Know Thy Neighbor

One of the worst things about where we used to live, and there were quite a few, were the neighbors.  From Mr. Swastika, to the lady who showed up on my front porch in her pajamas to ask me to turn down my music (I didn’t have any music on), to the drug dealer who kept asking Brie out: I was glad to leave them behind.  Yet having neighbors such as these makes you kind of skeptical about who your next set might be.

So it’s understandable that when I was getting ready to move into our abode, I was interested to know what my new neighbors would be like.  I had heard from the landlord that our neighbors in number 1 consisted of 2 gentlemen who were really nice; and she was sure we’d be good friends.  2 single gentlemen: one for me and one for Brie?  It sure sounded like a win-win to me!  And when I caught a glimpse of one of them I thought “hubba hubba!”  But then when I saw the other one walking a Shih Tzu, I knew it was none for me, none for Brie.  Oh well…

Regardless, we did get to know them and they are great neighbors.  We’ve been over to their immaculately decorated townhouse for parties, we have cleaned off each other’s cars in the winter, and we talk a lot and share stories: Scott and Mark are great!  I couldn’t love them more.

However: no matter how nice on the outside, do you really know your neighbors?  If something seems too good to be true, usually it is.  And I believe I discovered this one night a little over 3 years ago.

It was probably around 10:30 at night.  I was in bed, lights out, watching a little TV.  Probably something reality-based on VH1, but that’s irrelevant.  Presently, I heard an engine outside, clear as day (since my window was open).  Aha!  I thought: Brie is trying to sneak my car out.  So I looked out my window…

My car was intact, but there was a big silver truck right under my window!  It didn’t look familiar; but then I figured that sometimes Mark and Scott had company over.  Since I only had one car then, I didn’t mind if their company sometimes parked in my extra spot.  That’s what neighbors do, right?

I went back to my show; but a couple of minutes later the motor of the truck was still running.  I looked out the window again, and this time the inside light came on.  I could see a guy behind the wheel with a black baseball cap pulled low, and a black hoodie.  Huh: he didn’t look like the kind of guy that usually visited my neighbors.  So what could be going on?  Was it maybe someone who had showed up at the wrong location?

This was way more interesting than whatever I had been watching, so I turned off the TV and peered, Gladys Kravitz-style, out the window.  How long was this guy going to sit there, anyway?  Suddenly, I saw him reach behind the seat and grab something.  What was he getting?  And then I saw it: little plastic  bags!  Good Lord: he was a drug dealer!

Just when I thought it was safe: just when I thought I had left all of that behind at 441: it had followed me to my new safe haven.  But the worst part was: that meant my wonderful neighbors were drug users and had their dealer parked in MY spot so they could come out and buy their drugs.

The disillusionment was crushing.  Those nice guys with the nice little dog and cat: my heart was broken.  Well then, should I call the cops?  What would Gladys Kravitz do?  I figured I should at least try to get a glimpse of the guy’s face and try to see exactly what kind of ‘wares’ he was delivering.

I looked again and saw him fiddling with the bags; then I saw him answer his cell phone.  And pull out another phone as well!  How much business did this character have, anyway?  I was so disgusted by my sick, twisted neighbors that I figured it would serve them right if I did call the police!  I reached for my cell phone, picked it up, and then noticed someone opening the passenger door of the truck.  However, it wasn’t Scott or Mark who got in, but: BRIE!

WTF?????  What was my precious, innocent little girl doing getting into a vehicle with a suspected Colombian drug lord?  Now I was REALLY looking out the window!  I saw her take a couple of the little plastic bags and look at them.  Did she even know what she was viewing?  Oh, the humanity!

If you think this was the worst moment for me, imagine how I felt when I realized she didn’t have any money with which to purchase drugs.  She had been involved in an accident and wasn’t able to return to work yet.  So how was she going to be able to pay for her drugs?  Then it hit me: she was going to have to perform an…oral service in exchange for her drugs!

Over my dead body, I thought.  There was only one way to stop what was about to happen in that truck: I had to jump out of my window, land on the hood and then rescue my innocent daughter.  I was just about to raise my window more so I could open the screen when suddenly my cell phone rang, scaring the daylights out of me.  I saw Brie's name on my screen.  What to do???  I answered, feigning I was just waking up. “Wha—hello?”

“Mom, what are you doing?”  “I was sleeping.”  “Oh, sorry to wake you but Bo's here and he just got a new high tech cell phone and we’re trying to figure out how to use it but we can’t get the back open.  Do you have one of those little jewelry screwdrivers we can borrow?”

Bo, one of her friends that she’s known for many years.  Oy vey… “Sure honey, I’ve got one.”  “Great; I’ll be right up.  I’ll bring the phone so you can see it: it’s so cool!”  “Okay see you in a minute.”

Can you imagine my relief, and mortification?  Not only had I jumped to conclusions, I had almost jumped out of my window!  And what did I think I was going to do if I had landed on the top of that truck, besides be taken to the hospital?

Anyway: the reputation of Scott and Mark was saved, my daughter’s virtue, such as it was, remained intact, and I received no broken bones in the process.  So it looked like my neighbors weren’t too good to be true: they are just good.

Hmm: I wonder how amused they'd be if they knew this story???

What's Mine Is...

For this one I have to make the following disclaimer: I really do love my daughters and especially Kitty.  However, what no one ever told me was that once you have kids, you never have anything of your own again... 

Let’s start with clothes.  Being a single mother since what feels like the 19th century, of course there were times when money was scarce.  But I did buy myself a sweatshirt that I absolutely loved: black, with the word “Discus” in small white print on the left side.  Other than the name, there wasn’t anything special or awe-inspiring about this sweatshirt.  But once my girls saw it: all they wanted to do was wear it.  Now keep in mind: we were all different sizes from medium to large to…a little more than large.  But like the “sisterhood of the traveling pants”, the sweatshirt seemed to fit all of us!  Go figure!  Whenever I would want to wear it Gabriella would be coming home from school with it on.  I’d want to wear it but Kitty would have worn it to visit her grandparents.  But the best time was when Gabriella was going back to Washington State, and I had to get it out of her suitcase!  This shirt has to be at least 15 years old and is rather shabby, but we still fight over who gets to wear it which is ridiculous because it’s mine.  Isn’t it?   But getting back to the suitcase: I think that was just a smokescreen because once Brie was gone: so were several of my favorite CDs!

Another area where my stuff isn’t mine is when it comes to food.  I had made a wonderful dinner one night, after Kitty had already eaten.  I packed up the leftovers for lunch the next day.  An hour or so later there was a knock on my bedroom door, and it was Kitty.  “Mom, is that food in the container for your lunch?”  “Yes honey it is.  Why?”  “Because I ate it.”  I wasn’t a happy camper with that response!  “Why didn’t you ask me before you ate it?”  “I forgot.”  Nice!

And I can forget bath and body products.  Since I am now…on the northern side of 40, I need a bit of assistance keeping my youthful appearance.  I invested way too much money on a particular L’Oreal product, Regenerist, which works like magic as you'd be able to tell if you could see me.  It costs an arm and a leg for little more than an ounce, so I used it very sparingly on my face.  I came home from work one day and went in my room, where I encountered Kitty sitting on my bed in a towel, freshly showered.  “Honey, what are you doing?” I asked conversationally.  “Putting on some lotion.” Then I watched in horror as she innocently held up my 1.75 ounce bottle of L’Oreal, squirted a bunch in her hand and began applying it!  It was like slow-motion as I watched my money being applied to someone who in no way, shape or form needed it.  Needless to say, I snatched it out of her hand and replaced it with the St. Ives!

Speaking of my room, and I use the term loosely, I used to think of it as my sanctuary.  I would lock the door when necessary and enjoy some relaxing me-time.  That is, until the day the girls learned to pick the lock…so now if I want me-time I go out to my car, sit in the driveway and pretend that I’m not home!

Like many others, back in the day we'd sometimes videotape shows or movies.  I was the one who usually bought the blank tapes.   One of my favorite authors is Dean Koontz, and they were running one of his mini-series back to back so I was very excited to tape it so I could watch the whole thing in one fell swoop.  I finally had a free Saturday and got my snacks, drink and comfort clothes on (no, not the Discus sweatshirt because Brie was wearing it!) and settled down for an entire afternoon of suspenseful psychological thriller-ness.   I put in the tape, rewound it, hit play: and then my mouth dropped open in shock because instead of Dean Koontz: Pokemon greeted my eyes!  “Kitty!” I roared.  “What happened to my mini-series?”  “I needed to tape my show and didn’t have a blank tape.”  “But it was my tape and I didn’t get to watch my mini series.”  “That’s okay mom; I watched it and it was good.”  I can’t make this stuff up!

But I think the best example of nothing being mine comes from when I took Kitty to the circus, which I hate.  Anyone who knows me knows that I hate clowns; and I’m not too keen on animal smells.  So imagine my delight at having both wrapped up into one magical event!  But I digress…

She had never been to the circus before; and since I’m always vying for the title of mother of the year I put aside my issues and decided to take her.  When I take her to events such as this, I always buy her all the souvenirs her little heart desires.  She was loaded down with stuff, and I was keeping my eyes peeled for any killer clowns.  Presently I noticed a vendor making his way towards us, and what ware was he hawking?  The most amazing thing I had ever seen: a helium-filled balloon on a stick!  Anyone who knows me knows that I love balloons even more than I hate clowns.  He had an electric blue balloon with silver glittery stars, and I knew I had to have it.  So like the 5-year-old child I am inside, I handed over my hard-earned $10 and he gave me my balloon on a stick!  I was so happy; I didn’t even mind the smell of the elephants that apparently weren’t housebroken.  I just sat there: transfixed by my balloon and every so often waving it a little.

Anyhoo, after the circus I went home and made dinner.  Afterwards I was washing the dishes and heard Kitty go into her room.  When I finished the dishes I went into the living room, but noticed that my balloon wasn’t there.  I knocked on her door and when she opened it I said “Honey, have you seen mom’s balloon?”  She didn’t answer, but she did cut her eyes to the corner of her room.  I looked in that direction and my eyes widened in horror: there was my stick with a deflated balloon attached!  “Kittywhat happened to my balloon?”  “I sucked the helium out of it so I’d talk in a funny voice.”  Can you believe it??  “But that was mine; what do I tell you about touching things that don’t belong to you?”  “I’ll blow it back up again.”  “It’s not the same with just your plain non-helium breath in it!”  “Sorry mom.”

So I took my stick with the $10 deflated balloon attached, went to my room like the dejected 5-year-old that I felt like, and just sat on my bed staring at it...

Now I’m not going to say that I never got over it: but I do still have the stick in the trunk of my car!  So with these examples in mind, I guess I can complete the title: what’s mine is ultimately theirs!

Chopper Shopper

One of the things I look forward to every Monday is receiving the Price Chopper Sunday ad circular via email.  From that, I make my shopping list.  I love looking at the pictures online: just imagining and clicking on the itmes I'm going to buy.  Hopefully.  So today I finally got a chance to peruse the online ad and make my list; and it reminded me of a lovely shopping trip I had with my mother Marie last year...

First and foremost: I love my mother.  Everybody adores her because she’s so little and cute.  But beneath that cute veneer lies the soul of a very shrewd woman who always gets her way.  

On that particular Sunday, I took my mother to church as I usually do on Sunday mornings.  I was planning to drop her off at home afterwards so I could lounge around my house and do nothing but eat Slushie Pops and watch a marathon of America’s Next Top Model.   But that wasn’t to be the case: when we got in the car after church my mother said, “Poor us.  We don’t have anything in the house for me to cook for dinner, and your sister is going to be so hungry when she gets home from work.  I’d really like to go to Price Chopper to get something for me to cook.  We haven’t eaten all week.”  Now I know that my mother and sister did not STARVE themselves the entire week.  This was obviously said for emphasis, so I would feel sorry for them and therefore take my mother to PC.  However, because I’m a glutton for punishment, I said, “Well you know, I DID go to PC yesterday and you know I did because you had me pay your National Grid bill.” 

Now I hear this heavy sigh coming from the passenger side, so I tried to compromise.  “How about if I take you to Hannaford?  It’s right on the way home.”  Another sigh, then, “They have pork chops on sale at PC for $.99 a pound, so I could make pork chop casserole for your poor sister.”  Ugh!  “Fine mom.  Can we just go to the little PC, or do you have to go to the big one?”  “I’m sure the big one will have more variety, so we’ll go there.”  Point one for mom…

So now I need to get some gas, so we pass her house and I go to Stewarts.  I pump the gas and go in to pay.  When I come back to the car, I hear this sigh from the passenger seat.  “Yes Marie?”  “I sure do wish I could change my clothes first.”  “Mom, we already passed your house.”  “We did?”  “Yes!  You know you live before Stewarts!”  Sigh.  “That’s okay; I don’t want to inconvenience you.  It’s just these shoes might slow me down in the store.”  Heaven forbid anything slow her down!   “Fine, you can change your clothes.”  So I turn around and take her to her house.  “Did you want to come in?”  “No, I’ll just wait here in the car.  Hurry up!”  Point two for mom…

She finally comes back out in her “comfort” outfit, including little white sneakers; and we’re on our way.  The real fun begins when we actually get to the store.  I’m tall and she’s short, barely five feet, so I have to adjust my 5'10" stride to hers.  And God bless her heart: every time we go to the store it’s like it’s the first time she's ever been out of the house, and she wants to see EVERYTHING.  First stop: produce.  “These strawberries are only $1.49!  I’m going to get one.  It’s not on my list, but maybe I have enough to get them.”  “Yes, get the strawberries Mom.  The blackberries are on sale 2/$3.”  “I hate blackberries.”  Sigh, this time from me!  “Would you like for me to buy you something?”  “That’s okay mom.”  “But you were nice enough to bring me here.”  “Okay, I’ll take a piece of watermelon.”  “Okay, you pick it out and I’ll pay for it.”  “Thanks Marie.”  Next stop: bakery.  “Let’s see if they have any of those diamond rolls that I loved so much.”  “Mom, they haven’t had them in like 3 years.”  “They might have some today.”  And of course: they didn’t!

We round the end of that section to get to the meat.  “Now do you think your sister would rather have pork chop casserole or fiesta chicken?”  “I thought we came here because the pork chops are on sale?”  “But I’d need green peppers and onions and all of that if I do the casserole.”  “So do the chicken Mom.”  By this time we’re at the pork chops, so she puts a package of that in the cart!  “You’re making the casserole?”  “Well no, but I can’t pass up chops at this price!”  Oy vey!

“Where’s the chicken?”  “We passed it already Marie.”  “I didn’t see it.”  “We were looking at the chicken wings!”  “I don’t remember.”  So we backtrack and I find her a nice package of chicken thighs that is $2 off.  Hooray!  Into the cart they go.  “Now I just need salsa and rice.”  “They’re in the same aisle, so let’s go.”   We make it to international aisle without incident, and we stop in front of the rice.  “It’s so expensive!”  “Yes it is.  But since you have hearty eaters at your house, just get the big box.”  “I hope your sister gave me enough money.”  “If you don’t have enough I’ll chip in!”  “Okay.”  I’ve lost track of the points by now…

The salsa is just up the aisle from the rice.  “What kind of salsa do you want Mom?  We like the Taco Bell Salsa at my house.”  “I’ll just get the store brand.”  “Big or little?”  “Hmm, what’s this?”  “Ortega.”  “Well that’s on sale and it’s the same price as the store brand.”  “So did you want the Ortega?”  “Yes, medium.”  That was the most painless part of the shopping expedition.   “I need stewed tomatoes too.”  “They’re right around the corner.”  She’s perusing the stewed tomatoes.  “I don’t see any Italian stewed tomatoes in the store brand.”  “They’re out; but here’s Del Monte Italian stewed tomatoes.”  “They’re too expensive.”  “I’ll buy them for you.”  “You don’t have any money.”  “If you want a can of Italian stewed tomatoes, I’ll get one for you.”  “Okay.  I’ll take 2.”  By this time I know she is trying to kill me slowly…

So now I’m psyched because I think we’re on our way to the checkout but alas: it was not so.  “As long as we’re here I just want to look at the plants.  Not because I can afford to buy any, but I like looking at them.”  She looked up at me.  “Do you have any money?”  “Not for plants mom.”  “Oh.  We’ll just look at them then.”  Uh huh.  The frozen food section was on the way, and I happened to notice that the Marie Callender meals were on sale: the Cadillac of TV dinners.   “Hold up mom, I’m going to get some TV dinners for work this week.  I buy my lunch one day, and I can get 4 meals for the other days.”  I had chosen my 4 meals when my mother said, “Oh, look at that pot pie.  If I had one, I would go right home and make it.  I’ve never had a Marie Callender pot pie before.”  “Would you like me to get you one?”  “Oh no, you already have 4 and that’s the sale.”  “I’ll just swap one of mine out and you can have your pot pie.”  “If you insist, thank you.”  So I put back my beef with broccoli and got her the turkey pot pie.  “Oh look at these little cans of mushrooms.  I’ll get 2 for when I make the casserole.”  Those went in the cart as well.

FINALLY we make it to the plants.  “Oh, look how beautiful they all are!”  “Yes they are.”  “Look at these little plants: they are 2/$5.”  “The mini roses are 3/$10.”  “I think the plants are a better buy.  I hope I have enough to get them.  Let me add up what’s in the cart.”  “No mom, just get what you want.”  “Are you sure you don’t have any money?”  “What do you need mom?”  “Do you have $20 until I get home, in case I need it?”  I reached into my wallet and gave her a $20.  “I thought you said you didn’t have any money?”  “Just take it Marie!”

So she puts an ivy and another green plant in the cart; then looks at the mini roses which were really very pretty.  I decide to pretend to be helpful and interested.  “Look at the white ones mom; they have a hint of green around the edges.”  “It is pretty and what about the peachy orange ones?  Look how healthy they are!”  “You can get the white one and a couple of the peach ones.”  “Well I wouldn’t do that; I want them all the same color so I’ll just get the peach ones.”  Another sigh from me as she lifts each peach one, inspects it, smells it: and finally makes her decision.  I help her put the 3 pots in the cart, and now I hear another sigh.  “I think I’ll have to put the plants back.”  “Why?”  “I really don’t think I’ll have enough.  Should I put back the ivy or the other green plant?”  “Why don’t we just put back the watermelon?”  “I’m buying that for you!  I’ll keep the ivy.”  She puts the plant back, and then looks at her 2 cans of mushrooms.  “I think I should put these back too, just in case.”  “I’ll put them back for you."  "You mean I can't have them?"  "I'll pay for the mushrooms Marie!  Are you ready to go now?”  “Yes, we can go now.”  Hallelujah!

So all in all: that’s approximately 90 minutes that I’ll never get back.  And surprise, surprise: when she got to the register her items came to less than she thought it would, and I got my $20 back.  So it was a win/win for each of us.  Or should I say for her, since as usual she got everything she wanted.  Hey, at least I got a piece of watermelon out of the deal, and had a reason to have a cocktail when I got home!

Even though she makes me nuts, Marie is always good for a funny story.  Stay tuned for more!

Rock Stars

I had a rather surreal experience last Saturday night; and no it didn't have anything to do with celebrating Brie's birthday (shout out to Perry!).  Nope: prior to the additional birthday celebrating, I had a gig at the Civic Center.

Earlier in the week, the hockey guy had emailed me to tell me that the Phantoms' mascot, Phlex, was retiring.  So he wanted my company's mascot to come to the "retirement" party.  Seriously.

Anyone who knows me knows that if it's a kooky situation: I want to be a part of it.  So I emailed my management and asked for special dispensation for our erudite company mascot to be allowed to attend his first party.  Our company mascot is held in very high regard, so I had to assure them that it would be an event that would do the company proud.  Um...okay.

So I found a volunteer to wear the bear costume: a nice very enthusiastic employee that surprised me with her eagerness to don the bear suit.  Personally: one of the very last things I would want to wear would be a bear costume, but that's just me and you know how careful I am with my hair!  Plus: it's hot in that costume and we do wash it and febreeze it and stuff but still: yikes!  So I was going to be the mascot handler, and I was fine with that.

Now for Phlex's retirement party it was going to be a big affair and there was a whole itinerary of evnts that would be taking place.  The hockey game started at 7 but we had to be there at 5 for pre-game instructions, a dance lesson and pep talk. 

I was surprised to see so many local mascots there: hadn't even known we had that many!  14 in all showed up: including Tux from the Penguins.  Between you and me: I think he must be a paid mascot because he was doing things like handstands and what not.  In the costume no less!  Needless to say: the bear did not do any gymnastics. 

But here's where the rock star moment began: first up was a meet n greet with about 100 girl scouts, and when the mascots walked in you should have heard the screaming and seen the jumping up and down.  I couldn't believe it!  Sure those girls were jacked up on sugar and girl scout cookies, but you would have thought that Justin Bieber was in one of those costumes!  They came running up, hugging the mascots, asking for autographs, getting their pictures taken with them.  Now, it was no mean feat for the bear to sign autographs with his "paws" but he did it :o)  It was crazy!  Then there was a private party for them to stop in on and it was the same thing.  The kids went crazy!

Afterwards the mascots, which included the Dominoes Noid, ACC's Eddie Rondack, 105.7's Country Cat (don't call her a cougar!), the Subway sandwich, Jack Link's Sasquatch, Trusty from TrustCo bank (where's my t-shirt?), 101.3's bear, Tux, Phlex and my bear, went to the lobby to greet people as they came in.  Can we say madness?  Chaos?  The mascots getting rushed?  It was like going the gauntlet at a rock concert!  I was really amazed at the reception; and at how much the mascots enjoyed greeting their adoring public.  And don't just think it was the kids: I saw some parents getting into it too with the high fives and fist bumps and all.  I saw it all from my positoion as the pretty much invisible handler.  Hmm, must be how roadies feel...

But the piece de resistance wasn't when the mascots took the ice for their introduction before the start of the game; nor when they all did the Cupid Shuffle during the first time out.  Oh no: it was during intermission when they broke into 2 teams of 7 and played Broom Ball.  Not only did my mascot score a goal (go State Farm!) but some of the mascots got into a brawl that I caught on my cell phone (it still makes me laugh!).  But don't worry: my mascot was not a part of the fisticuffs :o)  Good times!

So that was my very surreal rock star moment: watching people dressed like animals and food enjoy their 15 minutes of fame while I and the other handlers stood there to make sure no one tried to get too familiar or out of hand with our charges.  I guess that made us more like body guards than roadies, huh?  Even though I had to bring and take home the costume!

Next time, I want to be the rock star.  as long as I don't have to wear the bear suit!

GO STEELERS!!!!!!

Lord-Ess of the Dance

I love to dance.  One of my earliest memories is of me as a toddler doing the twist, much to the delight of my parents who were obviously easy to amuse and didn’t get out much.  So when my friend Hallie asked me to take an adult tap class with her, I said yes.  I live for the dance.  My duty is to dance.  I’m Lordess of the Dance!

This particular tap class was a four-week trial to see if we’d like to take an entire semester.  I hated to spend money on tap shoes if I wasn’t going to continue, but luckily my sister, who had taken tap for years as an adult, let me borrow a pair.

When the first class arrived, I was ready.  I had on my trendy t-shirt, jazzy stretch pants and matching Joe Boxer socks.  However, I should have tried on the tap shoes prior because they were too big!  But something like that wouldn’t interfere with the performance of a natural dancer like me!

Actually, the shoes didn’t interfere with my dancing: I just couldn’t do the steps!  How could that be?  I had won dance contests in my youth; I had been dancing in clubs since I was sixteen years old and I had taken modern and jazz.  But there was something about pounding my feet on the floor that wasn’t working!  And since I was sweating like a pig I must have been wearing too many clothes.  It had to be better the next time.

Or not!  Even though I wore fewer clothes, I still worked up a major sweat.  Why wasn’t anyone else dripping?  How come they looked like the instructor, yet I looked like a River Dancer on crack?

And there was smug Hallie, shuffling off to Buffalo like she had been taking the class forever.  I couldn’t let her show me up: I’m too competitive!  So I concentrated and observed myself in the frightening “wall of mirrors”, but no way could I reconcile what I was doing with what the instructor and other students were doing.  My grapevine looked like grape jelly.  My ball change looked like spare change; and my riff was more like ruff!  I was mortified, to say the least...

Apparently the instructor wasn’t too pleased with my performance, or lack of it.  By the last class she was so exasperated she went to the door, closed it, and said she wasn’t going to open it until I was able to do our entire routine from start to finish.  With that threat hanging over my head, and the other students glowering at me, I was finally able to do the routine!  I guess fear is a major motivator…

Afterwards the instructor was so pleased she asked if I wanted to continue.  But putting my injured ego aside, I realized I may be a dancer, but I’m not a tap dancer.  I gave the big tap shoes back to my sister.

Don’t feel bad for me: my dancing days aren’t over.  Every so often you can still find me at the club.  I dance around the house, much to the delighr of the pets.   And when I happen across a dance tune on one of the TV music channels: look out.  So don't worry:  the Lordess of the Dance lives on!

Brie is the New 30

Today is my firstborn's birthday.  I can't believe she's 30.  Now it's going to be very hard to convince people that I'm 40; unless I lie and say she's adopted :o)  But anyone who sees us together knows she sprang straight from my loins.

I remember the day she was born.  There is truth to the adage "Ignorance is bliss" because I had no idea I was even in labor!  I thought I was having leg cramps and that's why I couldn't sleep.  It wasn't until my water broke that my "was-band" realized the baby was on it's way.  So we took a cab to the hospital.  Correction: I took a cab to the hospital; while he got dropped off at work!

So there I was at the hospital with no family or anyone around, in labor, sleepy and the nurse had me taking off my nail polish.  I got that off and then laid down on the bed.  They had to ask me to roll over onto my side so they could finish putting on the fetal monitor.  Man, was I tired!  They did the usual checking and when they were done I fell asleep!  They woke me up and then told me they were taking me to delivery.  I said fine and went back to sleep.  I kid you not: it was nothing like they show on TV!  I had no drugs or anything, slept through the labor and they had to wake me up to push out the baby!  Now that's the way to go through childbirth :o)

She was a gorgeous baby too.  Straight black hair, tiny freckles, big blue eyes, white skin.  Wait a minute: the was-band was black and American Indian: I'm black, Eastern Cherokee and Italian.  Why in the world was our baby white???

As you can imagine, I had a lot of explaining to do and trying to convince him that no I had never cheated on him.  The thing that finally convinced him is that he had 2 other daughters, and in their baby pictures they had these tiny little rosebud mouths.  Brie had the exact same mouth, in spite of her coloring.

As it turned out: her freckles gradually turned into her skin tone.  She kept the pretty black hair, but her eyes did eventually turn brown.  Although if you look real close: her irises still have a ring of blue around them.

To start out her birthday we went with friends to Siam Thai Sushi and had a wonderful family style meal where we all shared and tasted and had a great time.  Tomorrow we have a hockey game and then will have a drink at JP Bruno's before hopefully finishing the night at the Spotlight.  Finally, on Sunday, her very pregnant friend Jen is coming over for food (gotta feed that big growing baby!) and cake.  Can't wait!  A friend of mine at work made her a monkey-shaped cake that she loved.  We were supposed to cut it tonight but we were too full, so tomorrow and hopefully there will be a piece left for Jen!

And her big present: a round-trip plane ticket to Orlando to visit her best friend Christy!  They haven't been together in 10 years; so I hope Florida is ready for when the 2 of them get together next week!  I'm an awesome mom for making that happen :o)

So happy birthday to my beautiful daughter.  I still can't believe she's 30!  She looks like she's 18 and acts like she's 12.  But as one of her best friend's said: Brie is now the new 20!

Don't Believe the Hype

I believe it was P.T. Barnum who came up with the saying, “There’s one born every minute.”  Of course he was talking about suckers.  Now, I would never put myself into that category, but I have to admit: there was a time when I absolutely ‘bought into the hype’. 

I went to do a little shopping at one of my favorite local supermarkets.  When you walk into this particular establishment, the first area you come to is the produce section.  I was perusing the fruit and pretending I was going to buy something healthy to counterbalance the Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream I had scarfed down earlier, when suddenly I noticed a new display.  The sign read “Graples (gray-pulls): looks like an apple but tastes like a grape.”  Being a natural skeptic, I didn’t believe that for a second!  An apple that tastes like a grape?  That’s sheer madness! 

But then I made the mistake of picking up a package and smelling it.  It smelled like a luscious concord grape, one of my favorite fruits! I couldn’t believe it!  How did Mother Nature in all of her wisdom come up with such a thing?  It was a miracle of cross-pollination!

I hesitated over the price, which was $3.99 for a package of four.  Wait: with your special “card” it was only $2.99!  Well of course I had to buy that slightly overpriced package because it was on sale.  As I finished my shopping, every so often I would pick up the package and inhale.  I couldn’t wait to get home and try one!

 The first thing I did when I entered my house was warn Her Majesty Ms. Kitty: “These Graples are mom’s and only I will eat them!  They are apples that taste like grapes and they’re for me!  I’ve finally bought something special for me and they’re all mine!”  She looked at me, shrugged and said, “Whatever.” 

Then I had to prolong the moment: I picked up the package, inhaled it some more, and slowly opened it, quickly extracting one Graple so the wonderful aroma wouldn’t escape from the rest of them.  I held it to my nose and breathed deep: the rich aroma of deep, dark grapes!  Finally, I opened my mouth and took a big bite…

Wait a minute: that Graple didn’t taste like a grape, it tasted like a regular crappy apple.  They should have called them “Crapples”!  What was the meaning of this?  Now I decided to actually read the package, which said, “These apples have been injected with grape flavoring to give them the flavor of grapes.”  Well apparently the grape injection must have been like the flu vaccine:  not enough to go around because there was no grape flavor.  I had been duped!  I bought into the hype and it had cost me $3.00 for 4 apples.  Seriously???

Since I couldn't return them, I did the next best thing:   "Kitty honey, would you like one of mom's delicious Graples?   They're yummy!"

Hey: there was no reason for me to be the only sucker in the house!

It Seemed Like a Good Idea...

I woke up this morning and looked out the window.  Seeing it was still snowing, I sent a text to my hairdresser, Annette, telling her I wasn't going to get my hair done because of the snow.  She texted back that she could move my appointment to the afternoon when the roads would be better, so I said okay.

I love Annette and she's been doing my hair for probably...15 or 20 years now.  But the thing about knowing someone for so long is that they remember a lot of stupid stuff you've said or did over the years.   So since we had like 7 inches of snow outside, she brought up one such incident and laughed and laughed.  So I figured I would share this with you since she got such a big kick out of it...

My mother loves to watch ice-skating: it’s like poetry in motion.  She says watching it relaxes her, and is so entertaining: especially the pair’s figure skaters. 

One Saturday a few winters ago I was at my parents’ visiting with her and my sister.  Skating was on, and we were commenting on the performances like we were in a position to judge anything. But it’s easy when you’re sitting in the living room in a recliner!

Anyhoo, you know how sometimes you have a thought that you don’t necessarily plan to say out loud?  I was having such a thought as I watched the male skaters lift the little dainty women up over their heads and twirl them around.  I thought, “How big would a man have to be in order to lift me over his head?”  It wasn’t until I realized my sister and mother had fallen out of their chairs laughing that I realized I had verbalized my thought!

“Oh goodness!” my sister chortled, “he’d have to be Andre the Giant!”  My mother couldn’t even verbalize anything, she was so busy wiping the tears of mirth from her face and hitting my sister on the arm in agreement.

Now you might think that I’d find that insulting, but I’m five feet ten inches tall and majorly healthy, so it’s true that he couldn’t be a lightweight like these male skaters.  However, that got me thinking…

Schmoop-dog was pretty sturdy.  With this in mind, I decided to run a little plan by him: I wanted him to lift me up over his head.  When I first broached the idea to him, all he did was raise one eyebrow skeptically and say, “Excuse me?”

“Schmoop-dog, it’s not as impossible as it sounds.  Here’s what we’ll do: you can be at the end of my driveway by the house, kind of leaning against the huge snow pile that the landlord plowed.  I’ll be across the street, get a good running start, and my momentum will assist you in lifting me over your head!  If you start to fall, the snow bank will catch you.”

By this time he had a definite look of alarm on his face.  But not wanting to hurt my feelings he said, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course it is!  We can do it.  It won’t hurt.  As I said, my momentum will make it easy for you to pick me up because I’ll also give a little jump when I’m just within arm’s reach of you.”  I said this with a look of complete sanity on my face; I was so excited at the prospect of being airborne!

But alas, it was not to be.  Schmoop-dog conveniently kept forgetting to try this with me, and by the time I seriously thought about it again, all the snow had melted.  I'd been robbed!  But maybe it was for the best, because as Brie said: she would have been outside waiting to press the second "1" for 9-1-1.  and believe me: either Schmoop or I would have needed it!

Thanks for the memory Annette!

A Firm Foundation

As I was going through a few bags that I hadn't unpacked from prior shopping trips, I found a bra that I had forgotten I had bought!  This reminded me of a favorite story starring Brie and my mother...

When I was young and just starting to “blossom”, that was mortifying enough.  But when my mother wanted to be the overseer of my “foundation garments”, my mortification reached a whole new level!

Of course she had to go with me to buy the first one.  I remember skulking around the racks and trying to look like I was by myself.  However, that didn’t work when my mother pulled a little pink and white cotton flowered number off the rack and boomed, “I know this isn’t a real bra, but you don’t have much to put into one anyway so this should do for the time being.”  How could such a big voice come out of such a tiny woman?

As time went by, it didn’t get much better.  She always seemed to have final say on those types of purchases (probably because she had the money).  I wanted the pretty, pastel bras that were worn by my friends: not the utilitarian “just get the job done” brassieres.  “If you’re the only one seeing the bra,” my mother intoned, “then you don’t have to worry about what it looks like, as long as it’s clean.” 

This would have been advice I could live with, if it really was just me seeing the bra.  But that would leave me with my dignity intact.  No, at any given moment when I was home, Marie would say, “Lift up your shirt and let me see your bra.”

As odd as this sounds, she only meant she wanted to check the straps to make sure they were adjusted properly.  But hellooo!  I didn’t want to show her the bra while I was wearing it!  At least this was better than when we were out somewhere, and she would just yank on the back of my bra if the twins weren’t perky enough!

So this is what I had to go through until I was old enough to buy my own lingerie; although sometimes even now, as an adult, she’ll ask to see my bra.  Especially if she thinks I’m looking particularly, ah, attentive that day!  But I don't show it to her.  After all, I am an adult!

I decided that when the time came with my girls, I wasn’t going to ask to see their foundation garments: I would just make sure they wore one!  Kitty was easy-going and not picky about the kind she wore: she trusted mom to pick them out and adjust them for her.  Ms. Thang Brie started out that way, but as time wore on she wanted department store/Vicki’s Secret $40 pieces of lace.  As a single mom that was way too rich for my blood, but I knew who would jump at the chance to do this high-end shopping: my mother Marie.  Not that I thought Brie needed undergarments that were that pricey, but they could be written off as an early birthday present.  Plus, she had gained some weight which was totally straining the bras she currently owned!

The only flaw in my plan was that I’d have to drive them since neither of them drove!  So on a Saturday afternoon, when I was cranky and would rather have been doing anything else, I took my mother and Brie to JC Penney for a couple of over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders.  Marie said, “Rita, I know that this is a terrible inconvenience for you, and I wish I had a driver’s license but I don’t.  Otherwise I never would have asked you.”  She has the martyr routine down pat.

“It’s okay ma, as long as we make it quick.”

“We certainly don’t want to hold you up,” she huffed.

Oh, she was good!  “You’re not, and I appreciate you getting Brie a couple of bras.”

“Can I have a skirt too Grammy?” came a voice from the peanut gallery in the back seat.

“Brie!  What do I tell you about being greedy?” I snapped.  “You could get a job and buy your own skirt.”

“I can’t find a job,” she pouted.  “I just wanted a skirt because my others are…uh, worn out.”

“I don’t mind getting her a skirt too.”

“Fine!”  I pulled into a parking space.  “I’ll just wait in the car.”

“No, you can help us look,” Marie said.  “You don’t need to sit out here by yourself and stew.” 

This was exactly what I was going to do.  I sighed dramatically at how I was being put upon and got out of the car; heading into the store behind the other two.

Things started to pick up for me when we reached the junior department, where Brie usually bought her clothes.  My mother looked around dubiously, and then looked at her granddaughter. “Are you sure you can find something in this department?”

“Grandma, it’s where I always shop.”

I didn’t say a word, but I had a feeling that she was not going to be able to find anything. She had put on a few pounds lately, but I wasn’t going to burst her bubble.

She went from her wishful size to the biggest size, but nothing fit!  “These skirts must run small,” she complained.

“I don’t think so,” Marie said, shaking her head.  “You’re in the wrong department.  Let’s go to the Women’s department.”

“Women’s!” Brie wailed.  “Those clothes will be too big.”

My mother gave her a once-over.  “No they won’t.  Let’s go.”

I immediately perked up.   This could be interesting! I followed them over to the Women’s department, where Brie picked up a skirt in a size 14.  “Oh no,” my mother took it from her.  “You need at least a 16, and maybe you’d better take the 18 into the dressing room for good measure.”

“Grandma!”

“March young lady!”

I snickered behind my hand as she stomped off to the dressing room, Marie close behind.  “Which are you trying on first?” she asked.

“The 14!  It’ll fit.”

But alas, it didn’t fit.  “Well I knew that,” my mother said loudly, to be sure Brie heard her.  “Maybe you should skip the 16 and go right for the 18.”

I knocked on the fitting room door.  “Isn’t it fun shopping with Grandma?”

“Be quiet mother!” she hissed.

“What’s going on in there?  Brie, does it fit?”

And much to Brie’s chagrin, she had to buy the size 18 skirt.  She glumly came out of the fitting room.  “Well since you found something big enough, we’ll take two,” Marie said.  Brie groaned as we headed for the lingerie department.

While my mother and daughter combed the racks, I sat down and relaxed.  “Rita!  Help us find the right size.  She’s your daughter.”

Ugh!  “What size?”

Brie mentioned a size, and my mother raised her eyebrows.  “Is that the size you’re wearing now?  That won’t do at all; your breasts look like a stuffed sausage!”

There was that “outdoor” voice again!  I almost choked trying not to laugh out loud.

“What does that mean?” Brie asked, mortified.

Marie walked up to her and pointed to her chest.  “Your breasts are crammed into that little bra so it looks like one horizontal boob!  We’ll get one a couple of cup sizes and a couple of inches bigger.”

I was snickering as I combed the racks.  Now I was having a good time!  I found a couple of brassieres that I thought would fit her and we sent her to the fitting room.

“Rita, how come you let that girl wear those too-small bras?  She should have bought a bigger one a couple of months ago!”

“It’s not my fault.  I asked her about them but she said she was comfortable.”

“Well that was obviously a lie.  You need to pay more attention to your children.”

“Mom, she is twenty-one!  I think she can handle her own boob issues!”

“Would you guys stop talking about me?  The whole freakin’ store can hear you!” Brie said from the dressing room.

“How’s it coming?  Do you need some help?”  Marie stood up and marched over to the room.  “Open the door so I can see how they fit.”

“Grandma!”

“Open!”

She dutifully did, and my mother adjusted the straps and turned her this way and that, poking and prodding while Brie wished the floor would open up and swallow either one of them!

Finally satisfied, Marie purchased three bras for her granddaughter, along with the two skirts.  I was still laughing as I followed them to the car.

“What are you still grinning about?” my daughter asked.

“I bet you wish you had a job now, don’t you?”

Sky's the Limit

I know I was going to tell you about my friend Sky.  I was actually talking to Brie about him today, because I'm having a writer's dilemma: I want him to be the romantic lead in my next novelette, but as I'm writing it I don't think my readers will "fall in love" with the character like I know they have witn Andrew and Scott in my other stories. 

So instead of going into my story about him, here's a poem about him:

How can someone comprehend

The puzzle that is you?

Hesitating, contemplating

Each thing that you do.

Never messing, second-guessing

All the moves you make.

Always bored, sometimes floored

At risks that you might take.

Time to choose, wait to lose

Debating from within:

Deep abiding, sometimes hiding,

Trying to live without sin.

With a vision, forced precision,

Play the hand from the dealer.

Deep despair, gone nowhere:

Sleep’s the eternal healer.

Heels dug in, true chagrin,

What else do you feel?

Idealistic, pessimistic,

Is this truly real?

Sensitized, energized,

Is any within reach?

Temperamental, elemental,

Personality breach.

Potion-less, emotionless

On any given day.

Want to change, re-arrange?

Let optimism stay.

Hide the hurt, don’t revert

To habits from the past.

Shed the pain, try to gain

What you want to last.

Plant a seed, fill a need

To reach the higher bar.

Can be done, game is won:

Now I know who you are…

And Sky hates the fact that he let me in to see the real him; and I'm the only one that he did that with and then he ran screaming for the hills.  Why does that scare men so much?  If someone has an answer for that, please feel free to leave me a comment!

At some point I'll give you the story.  But hopefully I'll get over my issues with his character so I can finish my book!