Wham! It's George Michael! Part 1

I did something totally spontaneously last night. I went to see George Michael in concert. I know! What happened was, I saw my friend Liz on Saturday, because I had called her for support on my haircut. She said, just like Sophie did, "I'll come right over!" We ended up going to Whole Foods together, and right there, in the produce section, she told me that GM was performing at the Garden, and there were still tickets available for the next night, and would I like to go? I thought about it for about one second, and said, "Sure!" Oh my god, I felt so free and spontaneous!

So yesterday Liz went down to the Garden and got tickets, and we met up for dinner and then walked over. The show was supposed to start at 8:00, and we walked over around 7:30. We passed by a bar, and Liz said, "You wanna get a drink?" and then she saw my face and said, "Oh, you want to go right in, we'll go right in." So we went in and went to the bathroom. Liz says, "Wow, we have 20 minutes!" I realized that Liz had never been early to anything before, and she was surprised and sort of didn't know what to do. I showed her how we could sit down without having to rush, and look at all the people, and chat. She got a Guinness for $8.

We sat down and looked at all the people, and chatted, and waited. And waited. And at 8:30, an announcer came on and said that George's plane was delayed due to the rain, and he would be here soon, his plane had just landed. So we chatted some more, and round about 9:00, the announcer said, "George is in the building." And we all screamed. And waited some more, until he started.

Day Two of Haircut Newness. I'm learning some things.

I like my hair the day after I wash it. It falls flat, and it shrinks a little. When I had long hair, it wasn't that noticeable, but with this cut, it really is. It doesn't look so poofy.

My hair is flippy and flirty. And so light!

When I do wash it, I have to blow dry it a certain way, or the style looks all wrong in the back. It shouldn't really matter too much, though, because when someone is looking at you walking away, it's not your hair that they're looking at, if you catch my drift.

I don't hate my hair anymore. I can see myself like this for awhile.

Hair responses so far:

I love it!
I love it!
Nice hairdo!
Hey, Pageboy!
I llllllllllllove it!
It looks good, actually. (this from a friend who was against the haircut in the first place)
It looks better than what you had before!
[blank stare] (this from my cat)

Gone Today

Well, I did it. I showed Anthony a bunch of pictures, and he cut it like I said I wanted. But you know what? I don't want it anymore! I look like 1980's Vidal Sassoon! It's too preppy. It's not funky. It's not edgy. I don't like it.

I called up a bunch of friends, and Sophie was just in the neighborhood, so she came over and gave me her honest opinion. She loves it. She says it frames my face and makes me look brighter and not like a teenager, which is what I used to look like.

Now Liz is on her way over. I have great friends.

Okay. Liz loves it, and her daughter, who is 7 said, "Nice hairdo!" If my hair passes muster with a 7 year old, I think I'll be okay. It's been 4 hours. I'm getting used to it. I guess it's not so bad. Comments? Comments?

Tough Toy

At my school, we hardly ever buy toys or throw them away. People donate toys to us, and when they break, we fix them. Until the bitter end. I've learned to repair things after more than 10 years of watching my co-workers do it. Many toys have been kept for years after I would have thrown them away.

One toy that I have kept fixing year after year that really should be gotten rid of is a Fisher Price toy airplane. The door is gone, the tail is missing, there's no window. A few years ago I wrote on the plane as a joke, after applying more duct tape to it. I created an airline, complete with a tagline: "Risky Airlines--We'll get you there...maybe." It stays in the block room, and the kids continue to play with it. We keep putting duct tape on the sharp parts, and I rewrite the RA slogan in black Sharpie pen. We'll keep that plane until it has to be grounded, and then we'll turn it into a museum.

Small Town Graffiti

Remember a post a few days ago, when I was talking about my hometown and my current town? Turns out you can take the girl out of NYC, but NYC will never be far behind.

Backstory: In the 80's, I was in high school, my brother John was a graffiti artist. My dad's apartment was where all my brother's friends would come and get high and hang out before they all went out "bombing". John's closet door was covered with spray paint and tags (Graffiti names), as was his loft bed.

One of the names in John's room was by a guy who was famous in the graffiti world. His name was Jon, and his tag was JonOne. He ran with the 156 All Stars crew, of West 156th St. in Manhattan. I met him a couple of times. He didn't hang out too much; he was older than the rest of us, and seemed like he had a lot going on.

Fast forward to last week. I was at an apartment in Brookline, coincidentally across the street from my workplace. I was there to meet a cat who I would be cat sitting while his family went to Europe for a week.

The "dad" and I went through an alleyway so he could show me where to dispose of trash. The alleyway was covered with graffiti. It was remarkable, first because it was graffiti in Brookline, but also because it was good graffiti in Brookline. Being one who is interested in graffiti because of my brother, I stopped to look at it closely. What I saw made me stop in my tracks. After chuckling at the images of cartoon characters Ren and Stimpy, I saw 156 All Stars at the bottom of the mural. "No way!" I exclaimed. I looked to the right, and there it was, JonOne, the one and only.

What in the world was JonOne doing in Brookline, Mass., population 57,000? When had he been there? Where did he go? I may never find out, but I am somehow comforted by a piece of my past, here in my present.

Nighty-Nite

Have you ever crawled into your loft bed at night, when it's dark, and you can't see anything, and your foot suddenly mushes into a pile of something that used to be in your cat's stomach and is now on your bed? And on your foot. Don't you hate that?

Me too.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I have an appointment with my regular stylist, Anthony. Saturday, July 26. I will show him the pictures of the woman who never called me back, and Anthony will cut my hair and make me look beautiful. No cheating, no guilt.

I'll have to say goodbye to cute styles like braids, but at least I have a picture.

Cry Me a River

My mother, god rest her soul, used to cry at the drop of a hat. When I was little, I didn't understand it, and when I got older, I was embarrassed by it. I'll never forget her crying when she took me to see Bambi; she cried in the beginning when Bambi's mother died in the forest fire.

I have inherited her confusing and annoying trait. It doesn't take much. In particular, I'm a sucker for watching people win things on TV. It doesn't matter whether someone won a new car on Oprah, a surprise makeover, or an award.

Just today I flipped on the TV and saw five minutes of a show about drama programs at local high schools. They had an award night, and one high school kept winning all the awards. After they announced that Framingham High School had won a fourth award, I was laughing at crying at the same time. This, after watching five minutes. Lord help me.

And don't even get me started on reunions. If I flip on a show where a brother and sister haven't seen each other in 30 years because of war, adoption, or some other circumstance, you better get your own box of tissues, 'cause I'll need a whole one for myself.

Fruit Flies, Be Gone!

I have fruit flies in my kitchen. This phenomenon is my least favorite part of summer. Fruit flies make my skin crawl.

Today I Googled "Fruit Fly Removal", and got a tip. You get a glass jar, put some vinegar and a couple of drops of dish washing liquid in it, and cover the jar tightly with plastic wrap. Tape the plastic wrap around the bottle for security, then poke a few holes in the top. Supposedly, the flies go in, but they don't come out.

I set it up, and after only a few minutes, the flies were swarming! A couple of slick flies went in and out, hmm...but we'll see what it looks like in the morning. When you get a bunch, you're supposed to either clean out the jar outside and do it all over, or else put the jar in the freezer. Wish me luck.

A Tale of Two Cities

Lazy Saturday. Just came in from the porch, where I was reading a book whilst gliding back and forth on the porch glider. My next door neighbors were in the communal yard, gardening. My across the street neighbor passed by and we commented on the lovely weather. A police car came by and stopped across the street, but it looked as though it was just passing through; maybe someone would offer the patrolman a nice glass of lemonade.

Where I live now sure is different from where I grew up. I was raised in New York City (photo, left). Back then, the population was just under 8 million people. Here in my town (photo, right), we have just over 57,000.

When I was a kid, pimps and prostitutes hung out on the corner of my street. I was exposed to some really nasty people. I'm sure we have serial killers and other undesirables where I live now, but you can also leave your backpack at the playground by mistake and find it 3 hours later, untouched. I know my neighbors, most of them well, many of them by sight.

Feels nice to let my guard down as an adult when I was always on the alert as a child.

Fat Stanley

I've been working out with my personal trainer, Steve, for 9 months now. Up to now, I never actually had a membership; I always just went to the gym, did my workout with Steve, then left.

About a week ago, I joined the gym. Every month, $48 will be automatically deducted from my bank account so that I can go to the gym and do my workouts myself, in addition to continuing work with Steve when needed. He thought I was ready for this months ago, but I wasn't ready to cut ties, and with my knee issue, my progress was put back a few steps.

Today was my first day of going by myself. I was so nervous, like the first day I ever went. I took a deep breath, got my mat, and did my routine. It was pretty crowded today, so there was a guy right next to me. He looked like the actor Stanley Tucci. Unfortunately, my peripheral vision was working really well, so I got a slight view of what he was doing. He kept grunting, and so help me god, he looked like he was in the middle of a sexual act! He was going up and down. I couldn't see exactly what he was doing, but I saw enough. I had to really focus so I wouldn't burst out laughing.

I did my usual thing, then added whatever I remembered, and finished with the bike. The first time I ever did the bike I did it for 5 minutes. I quickly moved up to 10 minutes, and I felt like that was a pretty good workout, got my heart pumping enough. I've done 10 minutes about 5 times.

Today, by myself, I did 15 minutes, moving the level from 6 to 7, thank you very much. My face was very hot and red, and sweat was actually dripping down my face, which was a totally new experience for me. When I got off the bike, I found that the entire gym was tilted a little and pulled toward the right. I told Steve, and he told me to sit down. Then he said, "You did great, Alex." Sigh. He knows I still need praise for the littlest thing. I'm like a 3 year-old.

I'm proud of myself for taking this first independent step at the gym. I'm going back tomorrow; I hope Stanley won't be there.

p.s. That hairstylist I met on the street yesterday hasn't called me back yet.

Thinking About an Impulse

Recently someone asked if I was a risk taker. I said no, unless it has to do with my appearance. I'll change my look drastically at the drop of a hat. Well, that's not entirely true. I'll think about the change for months before actually doing it. I don't tell anyone, so when I do it, it looks like an impulse when it's really not. That's how it was when I got my eyebrow pierced, when I got my first huge tattoo, and now, when I believe I'm on the brink of another change.

I've been thinking about cutting my hair for a long time. My original goal was to have hair like a mermaid, all the way down my back, but it's taken me years, and I still haven't fulfilled that dream. It's hard to take care of all that hair, and it's getting so grey in the front that when I put it up I feel like a granny. I like the grey, but I need a new style. This goes along with my "Self What Not To Wear" makeover. I want a funky cut.

I've seen a few women who have the look I want, and have taken a picture or two, but just a few hours ago, I saw exactly what I wanted. This woman was walking down Newbury Street with two friends, and she had "The Hair." I stopped her and asked her if I could take a picture of her hair because I was thinking about cutting mine. What a coincidence! Turns out, she's a stylist and she's looking for hair models. She works at Vidal Sassoon. I can get her exact cut for $20.

I took her card and took a picture, just in case I decide to go my stylist to get it done. But he won't know exactly how it is, even from the picture, which wasn't that great. Thing is, I've been with my stylist, Anthony, for 15 years. I've cheated on him twice, and I always feel awful afterwards. He always takes me back.

I want to go to that woman, but I am wracked with guilt. It's not like she would be giving me a trim. This is a major cut, just past my chin. I'll send him flowers. I'll tell him what I did. I'll beg him to understand.

As soon as I got home, I called this woman, Jessie, and asked if she was available tomorrow. If I'm going to take the plunge, I'm going to do it immediately. She hasn't called back yet. Let's hope she takes me. Let's hope I like it. Let's hope Anthony has forgiveness in his heart, yet again.

Catalog Touch

I am obsessed with sporty Mary Jane style shoes. I pore over my athletic catalogs and play "Catalog Touch". Ever play it? That's when you go through a catalog and touch everything you want, whether or not you can afford it. Variations include "Catalog Fold", where you fold down a page, and "Catalog Circle", where you circle everything you want. I play these games all week long, and rarely order anything. Recently I even played "Catalog Circle/Ask Friend", where I circled everything, then had a friend go through and tell me if it would be a good purchase for me or not. Her notes were helpful ("Don't you own enough cropped pants already?").

Anyway, sporty Mary Janes are my latest desire. One day I might actually buy a pair. Till then, I've got a stack of five catalogs to go through. And ooh! My neighbor is on vacation for three weeks, and I'm picking up her mail...

Locker Room Lady

I went to the gym today and had a good workout. Afterwards, in the locker room, there was a woman who was red in the face and sweaty. She peeled off her workout clothes and wiped herself down with a hand towel. She didn't even take a shower! She just got dressed in a new outfit and put her sweaty hair into a ponytail. Gross! Who does something like that?

Me. Yes, I was the woman with the perspiring ponytail. I bust my ass to get to the gym at 7:30 AM as it is, and I'd have to wake up that much earlier to have enough time to take a shower before heading off to work. I've decided to take my showers at night on workout days. I'm sweaty, so what. I burn 50 calories every time I get on the bike.

Now excuse me while I eat my dessert before my evening shower.

Happy Cat

Happy Birthday, Shelby! She's 12 years old today, and looks just like a kitten. Must be the catnip. A few weeks ago, I was at Mike and Lisa's house. Lisa was showing me the garden, and picked off some kind of plant. She said she thought it was catnip. I put it in my pocket to give to Shelby later.

I gave it to her when I got home, and sure enough, she started writhing on the floor in ecstasy (see photo, right).

Later on, I went up to the loft to take a nap. Shelby followed, and got into nap position, under the covers. We settled down. Suddenly, I felt a scratching and biting at my jeans. Shelby, mild-mannered slug-feline, was attacking me! She would not stop. It finally dawned on me that there was catnip residue in my pocket. I replaced my jeans with something less trippy, and we resumed our nap.

Here's to Shelby, my happy catnappy pappy. Happy Birthday!

Local Graffiti

Shorts and Socks

I have so many photos I've wanted to post, but many of them go by the wayside. This summer, I'm going to try and post all those photos I've taken. Here's a recent one. I was at some friends' for dinner. M and D were talking in the kitchen, and I noticed their shorts and socks. So cute.

Ticket, please!

Saw this sign at a parking garage where you're supposed to get a ticket to pick up your car. That's one big ass ticket.

Post #400--Batman's Lair?

This is the door to a house in my neighborhood. Isn't it the coolest? It looks like Batman lives here, with those lights. And see how there's no number? Batman's house doesn't need a number.

Shady with the Shades

I have never been a sunglass wearer. That is, until now. As I am obsessed with taking care of myself in my fourth decade of life, I figured it was a good time to pay attention to my eyes. In Vermont, I bought a pair of Very Expensive Oakley sunglasses. They look cool. They look athletic. I am a bad ass.

Too bad I keep forgetting to take them with me. I'll find myself standing at a corner, waiting to cross the street, thinking, "God, that sun is bright!" and then remembering that this was the reason I bought those dang sunglasses in the first place.

I remembered them today. I wore them to the apartment where I gave an English lesson, then I put them in my bag. I had forgotten to bring the hard case the sales guy gave me for free because I had spent So Much Money, but I still had the soft sleeve they had come with. I put them in my bag, had the lesson, and then didn't put them back on because I was only going to walk a few blocks and then go into the supermarket.

I used the self-checkout and saved some bags by throwing most of the stuff in my backpack. Unfortunately, I realized when I got outside, that stuff was mostly canned goods. Dumped on top of my new sunglasses, not in the hard case.

I dug around and prayed, and I was rewarded with my sunglasses intact. Put 'em on, was protected all the way home, and decided that maybe dress pants were not the best look for my sporty shades. Perhaps I'll have to get another pair.

Vermont

I'm Baaaaack!

I was in Vermont for four days with friends. You remember the famous Marco, who has had a few posts written about him on this blog? I went with his family. Had a great time. More on that later.

I got home Tuesday night,checked email (after four days, I had a lot), unpacked a little, plugged in the A/C that my landlord had thoughtfully put in for me, and went to bed early.

On Wednesday night I couldn't for the life of me connect to the internet. On Thursday morning when I went to call Verizon about my DSL, I discovered that my land line was dead. Goddammit. I used my cell phone and had to go through all kinds of changes to make an appointment for someone to come and check my line on the next day. Had to go to a friend's house to do some important emailng. I do not like not being online!

This was the third time my phone has had a problem within a year. It's never my fault, and they always come out and fix it right away. I had to go through the questions: "Did you check everything?" Yes, I checked everything. I hadn't, really, but it had happened twice before, I was not about to go buy a test phone again, have it not work, and then bring it back to the store. Let them come and look at it and fix it.

Finally got the appointment for today and had to be home between 9 and 2. Why is it that I can stay home all day on a Saturday and park myself in front of the TV, no problem, but when I'm required to stay home to wait for a service person, I'm so frustrated, like I have things to do?

Anyway, the Verizon truck pulled up at 1:15 and a woman who looked like a grandmother got out and said she just wanted to check the line from inside. She tried it from my phone, but then had to go directly to the jack. She bent down to look at the jack and said, "Oh, it's loose." Click. And that was it. I had a flash in fast motion, like in the movies, of me plugging in the A/C and loosening the phone plug in the jack.

Oh my god, I had never been so embarassed in my entire life, and told Grandma Verizon so. She was so sweet, she immediately told me she wasn't going to charge me for it. She stayed to make sure I got online, then left.

Note to self: check everything when they say to check everything. As my friend Hiro said, that's Troubleshooting 101. Got it. Glad to be back online.

1 Year

Today marked one year since my dad died. Here's a picture of us when I got my Master's. My dad was not the most present father, but I must say, he went to all three of my graduations. He was proud of my success in education.

I remember my dad's love of opera. He went to the opera almost every day during the opera season. A bartender gave him the nickname, "Johnny Opera". It stuck. I now have Johnny Opera tattooed on my arm, underneath my "Mom" heart.

Dad, and Mom, may you rest in peace. I hope right now you're yukking it up over there on the other side.

Weight Watcher Wonderings

My friend M is on Weight Watchers, where all the food you eat is on a point system, and you're allotted a certain number of points per day.

M is Jewish, and her partner T was raised Catholic. They had a bris, and they're having their son baptized next weekend. M told me that she told T ain't no way she was gonna say anything about Jesus or eat one of them wafers. We wondered, "How many points are in the body of Christ?"

Small town Charm, Beware!

I just walked into the house of a serial killer. Well, he could be a serial killer. I escaped.

It's hard to live in a nice and friendly neighborhood, because you find yourself doing nice and friendly things. You let your guard down.

Just now, coming home, I came upon a man who was trying to lift a TV across the street by himself. It looked really heavy, so I asked him if he needed help. He said he didn't want me to hurt myself, and I just said, "Well, two's better than one, it's no problem." We got it across, and as we were going up the stairs, it occurred to me that the serial killer Ted Bundy got his victims by feigning a fake broken arm. He'd lure girls into his waiting van, and then torture and murder them. This is the thought that came upon me, and I knew I had to get out of there, fast.

As soon as we got into the foyer, I put that TV down as fast as I could and said, "Well, that's it!" The guy said, "Can I offer you a drink or something?" Nope, no, I'm fine, gotta go...and I was outta there like a bolt of lightning.

Whew! I will live to see another day. Guard up.

Kitty Trouble

This is Noah. Cute, isn't he? But cute little Noah can unknowingly get you into trouble.

Rule #1: Never refer to a cat as a pussycat or pussy around kids, even if you think it's funny. That's what my friends L and J did, with their daughters S, age 6, and V, age 2. Next thing you know, S says, "There's pussy hairs all over the bed!" and even worse, possibly after playing on the bed, "There's pussy hairs in my mouth!" Do not utter these words at school, dear children, or mommy will answer the door to a lady with a big DSS badge on her jacket and take you away from your family. C-A-T spells CAT, not pussy!

Skeletons in my Closet

I did a little What Not to Wear / Mission: Organization on my closet today. I went through and tried everything on. I got rid of two bags of clothing. Here's what I learned:

I am not a size 0 anymore.

I am not a size 1.

I am not a size 2.

I am a size 4. I am a size 4. I am a size 4. I might be a size 4 1/2, but let's not go there right now.

I had a lot of pants I didn't even know I had.

What was I thinking with that little black beaded tanktop?

I have a lot of hangers that are unused.

I have 4 little black dresses.

There were several outfits I could have worn to Caterina's party that would have been better than the one I did wear, had I really looked in my closet.

It makes me very very sad, but it is finally time to throw away my most favorite jeans that I bought in 2000. The knees are both worn out, and that is why I have femoral patella syndrome today. Plus, I will never fit into them again. Never.

I know elastic waistbands are not the sexiest, but they make things still fit, unlike some other waistbands.

My friends are so sweet to give me their size 4 pants.

I should be grateful I am a size 4. Many people would kill to be a size 4.

It's all relative.

Small Town Charm?

One great thing about living in a small town is that you see people you know every day, and it really feels like a neighborhood. I'm constantly running into kids and parents from my preschool, those who attend now, or those who went ten years ago.

One not so great thing about living in a small town is that when you're at an arts festival you might run into guys you've gone on one or two awkward dates with. I managed to elude them yesterday, but I know I'll see them at Starbucks this summer. I'll just grin and bear it.

Happy Birthday, Prince!

Prince is 50 years old today. I changed the song a little.

Happy Birthday to you
It's a Catch-22
I'd so like to meet you
But I don't know what I'd do!

Maybe he'd show me, heh heh. Happy Birthday. Age ain't nothin' but a number.

Fresh Firefighters

I just got a second call from local firefighters, asking for money. Seems I had donated something back in December, when I used part of my annual bonus to give to various charities. It felt really good.

Of course, now those various charities are contacting me regularly, thinking that I am able to donate all the time, which I am not. I get a weekly letter from Planned Parenthood, and now, instead of feeling good, I am getting annoyed.

The organization that takes the cake, however, is these firefighters. The first time they called, I said, "I'm sorry, but I have no money right now, and I'm about to walk out the door." The caller replied, "That's not what I was calling for, and you enjoy that meal in front of you."

They just called again, and I listened to their schpiel this time. Actually, they were asking for money. I told the man that I had donated before because I had had money at that time, but I couldn't donate now, and that the next time I had money, I would donate again. The caller answered me by saying, "Okay, take care of yourself first, thank you." and he hung up.

You know what? Now they don't get any money from me, with that attitude! If telemarketers and local charities ask for money without any 'tude, they just might get it. For now, yes, I'll take care of myself and enjoy any meals that are in front of me. Thank YOU.

Sugar Fix

Number of days of Alex's Sugar-Free Summer:

2

What happened:

Okay, here's the confession. Wanna know why I wasn't going to have sugar in my house for the whole summer? Oprah. I was watching her show the other day; they had all these obese people who weighed 500 lbs. and had lost 300 lbs. with no surgery.

Oprah went on and on about how, if you're trying to lose that last 10 lbs., if they can do it, you can do it. I figured, "hey, I want to lose 10 lbs. I'm feeling a little thicker around the middle than I did 10 years ago...sugar's bad for you, how hard can it be?"

On day 2, today, I was a monster. 2 days of no tea. I had a headache, I was very cranky, parents were rubbing my back at work today, clucking their tongues.

Percentage of people who thought that me giving up sugar in my house was a bad idea:

100

Guess what? Premenstrual + no caffine and sugar for 2 days = crazy person!!!

After my therapist confirmed that you only live once, and I needed to have my tea back in my life, I went to Starbucks and grabbed 6 packets of Sugar in the Raw like I was some kind of junkie. Had my cup of tea in my house tonight...

AHHHHH...feels good to be back.

Sugar-free Summer

I've decided to not have sugar in my house for the entire summer. I want to see what happens. Will I lose weight? Will I have more energy? Will I lose my sugar addiction? I dumped out what I had in my sugar jar and sugar bowl and gave it to my neighbors.

I already stopped drinking tea (read: I stopped consuming two teaspoons of sugar) at work. It was pretty easy. At work there's tea that I don't like and half and half, which I don't like, so I don't want it. I drink water.

The biggest difference at home will be that I won't have my morning and evening cup of tea, which I quite like. It's comforting. It's also full of sugar. And caffeine. I'll drink water.

This is not to say that I'm giving up on sugar altogether. If I want a Starbucks, I'll get a Starbucks. Tea and muffin. I'll keep eating all the natural sugar found in fruit, cake, cookies, etc. It's just I won't have it in the house. If it's not in the house, I won't eat it. Like snacks. What I do for a treat if I don't have sweets in the house is eat a piece of whole wheat bread with olive oil-based spread or its equivalent. And now, water.

Wish me luck. I won't go thirsty, that's for sure.

Beware Birthday Speeches

Recently I've attended two adult birthday parties, a 40th and a 50th. Big celebrations, with lots of family and friends around, toasts, and speeches by family members, namely parents.

At the first party for my friend C, her dad started to give this speech about her birth. How, when she was born, she was the most beautiful baby,(awww) and she cried so loudly, (oh!) but then she turned out okay (aww) even though she cried so much (oh!), etc. Okay. Then Dad said, "And then her brother S was born. And when he came out, whoa! Was he funny looking! He had this big red mark, and his head was pointy. He looked like a mushroom!" All the guests had frozen smiles on their faces. We were scared to death. He went on and on, and somehow he finished, and we said Happy Birthday to C.

Later on, I went up to the brother and told him that he was a good-looking man. He laughed and said thank you. At the end of the night I went up to his wife and said the same thing. She looked at me blankly and suspiciously. Oh my god, she thought I was hitting on her husband right to her face! I said, "I'm referring to the speech." "Oh", she said, "I've heard that story so many times..." Oh my god, that wasn't some tipsy dad speech?? He's said that before? Poor guy.

I thought that was an isolated incident, but apparently this kind of thing happens. Yesterday I was at my friend T's 50th. His mother got up and told the story of Mrs. So-and-So, who had all those cats, and when T was a little boy, he and his friends were playing Cowboys and Indians, and they were practicing the lasso. They lassoed one of the cats and hung it on a tree. T thought that by pulling on the lasso, it would make the loop looser, so they kept pulling and pulling, and finally T went into the house to tell his mom, because the cat didn't look right.

At this point, I almost shouted out, "Happy Birthday, T!", but I didn't dare interrupt the story. The audience was waiting for a happy ending. Well, along came these Boy Scouts, just then, and...they rescued the cat! NO, that's not what T's mom said! She said that they thought T and his friends had a problem and they should be committed. The End, Happy Birthday, T.

And then T's father got up and said that when T was born, he (the dad) was in the bushes, throwing up. The End.

Oh man, ain't nothing like some birthday speeches to make one proud to be alive. Next time you're celebrating a big one, just hold your breath while the parents are talking, so you'll have a lot of air saved up to blow out the candles.

Morphed into a Rooster

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. This cat's gonna be the death of me.

Shelby and I have a routine. Every morning, around 6:30, she either comes up her steps of the loft bed and softly taps me, or meows to wake me up. Sometimes she lets me sleep. Sometimes she stays downstairs and just meows annoyingly until I get up.

In any case, I get up, we go to the bathroom, and then I let her out into the hallway to see what's what. She's there for maybe 30 seconds, and I let her back in. She takes her pill, and I start my morning; check email, turn on the news, etc. She goes into the bathroom and goes to sleep. This is what we do.

Shelby's not too intuitive on what's a weekend day and what's a weekday. Usually, I don't mind, because I get up at the same time every day. Today, however, she had a bee in her bonnet and was meowing to beat the band (I have suddenly transformed into the writing of 1950, apparently). She meowed, she pawed me, she wouldn't let up. I looked at the clock. 5:00 AM. On Sunday. This was not okay.

We fought back and forth. She went and coughed up a hairball. She came back. I thought maybe there was a fire. She's not a rooster, she's Lassie. She'll save my life. "What is it, girl?" I finally went down the ladder at 6:00. What was the emergency? She wanted to see what was what in the hallway. For 10 seconds. She wanted me to stay in the kitchen with her while she ate her breakfast and didn't take her pill. She is now resting comfortably on the floor, staring at me. "What?" she says.

I could kill her, but she is so freaking cute. I'm gonna try to go back to bed. Wish me luck.

Two Views

I was in NYC last weekend; the top pic is a view from my lawyer's office. I made it sepia for that old-fashioned look. The bottom pic is another view of NYC. Tough guy who's not afraid to show his gentle side, with a teddy bear in his backpack. Awww.

Score One More, for K

Backstory: Like any normal married couple, my brother J and sister-in-law K occasionally get into little "discussions", and one person is usually "right"; not that they keep score or anything.

The other day, J bought a kazoo. K asked if it was a bubble wand. He told her it wasn't, it was a musical instrument. He demonstrated how to use it.

K wouldn't let it go. "Isn't that for bubbles?" she kept asking. J and I just laughed, and he buzzed the kazoo again. K made a face and said, "It's for bubbles."

The next day, J and I were at the 99 cent store, and I came upon the toy in the picture on the left. Look at the pink object to the right of the bubbles. Kazoo, or bubble maker? I took the picture to show K.

"Look", I said, "A bubble maker. See what it looks like?" It took her a couple of seconds for it to register. Then she said, "You mean I was right?? YEAH!!!" and she did the famous K is right pose. Try it when you really want to make a point. One arm straight in the air, other hand clenched in a fist, eyes closed, and shout, "YEAH!"

Gloating never looked so cute.

Today at School

Today at the playground, as we were lining up to go back to school, Marco announced that his other sandal was in the sandbox. Buried. I told Rosie to go on and take the other kids back, and I'd stay with Marco to find it.

Marco didn't remember where exactly he had buried it, and you couldn't tell that anything was buried; it all looked just like regular untouched sand. I felt like an archaeologist, and wanted to divide the sandbox into quadrants. I just kept digging in one spot after another until finally, I hit pay dirt (as it were), and unearthed the sandal. I told his mother to stop being so creative with him.

Later on, a bunch of us were out in the school's courtyard. I brought out the sidewalk chalk, and they drew all over the back of the door and the walls. One kid asked, "Can we draw on the sandbox covers?" I was in a good mood. "Sure!" "On the fence?" "Yeah!" "On the boat?" "Why not? Go crazy!" I said. With a gleeful expression, Matthew piped, "This is the biggest day of our life!"

Results

The results of my MRI are in. I have...dun dun DUN...

CHONDROMALACIA PATELLA!

Which means the cartilage in my kneecap has thinned. What to do? Keep doing what I've been doing in PT. Stretching, exercising, and yoga. And not walking on my knees at work, which I've been doing for the past 20 years. And not curling up in my chair. And no squats at the gym. When I go back to the gym. Which I plan to, next month.

At least I don't need surgery.

4 year-old graffiti

Unprompted, Owen asked me how to spell "I love Alex". I wrote it down so he could copy it.

The next day, I came across the piece of paper. Seems someone loves Alexa, too!

MRI Fun, part two

...and then the fun began.

Somewhere in the background there was this swishing noise. I imagined a gigantic washing machine. It went swish, swish, swish, very rhythmically. It was sort of comforting.

Unlike the actual sounds of the MRI machine. First it was as if OL was in the back pressing a really big doorbell from the 1950's. It buzzed: ENH, ENH, ENH! Then came the jackhammer, a little faster: gsh gsh gsh gsh gsh! Then silence. Then the doorbell again, then a new sound. It went like this over and over for about 30 minutes, I'd say. I wasn't watching the countdown clock. I went into daydream mode, and since that's my favorite pastime, I found that the minutes flew by.

Then they were done. I contemplated asking the assistant if she would push me all the way into the machine so I could see what it felt like, but she seemed to be in a hurry to get me out of there so she could claim her next victim, I mean, patient. I walked out as a man walked in.

I went to the locker to retrieve my bag, and noticed that they forgot to give me the key. I had to go back and inturrupt them to ask for it. The assistant said, "Oh, which one is yours?" I didn't know, I wasn't the one who had the key; OL was. She just gave me one, and I tried it, but it didn't work. Then I looked at the tag, which said, M, and #2. I went back and told the assistant I thought the M stood for Male, locker 2. I was W #1. "Oh, she flustered, "I didn't even look at that, ha ha!"

Great. I had just trusted these two women to look into the recesses of my knee and who knows what else, and they couldn't even figure out one key out of two. Did they do the MRI correctly, or were all those different sounds their trial and error session?

EHN, EHN, EHN!
OL: No, that's not right. Try that button.
gsh, gsh, gsh, gsh!
Assistant: That sounds better. Right? Right? Priscilla, wake up!
OL: What? Oh, right, where were we? EHN, EHN, EHN...

I got no information about how I was supposed to find out my results. Guess I'll put a call into my doctor. And hope it wasn't all a bad dream.

My my my...MRI

I finally went and got my MRI. My friend Leslie had told me not to wear any jewelry because the magnets were so strong they might get ripped out. In preparation, I wore yoga pants, a tee shirt, no watch, and I cut my nails, just to be extra safe.

The MRI was last Sunday, which I thought was pretty weird in the first place. When I arrived, it looked like a ghost town. I had to ring security to let me in, and when I went to the desk, there weren't any other patients waiting. I had to fill out this two-sided form that asked yes or no questions, such as:

Do you have a pacemaker? NO
Do you have internal shrapnel? NO
Do you have a penile implant? NO

I am not making this up, those were some of the questions. Then I came to:

Do you have tattoos?

YES! Finally, I got to answer yes to a question! I asked the woman why that question was asked, and she said in case there was part of a needle in you, they need to know. Oh god.

I finished the form and waited to be taken to the machine. After a few minutes, a woman came out to take me. She was a petite older woman with short hair, and she walked with a limp, as if one leg was shorter than the other. She also had an accent; almost British, but softer. I decided she was from South Africa.

She put my purse in a locker and brought me over to the machine, aided by a younger woman. I took off my shoes and lay down, with the knee being MRI-ed in a sort of brace. Older lady gave me ear plugs, because it was going to be loud. She pressed a button that made me slide forward...not quite all the way in, whew! I went in up to my chest. OL gave me a pump to squeeze in case I "didn't want to continue", and told me I could see the countdown numbers on the machine. I could also see a sign that said something about a beam, and don't stare into the beam. I decided to close my eyes to be safe. OL said I'd be in there for 20-30 minutes.

And then the fun began...

Sleepy in Brookline

I finally figured out why it is that I've been napping so much!

I haven't worked out since the end of April, and I think that's what's done it. They say that working out gives you more energy, and I never understood that, but now I do. I do one or two activities and am ready to lay down. Steve and I haven't been able to work out a schedule this month, and with my bum knee, we were taking it easy anyway. I'll save some dough, find out the results of my MRI (that's another post in itself), and start up again next month.

And then zip around and leave the napping for Saturdays!
I'm looking forward to having more spring in my step. Till then, enjoy the tee shirt one of my kids was wearing the other day. It's from Japan. Want to see more amusing examples of English? Check out Engrish.com.

Tip of the Day

Dear Readers,

The advice I am about to give you may change your life. Here goes.

Say there's a stomach virus going around, and you happen to get it. Say you stay home for a day, alternating sleeping and visiting the porcelain throne.

Say you're really good, avoid food for awhile, and then only eat bananas, bread, and applesauce for two whole days.

Here comes the advice: DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT make your first real meal a sausage, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich from Starbucks. Even if you're really craving it. Your ass will explode.

If this does happen to you, remedy it by immediately taking a nap with your cat.

Follow these words of wisdom, and your sphincter will thank you.
Have a nice day.

40 and Fabu...zzzzzzzzz

Since I turned 40 I've been sleeping a lot. Not to escape, necessarily, but I think this is what happens when one gets older. I'm not kidding. In the past six days, I have taken a nap every single day, something I used to reserve only for weekends. I'm not too worried about it. It sure beats a spare tire around the waist or aches and pains. Cuts down on blogging time, however.

I've decided to make a list of highlights of my birthday bash, for easy reading for you, and easy writing for me. If you didn't make it to the soiree, here's what you missed:

* Me, wearing a dress, high heels, and makeup, hair in an updo, greeting my guests Grace Kelly style, in a faux fur wrap I got at the Gap a couple of years ago.

* A yoga studio transformed into a glittering dance club, complete with disco ball hanging from an industrial chain.

* Heather, disco dancing diva on the dance floor. Heather was the talk of the party, because she got right on the dance floor and dirty danced with me and whoever came into her line of fire. The best part about Heather was that I didn't even know her; she was a college friend of some friends of mine, and tagged along with some others to the party. Heather, you were a hit!

* Dancing, dancing, dancing! There were a core of about four people, including myself, who were on the dance floor section of the room the entire night. Others came and went, and everyone boogied when I hit them with the "dance scepter". iPod playlist + stereo = instant club!!

* A speech session, which brought everyone to tears.

* Delicious food, which I didn't eat enough of. Amazing cupcakes and cookies, which I did eat enough of.

* The party favor--a custom made CD of the nights' selected hits.

Thanks to everyone who helped make my 40th my best birthday ever!!!

Mascara Mayhem

It's been a week since my birthday bash and I'm just now catching up on my sleep. I took a nap when I got home from work yesterday and I took a nap today. I have so much to do: write thank you notes, blog, continue cleaning the place...

I'll start with my eyes.

I had my hair done, dress on, lipstick done...all I had to do was the mascara. Oy, the mascara. I hadn't put mascara on my eyelashes in probably 20 years. I stood in CVS looking at all the different types; who knew there were hundreds to choose from? I could go for the standard pink and green package that had remained the same for decades. I tried to remember the catch phrases from recent commercials: what did they say about "easy, breezy, Covergirl"? Should I get lengthening, volumizing, strengthening (???). What color? Very black, brown, violet???

I decided to get the one with the rubberized lash brush, because I had seen on TV somewhere that women got clumpy eyelashes not because of the formula, but because of the brush. After debating back and forth on how stupid it seemed to get one, I also got an eyelash curler. I have never worn mascara without curling my eyelashes first. It sounds soooo ridiculous, but I did it.

I was in a rush to get ready. I carefully curled my lashes, then took out the mascara. I put the brush to my eyelash, and...

(insert sound of scratching record needle here)

the fucking brush was so rubbery that it bent and I mascara-ed by face and hand! Nice work, birthday girl. I had to be really really careful with my application, something they don't tell you on TV. As a result, I didn't put on as much mascara as I could have, but it definitely made a difference. Like heels, mascara is a stupid invention, but looks good on. I also listened to my friend Patricia, who told me to get foundation. I powdered my face a little. Okay, it looked good. Damn it!

As I was applying the greasy eye makeup remover that night, I wondered how women wore makeup every single day. NO THANK YOU! But I might bust out the mascara and red lipstick next time I go out to dinner.

I am 40

My birthday was April 26th. I had a big party. There were 100 people. I am very tired.

I got a lot of presents. Among other things, I received:

--a fish wall hanging

--a bottle of Dom Perignon

--two mounted African beetles

--a gift certificate of $450 to my tattoo shop

I'm still recovering. More to come.

Shocking

I just saw on the local news that someone has been tying long strings of plastic across a road at neck height, so they're putting up warning signs to bicycle and motorcycle riders. Oh my god. Who does something like this??? Why can't we just all get along?

Masochistic PT!

My PT Shellie is moving, and so my last day with her was last week. She filled in my night appointments with Peter, who is the owner of the PT place. I thought Shellie was tough. Compared to Peter, Shellie looks like a PANSY.

Oh my god. Peter did what I originally thought PT was, with me lying down, and him stretching me. He should have announced before he started, however, "I will now bring you to the brink of hell..." He had me put my left leg on the floor, with my body lying on the table (can you picture this?). He then proceeded to push my right leg up, while saying, "See? See how tight this is?

Yes, Peter, I see...rather, feel how tight that is. Jeez. He told me the good news and the bad news. The good news is that my "problem" can be fixed. The bad news is that it will take 6 months of diligent stretching. I will work in my stretching with Steve at the gym.

I'm going back to see Peter tonight. Seems I have a touch of the masochism bug.

PT Continued

So I've been going to PT for a few weeks now, with mixed results. I know the routine now, 3 sets of 10 of lots of different exercises, some of which I even like. There's this one where you put what looks like a giant rubber band around your ankles and move across the floor slowly, step by step. The rubber band won't let you go but a step at a time. I call it the "chain gang".

At the very end of the session, I get what's called a "stim". They put these sticky pads on my knee, and the pads have wires running to a machine. Then they put a huge bag of ice on my knee, and turn on the machine. I'm supposed to say when it's too much. I asked when "too much" was, and was told "when it hurts". Well, I have a high tolerance for pain (see tattoos), so I'm never sure when too much is. Anyway, the machine makes a tingling sensation, and it's supposed to stimulate something, though I'm not exactly sure what. When I first got hooked up, I felt like I was part of some secret science experiment. I'm used to it now.

After the first few PT sessions, my knee hurt more than ever, but now it seems to be getting better. I'm going to schedule an MRI for both my hip and my knee to see exactly what's going on. The MRI machine will be a whole blog entry unto itself, I'm sure.

English is Stupid, Part 47

Random thoughts on English (and a little bit of math)

I think the word "commence" should mean the ending of something, rather than the beginning. It sounds better that way.

Ex. When the games commence, we'll have dinner.

It really bothers me when someone says "less" when they mean "fewer".

Ex. There will be less people at the party than expected.
It reminds me of an English teacher who gave a visual of half a person. I imagine that every time I hear someone say "less people".

I think that quotation marks should be inside the period, rather than at the end.
"You're making too much noise." should be, "You're making too much noise". The sentence should be contained within the quotation marks, like a neat little package.

It really bothers me when people say "that" when they mean "who".

Ex. The person that came late got locked out.
Good for him he got locked out. He should use better English.

I hate the expression, "All things are not created equal". Shouldn't it be, "Not all things are created equal"?

When I was a kid and we were learning how to make tally marks, I got all my answers wrong. I thought that you made 5 little lines, and then put one line across to hold them all together that didn't count. Instead of writing groups of 5, I kept writing groups of 6.

I still think you should make 5 lines and one line to hold them all together.

And that's my grumble about English and Math for the day. Lesson commenced.

Quote of the Day

On Friday I was sitting with a bunch of kids, reading a nature magazine. We turned to a page with a picture of a male seahore giving birth. I said, "In the seahorse family, it's the daddy who has the babies!"

Nadja, 3, whose mother is about to give birth, gave me a sideways look of shock and dismay, and then said with a smile, "Shit! I don't like that!"

High Hells

I'm trying to break in my heels so I can wear them to my birthday party next week. They go well with flannel rocket ship pajamas, don't you think?

I think that high heels have got to be the stupidest invention known to humankind. Put one on your foot and feel your toes squish together in a most unnatural way. Then stand up, and feel all of your weight shift to the ball of your feet. Next, try to walk. Kind of hard, isn't it? They are so ridiculous, and yet...attractive to the eye. I like to look at heels, not wear them. When I was posting this photo and I named it, I accidentally pressed the "l" twice, so it came out "hells." That name is far more appropriate.

I've had these shoes on for approximately 12 minutes, and I can tell you right now, I will last about a half an hour at my party. I'm bringing my slip-on Mary Janes to change into.

Gotta go; I feel a corn coming on.

Smells Like Burnt Popcorn

Yesterday I popped a bag of microwave popcorn for the first time since I've had the microwave. I wanted to do a test run, because tomorrow I'm having some kids over to watch a movie, and I wanted to have popcorn. Makes sense, right?

On the bag there were no directions; it said to look at the microwave for the automatic setting; it would be between 2 and 5 minutes. Mine didn't have an automatic setting. I knew that my microwave was pretty powerful, but I went with experience, which told me that you take the bag out when only a few kernels are popping.

Apparently, 3 minutes was too long. When I opened the door, the bag was smoking, and it smelled really bad. I had to take the bag out and put it on the porch. Meanwhile, the smell permeated the whole place.

I lit some candles and put the air purifier on, to no avail. I went out to do some errands, and when I came back, it still stunk, so I sprayed the place with perfume. My cat Shelby started meowing in a funny way, so I picked her up to comfort her. She was so close to the stench of the perfume, (which cats don't like) she winced, jumped down, and started licking herself furiously. Poor thing; I made it worse.

I went to bed, and when I woke up...you guessed it, still smelly. I've just concocted a brew of orange spice tea, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. It smells good in the kitchen, anyway.

Tomorrow the kids are getting bagged popcorn.

Again, I'm crazy busy, so until I can write a longer post, here's a pic. It's the paw of a Bassett Hound I met in California last Thanksgiving. I just love Bassett Hounds.

Hot Air

I hate balloons.* There are many reasons, among them:

1. I hate the way they smell.

2. They're unpredictable. You never know when they might pop.

3. When they do pop, they make a terrible loud noise.

4. They're bad for the environment. When people release balloons into the air and they pop, birds eat them, and choke to death.

5. They're dangerous. Balloons can't be heimlich-ed out if a child chokes on one.

6. I hate the sound they make when you touch them--that awful squeaky sound, that could lead to popping, that makes another terrible sound (see #3)

Despite all my reasons for hating balloons, I chose to buy some today to spruce up my porch for an art event in which I want people to come to my house and buy my photographs. Let's face it, they're attractive to look at, and they draw people in. I have to have them in my house until tomorrow night. When the event is finished, I'll leave them in my house to deflate on their own, and then I will get rid of them, safely, away from small children and my cat.

I only hope my cat doesn't chew on the curling ribbons that are attached to the balloons. Those ribbons can get wound up in a cat's intestines. The whole package of balloons is a menace to society.

*water balloons and mylar balloons are fine.

What This Robin is Singing

"All we need is just a...nother brick in the wall..."

Physical Therapy--Friend, or Foe?

So I finally started physical therapy last week. The first time I went, I was a little disappointed. My PT, Shellie, did all these tests on me and assessments. She told me what they were, but she did it really fast and I couldn't remember it all. Basically, the problem goes back to my left hip. For some reason, we don't know why, it was giving me pain. I started to unconsciously favor it, and so my right knee went out of whack. The PT is for my knee.

Shellie seemed really tough and no nonsense, and I realized later that what I want is a little bit of therapist in every person I see--personal trainer, masseuse, dentist, doctor, PT. I like to talk about what they're doing, why they're doing it, how it affects me, who they like on American Idol, etc. Shellie, at first, was all business.

And she gave me homework! I was sent home with a sheet of paper that had six exercises on it. I was supposed to do these exercises, some twice a day! I did a few, and thought I was going to get in trouble for not doing all my homework. Even worse, the knee pain that had subsided a bit came back all the way the day after I saw Shellie. This is how PT is supposed to work??

My friend Amy and I talked about our different images of PT. I thought you went to PT, lay on a table, and the therapist stretched you while you just lay there. I guess the only images I had of PT were on the news when someone had been in a terrible accident and couldn't use their limbs anymore. Amy's image of PT was taking baby steps with the two parallel poles you hang on to, with the PT standing next to you, guiding you to the end of the room.

I went back again today and had a much better time. To be continued...

I'm a Phoney

Yesterday I was in a rush and I couldn't find my cell phone, so I called my cell phone from my land line to find it (of course it was sitting 3 feet away from me, out in the open).

It made me want to travel back in time, around the 1890's. I'd love to tell Alexander Graham Bell and his cohorts that in the future people would not only have more than one phone, but would use one phone to find another. I'd tell him that people panic and feel lost if they don't have their phone with them at all times.

Absolutely ridiculous, but also absolutely true. Sigh...

Eat with them! Make a weapon!

One of my Japanese kids, a boy of 11, made a gun out of chopsticks. He and his dad did it together. It shoots rubber bands. It's pretty ingenious, I think, with a trigger and everything! I still don't get the whole "male fascination with guns" thing, though. I asked him, "Why do boys like guns so much?" and he said, "So we can kill people." And then he shrugged his shoulders, like he didn't know why he wanted to kill someone.

Male readers, can you explain this phenomenon? I realize that not all men like guns, and that some women do like them, but for the sake of this argument, I'm going to go with the dreaded stereotype. If you don't respond, I'll hunt you down.

Ab Fab, Alex Style

Here's a peek at a couple of my birthday accessories.
Shoes by none other than Jessica Simpson. The color of the lipstick? Fire Down Below. 'Nuff said.

Turkey Spotting

Saw another turkey the other day. It was raining. Just as I was starting my wildlife filming, an SUV came by and purposely went through a huge puddle, soaking my jeans. I have a better video of the turkey, but this one is funnier.

You Say Tomato...

I have a friend named Diana, and it's pronounced Dee-anna.

I have a friend named Deanna, and it's pronounced Dee-na.

I have a friend named Dana, and it's pronounced Dan-na.

Right now I don't know anyone who pronounces their names Day-na or Die-anna, though I have in the past. Don't get me started on how to say Tamara...

Hey, everyone has their quirks.

So you know how I have this TV crush on Keith Morrison? Well, the last time he was on Dateline, I recorded his voice on my voicemail so I could make my friends listen to it and see how great he was. Thing is, I haven't really gotten around to the part where I make my friends listen. Sometimes, when I'm checking messages, I listen to the sample I took. It's a perfect sample of Keith's voice. He says,

"______ and her brother were under strict orders to ride the bus from school, walk the 200 yards from the bus stop straight to their country home, here at the edge of the woods.

Lock the door, do homework, until parents come home from work. Madeline always called home to make sure all was well. Which was why, when her son answered the phone, she felt that strange dread creep down her veins."

I love that I have a recording of Keith Morrison's voice (that will, alas, be automatically erased in four more days), but is it weird that I have it? And that I listen to it? And that I tell everyone about it?