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!