Veggie Might

I guess I have a routine when I get dressed and undressed; I just never realized it. This morning, I was out of routine and made the mistake of sitting down with my shirt off. Wow. Yikes. What was all this? I had no idea I looked pregnant. When did this happen? Is this where my 30 lbs has been lurking? My doctor's scales and my gyms scales weren't lying? I decided that I definitely had to start taking this thing seriously.

Tonight, after dinner, I decided that it would be TV time and healthy snacks. I started toying with the idea that maybe I should just eat vegetables for a while until I dropped some weight. I decided to get my Betty Crocker on and settle in to some home cooked vegetables...actually I don't guess it is plural since there was only one vegetable (mashed potatoes). 

As the time and the TV rolled along, and all my shows were over, I had made my way through three cereal bowls full and they were all delicious. I am pretty sure that with this new commitment to veggies that I could feel the fat cells dying off. My stomach actually felt a bit tight (that's how you know it's working). The more I thought about it, if it hadn't been for the turkey sausage at breakfast, the chili at lunch and the chicken portobello at dinner, I would have been a complete vegetarian today. Seriously, I was practically a vegetarian. I identified as one anyway. I think I can get used to this, being a vegetarian thing. All I have to do is add a little meat to it. This weight loss plan just might work.

Warning: Train Wreck Ahead (PG-13)

I had an interesting encounter last night. I was taking one of those continuing education classes last night, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzfest, and there was a young girl in the class that looked just like girl I went to college with. I knew it was random, but I asked her if it was possible that her mom was my old acquaintance. She told me that her mom had not gone to my college but to a Nazarene college. As a matter of fact, the girl had been raised Nazarene also. Then the conversation went weird and I am not exactly sure what all was said. Let me start by describing this girl. She was in her early twenties and beautiful. She has beautiful skin, big blue eyes and long golden blond hair. She was petite....well, most of her was petite. She kind of reminded me of the pole with warning lights at a train track intersection. Sorry,but that was the overall shape. She also had a nervous bounce to her as she talked, kind of like a nervous tick , a nervous tick with a purpose.

 She announced to me that she had recently moved here from Miami where she had worked in a big, 24 hour strip club. “Yep, all nude, all day...24/7. That's where I worked; I loved it, great money”. Suddenly her “warning-lights-pole-at-a-train-track” alliteration made sense. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where to look. I have no idea what else she said but fortunately and uncharacteristically, my mouth stayed shut as my mind wondered.

 I don't know why I was suddenly feeling protective of my old friend that wasn't my old friend but all I could think about was what happened to her money while she was dancing. I mean, if she was buck naked and people were tipping her, did she wear a garter to hold the money? Would they just throw money on the stage? If they threw money on the stage and she did some kind of cartwheel or big spin or something and she were to knock some money off of the stage would people steal it? Would they put it back up on the stage and pretend it was their tip? What happened after she was finished? Did she have to grab a broom and a dust pan and sweep all the money up? That wouldn't be attractive. Wouldn't that leave here with dirty money mixed with glitter? That just didn't sound sanitary at all. Did they have somebody do all this for her after her “routine” and did she have to tip them out at the end of the night? Did they sweep up and ever secretly hide some of it and not give it all to her? 

My brain was exhausted trying to figure it all out while blurring out the reality of the profession of the girl standing in front of me talking, bouncing up and down as she talked , wearing a t-shirt so thin that it left about as much to the imagination as a Saran Wrapped Butterball turkey. Then it happened, she stopped talking. I have no idea what she had been saying. She might have just told me where she was now working or that her dog had just died. I had no idea so I didn't know what to say. I just looked at her and said, “So your mom went to a Nazarene college and you....wow... don't guess she saw that coming!” I knew that didn't come out right and might have sounded insulting and as her golden silky hair was catching the sunlight, I said, “ I would love to feel of your hair.” What? Now, remember, I used to be a hair stylist, so I do appreciate a good head of hair. She stepped back and like a reflex, replied, “No touching”. Wow, that sentence popped out of her mouth like it was something she said every day. 

She looked at me like I was some creepy guy old enough to be her dad, asking if I could run my fingers through her hair....oh wait. It was then that I knew my brain wasn't working properly, I was out of my element and that I needed to exit. If I had just kept my mouth shut I would have never known any of this. How do I get myself in these situations? I know there are people out there that have that five minute introductory speech memorized that allows a quick and painless exit in stranger situations and maybe I should work on one, but as for now, I just have awkward moments and bad responses.

Masked Identity

Hannibal Lecter has joined my gym. Seriously, I'm pretty sure it's him. I was just in the locker room minding my own business, and I looked over and the guy beside me was putting on a gas mask....a gas mask. Did he know something that I didn't know? What was in his gym bag? Was this Jihad Joe? I tried not to stare but I mean, come on. All I knew was that I was going to keep my eye on that guy and if he suddenly left the gym, I was following him. I also was watching to see if he tried to whisper something into someone's ear. I didn't trust that guy.

I considered the possibility that it was some kind of high end device for elite athletes but no...this was no triathlete, this was not a navy seal, no, this was someone that had just gotten up off the couch from playing Atari and grabbed his latest Amazon purchase and headed to the gym....or he was Hannibal Lecter, Jihad Joe, or Harry Halitosis.

I watched him like a hawk, waiting to see if he would drop some kind of smoking bomb and run for the door or motion somebody over to whisper something and leave me to watch the blood spatter. How would I get over that? I watched and waited and blame him for my lack of feeling the burn that day. He didn't do anything suspicious....other than workout in a gas mask. He just worked out in his gas mask and went home.

I'm sorry but ...no, just no. If you look around and you are the only person in the gym wearing a gas mask, wouldn't you second guess your decision? I mean, come on...come on. On the other hand, maybe it is a brilliant plan. After I get used to seeing Hannibal/Jihad/Halitosis, I'll quit watching so closely and then one day , when I least expect it, bazinga! I don't need this kind of drama. I'm just going to start doing isometrics and thigh master at the office .

Weathering The Storm ( a serious note)

In the town I live in, it seems that about every 10 years a tornado comes through and causes some serious devastation. I know the sigh of relief that comes when the weather channels and local news stations show that the storm has passed and how you can finally relax as  you can hear the shredding winds subside. I have driven out to the neighborhoods where the tornado has touched down and seen what is left behind. It looks like a war zone. The overall feeling that most have, is that the worst is over. For those untouched, it is over, but for those who lived through it, who were in the clutches of the storm and lived through the war zone, it isn’t over at all.

They are left to pick up the pieces of their lives that have gotten scattered about and torn apart. Some are left to also grieve someone who might have literally been pulled from their hands. There are stories here of women and children who were pulled by the tornado right out of each other’s hands. No matter how hard they tried to hang on, the storm was stronger. I can’t imagine that.

So many times, this reminds me of dealing with Alzheimer’s. No matter how hard we try to hang on to our loved ones who have this disease, they are going to be pulled out of our hands. Once our loved one has passed, in some ways the worst if over. Yet, at the same time, it is not over at all. We are left to grieve with the one we lost, but must also start to pick up the scatter remnants of what is left behind. Some of these things are physical and some are emotional.

We must pick back up the life we put on hold and pull together finances that may have been overturned. We go through belongings and figure out what to keep and what to throw away. We try to salvage anything good that we can after surviving the storm but all the while knowing that some things that are damaged, can never be fixed or fully replaced.

Alzheimer’s is the thing that PTSD is made of. It leaves us shell shocked and numb. We pull ourselves out of the storm, out of the war zone, and realized that a few years have passed us by while we were waiting out the storm or while we were in the trenches fighting the hardest battle of our lives. We walk out of it with our heads spinning wondering what just happened. We feel the need to want to go back and see what we could have done differently while at the same time not wanting to revisit any of the memories at all.

Some of you are in the trenches right now. Some of you are picking up the pieces after the storm has passed. Just know that this is how it is. This is how you handle it and this is what is normal. No matter how isolated you feel, you are not alone. You will make it through the storm and you will salvage what you can. You will find that you cherish bits and pieces of your life that might not have seemed as important as they were while you were experiencing them. You will deal with the horrors that you saw, the frustration of not being able to do more, the sadness of your loss and of decisions that you made. You will be exhausted from fighting a battle that you knew you couldn’t win or out maneuver, and you will be exhausted from fighting a beast that knows no defeat. You will be scarred; that’s ok. You will have scars that you can perfectly locate, even with your eyes closed.

You will slowly start to take off the armor that has helped you in the battle and helped you keep your chin up. You will soon notice that being on constant high alert took a greater toll than you realized. You will once again breathe, welcome conversation and happy moments back into your life. You will not be the same. You will know that the Boogie Man is real and that there are worse things in life than death. You will have survived and for a while, maybe that will be all that you feel. You won’t forget the trauma of it all but try to. The visitation and funeral are actually one of the first steps that allow you to remember the good moments. Loved ones will flood you with things you had forgotten about. It helps. Remember the one you loved and lost. Think of what they would tell you and want for you. That is real. Give them something to smile about from beyond the grave. Have stories to tell them for when you see them again. Go back and regain life and enrich the lives of those around you. And when, for no reason, you feel the tears well up in your eyes, remember that it’s ok. Love never dies and the loss is always going to be there. Miss them, cherish them and allow them to live through you by sharing your life with others. You will heal but only if you let yourself…make yourself. There is something calming about realizing that you didn’t lose it; you weren’t going crazy…you weren’t just unable to handling it correctly. The fact is, you went through or are going through a traumatic experience. When the dust has settled and you have picked up the pieces to start again, realize the mountain you just climbed. Give yourself some credit; give yourself some time and then start back into life. Make your loved one proud.

I Feel Like a Dip

So….I went to Kroger hungry. I know better. All I needed was a loaf of bread for my toast the next morning but my grilled chicken salad that I had had for dinner was a bit small and I had been running errands and a few hours had passed . I was hongry ! I walked into Kroger with the best of intentions and did my usual fast-walk to the nearest restroom. On the way, I passed the cauliflower, which for some reason, was calling my name. I didn’t even know cauliflower knew my name. I had a flashback of seeing roasted parmesan cauliflower bites on some Facebook unsolicited ad. It’s all I could think about, other than getting to the restroom.

Well, I went back and grabbed that cauliflower and made my way over to the bread aisle. On the way, I passed the international section and a can of fat free refried beans called out for me to buy it, Hey amigo!” I had a flashback from two years ago when I made bean dip and decided it was time to give it another go. As I rounded the next corner, I noticed a sale display in an end unit freezer. I stopped, growing hungrier by the aisle, and ended up wondering down the aisle beside it that was featuring frozen breakfast sandwiches. That still sounds gross, even just typing it, but they were made my Lean Cuisine , so I was basically investing in a weight loss plan for better health, in one purchase. I got two boxes. I was so excited about my new healthy fast food find inside a grocery store, that I went ahead and got in line to pay. I completely forgot about the bread. I walked out of Kroger with two boxes of healthy, frozen turkey sausage/egg white sliders, a giant head of cauliflower and a can of fat free refried beans. I am a power shopper.

I got home and immediately attacked the cauliflower, no recipe needed, and cooked it . It smelled heavenly. Twenty minutes later, I was watching The Walking Dead and eating cauliflower…not the best combo in the world. Before I knew it, I was viewing the final scene, watching one of my favorite characters look as if he was being eating alive by zombies (those zombies don’t know it but they are going to be hungry again in an hour) and all my cauliflower was gone. How did I fit an entire head of cauliflower inside of me? I mean seriously. I had just twenty minutes earlier been holding it in my hands. It was deeelish but, I’m not going to be craving cauliflower for a while.

The next morning, after eating my rubber breakfast sandwich, I went ahead and made the bean dip in a large Pyrex bowl, to save for later that night. Well that night, I got all fired up to try it and got it out of the fridge. I sat the large Pyrex bowl down on the counter and got out a cereal bowl to dish a little out. I sat there and looked at that Pyrex bowl, then looked at the cereal bowl, then back at the Pyrex bowl and I had to just stop and ask myself, “Who am I kidding?” I put the cereal bowl away stuck the entire Pyrex bowl in the microwave. I grabbed the piping hot casserole dish of bean dip, a bag of Tostitos scoops and settled down in front of the TV. I had somehow accidentally recorded Dancing with the Stars, and before I knew it, someone was being voted off and the bean dip was gone…it was delicious.

I have got to stop these after dinner ….dinners. What is the deal? Is it the cold weather? Also, when will I learn not to go to Kroger after dinner on an empty ….with a hungry brain (they say it takes 20 minutes for the stomach to tell the brain it’s full)? All I know is that if I kept my pantry stocked and knew how to cook, I would be in trouble.

Exotic or Expired?

It all started with the desire to eat healthy. I went out to eat last night with the distinct plan of ordering a salad. I didn’t order a salad but I was still “good”. I ordered something called a “skinny burger”. How could I go wrong, right? It was actually a grilled turkey burger and even though there was cheddar involved, it was still a turkey burger. “Have you ever seen a fat turkey?” I asked myself as sort of positive confirmation on my decision. Then it hit me, yes, yes I have seen a fat turkey. Every turkey I have ever seen in my entire life has been fat….as a matter of fact, I think that is where the term “butterball” came from. Entire holiday feasts center around a big overstuffed fat turkey. Anyway, it was delicious and huge and I left there feeling a bit like a butterball turkey…still, it was a skinny burger.

I headed straight to Kroger to stock up on skinny food and diet green tea. That was the plan and I was determined to stick to it. I left Kroger with a five pound pork loin, a bag of potatoes and a dream. I had a dream of waking up the next morning in a house filled with the aroma of having someone who knows how to cook, living there. I had no recipe, or back knowledge, just a dream and raw materials.

I fired up Crockzilla, who got way too much sleep this winter, and corralled my “fixins”. I lined Crockzilla with some olive oil and a little water. Next were lots of green beans, red skin potatoes cut into big chunks, some chicken bouillon, and a sprinkling of French onion soup mix. Next I lowered the pork loin on top off all this, like a sacrifice, cut it open down the middle, stuffed it with garlic cloves, Dijon mustard, honey butter, black pepper and garlic salt. I covered everything with mushrooms cut into big chunks and gave everything another sprinkle of pepper and garlic salt. Then I slept.

I woke up this morning to a great smelling house. I loved it. They should make home cooking scented candles…dibs!....I call dibs on this idea…it’s in writing and I have witnesses. Anyway, I didn’t have time to try it until I ran back home tonight and grabbed a quick bite before having to leave again and I am not sure what the heck I created. The meat was very tender. It was kind of good…in a way. It tasted like something between a dish you would get at an foreign restaurant that had that one exotic spice that you just couldn’t quite put your finger on but you were sure it was an acquired taste and that you should probably like it , and between something, that if you were served that dish at the Cracker Barrel, you would send it back and say, “Honey, something in this dish has gone bad.” Do you know what I mean? That flavor that is riding that fine line between exotic and expired? That flavor was the overall taste of the entire Crockzilla creation.

I will go home and try it again over brown rice. Rice is the peacemaker of many an over-seasoned/exotic dish. I think it will be fine and maybe even delicious, once I calm it down with brown rice. I am not sure how all this plays into my new idea of eating healthy but at least it was ‘ho-made. That’s a start. If you are trying to reach me tonight, forget about it; I’m busy. I’ve got some candles to make!

Tingle

I never know what I am going to run into at work. There is a guy who has come out here several times now and has told me he has divorced parents that don’t realize they are 80 and need homes with no upstairs. Well he came back in the other day with his mom. He had mentioned before that she was a force of nature ….and he was right.

At first glance, she was a sweet little lady with short gray hair and a nice big smile. Well, it didn’t take long to realize that her engine was running hot and she was fueled by some boundless source of energy. She never stopped moving. She was full of it. She was very friendly and animated and I kept feeling guilty for thinking that she was occasionally giving me “that look”. Shame on me! She’s was just a friendly little “Nana”, trying to be nice and my brain was trying to make something suggestive out of her kindness and smiles….and glances…and stares.

After looking around for a while and talking for about an hour on every subject you can imagine (all the while her energy level never dropped) her son asked his mom, “So do you like this?”. The mom walked over to me, stood by my side and slipped her arm into mine. It was that arm hold that you use when you escort someone down the aisle at a wedding; that arm hold. She looked at her son and said, “I’ve found what I like right here” and looked up and gave me a big smile. Her son got a bit embarrassed and said to me, “Oh yeah, my mom has a thing for younger men.” She looked up at me and said, “Yes I do! Oh yes, I certainly do.”  Then she looked up at me again, gave me a big smile, followed by a serious look (time stood still) and then another big smile. 

Wow! I was just called a “younger man”! I could have adopted her son right then and there! What a great guy. He was awesome. Anyway, once that compliment wore off and I was back to reality, still in “wedding arm hold”, I felt myself start to squirm a bit and before I knew it I was the cat in the Pepe’ Le Pew cartoon and I had slithered out from “Nana’s” talons.

I tried to laugh it off and get back to business. We sat at my desk talking shop, and she just kept giving me that “look”. I felt like a steak in the display case at the Chop House. It wasn’t long before she has worked her way around my side of the desk and was standing beside my chair. She started showing me pictures of her home. It was a really big home and beautiful. Her son said, “You should see her bedroom; it’s huge!” That was pure octane to his mom’s ever running engine and she quickly added with a coy smirk, “You should come over after you get off of work. I’ll show you everything.” (Accentuate that last word).

...--… 

Oh my word, on the outside I was calm but on the inside I was screaming, “I don’t want to see everything!!!!” Geez oh Pete and holy Moses, where is a good rapture when you need one? I was ready to go!

How do you respond to that? I mean really. I have no idea what I said or more importantly what my face said. All I know is that I didn’t take her up on her offer to “see everything” and she left. She left without her son. I was hoping they drove separately (they did) and then he stayed for about another hour talking “family dynamics”.

I drove home rethinking my day with the mixed sensations of the tingle from being called a young man and the tingle of my skin crawling from being hit on by someone my mom’s age. That’s a lot of tingle. That was an awesome house though…really awesome. I got home, went to my room, and dusted off my bucket list. I didn’t add to it, I erased something. I erased “talk to a financial advisor”. I have a whole new retirement plan.

# trophyhusband

# cougartown

You Don't Know Jack

Last night the International Folk Festival had a going away party for all the groups. I had only met a few of the people but wanted to go and enjoy the comradery. I found out it was going to be way out in the country at a type of gathering place/community center but no one I knew had ever been there so I cranked up the GPS and headed out for a great adventure. The friend of mine that had “invited” me called to ask if I could stop and grab a bottle of Jack Daniels for one of the groups. They like to take these groups to the distillery for a tour and Jack Daniels becomes of favorite “local brew” every year.

I stopped and got a big ol’ bottle and headed to the country. As I got further into unknown territory, I had to keep a close eye and ear on my GPS. The radio was off, it was raining and I was focused. .6 miles…, .4 miles,….. .2 miles….and there it was. It was sitting off the road, a large non-descript off white building with a parking lot in front of it. The lot was only about half full and I was pretty sure I was just a bit early and had beaten my friends there. I had the hardest time getting up the nerve to go on in by myself but I am just not always ready to wing it in social situations. I decided to go ahead though, as nature was calling, so with one hand holding my umbrella and the other hand holding a bottle of Jack Daniels, I walked up to the front door. The large, plain double doors had tall skinny transom type windows on each side, giving me a glimpse of lots twenty somethings (probably the Germans) standing in the foyer. I opened the door and got my umbrella situated and looked up as everyone was looking back at the newest arrival. I let out a big Jerry Seinfeld “hellooOOOooo”. They responded with a normal “hello” and then there was about a second of silence. It hit me that maybe “hello” was the extent of the group’s English so I held up my bottle and said, “I’ve got Jack Daniels!!!” I was anticipating cheers but instead I got crickets…silence…deafening silence. Everyone went to “dead pan face” and they all just looked at each other and then back to me. Someone emerged from the back of the crowd and parted them like Moses did the Red Sea. It was a man in full length black robe priest gear sporting a large gold cross around his neck. “May we help you?” he asked.

Oh jeez, oh jeez, my brain was firing on all pistons trying to figure out what was happening and how to get out of it all at the same time. Nature quit calling and hung up and phone. All systems except brain function, were put on hold. I could hear my brain mapping out the crime scene and trying to do an investigation, damage control, hostage negotiation, media spin and  form an escape route all at the same time. In my meekest voice I asked a question that I already was afraid I knew the answer to, “Is this where the Folk Festival party is?” The black robed man informed me that I was incorrect and that I had just walked into the entrance of an Orthodox church and that vespers were getting ready to start! “Houston we have a problem………ground control to Major Tom….Jesus take the wheel”, said my head, but I was momentarily silent. I lowered my growing bottle of Jack Daniels and said, “I am so sorry, I am in the wrong place. I’ll just take this (shaking my bottle) and go. Sorry. Nice to meet you; have a good night”…I couldn’t shut up and they couldn’t stop staring at the crazy man that walked in waving a bottle of hooch in a church. I did everything but moonwalk out of that place.

A lady walked out with me and informed me that their church sign had blown down some time back and that they had not replaced it yet. She then invited me to come back if I was needing a church home. I thanked her quickly popped open my umbrella and headed to my car in the rain, gripping that Jack Daniels bottle like I was trying to strangle it.

Yes, I found the right location; it was about 200 yards away and we all had a good time. I have no idea where that bottle ended up last night. It’s possibly on foreign soil by now. I wish I was. I’ve never taken Jack Daniels to church before much less shaken in it up in the air for all to see. I can’t imagine what they were thinking as we stood there during our “moment of silence”. Heathen….I was a heathen, I felt like a heathen and I am pretty sure that’s what the sermon that night turned into, “Heathens in our Midst”. I’ll bet they burned all kinds of incense in that place to cleanse it after I left.

How do I get myself into these messes? Better yet, how do prevent them and/or get myself out of them? It’s really like cold water to the face for the brain. It definitely woke me up and blew the rust off of a few more synapse. What can you do? I mean really, what can you do? Funny, when I pulled into the correct facility, my GPS said, “You have arrived at your destination”. Note to self, always wait for that validation from GPS. If you don’t know where you are going then you can’t assume you are there just because you feel like it.

Getting Sauced

It's seems like everybody I know has
been talking about this hot sauce. There is even a commercial with an
old lady on it that says she puts it on everything. So, the other
night, I made a late night run to Kroger while I was hungry. Thirty
minutes later I was sitting down in front of the TV with a bucket of
pasta before me . I slathered on the Sriracha and Parmesan cheese and
was starving. It was  like a one man pasta eating contest...and I was
winning.



I was, I don't know, mid-bucket and I
suddenly came to the realization that my mouth was on fire. My taste
buds were numb, my gums were throbbing and my lips were growing....or
at least they felt like they were growing.



As I sniffled and wiped back the tears,
I wondered why in the world people like hot and spicy food. I've
never been a fan of it but for some reason, at that moment , with
half a bucket of flaming pasta staring at me, daring my fork to make
a move, I became a fan. I'm not sure what that was all about but
adding that layer of zing to the food, somehow appealed to me for the
first time.



I'm afraid that I am now addicted to
that inferno sensation and I  want to add it to everything.
Fortunately , I have a limited cooking knowledge so it I just going
on pasta. I think later on this summer, when I figure out how to put
a grill together, I'll make some kind of fresh off the grill fake
burger and add some of this sauce to it. My fear is that I am going
to find it is made out of some toxic chemicals, crack, Sudafed or
something and then take it off the market . I finally get “feel the
burn”.  No more need for the gym, I've got all the burn I could
ever need in a bottle. It even makes me sweat...and I don't mind. I'm
not too worried though. I am almost withing walking distance to an
Asian market that sells dehydrated endangered sea creatures in clear
plastic bags. I am pretty sure I will always be able  to order a case
of sauce from them.


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Proud Peggy Keep on Rolling

Wouldn't you know, after talking about
assumed names at Starbucks, that I would have “an incident”.
Yesterday I went to a Starbucks (location to remain secret) and used
my usual fake first name of “Perry”. I like that name and that is
how I am referred to at that location. It's not that far off, much
closer to my first name that “Ray Ray Crackson” that is used in
other locations. So, I sat there in the always crowded coffee shop,
waiting on my “heaven in a cup” and I heard the barista call out
name after name and I watched people react like they had just won the
lottery when they would hear their name called. Then it
happened...the incident...I heard him call out,
“Peggy..................Peggy......................Is there a
Peggy..............”? Well no one jumped up to claim their brew and
we all started looking around at each other wondering if the real
Peggy was going to stand up? Had someone forgotten their fake
identity name? I could see people looking and searching and we all
had that, “Who's Peggy? Where's Peggy? Is she in the bathroom? Is
Peggy wearing earphones? Is she hearing impaired? What's the deal
with Peggy? Why is she so slow?” look on our faces.



There was no Peggy.



Then, the barista called out the order
and I immediately knew that it was mine. I jumped up and let out an
“Oh!” and hopped up to the counter while all eyes were on me. I
let the guy know that my name was actually, at this Starbucks
location, “Perry”. He looked at me and the writing on the cup and
said, “Whatever” and walked off. REALLY? Did he just “whatever”
me? Did he have no customer service training? I don't know why but it
shook me up. I stopped myself from acting insulted and decided to not
let his rudeness ruin my frozen chocolate coffee experience.



It's times like this that I sometimes
miss what is important. All I could think about was the “whatever”
when what I should have been doing was thinking about turning around
and addressing the crowded room of caffeine addicts who were trying
to get their buzz on, and letting them know that my fake first name
was Perry, not Peggy. That never entered my mind until I drove off.
No,instead,  I grabbed my Peggy-shake, turned around at the counter,
held my somewhat insulted head high and walked out the door (like any
proud Peggy should do).



So, as I drove down the interstate, it
hit me that  I had just left a room full of people sitting there
thinking that they had just met a slow reacting guy named “Peggy”.
They may be thinking I am in “transition” as my hair is a bit
long right now. I can only imagine their version of the story. There
is no need in going back to try to explain; it will be a different
crowd. I think I will just stay away from that location for a while.
FYI, the Peggy-shake was delicious.

Drafted

I am not sure if everyone's days are like mine, I'm sure they are, but yesterday I found myself at a lunch for about 250 people and most of them were women. Everyone was seated and I was up at the front of the room and bent over top pick something up. All of the sudden I felt something pop. It's an odd sensation that is impossible to describe but if you have ever had this happen to you then you will know exactly what it is when it happens. There was the pop and then the gentle breeze. I had been drafted...aka, my pants had exploded. I don't mean I popped a few stitches, my pants exploded. From the back waistband to where my zipper begins, my-pants-exploded.

Oh my word, I could feel my pants legs flapping as I walked, enjoying their new found freedom and range of motion. There was no covering this up. You could see my shirt tail, my tail and possibly even a bit of my legs, sorry ladies. I exited. Thank goodness I made the switch to boxer briefs and even more importantly, black ones, as I was wearing black pants. In a flash (no pun intended) I remembered that my mom and her mom used to always match their purse to their shoes and I vowed right then to go undie -shopping to make sure I had enough boxer briefs in stock that matched all my pants, just for such an occasion.

I dropped my breezy pants off at a little Asian woman's house named “Yot” ( her name not the house's name) and she will have them good as new in a day. In the meantime, I may have to ramp up my “Operation Drop 30” . Each day this week someone has given me some kind of pastry. I didn't want to be rude soI ate every single one of them. This has to end ...or my end is going to have to go out and buy all new pants. I hear those Blue Diamond Gussett's are pretty sturdy. I may have to invest. For right now, I'm off to find more boxer briefs in black, gray, khaki and denim colors. TMI? Probably. Useful information? Yes.

Operation "Drop 30"

Operation “Drop 30 ” is official. It started with my weigh-in at the doctor’s office. After having them “try again” as I was sure the poor girl had done it wrong, I had to resolve myself to the reality check that stupid machine had digitally mocked me with. Fortunately, with my giant tonsils, I wasn’t too worried . I was convinced by the time I got home from my appointment, that I was simply suffering from HTS, aka: Heavy Tonsil Syndrome ( a new and highly  controversial diagnosis).

Unfortunately, my tonsils are now deflated and  my last doctor’s appointment included a quick stomp on those stubborn scales; they refused to budge. So this morning, while eating a piece of cheesecake,  I was mulling over the concept that I need to take the stress of my knees and drop 30. It was confirmed in my head and I needed to plot my course. Today at lunch, after my fourth lap around Old Chicago’s all-you-can-eat pizza buffet I made an important conclusion, this plan of mine wasn’t going to start today.

I thought about it with every slice. It’s definately going to take some planning. This may require veggie soup in the spring and more than 10 minutes of cardio once a week. As for my workout plan, I need to do some research and see if the sauna can substitute for anything. I am pretty good at sauna-ing, waterfountain-ing ,lobby sofa-ing and protein shake-ing. I just hope all this effort isn’t going to require sweating. It’s been a while since I’ve done that and from what I remember, I didn’t like it. Pore fatigue is a real thing, don’t judge. I don’t want to stretch this pizza/cheesecake denial thing out forever though. I am giving it three months...because I am a highly sacrificial, commited kind of guy. I’ll do whatever it takes as long it doesn't take more than I am willing to give. Whatever happens in three months happens. I am sure it will be easy.

#breakfastcheesecake
#saunaing

Cougar Town

 I don't know how I get myself into these situations but ooops, I did it again. I have had several people lately make the comment that I need to get out more often, and it's true so the other  night when some fellow co-workers decided to go hear one of our new employees go sing with a band, I decided to go too. It was reported to be that this restaurant/bar was the hot place in the area and that if you didn't get there early, you wouldn't even be able to get in the door. I had a hard time believing that but rushed over there to make sure I had a seat by 7.  This establishment was really more of a bar/restaurant than a restaurant/bar and it was situated in what I would call a non-upscale part of Nashville. It was packed and people were lined up at the door, 20 deep. My friends were there and had a table so I was good to go. It didn't take long to see that this crowd was not at all what I expected. It was pretty much all the swinging singles, 70 and up, from that area. Let me just say the possitive spin on this night was that  the dance floor was never empty and the band was great.
At our table of 11, were five guys under the age of 55 and none with a wedding ring. I now know how the butcher feels that works behind the meat counter and Kroger. Within a few minnutes we got a visit from a group of out of town gals that live in an upscale 55 and up  resort community. I am going to say they moved in to that resort area about 15-20 years ago. They were all very, very friendly.

Our table was right up front, right beside the dance floor. That was not a good choice. We somehow ended up with almost all the girls from  work on one side of the table and the guys on the other. Us guys were sitting right by the dance floor. That was a mistake. The good thing was though, that we had a front row seat to one of the most entertaining crowds I have seen in a long time. It looked like a scene from a movie, I wasn't sure which movie, but it was definately an interesting cast of characters.
As the band fired up some of the great classic rock and roll tunes, the real show began. There was one woman there, that I later heard in the lobby discussing her vitamin regime. I think she sold them. She was a tiny little thing, 70?, reminded me a bit of Brenda Lee, had Dolly Parton hair and very tight jeans. I am going to call  her "Bunny", short for "Energizer Bunny". Bunny stayed on that dance floor all night. She didn't dance on the beat, she danced on every note. She was moving and shaking and snapping and letting everybody in that room know she had tons of energy with some to spare. She was serious, focused and driven to keep that beat and her feet moving. I don't know how she kept up the pace but I have a feeling she might have given herself a B-12 injection in the parking lot and was sipping Red Bull laced with Five Hour Energy. She couldn't  stop moving and I couldn't stop staring. Her hair stayed in place all night.

Another character, and there were way too many to write about, was a woman wearing a lace/doily dress. It was ivory in color and reached right past her knees. It was very nice, like a church dress but nicer. It was more like  a wedding dress... for the third marriage. She was of advance years, had jet black hair the touched her shoulders and had heavy, straight-across bangs. Her face was deadpan...all night. At first I thought she might be a little sad (maybe #3 didn't work out or something) but by the end of the night I was convinced that she had probably spent the afternoon being  infused with a fresh bucket of botox.  I am sure she was having a great time but just wasn't able to express it in her face. I don't think she realized that even though from the neck down she looked like she was in a rumba contest, everything above from above the neck was at a funeral, total funeral face...all night. Her face  could not express the excitement she was feeling from the neck down. It was bizarre. Well, she entered the dance floor pretty early on, all by herself, sad face, wedding dress and all. I don't  know  that she every left the dance floor. I felt a bit sorry for her as I pictured her forcing herself out of the house after months of loneliness from being left all alone by husband number three and now forcing herself out onto the dance floor wearing her last happy dress, the dress that made her feel beautiful, her wedding dress #3. I was so wrong. No more "Lifetime" chick flicks for me.
I am going to call her Sqwerky, and here's why. She somehow managed to clear out about a six foot runway of sorts, right along the edge of the dance floor . That runway also happened to run the length of our table which was also infront of the row for the men at our table. Well Sqerrky was doing a walking Salsa type of move where she would dance and wiggle her way up and down her runway in front of our table, back and forth, back and forth. Her face was always facing our table and no matter how excited her dancing got, her face remained the same, funeral face. Suddenly I was back at the carnival as a small boy. I was holding a powerfu water pistol as a mechanical ducks faced me and went side to side as I tried to mow down as many as I could with my semi-automatic water pistol. I was lost in memory until the live runway show stopped right in front of me and the music kept playing. Squirky stopped and firmly planted her feet, gave her hips a preparatory wiggle, and slowly starting lowering herself. Down, down, down she went, until she had finally squatted all the way to the ground. I couldn't believe what I was watching. Then, she just hovered there. For a moment I thought that she just could't get back up. But as I watched this train wreck, I noticed that she was still moving...a little. I think she was trying to do some kind of twerk but I am not exacty sure. It was, I guess, a "senior twerk"? I'm not really sure what I saw but it was a combination of a squat/senior twerk...aka: Sqwerk. She was Sqwerking. Well she sqwerked all night at various , unannounced intervals. The only warning we had was when we would notice she was suddenly not working the runway but instead, had stopped to steadily plant her feet, thus signalling the beginnnings of a decent.
Not to be outdone or outshined by Sqwerky was a woman who probably had quite a time in the 60's, not her 60s' but in the 1960'. She was very bohemian with long curly wild hair and a short cheetah print dress. She could also go all the way down to the ground but had to take a much wider stance to accomplish it. We all looked away. I kind of thought that in that crowd, squatting down and getting back up was just showing off. So Sqwerky and Bohemian Rhapsody stayed on opposite sides of the dance floor most of the night each doing their thing. I was so afraid they were going to have some kind of "squat off" or something but it never came to that. Of course, I didn't close the place down so it all could have happened out in the parking lot afterwards, who knows?

So I was just sitting there being entertained and suddenly someone with a powerful grip, grabbed my hand to pull me out to the dance floor. It was one of the women who had come over to the table early to check out "what was on the menu" for the night. She was possibly one of the older ones, it's hard to tell once everything had been overhauled. Speaking for all of her friends, there had been some major construction, resufacing, lifted foundations, re-spacklig, replaced parts, you name it. This particular "old broad" as she constantly called herself (just in case I couldn't tell) wanted to dance. I am going to keep this PG and remember that I am in mixed company. We were dancing (I don't really know how) and were in that hold where one arm is straight out to the side (holding hands) while the other arm is wrapped around the other person . I had my hand in the middle of her back. Got it? She was one of those "yippee ki yay" "Annie Oakley" kind of women from the  old westerns and to accentuate her statements, at the end of a particular statement that she would be proud of, she would give a quick head jerk to the right while lifting her chin just a bit .

We danced to some fast song and somewhere in the middle of the song she said, "I'll bet you thought you were just going to be able to put this old broad out to pasture didn't you?" I have no idea what she meant by that and sort of figured it was a standard one-liner for her. I'm going to try not to overthink that one. Well we danced and that was the longest song of my life . Let's just say she liked to keep a good grip on her men. I am not sure what kind of steel support system she had made into her bra but if that song had lasted any longer I would have dislocated at least two of my frontal ribs. Granted not all of her parts were the same age and I do get putting your valuables behind a display case but man, that was just bizarre. I just knew I was going to be bruised the next day. I was "wedged" let's just leave it at that. I had a quck flashback to that movie where that guy was stuck between two bolders and had to cut his arm off to get free. I looked over at our table and all the silverware had been removed...plan B. Near the end of the song, under my hand that was in the middle of her back, something popped. I panicked  and tried not to react. I didn't know if her bra strap/suspension system had just snapped or if her back had just popped. We kept on moving and nothing hit the ground, so I am assuming it was her back and a common occurence. The song ended; it was one of the happiest moments of my life.

Well I drove home from Nashville feeling wierd. I just needed to un-experience that night. I had a nice long drive to detox and think. I had mixed emotions. It was great to see that older crowd acting and feeling like they were in their twenties but it was strange. I felt like I had been dropped down on to the set of the movie "Cocoon"...ah Cocoon, that's the movie. They really did seem to all act and feel like they were young again. I tried to tell myself that it should give me hope. That's when it hit me. That room of people, that is what you get when you mess with nature. That was a room full of hormone replacement therapy patients and men with little blue pills...and alcohol and a live band.  Everyone felt like a million bucks. That's good right? Maybe? I have a feeling that might also have been the perfect example of why you shouldn't mess with science. I think everyone there was on  a hormone high. One thing is for sure, it was entertaining. I am not sure if I can ever go back. If I do, I will sit in the back. On the other hand, I have never felt younger than I did that night.

Personal Growth

Goodbye belt hole #4. It's been great! Thanks for helping me keep it all together. Thanks for always being willing to "meet me in the middle". I know times have been tough lately and maybe even, at times, a bit painful. I am sure you have felt the tension. Sorry if I ever put too much pressure on you.

I'm moving forward now to belt hole #3. Nothing against you, it's just a better fit. I am not sure how long I will be in this new position but with the holidays being right here, it's possible I might even advance to the number two spot.  I can't say that I will never be back; we worked well together and made a good team.

For now, while I am experiencing a period of growth, I have to find a place with a little more space so that I can have room to expand and feel comfortable doing it. Just wanted to leave a quick note to let you know how much I have appreciated all your support over the years, through thick and thin. Really, I'll just be right around the bend but until we meet again, so long belt hole #4.

Answering the Call

Really? CSS (Climbing Sheet Syndrome) at 4 a.m.? I thought I
was going to lose my mind this morning. I am not sure why it is always so annoying but there is
something about feeling the cotton blanket next to my feet instead of the cool,
smooth sheet that drives me crazy. That cotton blanket might as well have been
sandpaper. I flipped and I flopped but I just refused to get up and fix the
situation by re-making my bed. I kept trying to push the sheet back down to the
bottom of the bed, sort of like running in place, only while on my side …and in
bed.

The longer I flip flopped, the madder I got and the more I “treaded
sheet” the more awake I became. Two hours later I was wide awake, irritated and
suffering second degree blanket burns on my feet. Let me just say that if you
ever suffer from CSS, just get up and and re-make the bed; it’s the only way. As
my temper and heart rate climbed it hit me that I had just treaded sheet for
two hours and that was going to count for my cardiovascular work for the day.

As comforting as knowing that cardio was behind me, I still
couldn’t relax. There was just so much noise , so much noise coming from the
kitchen. I could hear my name over and over again.  I knew where it was coming from but I was
trying to ignore it. Before long, I had to get up and answer .

You see,  yesterday my dad’s church had a dinner-on-the-
ground. Last night, my  dad dropped of
the “go-box” he had created, filled with deserts from the church ladies. All
were holy-made (homemade by church ladies) and my selection was a fat oatmeal raisin
cookie, a piece of toasted coconut pie and a couple of slices of Orange Supreme
cake. It doesn’t really matter if it is Lemon Supreme, Apricot Supreme, Orange
Supreme, etc. but it is not a proper southern church dinner-on-the-ground-
unless one of the members of the Supreme family is there. Those blessed items
from the church were calling my name from out of the dark. I could hear them,
calling.  I tried to ignore the calling
but when you have blessed items from the church, prepared by holy hands calling
you out in the dark of the night, you had better answer the call. I answered
the call. It was like a bucket of flavored sugar and butter, divine.  I’m no expert but I think there is some
sainthood that needs to be handed out to some of the women at my dad’s church.  All of this
made for one long sugar-coma day but all in all, I feel blessed. Plus, I
think I kind of liked getting my cardio in early.

Don't You Hate It When: Stalling Out

Don’t you hate it when you are out of town and you stop at a
local home improvement store just to check and see if possibly they carry
anything different from your local home improvement store so you run inside for
a quick inventory scan/time kill, and as you go up and down some aisles you
think you notice a few different things (as if you have the entire inventory
back home memorized) and before you know it you are walking down the shower
stall aisle and you remember that once upon a time you had thought about
putting in a walk-in shower but it had been a year or two since you had checked
them out so you start looking carefully and trying to picture how it would all
look in your bathroom and all the sudden you come upon a snazzy looking corner
shower with a rounded wall and a rounded sliding glass door and you start
thinking about how much space that would save you and you start picturing the
shelves you could build to hold towels, like a spa, and you start to get
visions from every HGTV show you have ever seen on bathroom makeovers and you
just know you have found the missing link to making your ugly bathroom  a place where guest will want to come over
and just hang out so you check the price and it is on sale and suddenly the endorphins
start flowing and your check card is starting to quiver and every thought of
your current shower reminds you how hideously ugly it is and you wonder why you
hadn’t thought about it more so the more you look at this new shower the more
you have to have it but the only thing you worry about is whether or not you
will fit into it so you try to mentally teleport yourself into it but you know
that there is nothing like the real thing so you check it out and the handle
for the door is all the way to the back of the display and beside the display
is a large crate, so your squeeze your arm between the crate and the rounded
wall/door and all the way to the back you are able to grasp the handle and
slide the door forward and open it and without much hesitation you climb inside
and feel really tall and wide so you pull the rounded door back around so that
you are enclosed in rounded glass and fiberglass and you move around a bit and
cautiously go through some shower motions to make sure your elbows won’t hit
anything and even though you are doing ok you somehow have a feeling that this
space saving shower might just be lacking in space and that if you were to go straight
out “full shower” you might break something so you try to start convincing
yourself that maybe it is not such a good idea and if you did build that shelf
for your towels that you would need to buy some new fancy ones as yours have an
occasional hole in them or a stain from cleaning up a kitchen disaster or last
minute car scrub and towels aren’t cheap, at least not the fancy kind, and if
you did all this the vanity was going to look dated and the whole room was
probably going to need a new coat of paint and before you know it that shower
stall is not so appealing so you try to regain focus and when you do you see
people are walking nearby so you decide to get out of the shower before someone
notices you and for some reason that curved door will not open so you slide it
back and start over but it snags again and you feel the panic start to set in
mixed with a huge desire to go to the bathroom so you push and pull on that
stupid curved door wondering who in their right minds would ever want a tiny space
saving shower with a curved door and before you know it, you feel eyes on you
and you look up and there is a little Asian lady, about 150 years old, just
standing there staring at you with her purse dangling from her arm so you ask
her to get some help but she just stares at you as if you were a rare species
at the local zoo being featured that month and before long you have to accept
the fact that she doesn’t speak English but before you write her off and yell
over her head she holds up one finger, the international sign for “hold on just
a second”, gets her phone out of her purse,  snaps a picture of you, checks said picture, and
then walks off shaking her head and utters what sounds a bit like “Thomas” you
are pretty sure she said something insulting so you give the door a couple of
potentially harmful tugs and bam, the door pops of its track and wedges between
the curved shower wall and the giant crate beside it and the reality that you
are completely stuck settles in so you start softly calling for help and slowly
turn up the volume as the pressure from claustrophobia and pressure from your
bladder start to compete for your attention and finally a kid straight from
high school algebra class, but in uniform, walks up, looks at you, says “sorry
but this isn’t my department soo….uh, I think the guy that works in this
department may be on break soo…” so you let him know that absolutely anybody
will do and he leaves and comes back with the oldest living female to currently
be working in a home improvement store in the Continental US weighing in at
just under 100 pounds and she looks at you and tells you the story about how
she too once got stuck in the shower at home and had the door taken down and
put up a shower curtain (from The Wal-Marts) instead, and to this day refuses
to have anything but a shower curtain, and then she pulls out a phone, not to
take a picture but to beep a fellow employee to come help, who is apparently
The Flash when he was not at work because it takes him all of about two seconds
to appear and he quickly organizes himself and Jr. to push the crate a few
inches over so that he could then remove the door and get you out of there
while still maintaining his best training by asking you what you thought about
the corner shower and all you can think about is finding the nearest restroom
and the only thing you are sure of at that moment is that once you get inside
that restroom, no matter what, you are not about to go into a stall and as you
make your way to the restroom doing your best quick step you decide that your
bathroom at home is really not all that hideous after all? Yeah, I hate it when
that happens too.

Shoulder Balls

Ok, I did a really stupid thing two days ago for exercise
and since I only hurt yesterday and didn’t feel abnormally sore, I didn’t
stretch. This morning when I woke up, I couldn’t reach my feet to put my socks
on, no joke. It took me all morning to get my clothes on. I’ve been walking around
like I have a book on my head all day. Mostly, it is in my hamstrings (back of
my legs). I don’t want to be melodramatic or anything but I think the best way
to describe the leg pain is that it feels like I have a handful of ninja stars
embedded into the backs of my legs…yeah, ninja stars.



So what did I do? It’s actually to stupid to repeat….so here
I go. I noticed that a buddy of mine has really increased the size of his
shoulder muscles. He had those huge lumps on his back that I’ve always wanted
(I call it the “back rack). He had also increased the size of those big round
muscles that are on the outside edge of the shoulders. It looked like he had grapefruits
at the top of his arms. I call those “shoulder balls” and I've always wanted some. I noticed that he was
talking about a new fitness program that was really kicking him and it was some
kind of boxing thing at a new gym in town.



Well, I started thinking about it and I have never ever
considered anything like that at all but going into the holiday season already
15 lbs over my limit, I thought this might just be what the doctor ordered. I
went online to look it up and right there they offered a free pass for the day.
It was meant to be. I called and asked about classes and they had a lunch time
class so I signed up. I figured since a lot of people work out on their lunch
hour, I could go there and get lost in the crowd and see if this was something
I might be interested in. Now sometimes I surprise my things a the things I
figure out on my own and sometimes I surprise myself at the things I don’t
figure out on my own. For some reason, the fact that this new gym was named “UFC”
was totally lost on me. What did I think that stood for, “Ultimate Fun Club”? The
person on the phone there told me I would be attending a class called “kickboxing”
and that it was for all levels.



Well, I walked in the door and right up front  was an MMA cage…wait, what? Surrounding the
room were posters of MMA fighters. The exercise area was a big maze of hanging
punching bags. Oh my word…UFC…MMA…what was I thinking? I am so anti all of that
and here I was getting ready to “take a class”…whatever that meant.



A girl behind the counter asked me to come over to her and
hold my hands out in front of her. I did and she started wrapping my hands and
wrists. Hmmm…surely somebody would turn on some zumba music soon and a girl in
bright lycra would appear from somewhere…right? My hands were wrapped and she
said, “Here you go” and handed me some bright yellow boxing gloves, what? I
looked at them, back at her ,back at them and then my instructor walked up and
introduced himself.  He was a young guy that
informed me he was a top boxer and that his hands are legally registered as
weapons. I had nothing. I had a driver’s license, my car was  registered and could be used as a weapon and
I had an alarm button on my key fob but I was grasping. I felt like a girl…and
not in the pretty, curvy, fairer sex kind of way. Plus, what was I supposed to
do with those gloves? Why had the counter girl given them to me? Did she want
me to hand them to the instructor? Were they his?



I quickly informed the instructor that I was new and had
some old injuries,etc. Actually, I rambled for quite a while watching someone
else who was about to join the class putting on his gloves and I was trying to
mask the fact that I had no idea how on earth a person was supposed to put on
those Mickey Mouse gloves. I started to ask if he had any red boxing gloves as
my shoes had red on them but that little voice in the back of my head (the one
that tells you to shut up before you get killed) told me to hush. He comforted
me by letting me know he has quite a few old people like me in his class and
that I could move at my own pace. Wait, “old people like me”?….maybe I would
take a swing and blame it on being new; I had my car keys in my pocket.

Unfortunately, there were only two other people in my class.
Both were younger athletic guys who had been in the class for a couple of
months. Wow, no way I was going to blend in with the crowd or get lost in it.
Since it was my first class, I got one on one attention, the very thing I didn’t
want. Yep, the instructor stayed by my side the entire hour…hour.



We stared by doing things while traveling across the floor
that required some kind of hop. Well, I can’t hop, so I just looked like
someone with no rhythm. We did some warm ups and odd looking moves and then went
into throwing a few jabs and kicks. I can’t remember when the last time it was
that I kicked something, elementary school? When he told me it was time for me
to make some jabs, I was trying to think of something to criticize. He walked
us over to a mirror and we practiced jabbing which is the same thing a
punching, I think. I tried to channel my inner Rocky but all I could focus on
was my 15 lbs I was sporting like a front facing fanny pack in this overly
bright gym. I was shocked but had to look passed the jiggle and focus in my
Sylvester transformation, and in vision my future shoulder balls.



When I was about to call it quits, we started. OMG. I am not
sure what I was doing but I think I was copying the guy in front of me. We
punched the bag over and over and the trainer let me know that I didn’t have to
be so nice to the punching bag which I found to be a very polite way to say, “You
hit like a girl”. I used that insult to fuel the fire and keep on going. We
threw in some kicks which, I am sorry, I just was no good at. I have no skill
at standing on one leg at a time or raising my knee higher than my waist. There
were punches and kicks and my hip flexors were screaming but I just kept going
and chanting to myself, “Shoulder balls, shoulder balls”, I wasn’t about to
stop. We had to do this thing towards the end where we kicked the (body bag?)
with each leg once, then twice, and all the way up to five times and then work
our way back down again. I thought I was going to die. Oh to have been a
marionette. I was soaking wet! Then the instructor, who was still at my side,
announced we were going to do the same thing all over again but that we were
going to work our way all the way up to ten kicks and then back down again. Ug.
Remember, I was wobbly, and sweating and stumbling around like a drunk person
and I am pretty sure that those other two guys lost count. They were finished
when I was just getting ready to work my way down from ten. I guess I was
working at my own pace,right? I wasn’t worried about it until the instructor
told the other two guys to do jumping jacks and squats until I got finished.
Nothing like peer pressure, right? I could feel the heat from their glaring
eyes.



Finally we were finished (and by we I mean me) and we all
sat down…and the sit ups started. I have always heard that you aren’t supposed
to go all the way down and all the way back up again; it’s bad for the back.
Well, that’s what we were told to do and I wasn’t going to complain even though
I was sitting on indoor/outdoor carpet stretched over concrete and was pretty
sure I was about to experience something that would make a chiropractor cry. I
have no idea what these things were called but I am going to call them “tailbone
grinders”. Never, ever will I do those again. My tailbone still feels like it’s
broken.



During the entire event, the instructor was very supportive
telling me I was getting it and even that I was   improving. When it was over, he was explaining
how that everyone that is new is just like me and doesn’t know how to do
anything and looks like they don’t know what they are doing. I think I know
what he meant to say. I was just glad it was over. I had no idea how to get the
gloves or the tape off but I’ll just tell you that if you tug hard enough,
those gloves will eventually come off, especially if you have small hands and
skinny wrists. I think I should have left the hand wrapping on for the rest of
the day just so I could tell people, “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I just took
off  my boxing gloves. I had them on in
my kickboxing class. Yeah…taped up…yeah. My car is registered. I can use it as
a dangerous weapon”.



I used muscles that I thought had died off. My legs are still
killing me and I almost couldn’t get in and out of my car all day. I have a
feeling that tomorrow won’t be much better as new aches and pains are starting
to set in tonight. I loved the class in a way because I was completely shot by
the end of it but it is just too far out of my comfort zone and too darn hard.
I don’t think I would get my money’s worth as it will take a week to recoup
from each class. So, if you see me walking funny this week, no I am not working
on my posture; I’m just sore. I do recommend the class for others though. It
will definitely hit you in areas you are not used to, unless you get into a lot
of street fights; then you can go to the head of the class.  I looked at quite a few pain killers tonight
with their list of all the things they helped. Not a single one of them listed
that they helped kill ninja star pain.

Junk In My Trunk

Today was the day that I officially cleaned out the trunk of
my car. I am not going to say how long it has been since this epic event has
taken place but let’s just say I found a couple of items from early 2013/late
2012 in there. I tend to hoard real estate half signed contracts. They are
those that only one part is signed and then you fax them and the other party
signs them and new ones get printed off…..those. I am not sure why I keep them
but I still have that “paper trail” mentality. I am working on it. Anywho, I
decided that I had too much junk in my trunk (in so many ways) and attacked it
today. For some reason, my handyman neighbor had also picked today to clean his
spotless truck. Yes, he was out there with some kind of special cloth buffing
his truck into some kind of glossy work of art. It is a thing of beauty, bright
red with tons of chrome that just screams, “look at me, I’ve just been waxed!”….like
a Kardashian but without the whine.  I
was parallel to him in my driveway , emptying the contents of my bird poop
covered car. It was almost like we were doing the exact same thing, only
different.



After pulling out tons of unnecessary files that belonged in
file 13, I realized that I still had all the stuff in there from last year’s
Alzheimer’s walk (signsm empty donation canisters,etc) , two folding lounge chairs, two small umbrellas, four gigantic
golf umbrellas (I don’t play the sport but I do appreciate their umbrellas),
three vests, a jacket, a bag of 50 empty plastic containers that I forgot to deliver,  a pair of my favorite shoes that I had forgotten that I
had lost, two thermoses, a half of a sledge hammer (the heavy end), a missing
black sock and a missing white sock, five T–shirts, a real estate sign, a
cowboy hat (gift from a client that I am afraid has bodies in his crawl space),
a mountain of recyclable bags from various events (that subsequently got
recycled into the trash can-don’t judge me), a real estate sign, Tupperware, a
CD of “Two Dollar Hot Dog One Dollar Water” (given to me by the artist
himself), another set of floor mats made out of rubber, a million plastic coat
hangers, a couple of bottles of bug spray, a bottle of hornet spray, a few bags
of things I was supposed to return from Christmas, two boxes of Thank You
notes, a gallon of paint, paint brushes, stirring sticks, a Bagster  for holding up to 3300 lbs of debris (maybe I
should have just driven my car into it), a bottle of Tylenol, a bag of rubber
bands, a few original shoe inserts that have been replaced with fancy shoe
inserts but that I am still not convinced should be thrown away, enough antihistamines
to put me on the FBI’s Most Wanted List, a gallon of windshield wiper fluid, a
cooler, a plethora of  plastic cups that
I have used to bring out ice to my car cup, an electric hedge  trimmer, and last but not least, an 80lb bag
of mortar...and a bag of guilty chips I had put in there last night. The mortar
still holds residence inside my trunk.



My neighbor never said a word. He just kept buffing his
glistening truck. I am sure he was waiting for the clowns to start climbing
out. I just couldn’t believe how huge my trunk was once it was sort of empty. I
felt like I had a new car. I’ll bet I will start getting better gas mileage ,
well, once that bag of mortar gets unloaded. I have no idea what my neighbor
was thinking but he took an awfully long time to buff his truck. I think he was
just silently taking it all in….or filming me. All I can say is that my trunk
was like a time capsule and it really brought back a lot of memories. Maybe I
should invest in a scrap book. If my neighbor could have read my mind, he would
have heard me singing, “Whatcha going to do with all that junk, all that junk
inside your truck?” but as it was, we both just remained silent and cleaned our
cars in peace. Now that the car is clean…ish, I have to figure out what to do
with all that junk, all that junk from inside my trunk. On a positive note, I
have a new/old pair of shoes to wear.

Heeeeey Essential Accessories

 

I went to a track that I haven’t been to in over a year

yesterday. It’s the one where the little old lady always show up before I can

get half way around the track just to say “Hey”. She has mastered this as she

walks in the opposite direction of the flow of walker traffic. I am sure this

goes on all day whenever a man shows up to get his walk on. She lives right

across the street in an apartment and from what I can tell, sits by the front

window, dressed and ready to go.

 

 

 

Usually she show up in hot pants and a really tight t-shirt

or tank top and some form of bedazzled flip flops and three essential accessories.

She surprised me yesterday. All I had time to do was park and get out of my car

and go less than half way around the track. I looked up and there she was,

almost halfway around the track in the opposite direction. As she neared me I

took in the new outfit. She had bought skinny jeans…very skinny jeans…and a

tube top. She might weigh 90 lbs  looked

like a pair of pliers walking towards me.

 

 

 

As she got near enough for my trifocals to focus, I saw her three

essential accessories:   a 32oz cocktail in one hand, a cigarette in

the other and a purse slung over the cigarette supporting arm. She sort of scoots along, dragging her flip flops along the track as

if  trying to scrape something off the

bottom of them at a pace of someone standing in line with a sort of “tail

tucked under” posture. She got close enough to speak and  let out a very deep, guttural “Heeeey” and

that was the end of her routine. I can’t help but notice every time I see her

that I am probably looking at the future of my skin in just a few years. She

has a tanned hide that only decades of no sunscreen and way too many trips to

the Chernobyl tanning beds of the 70’s could produce. I mentally put a “pick up

exfoliant and sunscreen” on my to-do list for the day.

 

 

 

I don’t know exactly where she went; she didn’t go straight

back home like she usually does. Instead, when I was coming around the end of

my first loop, she somehow showed back up again. She must have been hanging out

by the bushes or something. Anyway, she was suddenly walking in  front of me, going the same direction I was

walking in and was walking off through the grass leaving two crop circle-ish

stripes in the grass behind her with her dragging flip flops. I looked up and

noticed something different about her…something very different. Somehow, some

way, possibly Wal-Mart, QVC…I don’t know, but somewhere she had found some

padding. Yep, she was walking away with a bodacious Kim Kardashian /apple

bottom jeans, kind of look. What? It was one of the most bizarre things I have

ever seen on such a boney frame. I was trying to think positive and erase the

image from my memory banks all at the same time. I was trying to think “You go

Granny!” but I just couldn’t. Oh my word, that image is forever branded into my

brain. She really is a character right out of Greater Tuna. The image of that

overly tanned, scrawny woman in a tube top, skinny jeans and bedazzled flip

flops, slowly scooting around that track while carrying a large cocktail, a

cigarette and a purse, who now has “junk in the trunk” is not something that can just go

away…not without professional help. I can’t wait to go back.