Sign Here Please

Last week, we had our annual "State of the Union Address" at work. It's really an off campus luncheon with presentations, a meal we don't have to pay for and assigned seating. Not a bad deal as it's only once a year - note the word annual - and the food is good. This year, they even added entertainment. I knew this in advance as I was approached by a co-worker who asked for my participation in having my handwriting analyzed. I thought this could be cool. She gave me a paragraph regarding purple people eaters and monkeys that could read. The only instructions were to copy the paragraph as it was written, in cursive, then to sign my name. Even I can do this.

Now, I have never been one to believe in much outside of a supreme being, God, or what we used to call our Higher Power in recovery. I've never visited a psychic, had my palm read, my future seen in playing cards, or had anyone read my tea leaves, my coffee grinds or my bathtub ring. I met a self proclaimed gypsy once in a 12 step program but that's a topic for another time. I was noncommittal about "Psychic Cindy" and quite honestly didn't know what to expect. As the event broke for lunch, the entertainment began.

Slowly but surely a line of women began to form in front of Psychic Cindy. I was meandering around the event and didn't think much of it, expect to notice the men wanted nothing to do with this experiment, until I saw a co-worker visibly shaken. When asked, she told me that Psychic Cindy mentioned her dear departed brother and reassured her that it was an accident. Hardly the type of thing you expect at a work function. This revelation along with the fact that she accurately guessed about two weddings and one coworkers desire to live in a foreign country made me nervous. What had she seen about me in my handwriting sample? Does my handwriting give link to my idiosyncrasies, my insecurities, my inability to choose paint colors, the fact that at this very moment I could use a glass of wine? I decided to see for myself.

I made it to the front of the line and introduced myself to Psychic Cindy - I really wanted her to guess my name since she's supposed to be "tuned in". Instead, she greeted me and told me she couldn't give me the results of my reading as it was going to be revealed publicly, in front of my co-workers. Holy crap! I swallowed hard, got up and walked away.

Fifteen minutes later she began describing "this person", aka, me to the group. She said I was "indecisive right now and trying to make a major decision but was unable to go forward with it at this time". She also mentioned sneakers, which I had on my feet, that I may visit Florida, I went in May, that I had close family relations and speak to my mother daily, which I do, that I may have new window treatments, I had purchased a new blind six days before this event, that I loved sunny airy spaces and like to have plants around. Have any of you ever seen my backyard? She went on to include that I like music from the 40's, not so much, but that I listen to the radio, which I do, that I may have something new in the bathroom. Does paint count? All in all, she was about 90% accurate, which is pretty darn good from someone who didn't/wouldn't guess my name.

Is there a downside to all of this? Yes. I wanted her to mention that I would soon meet the man of my dreams followed closely by winning the lottery - not necessarily in that order. Much to my dismay, she did not. I hope to remedy this by inviting Cindy to my home where I intend to have a slumber party with my daughters, sisters, mom and few close girlfriends. Maybe if I liquor her up, my future will be brighter!

How Low Can You Go?

Have you ever had one of those days? I mean a really crappy day? I had one today. Being as it was a Saturday, it was unexpected. Saturdays are meant for meaningful chores that I don't have time to get to during the week like shopping, grilling out, hanging with friends. Not today.

It all started with a wedding. I was supposed to go to a wedding today for a co-worker. However, I had nothing to wear. So, I got up early - my first mistake on Saturday - and went to the mall. It never entered my mind that today was the day before Father's Day. My wonderful dad passed away 3-1/2 years ago and all of the "Dad's Day" displays just depressed me. I already never have a day go by when I don't think of him and seeing all of the goodies for dad just made matters worse. Boy, did that sent the tone for the day.

Back to reason I was shopping. For those of you that know me, I have an interesting figure. My top is at least two sizes larger than my bottom so I NEVER venture into the dress department. With that said, I'm a "separates" type of girl. Right now, my ass is as fat as ever, but it still means shopping in two different departments. My shirts/blouses are from the women's department and my pants/shorts are from the ladies department. To make a very long and discouraging story short, after making 15 rounds from one department to the other, I came home with nothing. The wedding was off. However, I got a really great deal on pillows.

Next came the guilt about RSVP'ing to an event that 1) you didn't attend and 2) all of your co-workers will be raving about on Monday. I consider calling in dead. And for those of you that are curious, for not being Jewish, I do the "guilt" thing really well.

Next came the guilt about the size of my body, followed by how many diets I've tried and failed at over the past 10 years. This was closely followed by the thought that the last time I was at a wedding, I was three years into a relationship I thought would last forever (it didn't, see Mr. Former). Up next was the fact that I haven't been on a date in almost a year. On the heels of that was all of the things I hoped to accomplish when I moved here almost seven years ago. Instead of focusing on the things I have done, I ending up focusing on my failures and shortcomings.

To rid myself of my demons, I headed to the grocery store with #1 and I ended up leaving, in tears. # 1 was patient and blessfully silent on the ride home. She put away the few paltry groceries I managed to buy and I went to bed for the balance of the afternoon. When I awoke, I decided to give myself the balance of the day and evening for my pity party.

Tomorrow, I promise, will be better. I will start yet another diet and put on makeup strictly because it makes me feel better. I will allow a few tears when I wish my dad a happy Father's Day. I will watch the birds land on the feeders spread throughout my back yard and listen to the sound of my grandson laugh. I will call my best friend and be kind to my mom. I will find creative ways to avoid the almost 100 degree heat we are having and I will focus on what's right with me instead of what's wrong. More than anything else, I will promise myself to say "no thank you" the next time I receive an invitation to a wedding.

Painted into a Corner

So, it's that time again. Every time I begin to get restless, I work on my house. So far this year I have painted my kitchen cabinets (I couldn't afford new ones), had laminate flooring installed in some common areas, and planted what feels like one thousand bulbs - most of which have been eaten by squirrels. I've decided my next project will be painting the downstairs powder room, along with my bedroom. My heart is already beginning to race.

You see, it's not the mechanics of painting that stresses me out. It's choosing the color. My dad was a 30+ year employee of Benjamin Moore Paint, my brother has his own custom interior painting business and I even worked at a paint store in my youth. All of this life experience means nothing when it comes to picking out a color. In fact, it is so much more than that.

Case in point, my powder room is a half bath located just off the dining room. The color scheme in the dining room is blue and white. Do I continue the scheme? Do I go in an opposite direction? If I paint it a light color, does it give you the feeling of being in an area twice it's real size? If I paint it a dark color, does it give you the feeling of being in the lavatory on an airplane? What about art work? Will my current bathroom art complete the look or will I be forced, once again, to find something pleasing to look at while attending to business? I'm beginning to sweat.

When I bought my house in 2002, the master bathroom was a masculine gray. Within a month, it was painted a screaming yellow canary color. Can you say "I'm awake"? The bedroom itself was a non-discript off white. I elected to go with a soft pink, as if to add an exclamation point that my years with Sparky were officially over. It was the first girlie bedroom I had it 20 years. Now, I'm over the pink and looking for something else. So, I stopped by the paint store.

Now, I'm surrounded by color samples with names such as the following: "Ray of Hope" - if I don't choose this color, am I hopeless? "Minty Green" - makes me think of mouthwash. "Summer Dragonfly" - I can hear the buzzing already. "Lemon Whip" - I'll whip your ass. "Captured Moment" - I'm stuck in here. "Vintage Merlot" - did someone mention wine? Last but not least, there's "Rivers Edge" - screw it, I'm jumping in.

I'm not sure why choosing a color is as difficult as choosing a spouse, but it is, at least for me. The good news is if I make a mistake, it can be fixed with $100 and a weekend.

Vacation - All you ever wanted

I recently returned from a vacation with daughter # 1. Although # 2 is usually invited, this was a birthday present as # 1 recently turned 21. She was mid-semester at the University of Georgia the weekend of her birthday so, as a present, I invited her to one week away from the home front. We settled on Central Florida as our destination - home of The Mouse. It seems that Myrtle Beach was celebrating Bike Week the week of our vacation and you don't want to get me started on a biker trying to make off, or out, with # 1 while Mama Bear is in the same zip code.

We arrived at our destination at 4 o'clock Sunday afternoon. The temperature gauge in my car read a balmy 93 degrees. Within 30 seconds of exiting my air conditioned car, I had frizzy hair, sweat in between my ample bosom and # 1 was bitching about why we chose Central Florida. God, I LOVE vacation. We managed to schlep our suitcases up to the third floor and settle in. One hour later, we were bellied up to the Tiki Bar, as I said, she just turned 21. Two hours later, the rain began. It rained, and rained and rained.

I came to find out that the state formerly known as the Sunshine State was involved in a drought similar to the one here in Georgia. Allow me to be the first to tell you that Florida's drought is officially over. I haven't seen that much rain since I left the Sunshine State to become a resident of the "Y'all talk funny State" in 2002. We saw sideways rain, torrential downpour rain, thunder and lightning rain and "Mom, I can see the sun" rain.

So what to you do when it rains the entire time you are on vacation? If you answered "drink" you are correct. Although our days were filled with meaningful tasks like shopping, going to the movies, visiting The Mouse, relatives and playing cards, the nights were filled with alcoholic beverages. We managed to visit the Tiki Bar at the resort, repeatedly, along with Margaritaville, where I unashamedly sang Jimmy Buffet songs out loud, and Howl At The Moon.

Howl was a favorite place for me many years ago. (There used to be one in Coconut Grove). It's a dueling piano bar that has dueling pianos (imagine that), the phrase of the night (which changes frequently), bar specials and lots of young people. It is NOT a spectator sport. Patrons request songs, learn nasty lyrics to favorite songs, sing out "you bitch, you slut, you whore" while singing Happy Birthday, etc., The biggest issue of the night was watching young men attempt to hit on # 1 while I was at the same table. Case in point, I leave to use the restroom and when I return, # 1 has received a note from Admirer that reads "you are sexy" and has a smiley face on it. I grill # 1 to share with me who Admirer is and she remains firm. There is no way I will learn who he is as the possibility that her mom will embarrass her is too great. I relent and send up two dollars to quite possibly the cutest piano player I have ever seen, along with a request for Mustang Sally. He obliges me, I begin to sing and dance and Admirer gets a glimpse of what it might be like if he hooks up with # 1. Needless to say, # 1 and I leave in the company of each other, no one else.

We ended up leaving the state formerly known as Sunshine a day early. With our early departure, I missed out on the opportunity to see an old friend/flame who had offered to give us surfing lessons. Rats! That would've been fodder for another blog.

Would I do it again? You bet. Only next time, we're inviting # 2 to join us.

Laughter, the Best Medicine

I recently ended up in the neighborhood Emergency Room with a wicked case of Vertigo. I experienced "the spins" eight or so years ago, but not to the extent of what I had this time. I was scared, disoriented and puking without regard to the fact that I even threw up on my shirt. My eldest, a pre-med major in college, met me at the front door of the ER. I was happy I recognized her face and even happier that she could fill out the necessary admin paperwork as I was too swirled to do so. She guided me through triage, where we were met by my younger daughter. Let the games begin!

As in most families, my girls have the same two parents. They are only 18 months apart in age, but they live on different continents. # 1 has taken the college route and is all about medicine. # 2 was a teen mom and has settled in nicely to the wife/mother role. It's what happens when they are together that makes me a little nutty.

Picture if you will - a stretcher with a 45+ year old woman on it being rolled into a room in the ER. On this day, there was only a trauma room available. My eldest is physched to be in a trauma room without the worries of a real life trauma. Even though I am having my own personal trauma, this doesn't matter as I am not bleeding profusely. To # 1, it's all about the stuff! # 2 becomes my mouth piece since #1 is so involved in the workings of the room.

Enter the ER Doc. A nice lady who is asking about my medical history for the 2nd time in one hour. She asks if I have ever suffered a stroke. I point to # 2 and say "no" but she almost gave me one a few years ago. Crap! I think they gave me truth serum along the with nausea medicine. Fast forward two hours and now a real trauma comes in to the room the next to mine. A gunshot victim. Yay! My daughters are enthralled. # 1 is listening to the voices and procedures # 2 wigs out because the victim was found in front of a dumpster. And so it goes.

The crowd in my room grows as I am joined by my younger sister. Soon there is a lively discussion over who gets the comfortable chair. # 1 steps out for Wendy's and my son-in-law brings # 2 spaghetti. Me, I'm happy not be puking anymore. We argue over who calls my mom and at what time. (I think they drew straws for that while I was dosing) My sister loses and has to call mom. The night wears on and on. # 2 is on a rolling stool clearly labeled "Staff Only". She has a blood pressure cuff wrapped around her leg and is looking for a pulse. We hear hospital staff coming to the door, she flies off the stool, trips and does her best to look innocent. # 1, along with my sister, is laughing her ass off and I just want to go home.

One or two more diagnostic tests and I have been sprung. No driving, no working and absolutely no having fun over the next few days. Little does the doctor know that with my girls, fun just happens. No drugs are necessary.

Man Card

Today I was approached by a young man in my office who had a question. Not a work related Human Resources question, but a question he said I was qualified to answer because I am a mom. I took his comment as a somewhat convoluted compliment and told him to fire away. He wanted to know if he needed a tetanus shot. It appears that when he let his dogs out on his lunch break, he sustained a scratch/scrape on his finger. Upon inspection, I found no evidence of this so called "scratch" and assured him I thought his need for a tetanus shot was somewhat overstated. He asked me if I was sure. I made sure I answered him - in English this time - and told him again, "no shot necessary". He thanked me for my time, this whole transaction took 10 minutes of my life that I undoubtedly will never get back, then he went and asked another "mother".



Now, I'm not a guy, nor a nurse, but I'm pretty sure I know the difference between a sissy and an injury. Case in point, my son-in-law cut his finger this weekend helping remove carpet from my lovely home (a future Home Improvement blog to be sure). He bled profusely, wrapped it in a paper towel and whined loudly when I insisted on seeing it, as well as putting a bandage on it. That's a injury! Real blood, followed by "it's nothing" and "no, I don't need stitches". Do you see the difference here? Anyway, I think I'm going to call in my employee's man card.



It probably doesn't help that my first job outside of the mall was in a hardware store. At this job, I learned how to fix a toilet (just ask my college roommates), hook up the water supply to my ice maker, repair PVC pipe, learn to tell the difference between a wood screw and a drywall screw, etc., In conjunction with learning these skills, I was ignored when I approached a male customer to ask him if he needed help and he asked if I shouldn't be behind the register. Hmmm.

I am well aware of my limitations in the "man" department. I still have trouble starting my lawn mower (a dear friend of mine says I can't start it cause I don't have testicles to grab while yanking on the string). I needed help replacing my garbage disposal and relighting my pilot on my gas furnace, the whole open flame + gas thing freaks me out, but for the most part, I am self sufficient. My question is, if I have managed to gain all of this "man" life experience, why can't a grown man figure out 1) if he needs a tetanus shot 2) believe me when I say he doesn't? I'm not sure but I suspect it's because my testicles are disguised as breasts.

Hey, I have an idea in regard to starting my lawnmower...

What Day Is It?

Okay, so today is my anniversary. Well, it would be my anniversary if I would've stayed married. I've managed to get well beyond my "divorced" status probably due to the fact that I have been divorced a lot longer than I was married. What's bothering me today is the "alone" factor.

Since my venture into Facebook (see earlier post), I've come to find out that all the really cool men in my life, meaning the ones that actually left an impression, are no longer single. Take for example my first love. Twister. Twister and I were an item in my youth. We had passion, vision and different religious backgrounds. He was catholic, I was not. He was going to heaven, I, according to his mother, was not. Needless to say, the bliss of young love didn't last. I married Music Man, Twister married someone wretched and off we went. The last time I spoke with him, his "girlfriend" from the Philippines was waiting for her US Visa so she could come to the states and begin their happily ever after. Hmmmm

Then there is Music Man. He is the father of my girls and we continue to be connected. He was, and still is funny, charming and able to push all of my buttons without batting an eyelash. He lives nearby and is married to someone I don't hate. It's like winning the bonus round!

Next comes a string of fine men I knew in my previous life. TC, who was dear to me and helped me realize there is life after divorce. A wine lover with excellent plumbing skills, a love for music, and a softy where my girls were concerned. He's married. K-man, (see TC), a true friend who showered me and my girls with green carnations on St. Patrick's Day and presents wrapped in the Sunday Funnies at Christmas. Not married but not available either. Macho Man, my bff's ex, a deep thinker who was whip smart, a foodie and music lover, but not always compassionate when he needed to be. Not married but soon to be a father. And of course, Mr. Former. Do you see the pattern here?

I'd hate to think these men left an indelible impression on me without me having returned the favor. I know some of my finest moments were spent in and around their company. I have friendships, at least surface friendships, with all of them. My life is better having known them and I would like to think they feel the same.

So why is it that they, with all of their faults, are halves of a whole, peas in a pod, ying to the yang when I am alone? Just something for me to ponder on this noteworthy day.