Take a Brow

It ain't always easy being a girl! One day you look in the mirror and notice your eyebrows are slowly taking over your face or maybe even meeting in the middle to form the dreaded unibrow. Okay, okay ... men have eyebrow issues, too, but somehow it seems that theirs build character ... you know, the bigger the better, size matters and all that good stuff. For women? Not so much.

For years I had dealt with mine on my own; that being said I know my limitations and knew I was doing an F- job. They would be too high, too low, uneven, too thick or too thin. I did manage to never completely zap one, though I am sure with my waxing and tweezing skills, and a little time, I could have easily done that! I threw up my flag of surrender and headed to a local salon that had come recommended (by someone whose eyebrows looked great!).

Without an appointment I fearlessly bolted through the door and made my way straight to the receptionist. Do you want a manicure? No. Do you want a pedicure? No. I mean, look at my face, right there above the ol' eyeballs. See that? Yep, it's a retirement community for a happy pair of caterpillars, and moving day is here. Time to thin down, shape up and ship out.

I was quickly taken to a back room, where another patron was already reclined back in her dentist-like chair wincing in discomfort. I thought about running for the nearest exit. It seemed like a doubly bad idea, and when I saw the vat of hot wax, I really began questioning the sanity of my decision. Hot wax on the face? Where did that idea originate? Who was the first person to say, "Hey, let me put hot wax on my face and see what happens!!" They had to be drinking. There is no other way.

Anyway, I managed to give in to my 10-second internal pep talk and throw myself into the chair. The good thing is that with a procedure like this, it's perfectly acceptable (and likely encouraged) to close your eyes. I did so without hesitation. Things were going pretty good; I was beaming with pride at how brave I was! I mean, what's a little brow pain when you've had two kids naturally, no luxurious epidurals? Things were wrapping up, then my tiny waxing technician dropped the big bomb on me by saying, "Would you like me to wax your mustache?" WHAT MUSTACHE? Enough was enough for the day. I had to go home and regroup, deal with the emotional trauma that not only did I have hairs plucked and waxed off my face, I also had a mustache.

Getting old and growing hairs in all the wrong places is not what I would call a fun time, but I think I've got a few more good until I get confused for a sasquatch.

That's all for today! Enjoy the day and kick some butt!

Cin

Boxes and Boxes

The other day I rented and actually watched the movie Boyhood. Since this isn't a movie review blog, I'll spare you all the details about the movie, but suffice it to say, there was a line in the movie that pretty much summed up my life as of late: "You spend the first half of your life getting stuff, and the second half of your life getting rid of it." AMEN, sister!

WHY WHY WHY do we save the things we do? What makes us do that? Don't look for me to answer that ... I'm asking  YOU! I think our intentions are good. We pack our favorite work coffee mug in a box the day we leave the job. But why save it when we probably have a dozen other (better) coffee mugs at our disposal? We carefully pack away the 953rd finger-painted drawing from our kid, one that looks exactly like each of the 952 drawings that came before it. Why? Most of it is sentimentality, I'm sure. It's like there is a flood of memories that will come rushing into our head when we touch that mug, or peruse that painting. Problem is, the more miles we tack on the ol' life odometer, the more boxes we accrue, and the heavier these boxes become.... and you know, cardboard doesn't last forever!

If it's not obvious by now, yes, I'm in the middle of a big cleaning project; the attic to be exact. And while it might seem that there are boxes filled with books, baby clothes, old TVs and broken Christmas lights up there, what I am dealing with is an attic full of regret ... regret that I went through a decades-long pack rat phase and have to pay the piper now. One way or the other, the attic has to get cleaned out, and now is the time. I'm not getting any younger, so while I still have a trickle of drive to do it, and a moderate amount of flexibility, I decided not to put it off any longer. Phase One is complete, with piles out the door to the curb for garbage pickup, a few miles west to the technology recycling center and one for Goodwill. SURE, a FEW things will be carefully repackaged for re-storage, things like old high school mementos, cute things boyfriends of long ago made for me, concert programs and leftover blankets. The attic is probably one of the easiest parts of the house to ignore, but I am facing it head on, hoping and praying for a big payoff down the road, mostly like making our next house move easier, as the kids leave the nest and we move onward and outward from our humble abode.

All I can do at this point is to chip away at the piles of memories (and garbage) and make an oath to myself that nothing new will EVER EVER EVER go back up there. No. Matter. What.

Here's to a clutter-free 2015!

Where's the Beef?

Hello Friends,

Since the last time I have written, a big change has come into my life -- I've gone meatless! Why? Lots of reasons, I suppose, all of them related to health. I've watched my cholesterol numbers and my weight creep up steadily over the last few years. And what creeps up, doesn't always creep back down! Aug. 3 was my last glorious meat-filled day, and on that day I had a burger from Five Guys and a questionable hot dog at the Blake Shelton concert, so I guess you could say I went out in style, but if you told me I would make it almost 40 days, I would have never believed it. I know the weight is coming off, because I run the risk of my pants falling down to my ankles on a regular basis. Not sure about the cholesterol, but let's operate under the assumption that it is (no one wants to see a grown woman cry, do they?).

Honestly, it hasn't been that bad. I find it hitting me at the oddest of times ... and these times red flag all my bad kitchen munching habits. For example, when I make my daughter's daily salami sandwich, I usually had a piece for myself. Now, if you had asked me if I regularly did that, I couldn't have told you. With the ease of which my hand goes from the salami package to my big mouth, I'd say it has been a pretty regular occurrence. When I made tacos for dinner last night, I was about one inch away from putting some of the taco meat on my tongue, but I caught myself at the last minute. Darn you taco gods for tempting me like that! For exposing all my weaknesses!

I've also switched out my 2 percent milk for almond milk. Now, that was a little tricky because almonds aren't my favorite nut, but I toughed it out and have finally made my way across the cow juice bridge. But just how do you milk an almond, anyway? LOL. My plan is to make other healthy changes, slowly but surely.

My dried green beans (healthy snacking to the MAX!!!) have been sitting in the box they came shipped in. For a week. I can say I am scared of them! Dried green beans? What was I thinking? I wasn't. How about this. I will promise my readers that I will try them tomorrow. If I write it, I have to do it, that's my motto! No backing out now.

Anyway, good to be back online. Happy and healthy eating to all of you! Oh, what the heck, have a cheeseburger and make it a double!!!

Cindy

Music to My Ears

Hello Friends!

It's a funny thing when people ask you what kind of music you like to listen to. If you are like me, and you like a lot of different kinds of songs and musical styles, you have a quick twinge of panic because you know a few of those songs on your iPod are Embarassing... yes, that's with a capital E! Then if you think about it, why SHOULD you be embarrassed by it? You like the music, you downloaded it, you listen to it. OWN IT! BE PROUD! It's just not that simple though, is it?

Let's take my song list for example. I have song(s) by Nicki Minaj, Billy Joel, Dolly Parton, Blake Shelton, Cee Lo Green, Bon Jovi, George Michael, Eminem, Kid Rock, Katy Perry, and on and on and on. The two songs I have listened to the most lately are by Crosby, Stills and Nash and then Owl City (BUT, to be fair, the Owl City song is from the Wreck it Ralph soundtrack, ha ha). While I can come clean here, in a sort of playlist rehab, I can't help but wonder what is wrong with me! This can't be normal, can it? But if it's not normal, do I even want to be normal if I enjoy it? NO SIR!!!

When I listen to my songs while I am in the shower, I can practically hear my daughter's eyes roll through the wall (so sometimes I turn it up extra loud for effect). But if she can't appreciate The Midnight Train to Georgia there's a whole lot wrong in this house! Okay, and there's a little payback for the years of Jonas Brothers and the Cheetah Girls, I cannot tell a lie....

And don't get me started on my son's views of my music. He's "Mr. Indie Music." That doesn't mean Indianapolis (like I thought at one time!!), it means independent.... small-label artists .... not mainstream... kind of unique. Basically, if it is on the top charts and played on the radio with any regularity, it would never be considered indie. My music is NOT indie (as I am so regularly told) therefore it has no true value and stinks worse than a rotten potato behind a blue bookcase (don't ask how I know this). Problem is, I am the fool that falls into his traps, arguing in defense of my music, like I have a personal stake in it. I can't help it!!! And when I hear him listening to a non-indie song? Game on!!! I am all over that like white on rice.

I suppose we spend a large part of our lies defending things (and people) we care about, why would our music be immune?

So excuse me while I plug in my earbuds and enjoy the sweet stylings of Rick Springfield!

Enjoy your day!

Cindy

Finally Back in the Blogging Door!

Hello friends,

In some cruel attempt to drive me even crazier than life already has done lately, I had been unable to sign into my blog! I was trying to sneak through the cyber-mail slot, but I didn't want to get stuck so I sat in the corner and pouted. And pouted. And pouted. This is my main writing outlet, on a regular basis anyway. Not being able to log in had me all out of sorts and on something equivalent to a lllllooooonnnnngggg bout of PMS. On a whim, feeling as if nothing was to lose but everything to gain, I tried logging in -- the heavens opened! Trumpets blared! Blogdom was laughing in my face saying, "We just wanted to know we mattered! We wanted to see how much you cared!" I care I care!

In the last few months, starved for blog affection, I was resigned to working on one of three books I am sure is going to rocket me to writing stardom. Problem is, writing a book isn't always the fun project you think it will be, trying to keep track of who, what, when, where and why.... thumbing through my cheat sheets making sure the names and stories make sense. You know, most writers won't let it slide if you tell them Pat is a middle-aged man only to let it slip later that "he" is an 20-something woman. I've recently come to love and appreciate the simplicity of having one person stranded on a tropical island. I'm even willing to do the research of life alone in paradise!!!

Another fun outlet for me was reviewing restaurants, hotels and attractions via a consumer trip website. It's purely voluntary (which means ain't nobody showing me the money), but I had way too much fun doing it. This frustrated writer got surprisingly excited, and into too much detail, about a local fast-food drive in, casino buffet and family waterpark resort. If they don't get the information they need, I assure you they will get a good laugh at my take on things. Who doesn't need a reason to smile.

Oh, and let's not forget the notes left to loved ones throughout the house. My son told me a simple, "Here's $30 to buy the book" would have sufficed over the lengthy prose I actually left. He's not a writer, he can't understand. I told him me without my blog is like a snowboarder without snow, a dog without a bone or a Kardashian without paparazzi. Or, in his case, a pizza without pepperoni. He did get that last one.....

Anyway, it feels good to be back, so excuse me while I look for my sanity. Got so much to say ... be prepared for a daily break away from it all.... stop back often... I won't let you down! :)

Enjoy the day,

Cindy

A Walk of a Different Kind

Since they’ve been born, my kids have been roping me into one television fad or another. Some stick. Some I hate, but others I can deal with. Hannah Montana wasn’t the end of the world, and SpongeBob Squarepants? That, before too long, became an addiction. Nothing, I’m afraid, prepared me for the latest round — “The Walking Dead.” Have you seen it? You wouldn’t forget it if you did.

The show profiles a group of strangers who come together to survive and (hopefully) build a new life in a world where zombies seem to have the upper hand. When my daughter asked me to watch the first episode with her (ah, the power of Netflix!!), I thought OK … one time, one episode. How bad can it be? BIG mistake. I was HOOKED! And please note, I am not into the whole zombie thing, even been known to call it DUMB. I still think that to a large degree, even though they attempted to explain the process of zombification in Season One. That being said, there’s something to be said for the life and death struggle they face daily. And, in some ways, it’s not all that different that my soap opera addiction, The Young and the Restless. Half of those characters (at least) are zombies of a different type, if you think about it. Granted, they are much better looking than the gross-outs from The Walking Dead, but I’m telling you, looks truly aren’t everything.

At the very least, the whole show gets you thinking. WHAT IF???? Last time I was at the grocery store I spent a lot more time in the canned food aisle, wondering how many wax beans it would take me to make it through a year. Or, me, the queen of peaceful resolve, was daydreaming about a rendezvous at the local shooting range. Can’t be too careful, and you need to protect what is yours (people or saltines!). Might want to spend a little time honing up on the knife and bow/arrow skills, too – just call me Katniss (dare to dream)!

If you’ve got some spare time on Sunday night, and can handle a little (or maybe more than a little) fake blood, check it out. Just don’t get too attached to any of the main characters …. J

Enjoy!

Cindy

Get Rid of It!!

While I’m sure that hoarders have been around since the dawn of time, it seems that, thanks to “reality TV,” the whole phenomenon has been brought into the spotlight. And I am not gonna lie… I am very strangely addicted to these shows! At first I think it was like rubber necking at an accident … you know it’s bad, but you can’t stop watching, then, for me, it became something more than that. It turned into a paranoia. I have a stack of magazines on the kitchen table – am I a hoarder? I have about 10 bottles of body wash – am I a hoarder?  I found two dirty tissues in the sofa – am I a hoarder? I always thought of myself as a little careless when it comes to keeping track of stuff, or maybe a little bit lazy about putting stuff away, but I never thought of it as potentially being the start of a much bigger problem.

The thing I don’t understand is the loose definition of “hoarding.” I always thought hoarding meant you just kept a lot of stuff, but it was usable, useful stuff. Of course most of it you don’t need, but you know you MIGHT need it someday! The thing I don’t get is that there seems to be a VERY fine line between hoarding and amassing a disgusting trash dump inside your house. I never considered it hoarding if you simply chose to throw your Snickers wrapper on the floor instead of putting it in the garbage. Even if you had 300 Snickers wrappers on the floor, I still don’t see that as hoarding. And, using the Snickers example, my son is a Hoarder, I suppose! But those things happen, poor dear, with the garbage can in his room more than two feet from his bed. I should be getting that Bad Parent of the Decade Award anytime now, right?

What seems to get most hoarders, and probably most of us in general, is that whole “I am going to really, really, really need that some day. True. You might need that oversized souvenir drink glass from Medieval Times. You might even need that Lance Bass bobblehead. But I doubt you will ever need that googly-eyed refrigerator magnet that spends more time on the kitchen floor than on the fridge door. What do you do? GET RID OF IT! Alarms won’t sound if you put it in the trash, and the skies won’t rain down on you!  Don’t wind up on TV. Well, if you wind up on TV, make it for something worthwhile, like being the long-lost Kardashian sister or the country’s newest lottery winner! It’s all about perception, and dead animals and rotting eggplant won’t do a lot for you social life.

To sum it up, keep it clean, girls!!! I mean, if George Clooney stops by unexpectedly, you want to be prepared… well, that’s MY motivation anyway! J

Enjoy your day!

What was he thinking?

With my oldest turning 20 years old recently, I've unknowingly waded into yet another uncharted parenting territory. I figured by this point in my life i would have seen it all, either in real life or on TV, and would surely get totally shocked by anything he did far less often. Sadly, this has not been the case. Let me make the disclaimer ***HE IS A GOOD KID*** OK, with that out of the way, it doesn't mean that all of this "good kid's" decisions are going to be wise ones, but I did make the (ever so foolish) assumption that he knew enough not to lay himself down on the tracks of the food poisoning express.

If you are at all familiar with the White Castle fast food franchise, you know that even on a good day with the "sliders" you are risking gastrointestinal distress. In fact, I have long held the theory that White Castle is owned by the makers of Imodeum, and I KNOW most of you know what I am talking about (sparing you the details, you can thank me later). Here's the lowdown. He had been out with friends and came home at about midnight with a bag of White Castle cheeseburgers, chicken rings and fries. Apparently he lost his appetite somewhere between the front door and the basement sofa because he fell asleep before taking one bite. I mean, given the chance to sleep or tease my stomach in the wee hours of the night, I would choose sleep hand's down, so I don't blame him there. It's what happened next that had me picking up my jaw from the floor....

Flash forward about nine hours. I decided to treat myself to some excitement around 11 a.m., and threw in some laundry (my basement also doubles as a laundry room, craft room and teen entertainment zone). I see him sitting on the basement sofa, he never made it upstairs, instead choosing to give in to the temptations of our exotic Value City sofa (the stuff dreams are made of!). Here's how this breaks down, much better in dialogue form:

"I was going to go into work, but my stomach is not feeling so good," he said.
"What's wrong, oh loving son?" I said (I embellished the part after the oh, BTW)
"I ate that White Castle," he said.
"Did you put the bag in the fridge last night?," I said... YOU KNOW, THE MINI FRIDGE THAT IS FOUR FEET FROM YOUR REAR END???? (again, I did not say this but boy did I want to!
**are you ready for this???*
"No," he said.
"So you ate White Castle that had been sitting out for about 10 hours?" I said, about to blow.
"Yes," he said.
"Why?" I said.
"Because I was hungry,"he said.
"WHAT??? Are you kidding me??????" I said. I mean, this part was almost too logical to get angry about, the more I thought about it.

That's the good part. I figured if White Castle hadn't already killed him at some point in his life, it probably wasn't going to now, and maybe some of the grease had even evaporated ... off chance that it could have even gotten less dangerous... probably the only food where that could be the case. That all being said, I did have some fun with him and told him he better stay home all day (he had a day full of plans) and rest, you know, it could hit him at any point. He was not happy about that but was too afraid to move a muscle to argue with me. I told him next time maybe invest the three steps over to the fridge to put the bag away.

Message received, albeit the long way.

Anyway, that's life in my house, never a dull or un-nauseous moment! :)

Enjoy the day,

Cindy

My $100 Windfall

Hello!!

One regular Christmas gift from my mom is a handful of instant scratch-off lottery tickets. While I never expect to fund a retirement account from any winnings, there's that lottery dream moment that you automatically get because until you rub that coin across the shiny gray spot, the world COULD be yours ... and this is the promise that keeps state lottery systems booming year after year.

As I worked my way through the 10 tickets, my dream faded slowly, but with a hint of promise because I had a few free ticket winners, and a $2 winner. In my mind, to keep the lottery gods on my side, any winnings go back into the "pot" for the purchase of more lottery tickets, with the plan of having a never-ending supply of tickets (and big hopes!) coming my way. Now we both know that never quite works out... the luck always eventually runs out. This time was pretty much like any other. My five new tickets turned into four, and four turned into three.

There I was with my three little potential pots o' gold, saving them to savor after everyone had gone to bed... just me, a glass of Arnold Palmer iced tea, a day old donut, the TV remote, my tickets and a quarter (due to unexplainable superstitions, I refuse to scratch off my tickets with anything less than a quarter). And, since I am the one responsible for the vacuuming in the house (NO... vacuuming once a year does not entitle you to say you vacuum here), I was scratching them off over a magazine because those weird little shavings get everywhere! My butt hadn't even settled into the groove in the sofa when lo and behold.... the very first spot was kind of implying that I had won $100. I reached for my reading glasses. Still $100. I reached for my bifocals. Still $100. What? I wanted to scream, but then I figured the dogs would start barking so I thought better of it. I looked at the clock... it was midnight... everyone I knew was sleeping, so I couldn't even TELL anyone! I put it in a safe place, sent out some very braggy e-mails and Twitter posts, counted on some sweet dreams, then headed to bed.

The next day at 6 a.m., funnily enough, come to find out that no one seems that excited about a $100 windfall in my house. I still was!!! I couldn't stop thinking about what to do with the money. Do I buy $100 in instant tickets? Probably not. Seems kind of showy!! Also seems kind of dumb. Should I put it toward those Oakley sunglasses I wanted at Macy's? Should I take it to the casino and have 400 pulls on the quarter slot machine? Should I put it toward the $500 payment on my son's camera for school? Uh, no. How did that thought even sneak in there?? This is FUN money! And now, three weeks later, I still don't know! I still have that ticket tucked safely away and I check on it often .... is it weird that I peek at it three times (or more) a day? I figure when the right expenditure comes along, I'll know it.

It has got me thinking, can you imagine if I ever did hit the "big one"? I might actually do a real backflip, which would be the first backflip of my life. At least I'd have money for the chiropractor!! :)

Until the money tree grows in my back yard.... I wish you all a great day!

Hugs,

Cindy

The Not-So-Secret Life of My Dramatic American Teenager

Hi friends,

My daughter is halfway through her freshman year of high school, and I am beginning to think I should have put her in a performing arts school because the drama she is kicking out lately would surely have her at the top of the class and starring in a first-class Broadway production.

See, I was an easy kid at that age.... stayed home a lot, happy just talking on my baby blue Trimline phone and playing Atari (I was a beast at Frogger!!). I never had a car, didn't want the responsibility that came along with it, but had a blast all the same. Fast forward 30 years. Now, while my daughter is a beautiful girl, smart and funny, I am sure somewhere I am in the middle of a big karma payback because she is putting me through heck and back. You name it, it's complicated or emotional. If it's food, we have calories, fat and sodium. She has COMPLETELY ruined Twinkies for me, and for that I can't easily forgive!! If it's clothes, it's not Kohl's, Sears or Penney's, it's Buckle, Hollister, Gilly Hicks and Abercrombie. I am pretty sure her body would turn to dust if she put anything other than a super-cool name brand on it. And boots, it's all about UGG, and trust me, at $200 a pair, I am saying UGG (ok, I know it's UGH!!) a lot. Her latest pair were gold sequin boots, which I told her made her look like C3PO from Star Wars (and yes, she said, "WHO??"). The kid hasn't seen one Star Wars movie, can you believe it? Sorry, I digress. BUT... the worst of all is BOYS....

Boys!!!! Like I said, she is cute, charming, obviously well dressed (and soon likely to be living in a box because of it!) and socially has mastered things I still don't get and surely never will. Maybe most importantly, she knows how to "work" her hair... mine gets 10 strokes of the brush (on a good day), and we call it done. This all adds up to her having an easy time meeting and being comfortable around the opposite sex. Recently she came across the love of her life (du jour) at the drive-through of a local fast-food restaurant. Via his name tag, and through the magic of social media (THANKS A LOT FACEBOOK!) she found out who he was, sent a friend request and the rest was history. He took the bait and ran with it, and soon enough he asked her to "do something," and two weeks ago they hung out at his house. The first six days were heaven on earth, and she was in la-la land, which I am not going to lie, had me really wanting to GAG. Naturally, it didn't take long before she saw the downside of dating an upper classman and Mr. Hot and Super-Dee-Duper turned into Mr. I Don't Understand Why He's Like That. In other words, the last 10 days or so have been like living a nightmare, like a Taylor Swift song that I can't get off of replay. Now that I think of it, maybe drama is an understated word for it, and just maybe, the right word hasn't been invented, but I'm working on it... so keep me in your thoughts because my sanity has its bags packed and is ready to catch the next flight....

Anyway, it's good to be back... feel free to follow me on Twitter at cindytwit... you can find daily doses of my life and times there....

Love and hugs to all!

Cindy

My Bucket List (or lack thereof)

For whatever reason, I have decided it's time to make a bucket list... you know, the "list" of things you want to do or experience before you KICK the bucket. I have avoided it to this point in my life (the ripe OLD age... and I DO mean old.... of 43), but as I inch closer to that bucket, now is the time. Problem is, I can only think of one thing for my bucket list.... have an appletini. Now how lame is that? One thing on my list! Sure, I'd love to see the Eiffel tower in person, sun my buns on a beach with George Clooney, own a red VW Beetle convertible or win a slot machine jackpot, but I am the queen of practicality above all else... so, since I am not wealthy enough, model-y enough, cool enough (in that order) or lucky enough, I have resigned to the one thing that has been nesting in the back of my mind for years — enjoy an appletini.

I've thought on this for days now, figuring I would come up with some other things for my Boring-Old-Busted-Up-Put-You-To-Sleep-In-A-Second Bucket List, but I can't. What scares me most about that is my fear of some higher power (God, the man upstairs, the big kahuna... whatever you believe in) witnessing me having that appletini and then striking me with a lightning bolt or running me over with an 18-wheeler. You know, "OK. She's good. Her bucket list is complete. Mission accomplished, now remove her from her earthly home." Does it work that way with bucket lists? No one knows for sure, but do we want to take a chance? NOPE... no way!!!!! That leads me to the chore of coming up with AT LEAST 49 other LONG-TERM bucket list items — you know, the kind that can't be over with in like TWO SECONDS (example, drinking an appletini). Can you put "make up a bucket list" on your bucket list? Probably not. Too bad, too, because at the rate I am going with it, that one alone would keep me alive for a good 50 more years.

Back to the drawing board.... hope your day is bucket (and lightning) free.... wish me luck!

Cindy

Together again?

Happy Thursday!

It's that time of the every five years (is there a word for that?)? Class reunion time! I realize that I date myself by willingly publishing which reunion it is, but that's the least of my worries. It's the big 2-5!! As I write this I am totally conflicted as to whether I want to go or not. See, Facebook has created a whole new angle on the "should I or shouldn't I" front. Now you can search names and see photos of pretty much everyone you went to school with. Of course, this can be a good thing or a bad thing. In the case of my picture, it's an OK thing. I am terrible at taking pictures and then getting them on Facebook. It's so awkward taking a picture of yourself with your own cell phone. You're holding it at arm's length, trying not to have it wiggle, getting your finger on the button and making sure you're at least SORT OF centered. And it's a given that you're going to have some goofy look on your face.... how can you not? You're smiling at a cell phone! It's WEIRD! My result ended up with a picture so close you can count my pores.... but you know the upside of that? My weight remains a mystery! That part I like. For most people the camera adds 10 pounds. For me, it adds 30 (on a good day, a VERY good day!) which means I am more than happy to go with the close-up.

Some of the reunion events sound fun ... specifically the tailgating before the football game and the pizza party after. But a Saturday golf outing? Are they serious? If you read the info it assures everyone that five years ago it was SO MUCH FUN! Even if you don't golf! Right!!! OK, I don't golf. My experience with golf does not go beyond high school when we did golf in gym. All of us would line up in a long row outside and just hit balls. While you might see what I am about to write as slightly less than honest, I prefer to think of it as CREATIVE. I would keep an extra ball in my pocket, swing my club, act like it went really far out there, walk out to where I "hit" it and drop a ball in A or B range, cha-ching. I wasn't the only one doing it of course.... oh, great. Now 25 years later I have a guilty conscience!! Well at least I wasn't like (uh, let's call her Nancy for sake of me getting sued) who filled her entire forearm inside with French vocab words and their translations and then pushed up her sweater sleeve during the test. Anyway, I am one MEAN mini golf player (and I STILL know the French word for windshield wipers) ... but apparently my old classmates are too good for windmills and giant fiberglass clown heads. Snobs!

Who knows. RSVP's are due soon. I've only heard from one good h.s. friend of mine and she's not sure if she's going. Such enthusiasm! Guess it's the nature of the beast. The funny thing is, if George Clooney was in my class, I'd be there with bells on and drinking water and eating only carrots for the next few weeks! But no, no George Clooney at my high school.

I hate making big decisions. Guess this calls for the Magic 8 ball.... AGAIN!

Have a great day,

Cindy

How can you not love the zoo????

Hello friends!!!

Do you love taking a trip to the zoo? I do! I really can't imagine not loving the zoo. We have a family membership to Chicago's Brookfield Zoo, about 40 minutes from our house. While we don't go as often as I like, it's always an adventure when we do go. We're thinking about going Monday, which led me to thinking about my most recent trip there.

While the zoo is always eventful, last time (July) was one of the most bizarre yet. We had just gotten into the new bear exhibit (VERY cool), and are standing on a slightly raised area looking at the underwater view of the polar bears. My daughter, referring to a guy standing in front of us, says, "That guy looks famous." I'm busy filling out a survey related to the exhibit (anything for a free pencil!!!) so I look at this guy. He was big. Huge. Very athletic looking. I thought maybe she was onto something, but I hadn't quite pegged it. Then he turns around, looks, my way and I thought I might just about DIE.... it was Chicago Cubs first baseman Derek Lee (OK, I know he got traded a couple of weeks ago. I know this because it was a day of mourning in our home). I am a big time Cubs fan (and yes, I can prove that because I named my son after one of them!) so my brain is about to explode. Realizing it's my daughter's favorite player, I lean over to her and say, "Holy **something**, that's Derek Lee." Now she's running around in circles like her butt's on fire. I'm frozen in place, she's freaking out. It was quite the sight as you can imagine. We of course become stalkers of the first degree, until it happened.... my image of D Lee got ruined. His wife changed their baby's diaper and she gave it to him to throw it away. Didn't she get the memo? Derek Lee is way too good for that! What? That's a multi-million dollar hand... you have people for that... PUH-LEASE!!!!!! I thought about giving her a piece of my mind, but getting ejected from the zoo and having my membership revoked is not the legacy I want to walk away with! He hung around the bear exhibit for a long time.... which meant I pretended to be VERY interested in bears for a long time. To this day my friends are disappointed that I didn't ask for an autograph. To sign what? My zoo program? A dirty tissue? I'm a Cub fan with pride!

After we got done there, we had time for one last exhibit. We decided to head over to the Australia house. We're just about to head inside the building and this CRAZY lady comes running out, arms flailing, screaming, "The wombat is dead! The wombat is dead!" I was still in la-la land about the Cub I saw in the bear exhibit (LOL) so this chick scared me to death, caught me totally of guard! "The wombat is dead" ... is that code for something? Come on, that DEFINITELY isn't something you hear every day! As she passes by, she says to me, "I'm going to get someone!!" Yes, run fast! Get the wombat specialist! Geez. If it is DEAD, is it a crisis? Well, you know I had to go and see for myself. It's pitch dark in there and is one of those setups where you look down to see the animal below you. I can tell you this much... he was either dead or sleeping pretty darned deeply.... flat on his back legs extended straight up in the air. I was watching for some sort of twitch, a sign of movement. Nothing. A few minutes later, two zoo people come in (couldn't tell you if they were custodians, vets or parking lot attendants) and start staring. So now there are three of us staring. I asked one of them, "Does he always sleep like that?" She smiled and walked out. What the heck does that mean? I'm a big girl, I can handle the news that he died and went to "Wombat Heaven." Nothing. Come on!!! Because you know I'm going to get hounded the whole way home... "Mom, do you think that wombat really died?" "Do you know if they can get another wombat?" "Do they really sleep with their legs up in the air?" Geez Louise. I did go to college, but I did not major in wombats, yet you KNOW how kids are... they will expect you to have all the answers. A side note.... I will tell you that I would rather talk about dead wombats with her than what those LOUSY zebras were doing! For Pete's sake. Show a little modesty guys!!!! Get a room! I'm not a photographer with National Geographic and this isn't Animal Planet. I'm still working on getting that visual out of my head.

Without a doubt, if we do go Monday, you KNOW the first thing we are going to do is to check on the wombat. But steer clear of the zebras!

Have a great night!

Cindy

Rotten Eggs

Good morning (or afternoon, or evening!),

Today is my first day home alone after everyone is back to their "usual" schedules, and I'm not volunteering at the school. The day is mine! So far so good as far as getting things done goes, and it's just now 8 a.m. My original plan was going right back to bed after my daughter left at 7, but I fought that feeling. Between you and me, however, I am sure there's a nap in my future... my NEAR future!

As most of you probably know, there is a big salmonella scare related to eggs here in the U.S. As usual is the case with me, I will not pretend to understand it all, but since I've heard about it, I have had the WORST taste for eggs over easy (which is the WORST way to eat them naturally). Why is that always the case? I am pretty sure I even dreamed about dipping toast in a nice, fresh egg over easy. In fact if I still wasn't in my pajamas right now (meaning my ratty old sweats) I would be bookin' it to Cracker Barrel (how lucky am I to live FIVE MINUTES from one????).

Anyway, this egg thing led to a HUGE dilemma this morning... one like I had NEVER encountered before! Tragic, even! I was making a batch of Fiber One bran muffins (expensive, but worth it)... I eat one with a glass of Smart Balance milk each morning (don't give me too much credit on this one... it's my way of consoling myself that while I will most likely blow my diet the rest of the day, I had a GOOD breakfast, LOL). I was down to my last one, so time to make the muffins! All you need for the mix is vegetable oil, water and two eggs. Seemed harmless enough. I laid out my Transformer and SpongeBob muffin papers (OK, while I LOVE SpongeBob, the Transformer ones were nothing more than a value purchase at the party store) and began to mix. Lah dee dah, I'm mixing away. Then I start to spoon the mix into the muffin papers. My genetic makeup includes 25 percent Slob, which meant that the mix soon was all over my hands, the counter and since I was stirring it over a stack of cookie sheets, it was all over them, too (Martha Stewart would kick my butt to the curb in 5 seconds if we ever found ourselves in the kitchen together). Anyway, the logical thing to do would be to lick the mix off my fingers (and possibly the counter AND baking pans.... really!). Then it hit me like a Mack truck. I CAN'T! That's raw egg! I can't eat the batter! Stupid egg farmers! Thanks for ruining what could likely be the biggest culinary pleasure of my month! And I'm pretty sure I've used up what was left of my self-control for the week, too. On the upside, it's amazing how much bigger each muffin ended up without me eating the batter (I'm pretty sure this is one of those hidden diet sabotage things they talk about). The whole thing was very unnatural..... can you feel my pain??

Better get going. I need to freeze my muffins (LOL, that sounds kinda weird, doesn't it?). Have a great day!

Cindy

New addicitons

Happy Monday Friends!

In the last year, I have developed several addictions. None of them are bad, nor will any land me a reality TV show (MAYBE... I'll let you decide), but one, for whatever reason is particularly embarrassing — I am hooked on the soap opera "The Young and the Restless." It all started simply enough. There's a local (Chicago) news on from 11-11:30 a.m. Following that newscast is Y & R (are you following? I'm NOT typing The Young and the Restless EVERY time, my fingers aren't getting any younger). Naturally, I would be too lazy to change the channel on the remote (I truly believe this is the lowest form of laziness), so there it would be on my TV. Coincidentally, this is also the same way I came to watch Maury (you know, the 'Who's the Daddy' guy). While my Maury addiction only lasted three years (yes, ONLY), I have a feeling I am doomed to this Y & R addiction for a lot longer.

I'll admit, on both Maury and Y and R, you have to put the logical side of your brain to sleep for an hour, and you also will say out loud during both, "OH, that's SO unrealistic!!!!!!" Does anyone really need to test FIFTEEN guys to find out who the daddy is? Like I said, that's SO unrealistic! And on Y & R, where to begin? They never work, yet are all FILTHY rich (SIGN ME UP!) and best of all, they talk to themselves OUT LOUD, and the "wrong" person always hears it and uses it against them in some sick and twisted way. Uh, maybe FACE the door when you are doing that? Guess the blue bloods have zero street smarts, huh?

I did almost quit watching it ... ALMOST. There was a story line that was pushing it even by soap standards. The one gal, let's call her Ashley (because that's her name, LOL... gotcha!) lost her baby early in her pregnancy. She goes on to have a hysterical pregnancy (have you ever been pregnant? I have, and there's nothing hysterical about it) but yet delivers a baby! Yes, a REAL baby! Turns out she was knocked out and some creepy dude stole another baby and passed it off as hers. Let's assume that can actually happen. All right. Isn't there a little uh... soreness (aka flaming hot pain!) to let you know that you just delivered a little human? Not in Genoa City! Isn't it a great town!? And this is just one reason why I watch ... it fuels the "perfect world" part of my brain.....

Let me also give a shout-out to the hot guys on Y & R..... another two dozen reasons to watch... at least! It might be the dumbest bunch of people in the world, but they sure are easy on the eyes. Mama like!

I just hope in a moment of weakness next month I don't sign up for a subscription to Soap Opera Digest during my daughter's school's magazine drive. That truly would be a cry for help!

Time to run... I need to finish Friday's episode.

Have a great week....

Cindy

Here We Go Again

Hello Friends (all 13 of you!),

My sincerest apologies to each and everyone of you reading this .... contrary to what it might seem, I was not abducted by aliens or locked away in a convent. I strayed from my devotion to blogdom, but I am 99 percent sure THIS TIME I am here to stay. Thanks for sticking around. I hope that more will follow soon.... shouldn't all your friends (who am I kidding... I'll take your enemies, too) be allowed to benefit from my sarcastic (and sometimes) side-splitting look at life and all it throws at us?

So much has happened in the year since I've last written.... some of it good, some of it bad, but obviously it wasn't THAT bad because I am still alive and kickin' these keystrokes across the keyboard.

Let's see, what's what lately .... my son starts college officially on Monday. He's at a university 15 minutes away but still living on campus. It's a very odd dynamic so far, especially since he's adopted a Mr. Independent attitude (aka Mr. Not Returning Mom's Texts). So much to blog about on this topic alone! My daughter started eighth grade yesterday with a three-hour day. Make note of the date, August 20, 2010, because it was the WORST day of her life (and that is a direct quote). All it takes is an overcrowded school bus and a wishy-washy dress code (oh, much, much, MUCH more to blog about on this). The latter of her "bad day" issues found me on the phone with the superintendent. Suffice it to say, there is no consensus as to the definition of a crew neck. For fun, feel free to Google the phrase "what exactly is a crew neck shirt" (like I did) and let the confusion take hold. If you feel you have a good grasp on what a crew neck is, you probably won't want to do this because you won't know what one is when you get done. Since I wasn't expecting such a downer report, my initial response was, "It can only get better from here on out, right?" Even as I said it, I knew how ridiculous it sounded. Looks like my PASS (Parental Automatic Support System) is out of whack. Thankfully, a quick save was not far behind... "Wanna do lunch?" She's easily bought off... WHEW!

Anyway... thank you to those that stuck with me, hope to "see" you all around in the days to come. Lots to share....

Cindy

Entertainment Without Leaving the Kitchen

Happy Monday!

Sure, me doing pretty much any kind of cooking would indeed be good kitchen entertainment, but this was this was the sort of fun that you can only get from some low-level stalking out your back window .... watching the neighbors put in a large above-ground pool and all the hi-jinx that ensue. Let me first tell you, these are the kind of people that not even Jeff Foxworthy would would be able to categorize (just what IS three steps below the famed Redneck?) or own up to. I thought about getting out the video camera because you just KNEW this was going to be Funniest Home Video material. Then I thought better of it because if something bad did happen, I didn't want my camera to become Exhibit D in the court case.

They started with the little motorized digger do-hickey thing at the CRACK OF DAWN (all right, so it was 9 a.m., I can't help it the day breaks a little later for me on a Saturday!). I doubted they'd get the pool in that day, or even by the end of the month, with the smoke breaks every 10 minutes. Their progress did surprise me, but what caught my attention was their kids' contribution to the project -- the dire need to chop down the NEIGHBORS' tree. Why you ask? Who knows. One guess is that the long-dead 30-foot tree of unknown origin was a threat to their pool, but more likely the kids had already blown up or set fire to their own toys (Happy Meal freebies included), and were BORED and looking for bigger and better game to hunt. I have to tell you I have never chopped down a tree, but I've seen it done quite a few times. I can say, without hesitation, that I have NEVER seen a tree chopped down with the primary tool of choice being a tire iron. Really, a TIRE IRON! Well, to be exact, a tire iron AND fire crackers. You read it here first, folks .... it can be done! Who woulda thought?

If you're wondering where the parents were during this, your guess is as good as mine, but I could have sworn I heard someone yell, "You 'kin do it, son.... keep at it!"

Either way it was an excuse to park my backside on the counter for a few hours, armed with Oreos Double Stuf and a diet Coke and enjoy the show from the privacy of my own home (and yes, the diet Coke DOES negate the calories of the cookies.... complicated scientific formula I'm sure you wouldn't understand so I'll save myself the keystrokes trying to explain it).

All right. Until I figure out how to get the clothes in the washer to sprout legs and climb into the dryer, I better get to it.

Cindy

Berry Good

Hello!

Today was our annual summer trek to the local blueberry farm. Right now you're either jealous of all the exciting summer fun I have OR you are thinking, "GET A LIFE!!!!!" Today was the perfect day for it.... the clouds worked in our favor and the june bugs knew it was July (gotta love a bug-free day in the blueberry patch!), so off we were. I had to laugh, though. I spent 10 minutes before we left convincing my daughter that it was best to wear socks and shoes, not flip flops... safety, comfort, blah blah blah. And you KNOW what happened, right? The first family we saw (mom, dad and three young daughters) were all wearing flip flops, and to add to that, they were Amish. Boy, did my daughter give me a look! You can't win them all, I guess.

What's kind of cool, in an offbeat sort of way, is that this place is also a Christmas tree farm in the winter, which makes it neato to see the trees in their "teen" stage, ready for the holiday rush. Let's hope they get their looks in time for Santa's arrival because they were some of the sorriest trees I've ever seen! Oh how awkward those teen years can be (even for a tree)! :)

We netted just shy of 10 pounds of berries, most of which are still sitting on my counter. I've Googled a bazillion recipes.... jelly, jam, cobbler, coffee cake, smoothies, etc. Even as I drooled on my keyboard, I realized I wasn't fooling anyone, least of all myself.... they'll all go the old-fashioned way--rinsed and put in a bowl for quick snacking. I have lofty intentions for the tasty fruit, but first-grade baking skills, and that doesn't make for a good combination. But hand me a brownie box mix, some, oil, eggs and measuring utensils and I can have you halfway to chocolate heaven. Nothing to be ashamed of there!

Time to bag and freeze the berries.... viva la summer!

Cindy

Throwing It All Away/Joys of Summer Cleaning

Hello again,

Turns out I'm a season off... but what's new?! Spring cleaning slipped right by me (oh, darn!), now I pay .... SUMMER CLEANING HERE I COME! I realize from the get-go that I am hampered by my town's garbage ordinance.... only two bags outside of what will fit in the garbage tote, but they never said the lid actually had to close, so later on I'll be creating a curbside version of the "leaning tower" to get the most bag for my refuse buck.

I've been chipping away here and there around the house, largely avoiding the worst areas. I doubt any of you out there would blame me for that, right? After all, wouldn't want to get cleaning burnout on Day One, now would I? My favorite part was the bathroom closet. It's huge, and after about 10 years of living in this house and me shoving stuff in there and saying, "OK, I'll deal with that later" it turned into a true "hard hat" zone.... open the door at your own risk! I'm still trying to figure out why I had so many pillow cases and wash cloths. If you sewed all I had together, end to end, they'd circle the earth twice (don't you love when people say stuff like that? Anyway, I don't sew, so it's not happening). There were diaper rash ointment samples from when my daughter was a baby, and she's 12 now. I found THREE bath water thermometer gauges which are little doodads that are supposed to tell you when the water is "just right" for baby's sensitive butt (and assorted baby parts). It might tell you just what kind of mom I am when I let you in on this juicy little secret ... all three were still in their original wrappers! And somehow, she survived a babyhood full of baths without them. Amazing!!!

One shelf left to go... the shelf that has all the little hotel-sized giveaway things... conditioner, shampoo, lotion, soap, mouthwash, etc. I had to laugh at the shoe polishing cloth. Does any traveler really use that? Seems like nothing some spit and a few squares of toilet paper couldn't fix. Then again, I buy most of my shoes at Target and WalMart so what do I know? Maybe it's different for real leather, huh? I'll get to that at some point.... probably....

Anyway, time to water the plants..... catch y'all later....

Cindy

Road Trippin'?

Hello again,

Sorry about the disappearing act! Spring was not kind to us here, healthwise, but we weathered the storm with most of our limbs intact, and who can ask for more than that? My sense of humor has returned (strangely enough it coincides with my return to caffeinated beverages... coincidence? I think not!), so here I sit, sofa under butt, ready to blog.

For the most part, the only time of the year I can travel is the summer. I'm not one to take kids out of school, thanks to bad childhood memories of my grade school principal, Sr. Gertrude, scaring me three-quarters of the way to death over missing school for anything short of a true emergency. Too bad, too, because travel can be much cheaper in early October! Anyway, I've been auditioning trips we can take that don't involve air travel, though I still plan on charging the kids $10 for each bag they bring... gotta make the money where I can, times are tough! My problem is that it has been so long since I've done a "real" road trip, my mind is short circuiting on how I want to do it. If it's going to be five hours, do I pack a cooler full of sandwiches and drinks, then strap Depends on the kids and myself? Or do we stop every hour to enjoy every ball of twine and semi-historic birthplace, only to turn right back around once we get there because our week is up? I don't know. Thanks to Mr. Apple and the invention of iPods, the trip will be enjoyable for me either way because I can jam to Huey Lewis and Bananarama and no one in the car will care.... rock on Cindy's mix CD! LOL.... I digress. But truly, if half the fun is getting there, what the heck is the other half? That worries me ... a lot!

I suppose I'll find out soon enough... happy summer.... talk to you soon!

Cindy