Monthly Archives: May 2013



Picture this:  It is 11:50pm last night and I am sitting on my blow-up bed in my client’s livingroom and she is asleep in her bedroom and I am innocently using my iPad when suddenly there is this megadecible “AAAAA-AAAAA-AAAAA” sounding noise.  At first I thought I had done something wrong on my iPad (I am so technically challenged that it would not surprise me if I really could do something to it to make it sound like that!) and I was frantically trying to figure out what the heck I had done and I was terrified of my client waking up furious that I had making such a racket in her livingroom.  I wish I would have had a video of my facial expressions as I am sure fear, horror and confusion would have been flashing on it all at the same time.  Finally I figured out it wasn’t coming from my iPad (you know, I really should have known that unless it had a bomb in it, no way was it going to make that kind of noise, but like I said….severely technically challenged) and so I frantically ran around the tiny apartment (in my jammies and Xmas apron….don’t ask) trying to find the sound.  It then dawned on me that maybe it was the FIRE ALARM and I should perhaps look out into the hallway.  I felt the door first to make sure it wasn’t hot (I learned that somewhere) and nope, not hot.  I sniffled…no smoke odor.  So I slowly opened the door, all the while being made deaf by that dang alarm above her door.  I of course, forgot I was in my jammies and Xmas apron until I saw the look that the next-door gentleman gave me.  Can you imagine what he must have thought?  Here is this fat old lady with rainbow hair, a Xmas apron and black saggy capri jammies and pink bunny slippers on coming out of the apartment.  I bet he was more afraid of me than the alarm!  Anyway, he said he didn’t think anything was happening, that the alarm had gone off earlier in the day.  So I went back in and ran into my client’s bedroom cause I figured she must be freaking out by now but no, she was still half asleep and wasn’t the least bit concerned.  Which rather shocked me cause had there really been a fire, I don’t know what we would have done as she has a walker and can barely move with that and we would have had to go down four flights of steps as once the fire alarm goes off the elevators stop working!  I was in a quandry as to what the heck to do as I must admit this was a first for me.  Do I force her out of bed, just in case?  Do I just leave her and wait and see what happens?  All the while I am beinging tortured by that ultra-loud alarm.

The phone rings and I am sure it is the fire department telling us to evacuate (would they call?) but it is a neighbor who keeps a look-out for her and he isn’t sure if there is an actual fire somewhere or not.  He thinks the alarm has been going for more time than it should.  Oh great! And to make matters a tad bit hairier, he is talking on his cell phone and I am only getting every fifth word as he is breaking up and he decides it might be nice to chit chat.  I had that feeling that Ashton Kutcher was Punking me and this really wasn’t happening.  After five minutes of trying to be polite but not getting anything he is saying and now I am sure my ears are bleeding from that damn alarm, I yell into the phone, “Just knock on the door if we need to evacuate” and hung up.  By now my ears were having sharp pains shooting in them and I couldn’t put my fingers in them to try to block a bit of the sound as I had to hear if he knocked or if my client yelled for me so I went and sat in the bathroom on the tub.  It was the only place I could go to try to get away from some of that eardrum-piercing sound.  Before I went in, I did notice that the fire department was finally on the scene with their ladder engine (now this was a good 15-20 minutes after the alarm started and the fire department is literally across the street!!!!).  I should have gone out on the porch and yelled down to them, “Hey, what the heck is going on” but I just thought of that now.  I did, tho, have the thought, if we had to evacuate how ridiculous I was going to look in my “outfit” but changing never even occurred to me.  Besides, with my luck, I would have been half-naked when the call to evacuate came and then….oh my, it’s too horrible to think of.  Best I get caught in my ugly jammies and Xmas apron than my wrinkled, saggy, birthday suit!

Finally after a good 20 or more minutes, the alarm stopped.  But now I had the loudest ringing going on in my poor ears and I really thought they might be bleeding.  I can now understand when someone in a movie hears a big blast and their ears bleed.  I have never experienced such a loud, piercing sound before (ok, my grandson can produce a sound even sharper but not for as long!)  Today I called my company to file an incident report as my ears feel “full” and I am having random shooting pains in them.  Can you believe that?  Needless to say, it wasn’t a routine night!



I did something today that I never, ever, do. I went outside. Not on my own volition, mind you. My king was going to mow the royal grounds and wanted ME to pick up the royal doggie doo. At first I was indignant, how dare he ask Her Royal Largeness to actually get out of her lazy arse chair and do such a lowly task but then I remembered that the only dog using the Royal Lawn was my “Curse of the Disobedient Wife”, Madd Maxx. (You will understand his Royal Title when I write my “tail” of woe about him.) So I hoisted my royal hump up and went out to pick up the brown diamonds that were littering our lawn. As I was admiring the various stages of decomposition of said diamonds, a strange thought floated through my brain…..”This isn’t too bad”! It was overcast and windy and on the cooler side so I had nothing to complain about weather-wise and since the King had hired a young peasant boy last week to come and rake, there was very little to actually pick up. I was more concerned about picking up woodticks than doggie poo as the grass had yet to be mowed. Even that wasn’t damping my enjoyment of being out in such lovely weather.
Then another strange thought wandered by….maybe I could pull weeds in my flower garden? What had overtaken my mind? To be outside AND to be working? These words are never put together in my royal mind. I grabbed my tiny little shovel and my pointy-shaped tool and began to hack away at what I thought might be weeds. I could figure out the difference between the budding flower things and the dandelions but the rest of the growing stuff was a crap shoot. Oh well, I was on a roll and so I dug up everything that I didn’t know what it was figuring that I wouldn’t miss it even if it was a flower since I don’t know what is planted where. I used to have a girl who lived here who knew about such stuff and would take care of the weeds. But she now has her own garden and babies to look after so I am on my own. I am going to do something wise this year as the flowers bloom, I am going to tie a piece of yarn to the stems so I know what not to pull next year!
As I was finishing my back-breaking task (all of 20 minutes), my King made me an offer I couldn’t refuse! If I mowed the yard, he would work on my little building that someday might become my tiny little studio/shoppe. Now I had not mowed the royal grounds in years (ever since that same girl who lived here was old enough to mow…why, yes her name was Cinderella, and she did most of the cooking and baking and laundry. No wonder I miss her so much!) but I thought it must be like riding a horse. You know…once you learn you never forget. Oh wait, I think the horse thing has to do with falling off of something….not a good sign as I am terrified of tipping over on the lawnmower. But I was feeling brave. Was I not OUTSIDE? Besides, how dangerous can something be that has a cup holder for goodness sake? So I spent a good hour or more making fun patterns in the tall grass (what….you are supposed to mow in a line?.. How boring.) And I even went up and down the tiny hills and only felt like I was going to tip a few times (there was a moment or two where the royal sphincter muscle was clenched tight). I was actually having fun…no sun beating down on me, my arm wings flapping the bugs away, the smell of freshly mowed grass and pine cones and tree branches (the King said stay away from rocks, he said nothing about mulching up tree branches, love the grinding sound of the blades whacking away at those branches) all I needed to be in heaven would have been some strong coffee with flavored creamer and a way to mow and shop online at the same time! I like to multi-task.

Next time I mow (if the conditions are right…I have already told the King that I will only mow if it isn’t sunny or hot or buggy. You got to set up some guide lines or he will expect me to mow every week! And I will expect a fun new travel mug to drink coffee with while I mow and a bungee cord to strap my ipad to the steering wheel so I can surf the Web) I think I’ll wear my new cowboy boots and buy myself a chic cowboy hat and play some country music on my iphone and pretend I am plowing the “back 40”.

A Queen’s gotta do what a Queen’s gotta do!



I have a bone to pick with all you gals who post giveaways on FB. Almost daily someone is posting photos of gorgeous cowboy boots. Those of you who know me well know I have a problem with impulse buying and by posting those pictures you made me be naughty and I spent HOURS and HOURS lusting after pair after pair of expensive-to die for-boots. I looked at hundreds of boots, thousands of boots, millions and billions of boots. I found a pair of Old Gringo black cowboy boots with multi-colored crosses on them. I had to have them. But I am a savvy shopper and know that each internet shop will have them for a different price or may be running a special or maybe a promo so I plunged head first into the land of comparison shopping. I searched high and low for the best price but even that was way out of my league. The boots were $570 and I could get 10% off but not free shipping (you had to choose one or the other). Now I believe cowboy boots at my age are an “investment” and a good pair of boots will probably last me until I can’t walk anymore and then they would become a piece of art in my home so the money would be well spent. But still…$570…I would have to work a week and a half extra just to pay for them…but dang, they are awesome….buy or not to buy..that was the question. As I was agonizing over my decision, I decided to check out some clearance boots on a site and there I found….THE MOST UNIQUE BOOTS I HAD EVER SEEN! They were like some kind of “cartoon” boots…brightly colored, retro 1950’s children’s book looking. I HAD TO HAVE THEM. And they were on CLEARANCE!!! With shaking fingers I hit the size button….I figured either a 7.5 or an 8 (I could wear thick socks) would do the trick.
Oh my gosh….size 8 is available. The boot gods are smiling on me tonight, I think. I press the Add To Cart button…I am so excited….what’s this?…..the size 8 are NO LONGER AVAILABLE….NOOOOOOOOO. Because I am at work, I stifle my scream of pain and click on the size button again….size 7 and size 9.5 are my only options. I quickly do the math….can I squeeze my 7.5 feet into a 7 or how many pairs of socks would I have to wear to fill the 9.5’s. I am desperate. I NEED those boots. My future happiness depends on getting those boots. But even tho they are on clearance they still are a hefty chunk of change. What to do? What to do? I decide to ask my friend, Google, to see if he can find them elsewhere. Oh sure, he says. Try this site. Try that site. Go here. Go there. Spend more hours searching for those damn boots. I find a pair! Eureka! I will find true life happiness now. Click on size….argh….size 6.5. Search more. Getting hysterical. GOTTA….HAVE….THOSE…BOOTS. I go back to my drug of choice, Ebay. Even tho I have checked and rechecked, I try one more time under a different heading and (cue the Hallelujah Choir…) THERE THEY ARE….IN A SIZE 8….NEVER WORN….AND THERE IS A “BUY IT NOW” BUTTON….AND I CAN AFFORD THEM (if I don’t get my hair cut for six months and don’t stop for fast food and don’t buy the cholesterol-lowering drugs I am supposed to take….I figure if I croak just open up the bottom half of my casket and show off my “kick ass” boots). As my finger is just above the Buy It Now button, it occurs to me that I don’t have that much money in my checking account….and I don’t have a credit card (whole nother blog…as I said, Ebay is my drug of choice). Oh no…now what? Do I take the chance that PayPal won’t deduct the amount before I can get to the bank in the morning (it is now 3am but I am working so I can’t get to the bank until 10am) or do I check my husband’s account to see if I can do some quick transferring of funds? Yikes, not enough in there either. But if I take all of his money and add it to my money at least if I get an overdraft charge it won’t be for as much as it would be if I don’t. Normally I would NEVER do this without asking him if it would be ok, but like I said, by now I am CRAZED to get those boots and willing to risk just about anything to get them. So I throw caution to the wind and hit the button. SOLD to the crazy lady with the wild eyes and equally wild hair ( I took the buzzer to my hair again earlier that day…not too bad of a job…and look, I saved $45 and I didn’t even know I would be needing it later that day…must have been Fate!)
I was in Boot Heaven. Then I got to thinking….WHY would someone buy these amazing boots and not even try them on (that’s what the seller said). Were they not as magical in real life as the photos? Did I just buy a whole lotta ugly? Couldn’t sleep a wink. Kept thinking of myself in my new boots, kickin’ up a storm in some honky-tonk, wearing a ruffled-tiered denim skirt and a scruffy cowboy hat and feeling like Miranda Lambert. How folks are gonna be stoppin’ me on the street to say, “Hey Girlfriend, where’d ya’ll get them there boots”? And I would laugh and say, “Sorry gals, these here boots ain’t available no more, I done got the last pair on the planet” and I would “boot scoot” away smiling a big ol grin. Yup, I gots big plans for life in them there boots.
I did have a mite of a heart-attack today when I saw that I had a message from the seller saying she couldn’t get FedEx to print out an address label. Seems it don’t want to accept my address and I couldn’t remember which address I go by on Ebay cause we have two addresses that we can use where I live and usually either one works but every so often, some computer program won’t recognize one of them and so I have to change it to the other. But like I said, I can’t remember which one I use, so I had to explain to her how it was because many sellers won’t mail a package off to an address that isn’t listed under your name. And she told me the story of the boots, how she had bought them for her granddaughter months before Xmas and the woman didn’t like them one bit and never even bothered to try them on and she waited too long to mail them back (been there, done that, had to give them away). So by the end of the week, the BOOTS TO END ALL BOOTS, will be mine and I will live happily ever after….or until someone posts something else that sends me into Shopping Hell. “Lead me not into temptation for I can get there well enough on my own”!!!!

And now for my tale of woe concerning Pinterest.
I was a hold-out for the longest time. I knew that once I delved into the land of digital delights, there would be no turning back. My already lax housekeeping would get even laxer as I spent countless hours “pinning” away. What I never counted on was being bombarded by the most mouth-watering photos of desserts and casseroles and desserts and meals and did I mention desserts? Now I know better than to go to the Food category but how can I resist when there I am, innocently looking at DIY projects and suddenly up pops a decadent chocolate cake or a chicken cashew casserole. I usually save my Pinterest surfing till late at night while I am working and dang, I get so hungry. I mean HUNGRY. And I usually try to just bring fruit or yogurt with me to snack on but after looking at those photos, I want real food. Lots of real food. I have been reduced to eating a hard, stale protein bar; tasteless old saltine crackers; Hershey Kisses that had fallen to the bottom of my tote bag and had parts of their foil missing and crud stuck to them; sticks of gum that I have chewed and swallowed and a whole host of other foraged tidbits all because some people don’t know what categories to pin things. If you are one of them, for the love of all that is good, have mercy on me! I am stuck with whatever food I bring and have no way to get anything else. You know what will happen to me if I keep swallowing my gum, don’t you? Remember what your mother told you…I will get a big wad of gum growing in my belly and will have to have an operation to get it out (ooooh, that’s why my belly is so big!) and who knows what germs lurk on my semi-naked Kisses? So please post your food pictures under FOOD and my tummy will thank you and I’ll drop hundreds of pounds, thousands of pounds, millions and billions of pounds.

Or I will come to your house and kick your a** with my new boots!



Here I am once again, sitting on my throne (my lazy arse chair, now even better since hubby bought me a “comfort cushion” to sit on…I call it my “cush for my tush”) drinking coffee and reading magazines. As I was perusing the latest issue of “In Style”, I started to question why I read this magazine as I have nothing in common with any thing in it. I am too old, too fat, too poor and too wise to be lured into the advertising, the “how-to” articles, the fashion trends, etc. So why am I wasting my time reading it?

What I need a is magazine geared toward the REAL women of America. The women who work at grocery stores, schools, hospitals, nursing homes, department stores, fast food joints, hair salons, etc. The women who shop at the K-Marts, the Walmarts, the JC Penny and Sears stores. Women who spend the little money they have on others instead of themselves. I want REAL life, people!

That is what I would call the magazine, “REAL LIFE”, and the articles would be written by people who can relate to the average person. I would have articles like:

“How To Get a Great Hair Cut for Under $15”
“How To Look Fantastic Using Drugstore Cosmetics”
“How To Change The Look Of A Room For Under $100”
“Thrift Store Fashions”

“How To Look Your Best No Matter What Your Size”

“Weddings For Under $5000”

“Gifts For Under $25”

“What Men Really Want For Gifts”

“Throwing A Shower Using Dollar Store Stuff”

“Build A Wardrobe From Walmart”

“Grocery Store Smarts”

“Cheap Technology”

You get the idea.  Real information for real people with real budgets.  I want to read stories about how to survive job loss, how to live well on less (and I mean LESS, like $12,000-$30,000 a year), how to buy a good used car, articles on how to fix things in your home yourself.  Yes, I know there are magazines that address some of these issues but often times they are too zealous for the “normal” person.   How can I save money at the grocery store but not grow my own produce?  Save on electricity but not go solar.   Real solutions for real people.  How to have a nice yard but not spend more than $50 on plants.   Family vacations for under $500.  Free stuff.  Free fun things to do within your community.  Basic building skills, sewing skills, baking/cooking skills, plumbing skills, electricity skills, welding skills, etc.  Stuff real folks can do and do as inexpensively as possible.

I want a magazine that will address the “art of aging”.  Tell me how to look my best with all my age spots, and gray hair and saggy skin.  How to get some exercise that won’t make my back hurt more or my knees ache or don’t include getting down on the floor or putting weight on my already hurting wrists/ankles/knees.   I want articles on how to age gracefully and embrace the years I have lived.  How to live in a state of contentment, not a state of more, more, more, newer, newer, newer, younger, younger, younger.

What the heck is wrong with us?  We “baby boomers” are all over 50 now and where is our voice?   How dare we let advertisers and TV/movie executives dictate to us how to live, look, dress, etc.   Where are all the feminists I grew up listening to?  How is it that women over a certain age are discriminated against in all walks of life?  Didn’t we fight for years to be “equal”?   Didn’t we earn the right to be wrinkled and flabby and gray and still be vibrant, exciting, productive, interesting, attractive, wise, intelligent people?

Yes I am 58, a “senior citizen” by some standards but dang it, I am still all I used to be and more!  Don’t you dare cast me aside as old and un-everything good.   We need to take back the world!  Get our “groove” back!  Show this younger generation that we are not going to go quietly into the night.  Are we not the generation that made rock n roll???  And who began “heavy metal” music?  Was there ever a more popular group than the Stones (who are still rockin’ in their 60’s)?  Did Bob Dylan teach us nothing?

So anyone out there willing to start a magazine like that????   There are millions of us just waiting for it.  REAL PEOPLE, REAL LIFE.



I had no intention of blogging today. I was sitting in my lazy arse chair, drinking a mug of coffee and looking at one of my favorite mags, “Where Women Create”. I was reading the editors column and she was writing about the difference between real “friends” versus work friends, church friends, gym friends, etc. and her last line, “…and the loss of a true friend is reminiscent of wandering alone in the dark.”

I lost my closest friend, my soul sister, my biggest cheerleader, my bosom friend, my everything friend back in December of 08. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her, yearn for her presence, listen for her little voice. How many times I wish I could talk to her, to share my joys, to pour my heart out when troubles befall me, to laugh with her or just to sit next to her in that comfortable silence that only truly kindred spirits are ok with. We truly, truly, loved each other with no conditions. We could see each other daily and then go for a couple of weeks and not even talk and it was just like we had spoke moments ago. We were connected by so many common threads that our bond became a cord, a cord that even death could not sever.

So do I, “wander alone in the dark”, now that she has gone on to Heaven? No, my friends, it would be a dishonor to her memory to mourn her. She is where she was always meant to be. Waiting for me. Arranging the gardens that surround our mansions. When I step into Heaven, she will be standing there with her beautiful smile, cup of coffee in hand and she will say, “Oh Robbie, I’m so glad you’re here”! And I will be home and we will bask in all the beauty and the love that Heaven has to offer. My best friend and I, forever, for eternity.