For the very first time...

So, here it is. I am going to tell it like it is or was...I am no longer a virgin. Now that I have your attention, I know several of you are gasping for breath and maybe even feeling like I've let you down, but the truth can sometimes hurt. But in my case, it felt glorious! No, I am not going to regale you with stories of my wedding night (shut-up) but instead tell you about yesterday. Yesterday I had my very first massage session with a man and you know what, I am in love. His hands, his man hands, well let me tell you first about his fingers, they were divine, long and warm and strong! I am not going to lie, I was a little apprehensive at first. I mean these creamy white thighs have not seen the light of day in a long time, yet alone having been rubbed down by a perfect stranger of the opposite sex. I felt like I was dating again...Would he like me? Would he think I was cute? Would he try to sneak a "feel"? But I guess dating is much like riding a bike, you just get right back on it and go. I felt a lot like I think my single girl friends must feel like when getting back out there. A little insecure, a little jiggly (OK. A lot jiggly) but a new sense of freedom. Freedom that says, " I don't give a damn", just rub me. Yeah, it was quite liberating, with my eyes closed and the soft music playing in the background I could almost hear him breathing. Then when he started to lift my leg and I offered assistance, because I know how much those legs weigh, he softly said, "it is OK, relax, I've got you". OK. Talk about foreplay, "I've got you" as I collapsed on the table, he may have wished later that he hadn't turned down my offer of help as rolling me over was no easy task as I lie blissfully dead on the table.

So, this morning I started my day out at Starbucks, or as I like to refer to it...four bucks. Since we've slipped into this little thing called a "recession," I have been limiting my visits, just a bit. Not really because I want to but it is just a little embarrassing to stand at the counter and count out four bucks in loose change- especially since they know my name down there. But this morning I splurged and ordered up a venti non-fat, three splenda cappoo and grabbed the Times and a large overstuffed, well soiled green velvet chair and settled my ample self down. I have to tell you, before long I was only using the Times as a prop. I pretended to read the paper, but actually I was checking everyone out. Yes. I was a big fat lurk- it was so much fun! I think I like lurking more than anything- other than drinking, of course! I'd have to admit, drinking gets top billing, but lurking is right below a nice glass of red. As a matter of fact, I'd like to get a job as a lurk. No silly, a real job, one where I can cash the checks. Yeah. Lurking is something I could get real good at. It is interesting, most people that you end up lurking are far worse off than you are. Oh, heck, it doesn't matter that they are dressed and have a job and you are sitting there in day old sweats that you slept in (I call that Sleep to Street wear). You will sit there, all smug and content and find the snags on their sweaters and sometimes, just sometimes, you can still see the sheet marks on their faces. Hey, don't look at me, I did not make up this whole lurking past time. All I did was jump on board. So, back to the early morning humanity at Starbucks, yeah, most of them will come in all "full" of themselves, with their Blackberry's looking all self important, as if just because they have jobs they deserve their Starbucks. They come in asking for their soy lattes and such, weilding gold AMX cards. I want to stand up and shout, "Hey, I once had a gold card, I just like my Public Library card better." But, here's the deal, if you stick around long enough (which I have done) you will start to see the cracks. The cracks show up in the "hang" time. This is the time between when they come in all fabulous twirling thier Hummer keys in the air and then when they find themselves standing there, waiting for their fancy, smanzy drink to get done. They will grab the latest coffee thermos mug and read the fine print and then put it down like they read something really objectionable, (could it have been the price tag,) I dunno. They will pick up the latest CD that is on sale and read on how they can save Africa. but in the end, all they really want is for the following words to ring out... " Half Caf, Quad, iced Grande soy, Starbucks double shot on ice, for Seth." Ahhhh caffeine.

Don't look at me!

OK, so here is my question...Am I the only one that is wondering just what they'd look like in this new airport screening method? I have seen several examples, but just like in the magazines, they are always using pretty, thin examples. I wonder just what I'd look like in the monitor? Would I be able to hear the gasps of the technician viewing the monitor? Or, like with c-scans, where I have heard if you are too grande, they can't get a good picture- would that be the case here? Oh, and God forbid, would they then pull me out of the line for a, gasp...strip search? It used to be that I hated to fly, not because I was afraid of terrorists, but because I was afraid that when all those incontinent people kept running to the restroom, they'd upset the equilibrium of the plane. Now, I have another worry, the screening process. I have to say in the past when I'd go through the screening process and they'd ask me to take off my sweater, I'd always lie and say it was one piece. I'd only say this because what ever I had on underneath was sleeveless and you have to understand this about me, I will stop only short of murder, rather then show my upper arms in a room full of strangers. And believe me, some of those woman in charge of the screening process, well, let's just say, they ought not be showing their upper arms either! So, this new screening method, what do you think? While I think we do need to do whatever we can to stop these zealots from blowing up planes, I have to say, I feel a little trepidation with this new process. You have to lift your arms up in the air, so exposed and what about my under wire? Will that present a problem? Great, next thing, they will make you take your bra off. And I have to tell you, that will stop me from flying. If I were to wake up in the middle of the night with my house on fire, that would be the first and last thing I'd grab. I'd let all those family keepsakes go up in smoke, but I'd never leave my armor behind. Haven't you seen those early morning stories on house fires? Think about it... The first thing you will notice is their lack of the bare necessities! Yeah, I picture myself running into the bushes behind my burning house and quickly slipping into my minimizer bra. I see myself emerging from those bushes, my hair on fire and my "girls" perfectly positioned for the cameras.

Bloggiedom

I tried to sleep in this morning, I really tried! Just couldn't do it, so I got up and put on the Today show and because it was only 26 degrees out (this is Florida?) I managed to snuggle back into my fabulous 500 thread count sheets surrounded by huge goose down pillows and I actually managed to doze back off. At some point I think I was somewhere between slipping on the grocery store floor, yeah, and of all places, in the ice cream isle, go figure. You know one of those, "sleep jerks"? Where you are floating off blissfully and then you slip in your dream and that "jerks" you awake? Come on, don't act like that doesn't happen to you too! I actually enjoy the little "sleep jerks", don't ask me why I do, but I always give a little chuckle when it happens to me and Oh boy, don't get me started if I see someone else do it. I used to see that happen in church. You'd see the guy ahead of you, his big head slowly sinking and then all of a sudden- JERK! Now that gives me a great big belly laugh and when in church, not the most appropriate of times! Anyhow, here it was, really cold outside of my comfort zone and I give a big jerk and come to. I hear in the background Meredith Vieira talking to this lady that took off a year of her life to basically follow Oprah's every bit of advice for the entire year AND then she wrote herself a little book about it, WWOD? For crying out loud! First we have the girl named Julie bake herself into a Beef Bourguigon and come out the other side with a movie- starring Meryl Streep and now this!

So now I have a dilemma, I have to pick someone with some celebrity status and mirror them for the year, so that I can get my book going. Who to pick...hum? I am thinking Tiger Woods is out and Charlie Sheen, well I can just see myself saying, "What would Charlie do"? Drink the entire fifth before or after he dons the handcuffs? Nah, I gotta get me someone better...Maybe Michele Obama, now that might get me the attention of the Secret Service and I have to say, because I will never achieve her upper arm strength, no. I need someone who spends a great deal of their time lunching and relaxing at the spa. Someone who thinks a chilled glass or two of sauvignon blanc at noon is the southern form of ice tea. But at the same time, I need someone who is not afraid to dirty their fingertips with a little orange Cheeto dust and someone who knows that Chik Fil-A is best eaten in the car. I need to follow the lead of a woman who knows that when you get a special little "something" at Publix, it is OK to stuff it into your purse when the bag boy is loading your groceries into your trunk. Yes, I need to channel someone who understands the despair you feel when the bag of Cameo cookies slips just outside of your reach and into the backseat. I need someone who knows that the weight loss drug Alli is poison and that Jenny is not their friend. I have to admit, it has taken me most of the morning, but I have come to the conclusion, I need someone like ME. So I guess it is back to the old drawing board again! Oh, and don't worry, the screen version of my story is not coming to any theaters near you anytime soon!

You Deserve a Break Today....

So, the other day I was stopped at a light- seriously considering that once the red flashed to green, I'd pull a hard right and hit the Mickie D's take out window. I know, I know. But here is the deal...it had been months and besides, the measley six pounds I'd managed to lose with this low carb crap- well, hell, it was like a boomerang anyhow- sure to show up somewhere along the line- why not the line at Mickie D's? Yea, it was quite a long light, I know this because I'd already had several arguments with "self" and while I don't wanna call anyone names or take sides, trust me when I say, when it comes to French Fry's, I can argue paint right off the walls!

So, my mind was made up- right when the light changes- I am dashing in. Suddenly, I spied movement off to my right. Oh, for crying out loud. Now? Now, I gotta get a visit from one of those "right to exercise" people? Here is this guy running (I will use that word loosely) and he looks like that guy from the Subway commercials- Before he ate all the subs and lost 100 pounds (right, like we fell for that old trick- eat subs and lose weight)? Anyhow, he is sort of running in place now at the light and the look on his face, well it is somewhat virtuous. He had this look, that if I didn't know any better- that he thought he was better then the rest of us. Now, what you have to know is I simply hate people that go on a diet and then they act all virtuous about it. Like the chain smoker of 20 years who quits and now just abhors the smell. Who do you think you are kidding? We all know you'd kill to take a drag off a butt- and we all know you wouldn't be so selective either, any old butt would do. So, here is this guy- running in place, like he is trying to keep his heart rate up, or something. Sitting there in my car, I was certain that my heart rate was currently running higher then his. I was probably burning more calories just sitting there anticipating my future gastric delight then he was lifting those brand new tenny's up and down. As luck would have it, the light changed and my car jerked forward, just about the same time, Mr. I feel so Smug stepped off the curb. For crying out loud, does he not know better then to get in the way of a future quarter pounder? Narrowly missing the jock, I swung the front end of my car into the drive thru. From there things really started going my way. I had decided to order a single, with cheese and a small fry, small diet. No, I did not want to biggie size it . All I wanted was something small. Something that could fit into a small bag- a bag that I could easily dispose of when I got home by wadding it up and putting it in my pocket. So later, when I accidentally pulled it out, I could look puzzled at the wad and then shirk my shoulders, as if, "Hum, I wonder where this came from"? And then that little tinny voice asked me if I'd be interested in two apple or holiday pies for just two bucks? Was I interested? Well, hello? Interested doesn't begin to describe how I felt. Interested? I felt married to the idea. When I heard the word apple pie, all I could think of was everything good in my life- from childhood forward. I pictured myself on a swing, my legs lean and tan. I saw my arms, long and thin, lifting themselves up towards my dimpled mouth. My mouth opening into a perfectly charming "Heather" like smile, anticipating the rich apple cinnamon aroma coming my way. Then there was a screeching noise and I heard the someone saying, "Lady, for the last time, does that complete your order"? As I drove away, greedily ripping open the bag, I felt dismayed by the size of the burger and fry and instantly thought, they must have mistakenly given me a Kids Meal...This was no quarter pounder.

Do not lie to me...

Things lay and people lie- isn't that right? So, the fact that I have become such a consummate liar of recent should be considered normal- right? But it has just gotten me to thinking about how much I really do lie to people, even complete strangers. I don't even hesitate when someone asks me how old I am- I just lie. I mean, come on folks, anyone that asks, deserves to be lied too, don't you think? I was recently filling out one of those creepy surveys that tells you what your "real" age is. The nerve of some people, it actually asked me how much I weighed- so what the hell...I lied. I actually put in three different weights- all within a 30 pound difference, just to see how much younger I would be- IF, the diet ever starts to work. And actually, the results were not all that different- I guess you have to lose more than 30 lbs for the life saving benefits kick in. So, what do you know, this brings me back to my recent vacation and how hard I tried to stay on my "program" of low carb. I got through the first day with no major problems and then on day number two, I had lunch at Johnny Rockets- big mistake. We sat down and about three minutes later some nice young man had delivered a platter of hot onion rings and french fries to our table. Once I regained the use of my vocal cords, I squeaked out the words, "Oh, we didn't order these". He looked me right in the eye and said in his hot, thick Latin accent, I know, I brought them just for you". He had that look in his eye that said, a lot of things, but what I read was, "You need to eat some hot yummy onion rings lady, for they will make your vacation experience complete". Or at least that is what I saw in his deep carmel eyes- there was no judgement there. And in fact, when he brought me my second plate of hot oily onion rings (I told him to can the french fries) he again, had that dreamy look in his eyes and put the plate down with flourish, "These, I made just for you madame". I just sat there, looking at the offering- visions of gypsy Flamenco dancers racing by in my periphery. These onion rings were unlike any I have ever had. They were so big, I was seriously considering using them as a floaty devise out in that great big ocean, just so I could be alone with them. I needed some private time with these babies! So you can understand that when he brought me my order- a small skinless chicken breast laying (there is that word again) all by its lonely self, looking to the untrained eye to be the symbol of all things wrong with my life- I just dipped one of those lovely, juicy rings into the bright red ketchup and thought to myself, "Hello Lover"!

OK. Settle down people, I know it has been awhile, but I figured it was better to wait until I had something to say. Not that I have anything worthy to say today, but I got busy cleaning and cooking today and that always makes me think about letting all my Friends and family know, "Don't try that at home". So, I got this new fangled vacuum slash mop dealie. Yea, my cleaning lady came back- finally. I guess she never read the blog where I was acting totally out of character and making derogatory references re: her mullet, but, that was just a low point in my life, I am better now! Anyhow, she came back and since she left me, I guess things actually got better for her... I am sure she found more time in her day, for starters! Well, she arrived ready to tackle the home that no one cared for in the past nine months- to think, I could have had a baby in the time she was gone. Luckily for all of us- that didn't happen, but it coulda, it coulda. I just decided I didn't want to bring another innocent babe into this messy economy- not to mention, I have been on this low carb diet for months and I didn't want to mess up the six pounds I'd lost. So, Miss Baby Come Back Cleaning Lady brought in this new piece of equipment called the Hoover Floormate- Isn't the name great? I mean every time I hear it, I think of Playmate and I get all happy. But this little mate plugs in and I think most of the newer models probably take batteries...OK. now I will stop joking and making inappropriate references towards my cleaning lady and her equipment. But let me tell you, this little sucker works like a charm. Because it sucks, it takes one step out of the process, you can get right down to business and before you know it- your floors are sparkling clean! And this morning, I decided to pull out the identical model I found on EBAY and put it to good use. My floors looked marvelous- but that was before I decided to make the Butternut Squash soup. Big mistake. Once again, I reached up high into my pantry to pull out that relic, the food processor, but this time I knew I could outsmart it and not fall into the same trap I fell into nine months ago, when I first used the little bastard. This time, I knew in advance that you had to fill the little hole up- before you poured the liquid crap in. This time, I had experience on my side. One little problem I figured out- after I'd poured what looked like gallons of a soupy mess on my counters and floors... You gotta put the blade in first. Needless to say, my floors were a mess and I found squash in my hair and all over the front of my shirt and that my friend was not funny at all. Finally, the soup is essentially done and I take a taste. It tastes, well nothing like the fabulous Butternut Squash soup I get at that little place called Green-n-Grill. My soup tastes like a diet version, but after all, we are talking about a vegetable, right? I mean..squash... that is already a diet food. Just because I mixed in a little Cream of Sherry and heavy whipping cream... It is still on my diet- right?