Who Says I'm Not Cool?

This is what happens when we stay up to watch Saturday Night Live. We fall asleep during the last half hour and wake up right in the middle of a BRILLIANT infomercial about 80s music.

Journey
Boston
REO Speedwagon
Heart
Foreigner
Pat Benatar
The Cars
The Pretenders

We hopped right on our 'puters and ordered us up some ballads. I've had them a week now and my vocal chords are RASPY from all the bellowing going on around here. I even called my darling Sarah Bella to play Sara by Starship to her over the phone.

She said, "Momma, you're such a nerd." but I could hear her giggling.

I've often said that the 80s passed me by in a blur. I was a young mom, in the middle of the busy years of bedtime stories, baths, lunches, hair combing, laundry, cuddles, cleaning, playing Barbie with "the voice."

But somehow the music was still a part of my life as it had always been.

One time my Sarah Bella had some little friends over. I think she was six or seven? I got them set up to play and made my exit, moving into the kitchen to do whatever it was that consumed my days then. I had the radio on and I was singing away and dancing in the kitchen. All the kidlets ran into the kitchen to sing and dance away with me. I thought, "cool! I can be a fun mom"!

The next day Sarah begged me to never, ever sing and dance in front of her friends again. Ha! She was MORTIFIED! Just goes to show you how delusional we all can be.

I remember another time when my youngest was, maybe, 15. My wasband and I were having a New Year's Eve party and we were part way into the party. Enough into it that my best bud, Reechie, and I were on our way to delusional.

She and I were dancing away in the family room in front of a large sliding glass door. We thought we were lovely visions of coolness. Hard rockin' momma's with style and endless moves.

We did not know that Lorenzo and her band of miscreants were outside of the door laughing their little arses off at our "cool moves."

So it goes.

Who cares right? If WE think we have moves, then by all that is right, we DO have cool moves.

I know in reality I look like Elaine Benes from Seinfeld, but in my mind's eye I am hot and sexy, moving like a rock-goddess.

Rock on little mommas and papas!

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Weird Obsessions?

Yes, my name is Deborah and I love Sock Monkees.

I love how they make both the butt and lips from the sock heel! How clever is that hmm?

Look at this darling little lavender one. The old, sad looking one is Burt. I bought him at a church bazaar (yes it WAS bizarre) back in the mid 70s. He is very tired.

I don't know why I'm posting about my love for the sock monkee. (I think I'm tired and wacky from studying.)

Let's talk about weird loves (obsessions).

• sock monkees
• luggage - love luggage! Train cases are a current passion. And I've never even traveled on a train
• dishes - I've spoken about it here. I have a very hard time passing up on brilliant dish sets. A current craving is for an old set of white cafe dishes. You know the ones. Very thick. Very nummy white
• handbags. Oh dear, I'll have to show all of mine sometime. It's a tad embarrassing though. I have an awesome collection of vintage bags as well
• daisies - I love them. My office is strewn with stuff with daisies painted or drawn or etched. My only tat is of a daisy
• office supplies. I really am a nerd. The most exciting thing about going back to school was all the cool office supplies I would need
• slippers - I have many pairs of scruffs. I cannot walk around barefoot. It totally squidges me out

I could go on until you want to poke out your eyes with hot sticks.

Tell me your obsessions!

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Hot Men Friday

What else can I say?

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If I Knew How to Get There, I Wouldn't Have to Ask

I am an introverted extrovert.

I never sit in the front, I hate going into a party alone, "networking" at an event gives me reason to drink. When I first began dating Pup and had to find him at a golf event and meet his gang of peeps I had what can only be described as a panic attack while getting ready.

Yet, I'm the first one on the dance floor, I sing Karaoke, I can speak in front of a crowd, and I draw attention to myself purposely with what I have always called my "social tourettes."

Example: I worked in a corporate job for many years as a graphic designer/print buyer for a human resource company (talk about a square peg!). Riding in the elevator I would always have these thoughts that would pop into my mind that I didn't always resist. Like the time I couldn't stop myself from turning to face the people behind me in the elevator, or the time I asked in an elevator, "Anyone smell that?" These things that pop into my head are irresistible! Can't you hear them?

In class last night there was a woman who was asking questions, a part of basic accounting that she couldn't get. It was a good question and the instructor was having a hard time explaining it to her. He couldn't get her to see it.

So he came up with a brilliant idea. A quiz for next week on her question.

My mouth opens - don't do it! my mind hollers - but I ignore.

"Somebody kill her," I say.

Twitters from my fellow not-too-far-in-the-back dwellers.

Ha!

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Please Don't Call on Me!

The Scene
Class

I am sitting, as my middle-class, Lutheran, upbringing would have it, near the back, on the end. Not too far back, not too far in the front.

Instructor is lecturing, I am taking notes, I am understanding. Look how convincing I am! I even convince myself! Aaaaaaamaaaaaaziiiing!

He pulls out something that suspiciously looks like a testing board. He keeps calling it a "pretest," but by now my brain has stopped working.

Did he use the word "test"? OMfriggin'G.

I am sweating, I am palpitating. I am flunking.

Oh - that can't be true. I got my name right, although I am pretty certain I forgot to put in my student ID number.

When Pup comes home I tell him about the test. We look at it together. He looks at my notes. He points out how I was actually writing down stuff that was on the test paper.

"I did"?

"Yeah. baby, it's all right here. Look. Assets Value = Liabilities + Equity. You even wrote it down twice."

"I did"?

"Yeah."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Okay, now look at this question - what are the parts of business activity"?

"Uh . . ."

"Sweetie! You wrote it down"!

:::moaning:::

"Can you text me during the real test"?

We both bust out laughing.

Pup asks me, "What DO you remember from class"?

Me, "Well, the woman in front of me needed her roots done."

"Really? You noticed that"?

"Yeah! And I noticed I was the only one in there that was left-handed."

Pup lets out a huge sigh. "Good thing you live with me."

I nod in agreement.


I mean - who goes into a financial accounting class without her highlighter and calculator?? Who?

The instructor did say it could take some of us a time or two for all of this to start to sink in. I believe I might be one of those people.

Meanwhile, I made additional notes to bring in my camera to capture campus fashion. Is this bad?

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They Said It Best Themselves

The Vikings' Super Bowl dream comes to a sloppy end as they fumble and stumble their way to an overtime loss in New Orleans

Rick Alonzo

Pioneer Press, St. Paul, MN

The Saints had taken a 28-21 lead after Percy Harvin fumbled in the fourth quarter. The home team converted that turnover into a Reggie Bush touchdown when a replay challenge showed the ball crossed the plane of the goal line with 12:39 left.

What could make Favre's retirement decision more difficult is that the Vikings are loaded with young talent and had a league-high 10 Pro Bowlers this year. Receivers Harvin and Rice blossomed this year under Favre. And Peterson will be going into just his fourth year, no doubt with one of his offseason goals focused on trying to fix his turnover problems.

As Childress pointed out, no playoff team that won the turnover margin has lost a playoff game this year.

"It's going to be a pill each person is going to have swallow at their own pace," Harvin said of the turnovers. "Even with the penalties, we were still in position to win the game. Even with all the fumbles, we still had a chance to win, which says a lot about this team. But at the same time, we didn't get the job done."

Harvin said the players tried to do too much.

"It was a big game, and everybody wanted to be that guy to make that explosive play," Harvin said.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I guess it's hard when ginormous, purple egos get in the way.
Oh well, Nascar starts soon.

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It's Sunday in the Jungle!

Poor Pup. He is a CPA and from the middle of January until April 15th he is one very busy Puppers working seven days a week, 14-17 hours per day. I am not fibbing.

So I have to find things to entertain myself for for these months. I've started school, I planned a girl-trip to Vegas (yay!), I have lots of projects to keep me busy, movies with girlfriends, shopping with my kidlets. I really don't need much entertaining - not really. Ha!

Today I'm cleaning away out in the other part of the house - away from Pup and his inner workings when
this one

and this one

decide they are bored with me working away and go in to drive poor Pup INSANE with antics.

He kicks their furry little behinds out after hearing me holler at George for frolicking with Calvin while ripping up one of Pup's candy wrappers. It's chaos on a stick.

This is how I found the two furballs. Sad, rejected, and ejected.

Now I'm in the inner sanctum with Pup and the two troublemakers are in their respective beds snoring away.

Life in the jungle is fun. You should join me sometime.

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Weekly Inspiration

I just love this shot. I want everything she has on.

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Hot Men Friday

No one rocks this combo like he did in the day.

Sigh . . .

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Closet Sorting

I am an organizer. A picture leveler. A counter polisher. A floor swifferer. A cupboard neatener.

My girls will indignantly tell you about sorting sessions we would have with their things when they were little. Oh they did not like that day! We would dump everything out, sort through it, throw the crap out, find missing pieces, make piles, put away.

At the end of the session I loved going in their room and looking at the clean, sparkling shelves and rows of sorted toys. They will deny it now, but they liked when it was over (yes! for THAT reason too - ha!) because they would always rediscover a love for an item they had forgotten about.

So it goes with my closet straightening. Constantly with the closet. Constant.

Stuff goes in so stuff HAS to come out yes? I always have a bag I am filling to take to the nearest donation center. Full of things I no longer like to wear, things I discovered I just don't want to wear, things that don't suit me (even though they suited me at the time of purchase color me sheepish), things that I'm just not fond of.

At times I have donation remorse.

When I got divorced a few years ago I was going from a house with a lovely, large walk-in closet to a much much smaller situation. So I edited fiercely. I mourn some of that stuff to this day!

So, this morning, I am in my closet pulling things out and throwing them on the bed. Not as many things as I could have thrown on the bed, but enough. It's all good.

Very satisfying!

Just imagine if I only had one size in there!

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Overheard

Overheard at Starbucks (who, BTW, now makes you pay for their "free" wireless. Grr and ack.

Oh! You must be some kind of master tweeter. How do you do it?

Either the guy being kissed up to is a bird in some kind of weird club, or he Twitters.

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The Club Grunters

Lorenzo (DD2) and I headed with conviction over to the free weight part of our club last night where the grunters live.

This part of the club scares the living hell out of me. It's full of over-muscled men and women that glance at softer versions of the humans they represent with pity and scorn (I could be overstating - ha!).

Okay - but they do look at less muscled peeps with some sort of judging eyes (and they are not even wearing the judging sunnies I need to wear everywhere I go these days). This fear speaks to my state of mind more than it speaks to theirs. Trust me. I'm a fearful girl.

So, we wander over there like we know what we want to do, and we do know what we want to do. We want the 5 and 8 lb free weights to hold while we do some lunges. And we do. It's all cool.

But while we are counting our lunges in our sets we are desperately trying to not listen to the GRUNTING that is going on. Serious sounds coming out of everyone! Red faces contorted and veins bulging. I got scared for a different reason! I thought I was going to have to run and get an attendant.

But no. No one else was concerned about the vocalization going on. What's up with the grunting? Does it help? Is it like bitching about the weather - you just have to do it to blend in?

I kept thinking it was like having a baby in a way. I had two babies with no drugs (hey, it was the 80s). While in labor each time I could feel that if I let go and let the pain take over by screaming I'd never come back. I felt better breathing and staying on top of the pain.

I can't help feeling that lifting is like that. That it would be better for the grunters to breath into their lifting and save that energy expended by grunting and put it into the lift.

But what do I know? I look like this when working out.

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Vikings Country!

Ya, sure, you betcha! We love this man and the Vikings!

On a fashion note, check out Bret's leggings. Ha!

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Overheard

Overheard at a thrift store. Woman on her cell phone. She thought she was all alone.

You heard me right. I tol' him, "I don' put up with that sheet. You cain't have an outside woman and espect me to just lay down and take it."

Uh huh . . . uh huh . . . girl you KNOW I don't call no mens. I do the answering, he does the callin'.

Love it!

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Hot Men Friday

Jackie Warner

She is the woman that can make straight girls turn around.

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School

This fills my heart with fear! FEAR FEAR FEAR!

Whew - that felt good.

I'm registered, paid up, schedule set. This might be the hugest wrecking ball yet.

I'm looking forward to seeing campus fashion. How will I look in VS sweats with my hair in a pony and skinny headbands holding back my hair? Ha!

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The Closet Palette

I've been teased about this by my daughters. You look in my closet and all you see is black, gray, white, and about a million shades of beige. It sounds dreary, but sorpresa!, it isn't. It's what I gravitate to, it's my comfort-hunger. It doesn't feel boring to me. I could be delusional. (Don't you roll your eyes at me missy! Or mister.)
I will refrain from using that PHRASE, (pop of color-arg) but I do like to use my color in different places. The belt. The handbag. The scarf. The jewelry. The shoes.
I just don't like colors ON me. Maybe because I grew up wearing red each and every day of my life because my redheaded momma could not wear red (she thought anyway) so she dressed her dark-haired daughter in red ALL THE TIME.

I still adore red. I do look good in red. I'd just rather carry it on my arm, wear it as a coat, tie it around my neck.

White - I love love love white. T's, puffy jackets, jeans, wool coats, scarves, sandles, handbags, gloves, button downs, sweaters.

Who doesn't love black? The ubiquitous LBD - I mean, come on, how many do you own? I bought two just yesterday (clearance rack! love love love). Black turtlenecks (sexy), black pencil skirts, black leggings, black shoes, black pants, black black black. I'm a graphic designer and I remember once had a talky-chat with a vendor and he said, "So tell me Deborah - just how much black is in your wardrobe?" We both fell out laughing because it is just so true. Designers LOVE black. Go figure.

Gray. Ohhhh my love. So sexy in a T. What is the best color for a sweatshirt? Sweaters sweaters. Dresses! Oooooh gray dresses. Shoes. I have loved gray my whole life. One of my newest fav handbags is gray (thank you San Francisco). Gloves! Mmmmm the gray love.

Beige. Don't jump to conclusions. There are billions of shades. Stone, cream, caramel, winter white, khaki. Millions more I can't think of. I love it paired with white. Handbags in beige! Mmmmm so buttery.

What is your palette?

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Provocateurs

Stolen

pro⋅vo⋅ca⋅teur
  /prəˌvɒkəˈtɜr, -ˈtʊər; Fr. prɔvɔkaˈtœr/ [pruh-vok-uh-tur, -toor; Fr. praw-vaw-ka-tœr]
–noun, plural -teurs  /-ˈtɜrz, -ˈtʊərz; Fr. -ˈtœr/ [-turz, -toorz; Fr. -tœr]
1. a person who provokes trouble, causes dissension, or the like; agitator.
2. (italics) French. agent provocateur. Origin: 1915–20;


Poke the Bear

Beat a Dead Horse

Shit Stirrer

Muck Raker

Drama Whore

Devil's Advocate

It can be power. Sex. Control. Schadenfreude.

What is the motivation? Is it pleasure? Is it control? Challenging? Provoking? Stimulating? Confrontational? Offensive? Insulting?

Some like to toss the shit and watch the fallout. Some like to create drama and sit in the center. Some love being the poker.

Is it deliberate? Is it unknowing? I have to say it's fascinating to watch.

How are you an agent provocateur?

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Over and Over and Over

My family and I were discussing our favorite movies and the movies we could watch over and over. Everyone has one. Pulp Fiction might be at the top of the list for me. This being one of my favorite scenes in the movie.

Also, how hot was Bruce Willis in this movie? An arse like a round, hard apple . . . oh! I think I went to my happy place for a minute. Apologies . . .

A few others thrown around that day were, The Usual Suspects, Caddyshack, Gone with the Wind, Goodfellas, Thomas Crown Affair.

What is yours?

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You're Gonna Do Wha?

I had my first acupuncture appointment yesterday.

I have an ongoing knee problem. Ripped my meniscus somehow after or during a fall while walking my doggy. Had knee surgery. Still have a knee problem. How frustrazione! Grr and arg.

So, on advice from dear sis and BIL I went yesterday. I do not understand acupuncture. The darling acupuncturist was qi this and energy that and release objective. I'm game! Come on and release me! Bring it on!

Here's the most interesting thing, after going over a list of symptoms she asked me to provide, she, in a minute mind you, came up with several ideas for other things that ail me. WTH? I find that seriously amazing. I've whined to a few docs in the past few months about a couple of these things and mostly got the I-listening-but-not-really face. You know that face. The oh-god-she-looks-crap-up-on-the-internet face.

This woman did NOT have that face. She said I was ahead of the game because she didn't have to break through my conventional-wisdom BS barrier. Spiff!

She put little needles (I know! I didn't look!) in my hands, in both my knees, in my ankles, in my feet. She centered a heat lamp on my sad knee, put on some crazy, relaxing music, and left me for 20 minutes.

At first I was concentrating on the weird sensations coming out of the points of entry. A few felt itchy, a few felt heavy, a few felt like they were radiating . . . something. Then I fell into the rhythm of relaxing. Fell into the sensations coming from the points. Loved it.

She gave me a sheet of foods to avoid. She stressed she does not like to say do this and not that because then it becomes a "diet" and, as we all know, those nearly always fail.

Do I look centered?

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Hot Men Friday

Because he's my most recent iPod-club listen. I used to gaze at his exotic face and hair as a young un and get shivers. He gave my dad fits I tell you what. "He's a gad-damn girl for the chris sakes. Why doesn't he get a gad-damn haircut"? Ha!

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Gym Dandy to the Rescue

So, I've been going to the club on a REGULAR basis for three weeks now. The resolutioners I spoke of are out in lovely abundance. I love each of their chubby butts. Including mine.

I am puzzled a bit though dear readers (you're out there I know it!) - the peeps that are on the stationary bikes, what are they doing exactly? Already I've noticed a select group of the same people on the bikes that are reading the paper. Can you really work hard and read the paper? I know I'm in the gender that can multitask, but reading the paper and sweating just does not seem to go hand in sweaty hand.

But there they sit, reading away. Dudes and Dudettes! Just buy a stationary bike and park it in front of your TV if that's what you want to do.

Already I'm all self-righteous aren't I? I have resolutioners fever.

For me - I'm an elliptical girl. I used to hate that damn machine and ran faithfully to the treadmill. But my ortho guy said elliptical and now I'm getting a bit obsessed about it. Quell surprise! Ha!

So I have my earbuds in, listening to the Rod Stewart that was in The Faces, looking around at my fellow rats.

Observations:

1. A few men who suffer from 70s-itis. No lie. Could those shorts be any shorter??
2. Why all the "skullets"?
3. Fellow chubs wearing sweatshirts. Again, Dude!, you'll be sweating here. You're not fooling anyone
4. All young uns are cute
5. Trainers like me. Because I'm a challenge? My elliptical wit? My bright, shining face that is becoming a regular?
6. Lots of machine-jumpers

Love it!

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Cooking with Style

Since I'm whole-hog into my wrecking ball I have been cooking. I've pulled out all my 3-ring notebooks that are stuffed with recipes. I've been going through all of them and editing. Have you ever pulled out some horrible recipe and thought to yourself, "WTF"? Why on earth would I ever want to make raisin custard pie? Shudder!

Pupcake is not an adventurous eater. In fact he eats like a 12 year old. A 12 year old that was never ever made to eat his vegetables. He's number seven out of eight kids and I think by that time his momma wasn't paying attention anymore. I'm guessing Pup's older sisters took care of him and probably let him have anything he wanted to just shut him up. I'm guessing here. ;)

So, to cook new recipes for this guy is challenging. It has frustrated me up to this point, but I finally figured out I've been going about it all wrong. He eats three things - that's just the facts. I don't eat maybe three things. So I've been just cooking. He will like or he won't. Tonight he ate something rather robustly that I feared he wouldn't touch. Score!

I love love love cooking.

Today I made a crustless and sugar free pumpkin pie. Light and fluffy.

Then I made a burger/sausage/rotel/cream cheese panfry to serve on buns. Nummy . . .

Yesterday I made quiche. Tomorrow deviled eggs, zuke appys, and a baked brie. I'll be drinking white wine and watching Gone with the Wind.

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The Resolutioners

You know them. They crowd into your gym, hogging all the ellipticals, not following the rules, sitting their bare arses on the benches in the locker room (true - this happened to me).

They eat and drink like mad the last week of the year then swear they will change now.

They clean closets, clean their cars, clean their minds.

I'm one. I never want to be one, but I am.

As much as it is cliché to start anew at this time of the year, what better time to do it? It's good. It's time. It's the thing to do.

I'm only smug because I started a few weeks ago. Resolutions for the new year are so 2009. Ha!

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