Magic Pill

I have been trying to figure out what disorder I am suffering from and let me tell you, with all that is out there for you to choose from, this is not an easy task. I mean seriously, there is plain and simple depression, but I am looking for something a little more exotic, maybe something that has multiple syllables & and just a few more double letters. I want something that the cure will have you taking one of those new designer drugs that later in my life will come back to bite me in the ass. You know all those drugs they advertise nowadays... There is almost always some female character that goes from putting her heady down to flying through her day, almost as if she has wings. Do you know the ones I am talking about? Yeah, and at the end of the advertisement...enter the wet blanket...

"Taking Nolibra may result in a severe increase in appetite; Nolibra has been known to cause manic-like behavior in certain individuals. Individuals that are taking certain other drugs may not wake up in the morning after taking Nolibra. If you drink or even think of coffee while on Nolibra the sensation to urinate may be so severe, that you may not be able to leave your bathroom. Not all individuals taking Nolibra have these side effects. Contact 911 immediately should you or any of your loved ones experience these or a multitude of other symptoms and stop taking Nolibra right away".

Phew... OK, that was a mouthful, but yeah, I think I will go ahead and fill that prescription after all. And if you don't really have anything clinically wrong with you, but are looking for a little action- Oh, boy, are there ever pills for that! We have all seen the ad's for...shhhh... (Erectile dysfunction). There it is, I said it. They have a pill for the minute man, the one hour man and then Superman. What I'd like to know is this, "does Superman have a day job"? If so, does everyone at his place of employment know that he is "Superman" or rather the guy that swallowed a great big horsey pill? You know the one that keeps him "ready" all-day, everyday? Yeah, that's my man. My guess is that the only thing you could use in defense of this guy would be, well, kryptonite-right? You'd probably have to mix it in with his food, "Ah... a little salt, pepper, olive oil and just a squeeze or two of krytonite. There, that should slow him down a bit! Now, just in case you are thinking to yourself, what is wrong with her? I want to assure you of this, "yes, there is something wrong with me; didn't you read my first sentence? But it is not in that department". So, being at home more than I ever have in my entire adult life, my exposure to TV is greater than that of any 10 year old home on summer vacation. It has become my "little friend", just talking away in the background, while I attend to important business, like menu planning and pedi touch-ups. It is a tough world out there right now and the more I watch the "boob tube", or I guess the politically correct name today would be the, "bubbie box", the more scared I become. What if I am starting to suffer from that disease, you know the one, the one where you can't leave your house for fear of other people? Geez... I am already noticing some of the symptoms- but I will have to look it up, because I get those symptoms mixed up with the one where you are scared of Friday's 13th... Life, it is just not easy these days!

Shopping Blues

Once again I found myself wandering the isles at one of my favorite retailers, this time it was TJ Max. I know now that there is something bad wrong with me, but what I am uncertain of, is if it is a bad thing- or not. OK. before I go on and skip over my little problem, let me ask you this... Does anyone else find themselves in stores like Home Goods, TJ, Target, BB&B and find themselves putting random items in their carts? Like do you really need another or even better yet, one set of cocktail plates that have chandeliers on them? Trust me on this, you don't. Or how about salt and pepper shakers? Did I need two packs of mini salt and pepper shakers with six sets in each box? Ummm...let me think about that. See, when I put them in the cart I was conjuring up images of me dancing around a beautifully set holiday table for twelve. I looked about 20 pounds thinner, my manny and pedi was perfect and my hair was, well it was having a good day and I was certainly not my normal pre-holiday self- frazzled and in a bad mood right up until the party goers or Jack Daniels arrives, which ever comes first.
No, those shakers completely morphed me into Betty Freakin Crocker. The same things is true with the Calphalon Cookware-which touted that it was "new innovative" cookware. Yeah, it was innovative all right. It had all these little ridges in the pan, so that in my mind, I again started daydreaming and saw myself flipping that perfect grilled panini, complete with the Panera-like grill marks onto that cute little chandelier cocktail plate. I'd then run over and mix a fabulous Cosmo in one of those adorable, I just couldn't resist multi-colored martini glasses and offer up to my husband the nifty new pepper grinder that was sure to please. Yeah, I got it bad. But lest you think that this ends badly, let me assure you of this. At the end of the day, we slide into those special sale, slash,slash 700 thread count sheets and it is pure luxury! So here's the new deal... Now when I go into these stores, I still do my thing, which is if anything catches my eye, I put it in the cart. Then once I have been working on filling up that cart- I call myself to order and say, "Well, self, it is time to do a cart check". From there I proceed to toss things out or I just look down at the mess in my cart and slowly come back to reality, the music stops playing and I just simply walk away. By the time I get into my car I am screaming with laughter. It just feels so good to put it in my cart- imagine my life with these random items and then just walk away. I feel like I really owned those salt and pepper shakers, even if it was short lived. They are now outta my system. Now when the holiday rolls around and I have to pull out the "picnic" version shakers, I'll admit to pangs of remorse, but that is quickly chased away by the twelve Cosmo's I proceed to imbibe in. It seems that some things do manage to make it to the checkout counter!

My Dog Skip...

It was time for my dog, Scout, to visit the vet and he was so excited! See, our dog is not like a normal dog, because our dog is totally outta control. I mean really, how many of you have had your dog come home in the back of a police car? Now I said dog, not teenager. Crazy thing is, when the cop car pulls up in front of our house, I am thinking, okay, which child of mine is climbing out of the back seat? Once the policeman goes to open the back door and this over sized, overly happy hound bounds out of the car and starts running circles around the cop, I about lose it.

So anyhow, enough about all the laws that my dog has broken. I want to tell you about his vet visit.

Now, those of you who know me, or have been following my blog, know that I am what you'd call a "closet" dog person. And what that means is... I'd really rather wave to my dog and tell him he is a nice boy, than have him get all mushy on me. I am just not crazy about a big wet tongue, emitting hot "outside" breath and sloppy kisses. I hope that doesn't give you the impression that I am not an animal lover. Please no PETA calls. I really do like, err, love my dog; just not close up.

Anyhow, I take him to the vet and that in itself is a job for me. First off, dogs in fine German cars. I don't think so. Then there is that whole dog smell issue again. Uh, not in my car. But this time, there is no choice in cars, so off we go. Scout, an Airedale hound, piles into my car and just cannot get over how great the leather seats are. He starts prancing around, licking the leather. He quickly finds my missing chicken nugget from last week. I open the back window, thinking, I have seen other "dog lovers" do this, and their dogs always look so happy, hanging their heads out the window, nostrils flared, sniffing at the wind. Yeah? Well, no, not Scout. He practically leaps out the window. In my quest to get the window up quickly, well, let's just say, the patch of missing fur is hardly noticeable.

So finally, we arrive at the vet. The first thing Dog Nurse tells me is that they have to get his weight. So I am thinking to myself, fine, do what you have to do. They have this big industrial looking scale, but Scout, being the outta control pup, just won't stay up on it. So Dog Nurse looks over at me and cheerfully suggests, "Why don't you get on the scale and hold him, and then we can subtract your weight to get his weight?"

I can't believe my ears. The way I see it, there are two gigantic problems with that scenario. One, I wasn't going to hold Scout. Two, if she thought I was gonna jump up on that livestock scale and expose my numbers to her or the guy sitting in the corner chair, pretending to be reading some magazine on "How to groom your cat in ten easy steps," she was colossally misguided. Yeah, I see magazine guy looking. He is thinking to himself, "Self, this is about to get interesting."

I peer up over my glasses and smile just as sweetly as is possible for me to do so. "Oh," I explain, "This isn't even my dog." Like that reasonably covers why I couldn't possibly jump up on that scale. No, scale jumping requires ownership of said pup. "I am just here helping out a friend. And actually, (fake sneeze), I have bad allergies, so that whole idea would not be a good thing for me. Plus, I actually ran out of the house this morning without my Epi-pen, so yeah, er NO."


By now, Scout has knocked over several bags of Science Diet dog food. He has run over to "cat lover guy" and lifted his leg up to his chair, as if to...you get it. Scout is peeing all over the leg of the chair, while cat lover, magazine guy is sitting in it. Now he sports an even more astonished look on his face. A look he NEVER would have had, should I have actually gotten up on that scale. Serves him right, I am thinking. I helplessly look over at Dog Nurse and say, "And this is what I get for helping out a friend." With that, I scrunch up my eyes and tilt my head back ever so slightly. I sputter out a single "Achoo" for good measure.

Author Notes

24 Hour Protection

Since I was only 12 hours into my new 24 hour bra, I decided to stay at the party a little later than I normally would. It was a "pool" party. Reads, "bring your bathing suit". What I'd like to know is this, who that really knows me would even bother to include that on MY invite? I mean, do they think that I am going come prancing in with my new albeit several months old, Bahamian used bathing suit? Who are they kidding? That whole, "Look 10 pounds thinner deal went down the drain after my third Bahama Mama". For all of you that are planning one of these parties and IF I am on the invite, I just wanna say, no. OK, NO. So when I arrive, don't slip your skinny self up next to me in front of all your party goers and say, "Oh, my gosh, you didn't know it was a pool partee"? "OMG, well maybe we have a suit laying around here, left over from when my next door neighbor's Grammy came to visit, yeah, she was about your size". It is just so not gonna happen. I mean, I need weeks to months to mentally prepare to even think about putting on a bathing suit. Even with my million dollar, sure to please, hold you up and in miracle suite, no. I recently had some friends and family over and told them, "listen, if you want, bring your suit". Now each one of them felt totally free to tell me, "It's not gonna happen". But then I told them my little secret. I control ALL lighting in my swimming area. It is so strategically done that you could stand there bare neked and we'd all say, "You look... mahvelous!," , aka, Fernando Lamas. Seriously. This business of inviting people over and not first doing your job on the lighting aspect, well, it is just not right. People need protection. The people exposing it need to know they are protected and the ones left looking, and believe me you, they will be looking, well they need protection too. So what if that leaves our al fresco dining in somewhat of the dark. Trust me, looking at people in their bathing suits can be a natural appetite inhibitor!

Everyone needs a purpose!

This morning my husband asked me what day I change the sheets on our bed...I felt this little creepy crawly feeling run across my scalp right down to my cheeks. "What day", I repeated? "I don't have a day, it is not like I have some kind of system here". "Oh, I see", he replied, "Well I was just wondering". "Did you think I have this organized list that I run through at the start of each week, let's see, today is Tuesday and it's grocery day"? No, I go to the grocery store when my stash of Cameo cookies runs out or if I feel like it. See, that is the whole damn problem with this "new job" I have, there just isn't much accountability. What day do I change the sheets? Well, since I have a favorite set, 750 thread count, Egyptian cotton, I do have to plan it out a little. Like I have to make sure that one of the two dryers are free of other crap, because I will want to wash and wear those sheets, so to speak. So, you see, it is more a matter of opportunity as to when I change the sheets. Oh, and for those of you that are thinking, "damn, wonder when she does change those sheets, trust me, they get changed on a regular basis, say every 8-9 days. Now I know, I know. See, before when I had that great cleaning lady, yeah, the one with the haircut like a mullet, well then my sheets were changed like clock work, every Thursday. But then I didn't get to sleep with my favorite set every night. She'd cycle them and sometimes we'd slid into bed only to find sheets that didn't "slide" at all. Mornings I'd wake up with razor burn. So, you see, there is a trade off there. Yeah, this new job, well I am just not cut out for the whole, "do whatever you feel like". I take full advantage. I have found I can lie around almost all day, play on-line Boggle, a little Mafia Wars and than right before everyone gets home- I run around, make the bed, straighten out the sofa pillows, get dressed (yes, I did say get dressed) and pick up my keys and head to my favorite store, Publix. The kids will say, "What'd ya do all day mom"? And I will glare at them and respond, "I worked on the computer all day and I am really exhausted, what did you think, hum"? Their typical response is a raise of the eyebrow and a , "Really, we were just asking, why'd you get all defensive"? Then I will laugh and say, well, really I raised up two levels in Mafia Wars and earned a ton of money, it was a good day, but still I am worn out, does anyone want to run to the store"? Yeah, I don't know how these "stay at home moms" do it. Maybe I need a play date or a book club or something to keep me current. I wonder if they allow drinking at those clubs? That would work. I could work out a little schedule, Monday's play date at the Wine Room in Winter Park, Tuesday- Mafia Wars, Wednesday-rest and read up for Friday's book club. Oh, and the sheets, I will fit them in somewhere!

Cold and All Alone

The morning started like every other morning AND then BOOM. It happened. Oh, I had my usual breakfast of egg whites with fresh spinach and a little bit of goat cheese sprinkled in for good measure. But, before I get into the predicament I later found myself in, let me fill in some details...
This morning, Friday, was day number five of my newly created world. My new world is filled with things like calorie content, fat grams and the now infamous Body Bug. Yeah, that same little gadget that I strapped on my upper, left arm early Monday morning, jumped on the treadmill, only to think I was having a heart attack ten minutes in. Every once in awhile it starts up, getting real verbal with me. It vibrates and buzzes and pinches! What I thought were early signs of an impending George Sanford, "It's the big one Elizabeth, coming to get me", was merely the Bug acting up and pinching the hairs on my arm! So, now that I have laid the ground work for my impending doom, you'll know where I am coming from.
Yesterday, I found myself in my most favorite of favorite stores...Yes, Publix. All my friends were there, working away, except the little Apron lady. Not sure where she has been lately, but that is OK, because I always tend to over eat her delightful little samples of those "mini" meals.
Anyhow, I was in the frozen foods section, somewhere near the ice cream section, but not actually committed to it. Really, if you'd have run into me at the store, you would not have known if I was buying a Weight Watcher frozen dessert OR the Gelato that somehow in the end found its' way into my cart. It was a new product, ridiculously expensive and when my eyes locked on to it, sitting there all eager for me to touch it's high end looking body, I actually heard music. And now I know what people mean when they saw they heard harps... There it was all seductive, taunting me to take a chance. I looked down at the Bug wrapped tightly around my arm and sighed...I couldn't.
Now you understand my total shock when this morning, I opened up the freezer, totally innocently, checking to see that the ice machine was working and there it was! My surprise was so complete, I reminded myself to double check my receipt, was it on there? Or had I "lifted" the little temptress? Well, that was the beginning of the end. Next thing I knew, I was coming to, sitting on the sofa, cold and sticky with an empty container of Gelato on my lap and my once active Body Bug lay dead, its' battery mysteriously removed.

Mother's Day

Mother's Day is Sunday. It will be my 37th Mother's Day as a "motherless daughter". Over the years, I have celebrated many milestones as a motherless daughter and as this Sunday approaches, I can't help but wonder what life would have been like to have had my mother by my side through them all.
When you become motherless, it is such a shock, a numbness envelops you and everything you see and experience is judged through the eyes of this loss. Your equilibrium is off, nothing looks the same. Prior to losing my mom, I thought like many little kids, that nothing bad could happen to my family. But after her death, I was scared for years that something bad would happen, I guess I was waiting for that " other shoe" to drop. Because I knew then- we had no immunity to loss, the safety net had been pulled.
Because I lost my mom at such an early age, for virtually most of my childhood and all of my adult life I have been in this constant state of being "motherless" and attempting to, at first- cover it up and then, later blaming it on my many short comings. But now, at my ripe old age, I understand the loss for all that it is and all that it is not. For many years my yearning to have my mother back was palpable. I would close my eyes at night and hug my pillow tight, trying to recapture her essence and remembering what her voice sounded like. I would cry myself to sleep asking her to come home and begging God to return her to me. I was just a kid, I'd tell Him, why would you do this to a kid, I'd ask? Right after my mom died I decided that I hated God, I was so angry at Him, and at my mom for leaving and bitter towards my dad for staying. Guess you could say I was one sad motherless kid.
I don't remember much of my childhood prior to losing my mom. It was almost like my mom died and there was this vacuum that came along and sucked dry my memories of her placing them in one of those old fashioned bags with the rubber gasket, you can't really get your hand into the bag, and you can only shake out "bits and pieces". But I do remember that I thought my mom was the most beautiful mom in the world. And I remember how safe she made me feel. Once when I was in third grade I slipped on the ice at school and had to go to the nurse’s station where she called my mom to pick me up. I never once cried until I saw my mom walking towards me and then I let loose a torrent of tears. Holding me close she asked me if my head hurt really bad and I told her, no, I was just so happy that she came for me, I couldn’t help balling like a baby.
The crying or really the sobbing continued on a regular basis after my mom died. I was so damn sad and felt so ripped off. I questioned why God had chosen to wreck our family. We used to have such a great family.
I have some memories of my mom being sick prior to her death. But really, I didn’t understand how sick she was. I wanted to host the end of the school year party at my house and my mom agreed. But then my dad told me that just wasn’t going to work out. I was furious. I’d already announced the party to all my friends. It was a tradition, one family would host the end of year party and I wanted that party at my house that year. I cried and screamed at my mom. I asked her why she had to be sick and I told her that I was angry with her for being sick. I was certain she didn’t love me and that was the real reason. I also told her that I didn't love her anymore, I wanted to hurt her, so I lashed out, like kids sometimes do. Really, I had no idea just what I was coming up against. For years after her death, I would feel so heart sick over the things I said that day. I tried granting myself forgiveness, as I was certain she had forgiven me long before she'd closed her eyes for that last time on that early June morning. That date, frozen on a calendar for myself and my six siblings became such a symbol of sadness and loss in my family.

When my mom died she was a mother, a wife, a sister and a daughter, all the things that I find familiar myself, as I write this. Whether I recognize it or not, the foot steps I take each day are identical as hers' 37 years ago. Today, I walk as a mother, a wife, a sister and proudly, my mother's daughter. This Sunday, I will remember my mom and be grateful that in the short time I had here with her she left with me her indelible mark of goodness and the gift to love and forgive, as only a mother can do. Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you!