what was out there and I started following two very sweet, simple blogs.

The first was created by a woman about my age who had a little boy and a Beagle. I think you know what the draw was for me. And no, it wasn't the little boy or the Mom. I checked in daily to see what shenanigans her son or puppy had gotten into. I commented on a few of her posts and she commented on mine.

About a month ago, I clicked on her link in my favorites and got this message:

"This blog is for invited readers only."

I thought it must be an error so I clicked it again.

"This blog is for invited readers only."

I checked my email, certain that the invitation link would be found there.

Nuthin'.

I give this woman three months of my life and this is the thanks I get in return? Does she think she's better than me?

Whore.

When I told Bernie what happened, this was her reaction.


Well, I still had my sweet, little family of three who live in a blue house. They go on lots of family outings, Easter egg hunts and car rides. No one is bitching about the economy or the jerk they work with.

"Here's Munchkinetta with her new umbrella."

Sweet, simple stuff.

I went to check in with them last night.

"This blog is for invited readers only."

I knew it wasn't a mistake this time. Mr. & Mrs. Wholesome realized that a stripper chick who wears strap ons, talks about poop and who may or may not have Anorgasmia has been following them. What will their priest say when he logs on to see Munchkinetta's First Communion photos and sees me? Mon Dieu!

Get over your holier than thou selves! You're lucky I was following your stupid little blog. And Munchkinetta? Not so cute.

So, to any of you that I'm following..if you decide to make your blog an "invited readers only" one...don't worry, I won't take it personally.

This one's for you, Uncle Joe!

I was doing some spring cleaning and I came across some 45 records. One of them was Java by Al Hirt. My uncle Joe lived in Florida but he would travel to Cleveland on business and every time he came to town we played this and danced around the living room. It was one of his favorites.

Uncle Joe passed away last year but I'm sure he still dances when he hears this song.

There goes my hand modeling career

I park on the 8th floor of a parking garage. I’m still half asleep and running late when I get to work so I take the elevator to the ground level instead of taking the stairs. There are two elevators and it’s a good bet that one of them will be out of order. If you’re lucky enough to be on one that’s functioning, all it takes is a glance at the Certificate of Inspection dated 2003 to realize that you might get stuck at any time and be left to bake inside this modern day glass sauna.

As I stepped in this morning, I exchanged pleasantries with another woman as the door closed to begin our descent. There must have been something wrong with the cabling because it went at a snails pace and made a loud clang at each floor.


“I hate these elevators.”, I said.

CLANG!

“I know. They’re the worst. I don’t think they even inspect them.”

CLANG!

“I usually don’t mind walking down in the morning but I'm late, as usual.”

CLANG!

“Have you ever been in one when it drops?”

CLANG!

“Drops?!”

CLANG!

“Yep. I was riding down one morning when it just dropped for about 5 floors and then it stopped.”

CLANG!

“And you’re still riding it?”

CLANG!

She shrugged her shoulders as the doors open and she walked out. I turned to look back at the elevator as it climbed to the top of the garage.

I had my own scary elevator experience in 2006. I was working in downtown Cleveland at a landmark building built in the early 1920’s. You might even recognize it from the parade scene in the 1983 movie, A Christmas Story.



A co-worker and I had gone to pick up a cake for the President of the organization because he had won some award or another. I was carrying the sheet cake and thought how lucky I was that an elevator was just sitting there with its doors open. As I started to walk in, the doors began to close. Normally, a properly functioning elevator will have a sensor that opens the doors back up when it detects something in its path. This was not a properly functioning elevator.

The doors continued to close and I saw the cake box begin to buckle. I was like a mama bear trying to save its cub as I held onto that cake for dear life and pushed back against the doors with my hands. Hey, it was buttercream frosting. You would have done the same.

The doors finally opened and I looked down at my left hand which was sliced and bleeding. The nerve sensors finally reached my brain and I started to cry from the pain. Now, mind you, I have a very high tolerance for pain. In fact, there are times when I actually like it. This was not one of those times. The pain was awful but the trooper (idiot) that I am, I proceeded on to the party and put some ice on my hand.

In retrospect, I should have dropped the cake and fell to the floor, writhing in pain because the fat bastard who the cake was celebrating "downsized my position" just one month later.

I tried to take some legal action against the building after this comment was made by a building worker, We have lots of these accidents. So they knew there was a problem but they were negligent. Apparently, having a scar on your hand is not grounds for any cash but next time, I'll be sure to lose an appendage to help my case.

Are you my Mother?

I have about 300+ cable channels but really only watch about 10 of them. Every once in a while, I start flipping through channels to see what else is out there.

I've decided that my new favorite channel is BBC America. If it's weird or somehow taboo, they do a documentary on it. The best has been a show called My Fake Baby. It follows the lives of women who "adopt" these lifelike dolls or reborns, as they're called and treat them like they're real babies. They brush their hair, change their diapers and stroll them around town. One even bought a $300 outfit to bring the baby home in.





They also feature a woman who creates the dolls. It's disturbing how real these dolls look but the most disturbing thing is how the people who own them treat them like they're alive. Talk about issues..



Since I don't have any children of my own and I have lots of issues, I thought maybe I should look into adopting my own reborn. I think this one looks the most like me.

Too much information

I got my hair cut a few days ago. The conversations with my hairdresser, Natalie, usually revolve around our work, my inability to stick to a diet and her inability to permanently stop smoking. I told her that I had started this vegan diet on Sunday and she was excited to share with me her experience on a similar plan that she had tried the month before.

Somehow the conversation evolved to a discussion of bowel movements. You would think that by following a meal plan that’s essentially raw that constipation wouldn’t be a problem. Not so for me or Natalie. In the category of “too much information”, we both came to realize that we had suffered through years of constipation and had been to numerous specialists, only to be told to drink more water, exercise and eat more fiber. Yeah, I already tried that, Einstein.

We had both also gone the route of trying colonics. Now a colonic isn’t for the squeamish, so you may want to stop reading this post now and you certainly won’t want to watch the video.

Enemas only clear out the rectum but a colonic will irrigate and flush out the entire colon. I know you’re dying to know how. Well, let me educate you to the process, my friend.

The colon hydrotherapist will insert a speculum into the anus. The speculum is connected to a clear hose which is attached to the colon hydrotherapy unit. Warm, filtered water is slowly released into the colon. The water causes persitalis, which is the contraction of the colon, which causes the feces to release. No, you don't smell or hear anything but you will see it being released in the tube. It's oddly fascinating.

This was the tamest video I could find.




Once you can get past the fact that you’re essentially pooping in front of a stranger, it’s really a very relaxing, albeit pricey, experience. And talk about a flat stomach!

I haven’t had a colonic in a few years because I thought I had found my golden remedy in the form of flax seed oil. I was taking 1000 mg a day and no longer had to cast an envious gaze at my Beagle as she left a hefty pile on the tree lawn. I was regular! Normal. I didn’t have to spend an extra 15 minutes in the morning trying to find a blouse that would cover my bloat.

And then I went vegan. I’ve read a few different theories on why this might happen initially so I’m just going to press on and hope things come out okay.

Just Say NO

If my Dad asks if you need help pruning the bushes and trees in your yard, just say NO.

You expect me to eat that?

I feel like Bridget Jones.

May 19, 2009, weight 165

Dear Diary,

I just heard that Mark Darcey will be attending a charity fundraiser that I'll be attending next month so I must start my diet. Again.

I was trying to decide what kind of diet to start this time when a friend of mine told me that her mother had asked her if she would go to a book store and wait in line for an autographed copy of The Engine 2 Diet. In case you haven't heard of it, it's the latest diet book to hit the shelves prior to bikini season. It was written by a hunky firefighter who's the perfect pitchman to sell his program to housewives and lonely, single women.

Did I mention how dreamy he is??

I wasn't really sure what the details of the diet were but since you know my affection for firefighters, I looked up the website. The author's name is Rip Esselstyn but since the name Rip reminds me of Rip Taylor (who I can't stand..), I've renamed him Jake. Jake's website touts the benefits of the diet, from lowering your cholesterol to shedding pounds. This is Jake.


The plan sounded familiar to one that Manly Man had been on to buff up so I decided to ask him for some info. I was surprised when he suggested a "meeting" to walk me through all the details of planning for the diet and the pitfalls that he had come across. It was great seeing him after seven months but I was a little disappointed that he didn't even attempt to kiss me. Maybe I sent the wrong message by answering the door in my bra and panties.

The gist of the diet is that it's vegan. The simplest way that Manly Man explained this to me was that if it has a face, you can't eat it. (get your mind out of the gutter)

I went to the local grocery store and Trader Joe's to stock up on fruits, nuts, veggies and grains. I knew that breakfast would be the hardest for me since I eat two eggs every day. I perused the cereal aisle until I came across a cereal that would be compatible with the diet plan and my already existing food allergies. I found it in a product called Puffins, a whole grain brown rice flour cereal with a hint of honey for flavor. I really like it but I'm having a hard time with the name.

Do you remember on The Girls Next Door when Holly, Hef's main squeeze, called him Puffin? With every spoonful, I think of having that puffin in my mouth and it disturbs me on so many levels.

I'm shocked at how easy this is to follow. I'm a self professed sugar junkie, capable of consuming a pound of M&M's in a sitting but I've had no cravings and no hunger pangs. Day three and counting...

Is it cold in here?

Over the years, women's workplace attire has gone from the suit, blouse and scarf ensemble to "business casual". There are a lot of interpretations for business casual from the trouser and cotton shirt combo to the skirt and sweater set. A jacket is no longer de riguer and it's even acceptable to bare your legs under a skirt. We've come a long way, baby.

Personally, I'm kind of old school. I feel more confident wearing a suit and pantyhose with a tailored bag that pulls the whole look together. I dress to flatter my figure but I keep in mind that anything too provocative sends the wrong message and can be inadvertently distracting in a business setting. There's a time and a place for sexy.

I also understand the importance of proper undergarments. A slip so that your skirt doesn't ride up. Panties that don't leave lines along the top of your butt. And a bra that won't reveal to people the temperature in the room. C'mon, you know what I'm talking about.

There's nothing more annoying to me than a woman with her nips showing in a business setting. Ladies, have you ever heard of a padded bra? Lightly padded? No? Well then how about modesty pasties?

And when I say pasties, I don't mean these:



Or these:


Or these delicious pasties:



I just mean these:



A discreet little daisy to cover up any distracting nippage and ensure that people take you seriously. You're not on the sleeve of the My Sharona 45 record, for goodness sake! Do you remember the controversy this picture caused in 1979? I'm sure Sharona was in many a young boys wet dreams that year.



So, lesson for the day.

Nips showing through your silk sweater in a meeting - Bad.

Discreet daisy pasties - Good.

Now what?

Since I work in a hospital, they're always hosting some sort of event in the common areas to promote health and fitness. This week's theme is stroke prevention so I decided to have my blood pressure checked to gauge if the plethora of pills that I'm taking are being effective. The pleasant nurse handed me a clipboard and asked me to check off my medical history and that of my family.

Prior heart attack? Nope

Diabetic? Nope

High blood pressure? Yes...

High cholesterol? Just found out...yes....

Alcohol abuse? Nope

Drug abuse? Nope

Smoking? Nope

She looked over my questionnaire and was impressed that I hadn't checked off any of the categories under Family History. I explained to her that since I was adopted, I had no family history.

She proceeded to tell me that her 16 year old daughter had just given up a child for adoption and I could see that it had been a tough decision for the whole family. I talked through it with her and let her know what an amazing gift her daughter is giving to someone who otherwise can't have a child.

She looked down at my questionnaire again and noted that we were about the same age. When I asked her when her birthday was, she stated June 28. I told her mine was July 9 and her eyes welled up with tears. That was the date her daughter had her baby. I reached for her hand and she smiled and said that I must have been meant to stop and talk to her today. I felt almost as good about that as I did about getting my blood pressure reading.

119/77!!! Can I get a "HEY....!!!!!" I can't believe it came down that much. Must have been all that tension I released over the weekend.

That's the good news.

The bad news is that in the last few weeks, I've had a few "episodes" with my gall bladder. I know! I've never had any issues with my gall bladder so when I did, my doctor ordered an ultrasound and a full round of blood tests. Apparently the nausea that I thought I was experiencing from my new meds was really my gall bladder. And the burping and farting have really put a crimp in my social life. No wonder I never get a second date.

We discussed surgery which would have me out of work for at least a week. However, with the recovery period being four to six weeks, that screws up my "look like a hot buff babe by my 25 year high school reunion" plan so I've decided to put it off.

I'm not experiencing as many of the symptoms as I was which is why I'm just going to wait and see how things go. Yes, I'm a vain narcissist, but if it was that bad, I wouldn't be hesitating. It's really sad because at the mention of surgery, the first thing I thought was, Thank goodness. I'll get some time off.

High blood pressure, cholesterol woes, gall bladder problems. I miss the old days when all of my problems were mental.

Yeah, I'm talkin' to you

I started this blog in January as a creative outlet and to clear out some of the junk in my head. I had no idea about this whole blogging "world" that exists and how it would enrich my life. I'm reminded of this quote:

"It is not a bad idea to get in the habit of writing down one's thoughts. It saves one having to bother anyone else with them." Isabel Colegate

Thank you all for taking the time to bother reading my thoughts.

It means more than you know.

Thank GOD

I don't have Anorgasmia.

CSI: Living Room

Since my sister got her puppy, Stewie, last month, she's been looking through pet catalogs to find new, useful things to buy.

Today at lunch, she pointed out an ultraviolet light that shows where urine stains are. Here's the ad:

Shut the door, pull down the shades and conduct your own CSI investigation…for pee. This ultra-violet LED light will show you how much urine is actually seeped and dried into your carpet with one wave. How? The crystalline structure of dried urine causes it to fluoresce a dull yellow color under UV light. Don’t worry if it looks like a violent pee scene—our Urine-Off Spray will come to the rescue.

Sounds good to me. I just question the last line:

Protective eye wear recommended

Huh?

Is my gray hair showing?

My sister has been lamenting about the 4 or 5 gray hairs that have shown up on her head lately. As you know, she's 45 and, though I would never tell her this, she looks younger than me. She has perfect skin and has never worn a stitch of makeup in her life. Well, I think there were two weddings that she attended where she stroked on a sliver of eyeshadow. A couple of gray hairs are nothing to lose sleep over.

My mother has been blessed with amazing skin and hair, too. She just turned 81 and you wouldn't guess it. She, like Lisa, doesn't wear makeup often and has never used soap on her face. She still has salt and pepper hair and I don't remember her turning gray until she was well into her 50's.

I, on the other hand, starting wearing makeup just about as soon as I was able to lift the lipstick to my mouth. I attended Barbizon Modeling School when I was 12 and have been cleansing, toning and moisturizing ever since.

And I found my first gray hair at 13. That's right, 13. It's really not a big deal to me at all. They've insidiously taken over my head and if I didn't color my hair, I would most likely be more gray than not.

I think it's just what you're genetically predisposed to. And no, neither one of us takes after our mother because, you see, we were both adopted. None of us are biologically related.

I know, I can hear you now. Well, that explains a lot...

A few of my girlfriends have started freaking out about a few gray hairs, too. Can you see my gray? Get over it, ladies! It's a couple of strands of white hair. It's not the end of the world.

When you get your first gray pube, then we'll talk.

I'm sorry, I forgot

If I invite you over to watch a movie at my house, I'll likely get up to go into the kitchen to make popcorn and I'll ask you what you would like to drink.

"Diet Coke, please", you say, and I'll stroll off to the kitchen to start popping and pouring.

A little while later, final kernel popped, I'll come back into the living room. I'll place the popcorn on the coffee table but I won't give you your Diet Coke. Not because I'm a rude hostess or I just drank the last one myself. I won't give it to you because I've forgotten that I asked you if you wanted one.

I'm kind of like the Absent Minded Professor, only not that smart. Just so highly engrossed in my own world that I forget things almost after they've been told to me.

I can remember events from the first grade but I can't remember who I was supposed to follow up with after hanging up with my supervisor, who just told me who to follow up with. I've fooled people into thinking that I'm really efficient and complete tasks as soon as I'm given them. Not so. I'll just forget them if I wait an hour to get started.

If I stop at a gas station to get directions and it involves more than two turns in opposite directions, I'll just reiterate the first instruction, Okay, so I'll turn left out of this driveway and go for 2 miles, right? Then I'll stop at the next gas station I come to and ask the same question. Oh sure, I could write directions down, but my handwriting is so atrocious, even I can't read it.

I also lose things. Well, sometimes I just misplace them but they generally don't turn up until after I've already replaced them. I have 7 pairs of tweezers, 30 emery boards, 5 calculators and 3 hammers. I would only have 1 of each if I could have remembered where I put the first one.

I have three doors into my house: the front door, the side door and the door off the deck. My nightime ritual involves making sure that each door is locked and deadbolted. I check the windows and turn the backyard light on to make sure there isn't anyone lurking anywhere.

This morning, I woke up and was going to take Bernie for her walk. And I looked everywhere for my keys. I usually throw them somewhere when I walk in the door. They weren't on the hall table or the bookcase or the mantel or the dining room table or God forbid, the key hook.



This would be improper use of a security system.

So long, Manly Man

Maybe in another place and time...

How many?!

My friend's college aged son and his buddy were making lists of the girls they've had sex with. They went something like this:

1. Blonde from Denny's
2. Big boobs/ Jake's party
3. Brunette/ red mustang
4. Professor Swenson/poly sci

And so on. As expected, their goal isn't a long term relationship or even hooking up with someone whose name they might have to remember. They're not keeping a calendar of birthdays or family events to bring them to. They're just boys being boys.

I started making a mental list of the people I've been with and I wondered if I could remember names myself. When I wrote them down, I realized that there were 5 sets of guys that had the same name. And when I say sets, I don't mean that I was with them at the same time. Get your mind out of the gutter. I just mean that they have the same name.

I looked at my list and realized that I don't even know what a normal average number is. I remember when I was 19 years old, I worked with a woman who was 28. She told me that she had been with 45 men and I was horrified. That number still seems high to me.

For dating some 27 years now, I don't come close to that. Let's just say, I've been with more than I can count on my fingers, but less than I can count on my fingers and toes.

As I was looking through my list, each man's name brought back memories of different times in my life. I've never had a one night stand so there were things I remembered about each one because I had dated them for a period of time. I don't have any "Blonde with Corvette" entries on my list.

There was my first, also known as my worst. Neither one of us knew what the hell we were doing so it was a pretty insignificant significant moment in my life.

There were the hot guys that I fought with all the time. There's nothing like that fine line between love and hate, lust and disgust.


"You're such a bitch. What's your problem?!?"

"Well, maybe I wouldn't be such a bitch, if you weren't such a dick to me!"

"Shut up. Don't blame me for this."

"God you make me sick! Take your pants off.."

"Yeah? Is that what you want? Is it?"

"I can't stand looking at you! Get behind me.."


There was the nice boy who thought sex was dirty and decided to go to seminary.

The macho guy who liked to dress up in women's clothing.

The friend with benefits that didn't require any emotional attachment.

The cop who screamed like a little girl.

And a whole other cast of characters. Each one was in my life for a reason and I have no regrets about any of them.

Well, except for having seminary boy try on my Little Red Riding Hood costume. I think that's what pushed him over the edge..