Who's Naming This Stuff? 

seriously... what the?!? 

Okay, so I love signage. Especially unintentionally inappropriate signage. I was in the Giant Eagle (an uber food mart prevalent here in town) waiting in the pharmacy line refilling my Valtrex (KIDDING!!) when I saw this...

I have no idea what this is even for, but who names a product...any product Sac Magique? How great would it have been to be in THAT brainstorming session, huh? And does the French make it more legit somehow?

Shelf placement is very important in retail. I think ye olde Sac Magique would go nicely next to this...

Ha Ha Ha... Sorry. This brings the 12-year-old boy in me great joy. I think le Sac Magique cast a spell on my defenseless phone photo's coloring. tsk tsk... Le Naughty, Naughty.  

In Which I Yield The Floor To Share A Friend's Tale 

Okay, so my friend and coworker, Kahones wrote a note on his Facebook page last week that had me absolutely crying from laughter. So naturally I asked him if I could bogart it for this here blog thingie, because really it is just too funny not to share. Seriously. Thankfully, he agreed. Enjoy!

Just Desserts... You Make The Call

Let me preface this little ditty with... I love kids. Love them. There's nothing as sweet and pure. Let me also say, there's no ONE way to parent. Everyone does it differently, but when personal spaces are invaded, either physically, by deafening screams or unidentified flying, slimy objects, something's just not working. 

 I finish my morning broadcast and pop into my favorite coffee shop for a piping hot java and crisp breakfast sandwich. It's 8:30 so it's busy. I pull open the door and hold it for a Mom, hand-in-hand with her little man (4-years-old I'm guessing). He's not really walking. He's kind of beebopping. You know that bounce, bounce, over striding, ants-in-his-pants walk. Of course, because we are an immediate and connected society, she's on her cell phone. As she passes my smiling face, I hear her in a snide and snotty tone: "oh I CAN'T STAND to do anything with that family. That child is an absolute monster. A total brat!" 

Remember these words folks.

Somehow I end up in front of Mom and Cameron (I'm guessing. She called him: Cammy). I'm digesting the comment I heard as she passed through the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Cammy still hand-in-hand, standing quietly, patiently. I think to myself: "Self, isn't that a picture. What a well-behaved boy". That thought was quickly erased... no, BEATEN out of my brain.

Cammy starts complaining. Mom tells him to be patient. Everyone else has to wait. Cammy starts doing the dead-weight-nearly-pulling-Mom-over-starting-to-scream lean. Heads are starting to turn. Mom relents and releases Cammy's hand. 

Mistake. 

Then the kid lets one rip. I mean, not a cute, little tot toot... I mean a 70-year-old Grandpa, asleep on the couch, clear a room boom. I bit my lip, cuz it was ffuuuunnnnyyy. Mom says "what do you say?" I was thinking... "uh, want to check my pants?"

Cammy's a wanderer. He marched over to the taster bagel stand, reaches up, grabs a bagel bit, smells it, then does his best center-field-to-home throw. he launches it over the people waiting in line, over the counter and into the food prep area. "Cammy! Stop that. Get over here", Mom snarls. 

Yeah, right. 

Cammy starts darting--I'm talking a dead sprint--from the front of the store to the back. It's reckless abandonment. He farts. Not so cute Cammy doesn't care who he runs into. Mom's barking at him to slow down. To stop. Too late. Cammy's at the age where his big melon is at the height of an average man's crotch. On a dead sprint, Cammy slams into some poor chap. Yep, Cammy's head hits him right in the ... well, "creamer". Guy spills his coffee. Mom let's out a big sigh, goes over, apologizes and scoops up a coffee soaked kid. The screaming begins. The entire shop is staring. Mom's jaw is clearly tight with tension. I'm starting to chuckle. The kid farts. 

By this point I've paid for my coffee and sandwich. Sipping my rich, black cup of joe, I wait for my sandwich order to come up. I know I'm in store for something good again, cuz Cammy is screaming--shrilling at the top of his lungs all the while doing the dead man lean. Mom again, let's go. 

Did I mention this is a mistake? 

The terror takes off again. Farts. Mom's trying to pay for her freu-freu-candy-coffee-in-a-cup. All is quiet. Not good, because Mom has NO IDEA where Cammy is. He's not in sight. He's in the back of the store. Suddenly out of nowhere... Suuuuper Caaaammmmyyyyy!!!!

I'm not sure what Mom is doing, but I assumed she would have cashed out and bailed out. Not before this. What is it about kids and spinning in circles at warp speed, I'll never know. Cammy is whipping around in circles faster than the Tea Cups at some crappy County Fair. He comes out of his spin--not on purpose--but that "Whoa, Whoa, Whoa" arms flailing kind of way. He darts forward headed for the counter. He slams, forehead first, into the side of the counter and drops like a stone. As Cammy slams on his back, he simultaneously farts AND burps. Suddenly I feel this really warm feeling in my sinuses. No, it's not a sneeze. Coffee damned near sailed out of my nose. I look around and everyone, EVERYONE, has that suppress-a-laugh smirk on their faces.

Mom runs over to Cammy. Not a scream... Not a cry... Not a whimper... Mom picks him up and that's when I notice a 2 1/2 inch, well defined, red indentation on Cammy's forehead. No blood. He'll feel that in the morning. Mom implores, "Are you ok?" FAAAARRRTTTTTTT.

Hey, great my order is ready!! I grab my sandwich and turn to see Cammy and Mom walking 

out, hand-in-hand. Cammy's now pulling on the seat of his pants. Wonder why? I guarantee it's going to be a smelly ride home. An employee picks up Cammy's tossle cap and hands it to Mom. Now we all understand why it wouldn't stay on his head... the horns kept pushing it off.

Thinking back to the phone call I overheard at the beginning of this story, I laugh to myself. As parents... our kid is  never the brat. It's always the other kid. 

tee hee

Thanks for the huge laugh, Kahones. My only question is...what the HELL is that woman feeding that kid?!? 

It Happened One Score and Four Years Ago... 

(okay...this is the last icky, mushy post for awhile, promise) 

On a sunny winter day in February, Geo and I tied the knot in a very traditional Ukranian Orthodox ceremony. We wore gold crowns, took three laps around the altar while our hands were tied together with colorfully embroidered cloth... and lost one or two guests to fainting. 

(In their defense, it was very hot in the church and people stood for nearly an hour. I know. It sounds lame, but that's what happened. *thud* "There goes Kenny".)

The reception was far less traditional and tons of fun. I can't believe 24 years has flown by so quickly. I mean, look at us. We were just kids then. I was a mere 120 pounds with baby fat and big, 80s hair and Geo had a full head of dark brown hair and a thick, yummy beard with not a grey hair in sight. 

When I look at this picture (which I do often since it's prominently placed on our mantle) I think to myself "who the HELL let these kids get married?" Seriously. We had absolutely no idea what we were doing. None. 

But we were in love and just wanted to be together. We never thought about the pitfalls and hardships ahead. We didn't give a shit. As long as we faced life's surprises together, we'd figure it out somehow, right? We did and we have. 

All these years later, I'm happy to say I dig Geo infinitely more now than that happiest of days. He rights my ship when I go astray. His love allows me the security to be who I am. He is my touchstone and true North. He is my best friend. He is my heart. 

Happy Valentine's Day To Me!

or where's my cocktail? I'm freaking dehydrated here...

Dear Penthouse Forum-

Last night I spent 120 gloriously sweaty minutes with five strapping black men, one Asian and three white guys, two of whom were my hubby, Geo and my go-to-date, Howard. This morning I woke up with burning thighs, a sore neck and my back crying out for the sweet release of a chiropractic crack.

I believe I also caught a fever... a fever from an infectious ska-beat of British origin. It was the English Beat!!

That's right. We spent two non-stop, high-energy, dance-a-thon, rhythmic hours in a grungy theater packed with a sea of fellow middle-aged English Beat followers having a ball grooving to one of the few 80s bands whose return is most welcomed. I haven't danced that much for probably a decade... hence the bad case of "dance neck" and burning quads this morning.

The evening started with a local ska band No Pressure comprised of five guys and a gal who kept chewing her gum while alternately singing on-key then off-key. I kept expecting the offending wad of chicle to spew forth into the crowd as she blurted one sour note after another. Apparently she had it tucked deep in her cheek like a squirrel on an eating binge... so crisis averted there.

But by far the most entertaining part of this band was the bass player. His fingers sailed up and down the neck of his bass, keeping a perfect ska beat with the rest of the band, but his body movements were distorted, twisted and completely out of step.

How is that even possible?

How can you keep one rhythm with your fingers and a totally unrelated I-think-I'm-having-a-seizure-ala-Elaine-Benis beat with your body?!? While everyone else was bopping and jumping in time, he was moving in some other time zone to a crazy-assed, awkward, atonal beat like the poster child for the whitest of white guy dancing.

Seriously!

It was hilarious to watch. Then to top it off, at the end of their set, Fred Astaire raised his bass guitar to reveal to the crowd he had split the front of his pants. I kid you not. Thank God he was wearing Underoos because nobody needed to see his Wee Willie winking out from his crotch. Endless entertainment, this lot. In spite of all that, the music was actually pretty good.

Then the English Beat took the stage and the energy level went into orbit--not to return to Earth until the End of the Party! Pounding bass lines, commanding drum beats, screaming sax solos and Dave Wakeling sounding like he did 30 years ago. At the stroke of the first note, all of us old farts were up and dancing for the rest of the evening. (here's Geo's favorite)

It was fucking brilliant!!

Apparently the promoters were less than hospitable to Dave and the gang, because he was relentlessly slamming them throughout the evening. Calling them out for not providing water, Gatorade, sandwiches or a nice cup a tea. Come on, people! They're English! You could have at least given them a pot of tea beforehand. Then to add insult to injury, the brain trust in charge insisted they only play 90 minutes.

They obviously had no idea who they were dealing with. Ole Dave flipped them ye olde "up yours" two-finger salute and proceeded to spend the next two hours electrifying the crowd with all the old favs and a couple new bits. Aaaaah... Good times. Good times.

(By the way, turns out all the chiding during the night worked... The management did a Mea Culpa and ponied up for Subway subs for the band. It was all love and kisses during the encore.)

I crawled into bed at 12:35am with the sound of a thousand cicadas ringing in my ear, more exhausted than I'd been in recent memory and the glow of a night well spent.

It was a Happy Valentine's Day, indeed.

Nobody Knows Me Like My Baby

or an evening with Lyle Lovett and John Hiatt

Okay, so Geo, Mary Ann, Howard and I went to see Lyle Lovett and John Hiatt perform at the music hall last Thursday night.

We ate dinner beforehand at a not-so-little place called LuLu's Noodles whose cuisine was a combo Vietnamese/Japanese/Chinese. Good thing the food was spicy hot, because the restaurant was freaking iceberg cold. Seriously. I felt like I was sitting in an igloo. I almost put my coat back on. Pay the gas bill already!

It's always a good time hanging with MA and Howard, and this evening was no exception. The three of us are planning to attend SXSW (the four day Austin music festival with a zillion musical acts) next year--not Geo's cup 'o java, but thankfully he's cool with me dragging my friends along for the ride. (Just one of the many reasons I'm lucky to be hitched to his wagon) Anywho, we started discussing other festivals we three might want to attend... Austin City Limits Festival, Bonarroo... when I mentioned Burning Man, MA let out this incredible, somewhat loud, excited yelp--which of course made me mirror her yelp--which made the man behind her levitate off his chair, forcing his LuLu noodle to slither from his gaping jaw--which made me laugh and point. Okay I didn't point, but I did laugh out loud.

So we file into the theater, settle into our seats and who should be sitting across from us? Why the levitating, noodle-dropping, "Burning Man" dude from the restaurant. And just because we're so mature, we kept calling out "Burning Man" and laughing... Okay, you probably had to be there.

Anyhoo...

The concert was a lovely, low-keyed affair. Each singer took his turn performing one of his hits for the audience, taking time in between to tell stories, converse with each other or in some instances interview the other.

At one point John Hiatt acknowledged his daughter's presence in the audience. Turns out she and her gaggle of college friends were sitting right in front of us. You know, for young girls they sure do have small bladders. They must have climbed in and out of their seats at least six times during the show. Either they were drinking a LOT beforehand, or they collectively have the laziest sphincters of their age group. 

But I digress...

So at one point Lyle started singing "Nobody Knows Me" which is a beautiful song that happens to be about cheating, but also speaks to one's deep connection to another.

That got me thinking about intimacy and what exactly that term means.

Sure most people equate the ultimate act of intimacy with swapping fluids during the heat of passion. And yeah, sex is an activity where the partners should have a strong bond of trust and love towards one another, but I'm not sure it qualifies as the definition of intimacy. Don't get me wrong...fewer sites are as sexy as clothing scattered hastily on a staircase, but who hasn't been caught up in the pure lust of an undeniable attraction only to discover the complete void of a connection afterwards. Left only with the uncomfortable awkwardness that comes from satisfying a physical urge, but not the emotional need.

No, I think true intimacy lives in the little acts... knowing he likes the sweetener in his coffee cup before pouring, leaving a Reese's peanut butter egg by her keys in the morning, buying him his favorite bagels, calling her to let her know her favorite singer is on World Cafe, needing to utter only the punch line of a joke to make each other laugh, finishing his thought, rubbing her feet without being asked, purposely saving part of her meal to share with him, the gentle pressing of his hand against the small of her back while waiting in line, the soft rubbing of her thumb atop his while holding hands, running his fingers through her hair while listening to a band play in a darkened night club, casting a look across a crowded room conveying a thought whose meaning only the two of them understand...

Monday Geo and I will be marking our 24th year of marriage. At times it hasn't been a cake walk--just ask him. (Oh, he's got stories... and maybe a few scars. I kid... or do I?) Still I can't remember the time he wasn't part of my life. And I can't imagine life without him. It has been a wonderful journey. I'm blessed that way.

I tease him there's no way I'd leave him for someone else. Truth is it'd be way too much work catching a new dude up on my life, likes, friends, inside jokes, idiosincrasies, phobias... This level of intimacy takes a long time to grow. So I guess he's just stuck with me.

Like Lyle says... nobody knows me like my baby.  

Friday Photo #14 

in which this should be blank 

Okay, so I intended to post the following statement today:

"Friday Photo #14: in which I ignore the whole Friday the 13th thing" 

That's it. Nothing more. 

I'd like to say it was because I didn't want to acknowledge the day or some other such piece of bull, but the sad, honest truth is I really didn't have any decent photo in mind to show and I meant to scan some pix I had stashed here and there but didn't get around to and I was just too lazy today to complete anything.

You: But... there's a photo at the top of this post.

Me: Very observant, grasshopper.

You: What gives?

Me: Serendipity.

You: ...Why do you have to be such a pompous asshat?

Me: Hey, hey... there's no need for name calling.

You: Just finish the story... and make it quick. I've got dinner on the stove.

Me: Alright! Jeez.. Don't get your knickers in a twist, Chippie. Have another cocktail, why don't ya. 

So I was driving back from another highly entertaining lunch with my gal pals from the Special K, when I got stopped in traffic on this bridge and saw this through my windshield. I thought it was really cool. And that is why there's a photo today. 

(P.S.: I think there really is something to this whole, scary Friday the 13th thing... First a pipe burst at the doctor's office, I couldn't get an online registration to go through and now Mr. Blogger.com is unable to save my crap. What up, Universe?)

Auntie Em! Auntie Em! 

or where the f*ck are we, anyway? 

Holy CRAP!!?!

For the last 14 hours we've been having ginormous winds gusting up to ... 92 mph!?! 

92 freaking miles per hour, people. That is like Wizard of flippin' Oz winds! It's so wicked outside today, our county even got a shout out on the NPR top of the hour news report. And there is no sign of any of it letting up any time soon. 

What the eff?!? Did we astrally project to flatter-than-W's-brain-wave Kansas while we slept peacefully unaware. 

The winds were so powerful, I think my Peter Pan hair stretched at least a half inch. No shit. Okay...maybe not, but you get the idea. There was actually a point today in my travels when I could barely open my car door to move rogue trash cans from the middle of the road. Oh and that's another thing... why are people so afraid to pull over and move a big, effin trash can from their lane? It takes like, two minutes. No, they'd rather speed and swerve around it. People kill me. Whatever. Sometimes I feel like the Cosmos' Mom.

On a different note... my missing shoe was delivered TODAY. Wow! Girlfriends, you need to patronize Clarks. Those people are on the ball. 

Well, here's hoping we're all still on the ground tonight. I mean, come on. It's Thursday night. I gotta watch 30 Rock.