I wanna get dirty

They say that the best way to meet people is through friends. Well, since I've exhausted all possibilities through that course, I'm reaching out to you, dear readers.

But instead of sending out a general call of "male with a pulse", I'm going to be a little more specific. I need to know if any of you are friends with Mike Rowe from Dirty Jobs.



Now I've heard all the "Mike Rowe is gay" gossip but, you know what? This is my fantasy, so shut it.

From the first time I saw Mike artificially inseminate a cow, I knew I had to have him. The way he used that turkey baster made me all tingly tingly down there.

He's handsome and funny and strong and tall. And he's not afraid to get dirty. I like that in a man.

I just checked my calendar and it looks like the next 48 weekends are free so anytime you can set this up would be great.



Let him know I have a dirty job for him.

No overalls required.

What are you gonna do?

I've never been what you would call a neat freak. My house has more of a "lived in" look to it. A stray magazine, an emery board or a half empty can of Diet Coke on my desk don't send me running to close the curtains in the event that someone knocks on my door. Unless, of course, it's Jim.

Lately, however, my house has started to look like it could be featured in an episode of Hoarders. I've been trying to weed through stuff I haven't used in the three years since I moved in but all I ever seem to do is shuffle things from room to room because I "might need these someday."

I'm ready to grab a big garbage can, leave it at the door and chuck things into it. I have piles of "this can go to the Goodwill", "I can try to sell this on eBay", "I'll give this away on Freecycle." But you know what? Those things never happen and then the stuff sits. And sits. And sits.

It starts to work on your psyche after a while. There's lots in my life that I have no control over right now and this just makes me feel powerless, too.

There always seems to be a correlation between how messy my house is and how out of control my life feels. Things are really crazy at work and my father just got a bad health diagnosis. Two things that I have absolutely no control over.

I remember my grandfather used to say, in Turkish, "iste bu"(eeshteh boo), which roughly translated means "that's it...what are you gonna do?" In other words, you can't change it, so just let it be.

I do have the wisdom of age that tells me I can't alter what people think or feel, just how I react to them. And conventional medicine plays a part in everyone's health but the final decision is in God's hands.

I think I'll just tunnel my way to the bedroom now to get some rest.

Iste bu...

Do you smell that?

I stopped wearing perfume a few years ago. It wasn't really a conscious decision. I ran out of a fragrance I had been wearing and the prospect of picking out something new was too overwhelming. You know I'm incapable of making decisions. And a whole bottle of perfume is a big commitment. You know I have trouble with commitment.

The last fragrance I wore was chosen by a man I was seeing. We had gone out a few times when he said to me, "I have to ask you something."

"Okay, go ahead."

"I don't want you to get mad."

"Well, gee, when you preface it like that, I guess I'll do my best."

"I would like to take you perfume shopping."

"Oh. So you don't like my perfume?"

"Um..honestly, sweetheart, no, I really don't."

"Oh. Okay. Well, what is it about it that don't you like?"

"Well, you kinda smell like an old lady."

"Oh. Like Bengay and urine?"

"No...no...just cheap and overwhelming."

"Oh gosh, well, when you put it like that, how could I be mad?"

And honestly, I wasn't. It amused me more than anything else.


So I've been thinking about my whole dating life or lack thereof. Maybe it's not as black and white as boy meets girl. There might be something to the olfactory angle. Just maybe I should be thinking of it in a more primal way like animals do. Let's analyze this.

Animals rely on pheromones to attract the opposite sex and signal mating readiness. Researchers studying animals have shown how pheromones work, tracing complex neurological paths to stimulate parts of the brain that are deeply rooted in instinct.

A male hamster smeared with vaginal secretions from a female hamster will attract male suitors. Queen bees ensure their royal status by excreting chemicals that sterilize the other female bees around them. A female boar, after one whiff of a particular secretion from a male boar, will immediately assume the mating position. It usually takes me two lemon drop martinis.

I remember back in the late 80's, a pheromone perfume was introduced to the market that claimed to attract the opposite sex. Of course, when I was in my 20's, it didn't take much to attract the opposite sex. Guys wanted the hot girls in Jordache jeans and girls were eager to expose their boobies to boys wearing pink T-shirts under Armani-like jackets a la Don Johnson in Miami Vice.

The existence of pheromones as sexual attractants in humans is debatable. Some theorize that they don't exist at all or that they exist in the young but weaken with age.

I think we've all come to the realization that I'm a sucker for a pretty face. And that these pretty boys don't serve me well in my quest for a long term relationship. So I'm going to do my own clinical trial on the pheromone phenomenon. I will act as both investigator and participant.

Phase One: I'll place another personal ad online but this time, I'll seek out the successful and stable; yet sheepish and insecure, regular guy. The one who has a 4 bedroom house in a subdivided neighborhood in the hopes that he'll meet Miss Right and fill those bedrooms with the pitter patter of little feet. He's the one who's worked his way up the corporate ladder and defied the theory that only attractive people get ahead.

Phase Two: When we meet, I'll hug him hello and casually spray him with pheromone cologne. By the end of the night, I'm hoping to feel enough tingly tinglies for me to want to see him again.

Phase Three: The protocol will mandate one spray and one lemon drop martini each time we go out. Bowling and/or a night of Dungeons and Dragons optional.


Conclusive evidence of the existence of pheromones as sexual attractants will be proven when I order a second lemon drop martini.

Be sure to stay tuned for the published results of this study.

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.



WHY NO, I NEVER HAVE BEEN MARRIED...January 6, 2009


Let me give you a little insight into why I’m single. I just received a text message from a 41 year old guy that I met on Plentyoffish.com a few months ago. I’ve been on and off Match.com for a few years now. Okay 7 years, but who’s counting? Well, one day I came across a banner ad touting this FREE dating site. And you know how much I like free…

I haven’t really dated much in a few years. My most recent relationships were with guys I met on line who were about 10 years older than me. The last serious one broke up with me in an email after 10 months. Yep. Email. Ten months. He was 45.

I became casually acquainted with this girl at work last year and through conversations, we realized we were both the same age. (I would guess I was younger, but I digress) I had single guy friends and she had single guy friends so we figured let’s throw everyone in a room and see if anything sticks, so to speak. We went out right before Valentine’s Day, sort of an anti-Valentine’s Day gathering. I wasn’t really interested in meeting anyone, I was more excited about seeing my friends.

Long story, short, I met this great guy and we went out for a few months. We really connected and I loved spending time with him. I’m past planning my wedding by the second date and I don’t go into things with unrealistic expectations. I knew he really wasn’t over his ex girlfriend but we were having fun so I wasn’t worried about how long it might last. We seemed to have found a great level of friendship and mutual respect. And he was hot.

Then he broke up with me in a email. An email. A 42 year old man broke up with me in an email. It was sort of convoluted in its message. "I want to take a little time for myself and see where I'm at.....I care about you and respect you".....I even sent it to my sister, Lisa, and said. “Did he just break up with me?’ ‘Um, yes. Yes, he did.” A few email exchanges later revealed that the real reason was that he wasn't over the last chick. Well, then just say that.

I thought men were evolving, getting more in touch with their feelings, being more communicative. Um, no. No, they’re not. And this information age just makes it easier for wimpy men to be wimpier.

Back to the text I got tonight. I met this manly man firefighter in September-ish and we went out a few times. I got the feeling that he wasn’t really into me and he proved it by disappearing for long stretches only to text me “What’s up?” a month later.

If you want to go out, say “Would you like to go out?” Don’t ask me all these questions around the question you want to ask.

Emails…text messages…I can’t take it anymore. Pick up the damn phone! You’re on the phone texting anyway. I blame the feminists for this. I’m as independent as they come, but c’mon, a little chivalry is nice and romance is very flattering. I’m afraid we’ve created men who are afraid we’ll say no and more afraid we’ll say yes. I half expect a guy to pull my hair in line at the grocery store if he’s interested.

This is why I spend so much time with my dog, Bernie. I can say "Bernie and I had a great weekend. Bernie and I went to the Hamptons" and no one is the wiser. Well, we haven't actually gone to the Hamptons , but it's our dream. You get my point.

Shhh...it's a Secret.

I can't wake up one morning and say, "I think I'll go buy a new camera today." I must peruse every camera review website and ask all my friends what kind of camera they have and the pros and cons of it.

I do this with everything. I love to research things and gather as much information as I can. One reason is to be rest assured that I'm making the most logical choice based on quality and value. The other reason is that I just hate making the wrong decision.

I can't even buy a book without reading the reviews first. Today, a friend told me about the "The Secret". Now, certainly, I've heard of the book. I mean, I watch Oprah as much as the next guy. But I really wanted to know for sure if people were experiencing life changing events because of it. Well, I went to Amazon and found what has to be THE best book review I have ever read.

I know it's kind of long but it's worth the read. You'll thank me after.




Please allow me to share with you how "The Secret" changed my life and in a very real and substantive way allowed me to overcome a severe crisis in my personal life. It is well known that the premise of "The Secret" is the science of attracting the things in life that you desire and need and in removing from your life those things that you don't want. Before finding this book, I knew nothing of these principles, the process of positive visualization, and had actually engaged in reckless behaviors to the point of endangering my own life and wellbeing.

At age 36, I found myself in a medium security prison serving 3-5 years for destruction of government property and public intoxication. This was stiff punishment for drunkenly defecating in a mailbox but as the judge pointed out, this was my third conviction for the exact same crime. I obviously had an alcohol problem and a deep and intense disrespect for the postal system, but even more importantly I was ignoring the very fabric of our metaphysical reality and inviting destructive influences into my life.

My fourth day in prison was the first day that I was allowed in general population and while in the recreation yard I was approached by a prisoner named Marcus who calmly informed me that as a new prisoner I had been purchased by him for three packs of Winston cigarettes and 8 ounces of Pruno (prison wine). Marcus elaborated further that I could expect to be raped by him on a daily basis and that I had pretty eyes.

Needless to say, I was deeply shocked that my life had sunk to this level. Although I've never been homophobic I was discovering that I was very rape phobic and dismayed by my overall personal street value of roughly $15. I returned to my cell and sat very quietly, searching myself for answers on how I could improve my life and distance myself from harmful outside influences. At that point, in what I consider to be a miraculous moment, my cell mate Jim Norton informed me that he knew about the Marcus situation and that he had something that could solve my problems. He handed me a copy of "The Secret".

Normally I wouldn't have turned to a self help book to resolve such a severe and immediate threat but I literally didn't have any other available alternatives. I immediately opened the book and began to read.

The first few chapters deal with the essence of something called the "Law of Attraction" in which a primal universal force is available to us and can be harnessed for the betterment of our lives. The theoretical nature of the first few chapters wasn't exactly putting me at peace. In fact, I had never meditated and had great difficulty with closing out the chaotic noises of the prison and visualizing the positive changes that I so dearly needed.

It was when I reached Chapter 6 "The Secret to Relationships" that I realized how this book could help me distance myself from Marcus and his negative intentions. Starting with chapter six there was a cavity carved into the book and in that cavity was a prison shiv. This particular shiv was a toothbrush with a handle that had been repeatedly melted and ground into a razor sharp point.

The next day in the exercise yard I carried "The Secret" with me and when Marcus approached me I opened the book and stabbed him in the neck. The next eight weeks in solitary confinement provided ample time to practice positive visualization and the 16 hours per day of absolute darkness made visualization about the only thing that I actually could do.

I'm not sure that everybody's life will be changed in such a dramatic way by this book but I'm very thankful to have found it and will continue to recommend it heartily.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Today is my wonderful father's 80th birthday.


And it's also 24 hours after we received the devastating news that he has cancer.

Ironically, I was just discussing with a friend how our family has had a few years of great health and no sickness. In our family, this is huge.

We've had breast cancer, open heart surgeries, diabetes, Guillain-Barre syndrome...you name it, we've had it.

Dad has to go through some additional testing to further determine the best course of treatment and to see how insidious this bastard called cancer has been.

Please keep Dad in your prayers. Even I can't find the humor in this one.

Beaucoup Awards

They say bad luck comes in threes but in my case, it's not bad luck at all. I was presented with THREE awards in the last week. Sorry I haven't acknowledged them before now, ladies, but here they are.



It's been a while since I took French, but I think it says, "I love your boobs" or something like that. Thank you to Nancy at f8hasit.

The rules for this award are simple. I must pass this on to 2 deserving blogs and tell you 10 things that I adore today.


First my list of adorations in no particular order...

1. My beagle, Bernadette (Bernie) I haven't been blessed with children so when I finally bought a house, I decided that I needed the pitter patter of little paws walking around. Most think I treat her a little too much like an actual child but my therapist says that's okay.

2. My amazing friends: For my lack of children, God has doubly blessed me with incredible friends. They're supportive, funny, smart and know too many of my deep dark secrets to ever get away.

3. The autumn season: I know everyone is whining that summer's over but I'm thrilled that the weather is cooler and the leaves are starting to turn.

4. My sense of humor. Now before you take this wrong. I'm not saying, "Ha, ha, I'm so funny." I just mean, thank goodness I was raised to not take myself or life too seriously. I can always find the humor in any situation and it's been my saving grace through some dark days.

5. Ice cream. I would eat it for every meal of every day if I could. Chocolate syrup a must, whipped cream optional.

6. Mascara. I can leave the house without a stitch of makeup (on the weekends only, of course..what am I? Nuts?) but I can't leave the house without my mascara.

7. My bed. No...no..get your mind of the gutter. For sleeping. I ADORE sleeping. I can fall asleep anytime, anywhere but prefer the comfort of my own bed with 5 pillows and a ceiling fan lazily rotating overhead.

8. Air conditioning. Hands down, best invention ever.

9. Black pants. I don't need to explain this one, do I ladies?

10. My blog. I've been blogging since January and I love the creative outlet. All the friends I've made are just the icing on the cake.

And the award goes to...drum roll, please..

Daniel Knight at Knucklehead

Oscar and Maisie at Oscar and Pals





This fabu award came from my friend Collette at My Babcia's Babushka.

The requirements for this award are to post the award on my blog, linking it to the presenter. Next, I must list my 5 (yes, only 5) biggest obsessions. Lastly, I must pass this award on to 5 other worthy bloggers. So, here are my 5 biggest obsessions, not in any particular order:

1. Diet Coke. I don't drink coffee, so first thing in the morning, I have a can of Diet Coke. And then I just keep drinking it two or three times a day.

2. Blogging. Reading other blogs, networking, posting, commenting, replying to comments. I love it all!

3. Becoming a Blog of Note. Kathryn, Congratulations on achieving this wonderful honor but step aside,darling, your 15 minutes are up.

4. Losing 20 pounds. This obsession used to be losing 10 pounds.

5. Winning the lottery. People win every day. Why not ME? I really believe it's possible.

I forward this to the fabu people below:

Kathryn at From the Inside...Out

Theresa at An Officer and a Garbage Can

Chloe at To Ruminate About my Life

Jessi at Jessi, Bob and the Monsters

Travel and Dive Girl at Journey and Adventure






I just like how dirty this one sounds. It came from that little minx Stacie at Stacie's Madness. I'm passing this to my naughty pal below:

Ron at Vent

Ballcock

I love being a homeowner but what I don't love are household repairs. Yesterday, my toilet starting making a funny noise when I flushed it and when I took off the lid, water shot out at me.

I think it's my ballcock.

I really have no idea what it is. I just like saying ballcock.

Ballcock.

Say it with me.

Ballcock.

Boob Envy

I had the dubious distinction of being the tallest student in my 5th grade glass at 5 feet 9 inches tall. Needless to say, I was what they call "an early bloomer". While all the other little girls were ruminating over their latest Barbie, I was arguing with my mother over whether to use the sticky sanitary napkins or the belted ones at "that time of the month".

Since I was the first girl in my gaggle of friends to become a young woman, I took solace in the fact that I would have boobies before them. My sister, two years older than me, already had enviable buzooms. And my mother, in her all Double D glory was anxious to take her little girl shopping for her first bra.

I pictured spectacled Audrey, who had a penchant for singing "Zippity Doo Da", looking at me in all her four-eyed envy. And cute little Jennifer who would suddenly wonder why all the boys wanted to push me on the swings instead of her. Oh, the power I would yield at Anderson School!

Yeah, well, that didn't happen. By some cruel twist of fate, I inherited my father's boobs instead of my mother's. I waited patiently, year and year, hoping that my breasts would catch up to the progress my legs and increasingly widening ass had made.

My sister loved to give me birthday cards every year that mocked my barely A cup. Most despised was the card with a picture of a roll of toilet paper on it and this nasty little taunt on the front, "Why don't you rub this on your chest so it will grow?"

Couldn't wait for the punch line when I opened it, "It seems to have worked on your butt!"

And so, my boob envy was born. Over the years, I resigned myself to sneaking peeks at the girls spilling out of their tank tops or teeny bikinis. I never chastised a boyfriend for staring as long as he pointed them out to me. Do I have latent homosexual tendencies? Maybe. You be the judge.

I'm happy to report that I no longer need to ogle girls with enviable ta-tas because I'm now a member of the inner circle.

I've gained about 25 pounds in the last 10 years and it seems like 20 of them have shown up above my waist. You won't hear me complaining, though. I find every opportunity to walk past construction sites so the girls can jiggle and say hello to the workers. Of course, I feign disgust when they hoot and holler because what kind of girl will they think I am if I don't?

If I'm talking to a man and I notice him furtively glance down at the girls, it takes every ounce of me to not say, "Aren't they magnificent? Do you want to touch them? It's okay."

Yes, my boob envy years are over. What a great feeling to put this chapter behind me.

Speaking of behinds, walking in front of me this morning was this girl with the most exquisite ass.....

I think we're alone now

Are you sure Jim isn't out here?

No, Bernie, the coast is clear!



Are you sure? Because I thought I heard someone.

Nope, it's just you and me. Jim hasn't bothered us in a whole month.



It's nice to be able to stop and smell the roses in the privacy of your own yard, isn't it?

Yes, Bernie, it sure is...

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.

Click Here

Bravo!

Being the "first" to do something usually lands you a spot in the history books. People for generations to come will pay homage to your brilliance and everyone will remember your name. Saying the following names evokes a sense of awe and reverance for the accomplishments of these people.

Amelia Earhart ~ 1st woman to fly across the Atlantic Ocean

Neil Armstrong ~ 1st man to walk on the moon

Wilbur & Orville Wright ~ 1st to build and fly an airplane

Jesus ~ 1st to turn water into wine


Okay, Jesus probably shouldn't be on this list since he's technically the only one to turn water into wine but I think you see where I'm going with this.

Every time I hear mention of these individuals or others like them, I'm saddened by those who are blatantly missing from the lists and whose brilliance seems to have been forgotten.

One man in particular always comes to mind. A man who dreamed a little bigger than the rest of us and made us look each other in a whole new light. That's right.

I'm talking about none other than Chuck Barris and his beloved Gong Show.

Without Chuck, there would be no American Idol or America's Got Talent. So You Think You Can Dance would be played out in alleyways and behind bleachers.

This is where the three person panel originated. Simon, Paula and Randy weren't the first judging trio. It was Jaye P. Morgan, Phyllis Diller and Arte Johnson.

For those of you too young to remember this gem, it was a talent contest where performers had to perform a minimum of 20 seconds before a judge could "gong" them and kick them off the stage. If they were allowed to finish their act, they were judged on a scale of 1 - 10. The highest score won the grand prize of $516.32.

And did I mention that when the winner was announced, a little person (famous former Munchkin, Jerry Maren) would run on stage and throw confetti? It just doesn't get any better than that.

Oh, wait, yes it does. The best part of the show was a recurrent player by the name of Gene Gene the Dancing Machine. He would hear those first notes and his feet just couldn't stop.



So a big THANK YOU, Chuck. Thanks for being the "first" to allow us to showcase our talents, the "first" to have a tuxedo wearing dwarf throw confetti at winners' feet and the "first" to introduce the Gang Gong.

You definitely have a place in MY history book.

I STILL want my 15 minutes of fame

I'm mildly obsessed with becoming a Blog of Note. I do check them weekly and I've found some that I've graced with my mug as a follower. However, I'm perplexed with the process that is utilized in choosing them. Some crowned blogs haven't even posted in the last 6 months. Huh?

Is it like one of those online instant win games where you press the "enter" button and the wheels spin like a slot machine and stop when you press the "enter" button again? Has my URL only come up 2 out of 3 times?

Or do they just search a keyword and choose the first blog that pops up? Maybe they'll search "strap-on". Fingers crossed!




A few months ago, I posted this photo along with the caption "Who do I need to do...to become a Blog of Note". Curiously, I heard from a former flame who picked up the phone and said, "Who's in the picture?"

"What do you mean? That's me."

"I've seen you naked, Chrissy, and you have a beautiful body. But that's not you."

"Now you can't be sure of that. It has been a long time."

I made him a deal that if my blog was chosen as a Blog of Note, he could decide for himself.

C'mon Blogger, can't you help a brotha out?

Happy Anniversary!

My mother didn't get married until she was 28. When my sister and I were younger, we couldn't believe that she was that old before she found someone. We used to laugh and laugh...

We stopped laughing when we turned 29.

I guess Mom is getting the last laugh now.

Happy Anniversary, Mom & Dad!

53 years and going strong!

Are they straight?

I live on a secondary road that connects two main streets. There are about 6 or 7 side streets off of mine and we get a fair amount of traffic during the day. Enough for them to paint double lines down the middle of the road.

I was educated today on how the lines are repainted. Apparently, first they sand blast the old lines off so there's no bleed through. This is done by a very loud contraption that travels down the road reeeaaallly slow.

Then the "striper" truck applies the paint as it's catapulted out by the air pressure in a series of hoses.

Did I mention how loud all this was?

Oh and did I also mention it was done at 3:00 this morning?!?

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.


Click Here

And now, Contestant #1 who likes hunting and Barbie dolls

When I first heard of the TLC show, Toddlers and Tiaras, my first memory was of JonBenet Ramsey and how this poor young girl's death catapulted child pageants into the headlines. The thought of these innocent children parading around on stage like little Lolitas was both ridiculous and upsetting and I was shocked that their journey was being documented for entertainment fodder. I mean, who would watch a show like this?

Then one night, I was flipping channels and saw what appeared to be a tiny prostitute wearing falsh eyelashes and a flapper dress. I was disgusted but I couldn't look away because I was so fascinated. Fast forward to a fresh faced little girl playing with her dolls and it took me a second to register that it was the same girl.






I understand wanting to instill confidence in young girls. I really do. But I certainly don't think that this is the way to do it. Most of the mothers will claim that their daughters just love to perform but you can see the faraway stars from dreams never met in their eyes instead.

There are two types of mothers who enter their children in pageants.

Mom #1

Usually a single mother

Always overweight and fond of form fitting tops to accentuate her curves

Lives in a tiny home in a small southern town

Thinks her plain Jane out of wedlock kin is the most beautiful thing on the planet

Willing to spend upwards of $500+ on one pageant dress but has not seen a dentist in years

Willing to hire pageant coaches, makeup artists and hairdressers to ensure victory which may or may not include a fabric sash, a shiny trophy and a rhinestone crown.


Mom #2

Wealthy, married woman whose husband no longer pays attention to them. He is likely having an affair with his secretary while she likely has cobwebs growing between her legs. She takes out her pent up sexual frustration on her young daughter, "Try it again! One-two-three-shake your hips...two-two-three-shake your butt."

Lives in a large, overdecorated home in a southern town. One room is dedicated to the fabric sashes, shiny trophies and rhinestone crowns.

Thinks her plain Jane "trying to save my marriage" daughter is the best thing since sliced bread.

Willing to spend hundreds on dresses, makeup, hairpieces, coaches, tanning salons and beauty treatments to ensure trophy room looks better than neighbor's daughter's trophy room.


There are different competitions throughout the course of the pageant and they're each broken down by age group from infants through 13 year olds. I was certain that as with any reputable pageant, that the judges have worked in the pageant industry and/or are some sort of beauty experts. Not so. Most of them either look like the fat mothers or creepy pedophiles like this guy.





Would you want him "judging" your 6 year old in a swimsuit?

What does TLC stand for? The Learning Channel. And what have we learned?


That the competition is tough and we need to get our game on if we're gonna win a trophy. Yee ha!!

Itsy Bitsy Spider, my ass

I'm really glad that we're coming into my favorite season of the year. I love the colorful foliage, the crisp autumn air and the lull of crickets outside my window as I'm falling asleep.

What I don't love are the spiders. I am unreasonably afraid of spiders. I don't care if they keep the insects under control. And as far as singing this little ditty about it being bad luck to kill a spider in your house:


If you wish to live and thrive

Let the spider run alive


Rubbish! I need to kill them before they kill me. Hey, I saw Arachnophobia. I'm no fool.

I've been known to spend the night on the couch because a spider scurried under my bed and I couldn't find where it went. And I've almost killed myself from inhaling an entire can of bug spray fumes because there's a daddy long-legs in the shower. Who's your daddy now, sucker!




There are two spiders that live in the frame of my front door. Every day, they weave their webs, inviting innocent insects to stumble into their lair. And every day, I brush them away with a very long handled broom. I'm sure my mailman thinks that I don't care about my property because the front of my house looks like it belongs to the Addams Family every evening when I get home from work.





I'm reasonable enough to allow them to live if they are OUTSIDE of my home. I think that's a fair compromise.

However, I did catch a fleeting glimpse of a pretty large, scary looking one in the woods behind my house. So help me God, if I see it again...I'm getting my shovel.

Why didn't I think of that?

The utter brilliance always makes me want to smack myself and say, "WHY oh why didn't you think of that?"

I know you're going to kick yourself, too.

Click here to see what I'm talking about.

Damn Facebook

I guess I'm not going to California. Somehow, I always manage to catch people on the rebound when they're not quite over the demise of their last relationship. I'm really tired of being that girl.

He told me last week that this song reminded him of our first go around. I always considered him more of a Desperado kind of guy.




I was just hoping to spend some time with him and see what happened but timing has never been on our side. I suppose it was an impetuous move for me to have even been considering going to see him but it made sense to me and didn't seem so ridiculous.

Bummer, My Favorite...you think too much. Still miss you...

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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Bernie goes to the vet again

Two months have passed since Bernie has been on Trilostane for her Cushing's Disease. The protocol for the medication is to test every two months to see what her cortisol levels are.

Most of the symptoms she was experiencing have decreased if not disappeared altogether so I was optimistic when I dropped her off on Wednesday.

Now you know my sister and I haven't blessed our parents with any grandchildren so Bernie is as close as they're going to get. My mother's glass is always half empty so I didn't tell her about any of Bernie's issues so as not to upset her. She LOVES that dog.

I was there last Sunday when my mother said to me, "Your father tells me you're taking Bernie to the vet this week."

My father knows about Bernie and I told him NOT to mention it to my mother but he's 80 and sometimes he just forgets.

"Um, yep, just taking her in for a check up."

"Are you lying to me?"

Ever since I was a child, I've sworn that my mother is psychic and she never fails to confirm this.

"What? What would I be lying about?", I respond, feigning a puzzled look.

"What's wrong with her? Is she sick?"

My eyes darted to my father, who shrugged his shoulders as if to say, What? You know she's psychic.

"Yes, Mom, she's sick with..."

"Oh my God! What's wrong with her?? Is she going go die??" See? Half empty.

"No, she has this disease that's sort of like high blood pressure. You know, people will always have high blood pressure but they can control it with medication. It's never really cured."

Give me a break, that was the most elementary explanation I could think of.

"Oh. But she'll be okay? You know she's my grandbaby."

"I know. She'll be fine."

"Listen to you. You don't even care about her."

"You're right, Mom, I don't care what happens to her."

"Shame on you!"

What the hell? Would have been nice if she had expressed this much love and concern for me as a child. And this, my friends, is the reason why there are strippers.

Needless to say. She called me incessantly all week long to see how Bernie was. When I called to tell her that the vet said Bernie was doing great and that her levels had evened out, she was sure I was lying.

"Why would I lie to you?"

"Well, you didn't tell me for 2 months!"

"Oh, right, good point."

Thank you, God, for Trilostane.

And for caller ID.

Oh, what shall I be?

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite games was called "What Shall I Be?"








This exciting game showed us all the options that were available for the aspiring career girl in 1972.

The most helpful thing was that you could look at your personal attributes and weed through the careers to find the one you were best suited for.


You are emotional: Good for Model and Actress

You failed biology: Bad for Teacher and Nurse

You have a nice smile: Good for Airline Hostess and Model

You are overweight: Bad for Airline Hostess, Ballet Dancer and Model

You are pretty: Good for Model and Actress

You are clumsy: Bad for Airline Hostess, Ballet Dancer, Model and Nurse

You are friendly: Good for Airline Hostess, Nurse and Teacher

You are a slow thinker: Bad for Airline Hostess and Nurse

You are calm in an emergency: Good for Airline Hostess, Nurse and Teacher

You get too excited: Bad for Airline Hostess and Nurse



Oh, the dreams that were available to us as young ladies...

What a crock of shit!

The years I wasted when I could have had this lovely as my role model.




"She starts dancing when the music starts and goes up and down and round and round."

The personality cards would still be helpful for choosing the right career.

You would be a great pole dancer if:


You are pretty

You aren't clumsy

You failed biology

You are a slow thinker

You have a nice smile


We've come a long way, baby.

Can you hear me now?

My mind has been a little preoccupied lately.

Remember when I said Facebook was for idiots?

And then when I said that I wanted to retract that statement?

Well, I now love Facebook. Sort of.

I dated this amazing guy back in 2004. We had the perfect summer romance. Boy meets girl.

Girl falls head over heels, thinks boy has, too, until boy leaves abruptly.

I understood why he left but it still hurt. I guess sometimes the timing just isn't right.

Fast forward to 2009 and the Facebook phenomenon. Since I added the name of my high school to my page, I'm slowly accumulating some friends that I had seen at our reunion last month.

I decided to look up Mr. 2004. He has a pretty common last name so I didn't expect to actually be able to locate him when I saw that there were 330 people with the same name as him.

Page one....nope

Page two....he's not here

Page three....he's not here, either

Page four.....oh my gosh, there he is.

I clicked on the picture and sat there for a few minutes wondering what to do.

Try to friend him. The last you heard he was getting married so it can't hurt to say hi.

Let it go. It was a long time ago. Leave the past in the past.

OF COURSE, my curiosity got the best of me and I decided to send a quick friend request and a note.

I heard back from him the next day, ...still single and living in California....

California!?

Let me remind you, I live in Ohio and he lived in Ohio back then, too.

We emailed a few times last week and then spoke on the phone. And that seemed to change everything.

I'll be going to California next month to see him.

I know. I can't believe it, either.

When he said, "Would you consider coming out here?", I think I even surprised myself when I said, "Yes, that sounds great."

So un-Chrissy like to give anyone a second chance. In my book, when it's over, it's over. No need to look back.

And to travel 3000 miles to see someone? Geez, I won't even date guys who live on the other side of Cleveland!

But there's just still something there and I don't want to wonder, What if.....

Honest Scrap Award

Last week was a memorable week! First, Ron over at Vent asked me to be his very first interview. Thanks, Ron!

Then, Jessi at Jessi, Bob and the Monsters bestowed upon me The Honest Scrap Award. Thanks, Jessi!

Here are the rules:


1. “The Honest Scrap” award is not one to hold all to your self but it must be shared!

2. The recipient has to tell 10 true things about themselves in their blog that no one else knows.

3. The recipient has to pass along this prestigious award to 10 more bloggers.

4. Those 10 bloggers all have to be notified they have been given this award.

5. Those 10 bloggers should link back to the blog that awarded them.


This is tough since I've probably revealed most of my deep dark secrets on this blog already but if you don't have time to go back and find them, here they are:

1. I hate parties. This always surprises people because I'm perceived as outgoing and friendly but I would really rather be living in a van down by the river.

2. I hate the opera. And the ballet. I feign interest to seem cultured but I would prefer the company of teenagers at opening night of a horror movie.

3. I hate my feet. My sister gave me a complex about them when I was a teenager. "Oh my God! Your feet are SO gross." I only started wearing open toed shoes about 5 years ago. And only if just the tips of my toes show. You'll never see me in flip flops. Too much ugly foot showing.

4. I would love to travel across the country in an RV and visit every podunk town I couldn't find on a map. Ever see Lost in America?

5. I can't do math in my head. At all. Not even basic multiplication tables.

6. I can't swim. My mother sent me to lessons year after year but she got tired of hiding in embarassment behind the big tree outside the pool and finally gave up.

7. I check for spelling errors in everything I read. Books, magazines, brochures, menus. I get really bent when I find one.

8. I'm a night owl forced to live an early bird's existence. I walk into the office all perky and smiley in the morning but inside I'm dying a little bit each day.

9. I watch Intervention to feel better about myself.

10. I always pick up a penny when I see one on the ground. I think it's a sin to leave money in the street.


You know I never follow the rules, which I guess could be number 11, so here are the 3 instead of 10 people I choose to pass this along to.

But, dear award recipients, you all have to pick 10 people. Do as I say, not as I do.

Because I said so, that's why.

C'mon guys, inquiring minds want to know:


**The Tired One

**Funny Girl Goes Blog

**47 and Starting Over