A Moment of Truth

I’ve always prided myself on being an honest person, for the most part. I mean, there are those little white lies you tell, “sorry I’m late, I forgot about the time change and didn’t set my clock,” or, “my, that dress makes you look ten pounds lighter.” I like to think of it as being thrifty with the truth. Whatever.

Speaking of being pounds lighter, I was notified that I would need to report to the DMV, to renew my driver’s license. I was a little perturbed by this, because they had been renewing it through the mail for twelve years. I was perfectly content with keeping that particular photo, no matter how old I had become.

So, after waiting over an hour in a long line, listening to sighs and complaints, I reached the clerk at the counter. She looked at my application and asked, “Is all of your information the same?”
I was about to say yes, but some unseen force commanded me to say, “No.”
She looked up. “What has changed?”
“My weight.” I hadn’t changed the weight from the time I applied for my very first driver’s license, at age sixteen. My license claimed I was a lithe, one hundred and fifteen pounds. I figured if I ever had an accident, they would be looking all over for me, underneath the fat woman.

She blinked, and then stared at me, as if I were about a half-bubble off plumb, for admitting to such a thing. “What weight should I put down for you?”
“145.” I lied again! I had actually topped my single birth maternity weight, and was pushing for twins. Of course, if the DMV were smart, they would have a scale with a billboard-size display. You would be fined for every pound exceeded on your driver’s license. Not to mention, everyone in the building could see what you weigh. It sure would take care of the state’s financial deficit. And obesity would be a thing of the past.

She wrote down my answer and sent me over for another picture. I’ve always wondered why they don’t offer finger-size peanut butter sandwiches before they take the shot. This way, when you’re sucking in your cheeks and using your tongue to scrape the peanut butter off the roof of your mouth, they could get an even more attractive photo than they already do.

Know what’s ironic? My doctor finally convinced me to lose weight by threatening me with cholesterol medication. So, now I’m down to one hundred and twenty pounds. That’s only five pounds away from the original weight on my license. Just goes to show, you should let sleeping dogs lie.

Don't Contaminate The Crash Site!

Have you ever had a computer crash? Well, let me tell you, from my own experience it isn’t pretty. I must say though, I now know more about what not to do than what to do in a computer emergency.

I know I won’t perform CPU on my CPU (central processing unit)… ever again. Yelling at a computer will give you a whole new category in feelings of powerlessness. Watching as data slips away can be a frightening encounter but hitting the keyboard will do nothing more than tip over your bowl of corn chowder. By the way, it is impossible to blow corn chowder out of a computer keyboard. It was at that exact moment that the tower began to grind and squeal. It must have been the sound of the head whatchamacallit ramming into the spinning serving platter that stores stuff. After my tenth attempt at rebooting, I must have caused more damage. At least, that is what Franklin, my computer doctor said. My visit went something like this:

Franklin: Can you describe what was happening when your computer broke down?

Me: I had just finished talking on the phone to my friend, Rita about her overactive bladder. She says her bladder muscles contract inappropriately if you can believe that. Her doctor wants to put her on an antidepressant to paralyze the muscles but the side effects are scary. Blurred vision, dizziness, dry mouth, fatigue, nausea, insomnia…I think I’d rather pee my pants.

Franklin: I mean, what was your computer doing when it stopped operating?

Me: Oh, well I went to look up the website for the bladder foundation. I remember reading that you could remedy an ailing bladder with pelvic floor exercises. I think she should also consider a holistic approach and start taking Butterbur supplements.
I laughed. That reminds me of Barliman Butterbur, you know, the owner of Inn of the Prancing Pony in Lord of the Rings?

Franklin: Then what did you do?

Me: When?

Franklin: When you searched the website.

Me: Oh yeah. Everything froze…even my mouse.

Franklin: And then?

Me: After turning the damn thing off, I rattled off cuss words until I completely ran out. Finally, I said a prayer and then anointed it.

Franklin: With what?

Me: Well, I didn’t think oil would be good for it and I didn’t have any holy water so I spit on it.

Franklin: So, you committed violence against your computer.

Me: Oh, for God’s sake. Are you going to turn me in? Can’t you help me find the little black box that explains why the crash happened?

Franklin: This isn’t a plane crash.

Me: Okay, what about checking with the Sacred Hall of Computer Records or a scanning device of some kind?

Franklin: There is no sacred hall, there are no special tricks to research what led up to the crash unless I can look at it, and the only records for your computer would be inside it.

Me: So, it’s like a really big brain with information stored in different areas?

Franklin: Baby Brain.

Me: Excuse me?

Franklin: I’m assuming you are using a desktop PC.

Me: Well, it’s sitting on my desk, yes.

Franklin: Baby Brain.

I felt my chest tighten and my lower lip began to quiver.

Me: I feel like I’m locked in a big dark box and the directions for getting out are written on the outside. What I need is for you to read them to me, loud and clear in language that a five-year-old child could understand.

Franklin: My five-year-old daughter would have diagnosed the problem and had the computer up and running by now.

It took me a few moments to compose myself.

Me: Alright, Franklin, I’m going to draw a chalk line around this disaster. You just get over here and charge me your $100 an hour. But you better install an airbag because I’m never going to go through another crash like this again.

Merry Christmas To All, Especially All Those Polite.

Black Friday. Recent acts of violence while shopping may cause us to look at Christmas in a new way, especially those whom have fallen victim of pepper spray. There is an answer to this dilemma. Shoppers who have been sprayed will need to tap into their inner eye of faith where no spice can blind it. The eye of faith can lead to perfect parking spots, 75% off linens, 40% off on Oscar de la Renta Sweaters and don’t forget to pick up a pair of Macy’s Rampage Boots for $19.99, they will come in handy for next year’s Black Friday, unless the world ends on December 21st, in which case none of this will matter.

What if the overall faith in Christmas has been seriously compromised? We could choose to remember that even though it may be a holiday intended to bring families and friends together with seasonal food and drink, dancing, games, and a festive generosity of spirit or we may just need to heed the warning and prepare ourselves for those must-have items.

If you insist on using pepper spray to eliminate the competition, be sure it is organic. Halogenated hydrocarbons can cause severe allergic reactions. Asthmatics suffer more and exposure can cause a violent, allergic, life-threatening reaction known as anaphylactic shock. So, for God’s sake, if you are asthmatic and insist on carrying pepper spray, you may want to consider a formulation that doesn’t contain oleoresin capsicum and avoid possible blowback. A normal reaction to pepper spray is a horrific burning sensation, nerve irritation, runny nose, coughing and temporary blindness. The debilitating effects last for more than 30 minutes, and lessen over several hours.

I would like to offer a few Black Friday safety and self-defense tips for the future:

If you are sprayed with pepper spray, DO NOT RUB the contaminated area! When you touch a contaminated area you aid the pepper spray in opening up the capillaries.

Do your best to grope your way to the nearest grocery store dairy section. Applying whole milk to the affected area should help to take the burn away.

If someone blocks your efforts to obtain milk, apply a common wrestling technique such as the El Kabong which simply involves breaking a guitar over an opponent’s head.

Next, you will need to mix a solution of 25% Dawn dishwashing liquid and 75% water in a large bowl. Plunge your face into the bowl for 10-15 seconds at a time. Recovery time depends on your skin type. It can take anywhere from 15 to 45 minutes before symptoms subside.

You may again face opposition in the kitchen/bathroom aisle. The best maneuver here would be Rolling Thunder. It requires the action of a forward roll towards your opponent using the complete rotation to spring up onto your feet and into the air to perform the attack. I guarantee that when they see a grunting, red-eyed, salivating, crazed person leaping at them, surprise will be their first reaction. When you drop to your knees and raise your arm up between the opponent’s legs, striking the groin with the inside of your elbow joint, be sure to scream out, “Cheap shot!” This will not only create unimaginable pain but they will believe you have out shopped them. Success!

I hope these activities haven’t spoiled the Thanksgiving holiday, which is meant to bring families together and to develop an attitude of gratitude which was wisely expressed by, Charles Haddon Spurgeon, England’s best-known preacher for most of the second half of the nineteenth century.

“You say, ‘If I had a little more, I should be very satisfied.’ You make a mistake. If you are not content with what you have, you would not be satisfied if it were doubled.”

Culture Shock

I went to my doctor last week to be treated for a chronic sore throat. She said she would need a specimen which by the way was obtained by sticking a three foot long Q-tip into my mouth and swiping the back wall of my throat. Yeacck! My gag reflex was in good working order.

She said she would have to grow a culture and let me know what was found in order to prescribe the proper antibiotic. As I left her office, I imagined a glob of fuzzy throat bacteria growing in a petri dish, dining off some gelatin-like protein substance. Eew.

She called me yesterday, and I found that this was not the case at all. She began describing a fascinating abundance of cultural features that had emerged from my test.

The uppermost region of the dish offered everything you might think of for a relaxing and enjoyable vacation. Sunshine, white beaches, clear water and warm climate. Just adjacent to that was a colony that offered cheap handmade articles such as crochet works, knitwear, pottery, wood-carvings and paintings. A little further down were imperial palaces, gardens and temples. A river flowed through it which led to magnificent views of rock formations and forests and into a teeming metropolis with exceptional architecture and pulsating with life. The crowning glory of the dish was a gigantic metropolis chock full of activity, tall buildings and an endless sea of lights.

I was speechless. To think, all this was taking place from a minuscule daub of my phlegm placed in a petrie dish just a few days ago.

“This is miraculous!”, I said. “Who can we report this to? World Magazine? Newsweek? Time? Maybe U.S. News and World Report?”

There was a long silence before she answered. “We can’t report it to anyone.”

“Why not?” I whined. “I’ll bet the Enquirer would pay thousands for a story like this.”

“Well,” she began. “I offered the dish a stimulus package to encourage growth but inflation accelerated above comfort levels. This caused residents to pass laws regarding global food prices and create policies on subsidies and price caps. This in turn contributed to about ten percent of unemployment.”

“What does that mean?” I huffed. “You’re beginning to sound like CNN”.

“I can only do so much”, her voice filled with impatience. “Bailouts and grants were limited and I had to take into consideration the lack of side lanes, paved shoulders and uncontrolled development of roadsides causing low travel speeds, poor level of service and less long-distance traveling. Without transport services, the culture was doomed.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about dish collapse! Financial crisis! Debt! Predatory Lending! Conflict! Collapse of the housing bubble! Famine! Systemic Crisis! Flood! Destruction!

“What does it all mean?” I was trembling with fear.

“It means I am calling your pharmacy to order you 500mg of Amoxicillin three times a day for ten days. Isn’t it nice to have a doctor with such a great sense of humor?”

Baby Boomers, wake up and smell the coffin

I Know the title of this blog is a bit shocking, but I just finished reading my hometown magazine and I was aghast at the amount of advertisements there were for cosmetic surgery. I almost feel like a big fat failure, due to the all too obvious consequences of my normal aging process. Not to mention, I am down to my last feminine wile. Please don't ask me which one, I have forgotten and misplaced it as well.

When, as a society, did we place so much more importance in how something or someone looks rather than who they are? Maybe it has always been this way, but I believe we're way over the edge. Gone are the days of successful ageing, or being revered for being rich with experience. The elderly are no longer turned to for their wisdom or worldliness, but sadly reduced to a 20% discount and considered a second-class citizen.

Want to know who I blame? Car manufacturers! That's who! Notice how the names they give cars reflect the way society behaves? We started out with the model T and the Model A. Simple, timeless, and absolutely no underlying message. Then came the nouns. Viva, Previa, Nova, Probe, symbolizing reaching out. Animal names became popular. Mustang, Colt, Durango, Falcon, Impala, Cougar. GRRRRIP the road! Go for the jugular! Names morphed into a sort of lifestyle. Land Rover, Dakota, Yukon, Tahoe, Tacoma, projecting adventure and ambiance. The biggest culprits are, Infiniti, 5th Avenue and Park Avenue, whether you're playing Monopoly or driving a car, the message is the same...larger than life, rich, and beautiful.

I would like to recommend some no-nonsense, down-to-earth names for cars that actually tell it like it is. No sugar coating, just the unvarnished truth and then let's just see where it takes us. Hopefully, our addiction to outer appearances will begin to diminish and we can relax into our comfortable wrinkled bodies and instead, work to expand our spirit.

How about:

Ford Derelict – The main function of this utility vehicle is to drive you to drink. Navigation is performed solely on Bott dots, as tires collect cognizant and constant feedback from the lines on the road. Deluxe interior features include, thirty-three cup holders with automatic lid capabilities, to avoid violating open container laws, driver’s sun visor is equipped with detachable eye patch, to eliminate double vision when inebriated, dual function windshield wiper fluid/beverage storage, with toggle switch, to wash windows or serve your favorite beverage to the central cup holder directly from the fluid well. Lush, leather interior, is available in champagne beige or burgundy red.

Mid-life Chrysler – Youthful design and enough power to take you from sixty to hero in six point five seconds. Equipped with a younger, fitter, replica of your spouse or, if you prefer, a current rock or movie starlet. Complete with soft-focus mirrors behind the sun visors and also on rear view mirror to blur those pesky wrinkles. Satellite navigation is pre-programmed with younger crowd night spots. On-board slang dictionary is constantly updated to include the latest terminology. Inset moisturizing and anti-wrinkle lotion dispensers in each door and bucket seats with Mesotherapy to eliminate cellulite. Handy overhead botox dispenser will keep frown lines from forming due to road rage. (we should have at least one model to maintain our vanity).

Dyslexis SL – Whatever car you currently drive, this model is the exact opposite. Left is right and right is left. Or is it the other way around? As a bonus, this model, will automatically and without notification, backtrack to correct directional miscalculations. Speedometer begins at 120 mph and ends at zero. Luxury signage transposer, will photograph and flip the image of any road sign in as little as five seconds. A lavish treat for any driver suffering from Dysleiax…Dsylexi…Dyslexia.

Oldsmobile Bulimia – Don’t let Consumer Reports frighten you away from this vehicle. Once a portion of all fluids have been purged from the engine, this little roadster has very few rivals. Suspended fluid pan protects garage and driveway surfaces from stains and corrosion. Flushed fluids are fully recyclable. This model is light on its wheels and sport tuned. Actual mileage may vary.

Dodge A.D.D. – The perfect vehicle for, on-the-go, inner city driving. Optimal performance limited to short trips. If longer excursions are necessary, the battery cables can be re-routed to stun the engine at five minute intervals to prompt responsiveness. Stereo scans available music stations every 10 to 20 seconds and is programmed to jump from news-to-news broadcasts every 15 seconds. Turning signals and windshield wipers tend to activate before being initiated. Caution: This model is known to have trouble executing turns and tends to rev the engine without notice.

Just my 2 cents.

The Appliance Whisperer

I couldn’t sleep last night. Two hours of tossing and turning compelled me to remove myself from my sleeping platform and shuffle into the kitchen for a glass of water or perhaps a chunky peanut butter and banana sandwich on lightly grilled Turkish flatbread.

I was almost through the living room when I thought I heard conversation. I stopped to listen, half expecting to hear the familiar voices of our neighbors telling each other where to go and where they could stick unpleasant things, when all of a sudden I realized that the voices I was hearing were coming from the kitchen. My thoughts were racing which I believe may be the cause of my insomnia in the first place. Thousands of daily stragglers stumble in at ungodly hours hitting both walls of my temporal lobe. Who could sleep through that?

I inched closer to the kitchen and listened to a strange rasping. It was sort of a Mezzo-soprano droning that sent chills up my spine. Its comments were perceptible now. “If she opens my door one more time and sticks her butt-ugly, no-make-up face, morning hair, looking like a troll with an updo, in one more time I think I’ll blow my compressor.” I held my breath. My ears felt as if they were distended as I strained to hear more. “I don’t think she has aired out my crisper in months! There are mystery veggies oozing in the back and growing God-knows-what kind of bacteria. It offends me.”

“I hear you,” a deeper voice replied. “My hood is greasier than a used car lot and my burner knobs are cracked. Really burns me up.”

A shrill voice piped up, “I’ve seen the same stupid orange Fiesta dishware for years and my spray arms are exhausted from fending off week-old dried food chunks. I’m losing teeth and rust is eating its way through my intake valve as we speak.”

My hand flew up over my mouth. Dear God, was it me they were complaining about?

“Just you wait and see what happens to you!” the soprano voice said.

“I’m new, never been used,” a younger voice said cheerfully.

There was a knowing chuckle. “Yeah, we were too once but look at us now. One day you’ll be struggling to melt a piece a cheese over one of her Tuscan chicken crock pot sandwiches and she will just toss you in the garbage.”

“Crossbreed!” a barratone voice bellowed. “What the heck are you anyway? A toaster or an oven? She used to come to me when she wanted a hot meal. Now I have cobwebs on my rack and dust bunnies in my broiler. I might get a once-a-year job when she shoves in an oversize fowl. Talk about feeling useless!”

“Can’t we all just get along?” came from the direction of the blender.

“Easy for you to say,” the refrigerator chimed in. “You and your sharp blades and tight base gasket. Didn’t you get here at the same time as toaster-oven? New, never been used, fourteen speed, 450 watts of ice crushing power!”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I should be ostracized,” the blender whined.

“I thought Oster was your name,” said the stove. “I guess that would make you Ostercized.”

A burst of laughter filled the kitchen. I took a step forward to get closer. The floor squeaked. Suddenly the laughter stopped and everything went silent.

I almost did a half in-half-out back flip with a ½ twist in tuck position when my husband tapped me on the shoulder and asked what I was doing.

“I’m trying to hear what the appliances are saying about me but they are non-responsive.”

He gave me a quirky look and turned around and went back to bed.

Laughirmations

People who know me can attest to the fact that I am an avid fan of multi-tasking. However, I am most drawn to the tasks that can be performed while I am sleeping. You have heard about them, ‘earn money while you sleep’, ‘become smarter while you sleep’ and my most often tried, ‘lose weight while you sleep’. Of course, I have not mastered any of these techniques but that doesn’t mean I am not open to the idea that some vigorous sawing of logs can’t manifest a desired goal.

I recently came across the title of an article, ‘You can become gorgeous in your sleep’. This thrilling promise intrigued me and I was compelled to read some of the suggested methods but before I tried them I researched the aging process. Big mistake.

I found that our skin is composed of two main layers, the epidermis and the dermis. Both of these diminish in aging and the dermis thins by about twenty percent. The blood supply drops off with time and wrinkles develop. That coupled with the loss of collagen, a cement-like protein that holds cells together is what causes appearance of aging. What I found is that I am literally coming unglued. This gives the ‘War on Aging’ movement a whole new meaning for me even although I consider myself a lover not a fighter. The underlying message here is the older I get, the better I was.

The difference between my earlier attempts at sleep goals and the one I am attempting now is in the preparation. Getting richer, smarter or thinner involved affirmations whispered to me while I slumbered. Obviously, my subconscious is a much more resistant opponent than I suspected. I think it will take a lot more than encouraging whispers for me to become rich, smart or thin.

The first suggestion for waking up gorgeous was to sleep on your back. Now I don’t know about you but after I fall asleep I don’t know what position I assume although I have at times woke up in the duck and cover position that I learned in elementary school. I would have to be resourceful to insure I stayed on my back all night. I asked my husband to straddle a chair over me once I found the most comfortable position on my back with my head slightly elevated. Wedging myself between the legs of a kitchen chair was the only way I could be sure to maintain this corpse-like posture.

The second suggestion was to use a humidifier in the bedroom but between my husband’s resonate snore and the constant hissing of the humidifier, my dreams involved snakes sucking madly on straws long after their beverage was gone. I woke to my own screams, sat up rigid as a tombstone and bumped my forehead against the wooden dowels on the back of the chair. My husband was happy to hear I decided to discontinue these two techniques. Besides, I was tired of waking up like I had just entered a wet-tee shirt contest.

I washed my hair and combed a deep conditioner into it. I put on a shower cap as suggested so I wouldn’t ruin my sheets. Then I diligently applied Frownies (patches that adhere to your skin while you sleep to prevent your face from making the facial expressions that cause wrinkles)and afterward applied a thick ultra-hydrating moisturizer. Next I glopped petroleum jelly on my eyelashes (to prevent them from becoming brittle and falling out), hands and feet. I wore gloves and socks to seal in the moisturizer. Next I applied several layers of medicated lip balm the color of old lace and slipped in my teeth whitening trays.

Words cannot describe the expression on my husband’s face as I slipped into bed next to him. So I won’t try. When I turned out my light, the only thing I said was, “No more waking up to split ends, yellow teeth, a pale, pasty complexion or droopy bags under my eyes.”

His response was, “This is how you’re going to wake up gorgeous?”
I awoke early the next morning with the shower cap over my face as I gasped for air. The teeth whitening trays were lying neatly on my husband’s chest. My socks and gloves were on the end of the bed and the sheets were mottled with grease stains. I must have rubbed the petroleum jelly into my eyes while I slept because it took hours for the blurriness to go away. It was when I looked into the mirror that I realized that I am gorgeous. The petroleum jelly had provided a sort of Joan Collins filter to my naked eye and all the lines and wrinkles on my face had vanished! I had discovered the secret! This is the reason God planned for our eyesight to diminish…so we can’t see what happens to our bodies. I have limited my beauty regimen to one thing. Petroleum jelly. Now we’re all gorgeous. If only I could convince everyone to use it.

The last thing I’m going to say is, “younger people, why don’t you mind your own damn business!” You’ll get there too one day. The next time I see one of you jogging past my house with your three-hundred dollar running shoes and hand-held dumbbells I’m going to pick up a rock the size of a fibroid tumor and holler, “Serpentine, runner… serpentine!”