Twenty Four At Heart

Sidelined With Swimmer's Ear

First off - wow!  Thanks for all the great reading suggestions yesterday.  I used the Random Integer Generator to pick the winner.  Congratulations to Dana Austin for Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About by Mil Millington!  You won the $30 Amazon gift certificate.  I will have it emailed to you as soon as you confirm for me the email address you wish it to be sent to.

Today I was going to tell you the story of how I (might have) really embarrassed myself while in Santa Barbara last weekend, but an illness has come up in our house and distracted me.  I've been busy playing nurse and sneaking medication into food and things like that.

It seems there's always something going on at our house.  Right now one of our family members has been sidelined with swimmer's ear and it's creating all sorts of problems.

He's been spending too much time in our pool and even though I warned him, he keeps insisting on diving in.

Every dive immerses him underwater and the result is a bad case of swimmer's ear.  Our Golden Retriever, however, thinks he can fly and loves to practice.

For a four legged creature, he does pretty well in the flying department.

Well, until he lands and his flight becomes a dive.

While we were in Santa Barbara last weekend we boarded the dogs with our vet.  The vet said there's been far too much of this going on lately:

It would be okay if he'd keep his head above water, but he loves to dive into the pool.  Since we can't stop him from diving, the vet says we need to ground him from the pool until he recovers from swimmer's ear.

He took the news hard.

He feels like we're punishing him and can't understand what he's done wrong.

Your kidding yourself if you don't believe animals can pout.

It's been so beautiful lately, it's been really hard to keep him out of the water.

I came back from errands yesterday and he'd managed to sneak in a quick swim while I was gone.  I caught him red-handed coming out of the pool.

I made him get out of the water and come in the house for the afternoon.

He didn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

© Twenty Four At Heart

This One's For The Chicks

I apologize in advance to my male readers.  If you read this today, I'm sure it will bore you to tears.  I've got some girly things on my mind.  I'm not very girly, so I need to get the girliness out of my system while it's there.

I went shopping yesterday.  

[Pausing while my male readers make a quick exit.]

While I was laid up, I had become bored and ordered a couple things online from Nordstrom.  I ordered some Haviana flip flops for $12 and I ordered a couple new bras to try with my now smaller boobs.  Well, of course, nothing fit when it arrived.  I knew that might happen which is why I ordered from Nordstrom.  They will take anything back, no questions asked, and there's a store fairly close to Money Town.

TR and I agreed to run down to the mall "just to return" what I had purchased.

Well ... yeah, that was the plan.

And I did return all the items in question.

While I was returning my $12 flip flops and reminding myself I should have just stuck with my favorite Rainbows instead, I fell in love with these:

This is not the greatest photo because the straps look reddish, and they are actually the same color as the rest of the shoe.  Steve Madden makes these and the color is Pewter (kind of a coppery silverish in this case).  I love them.  Did you hear me?  I said love, love, love them.

I might have a bit of a shoe fetish.

Oh, and if you give me a foot massage?  I will do anything for you in return.  Anything!  

Just kidding. 

*Ahem*

I bought the beautiful pewter pumps.  How could I not?  My excuse for buying them is my upcoming trip to Chicago.  I can wear them with jeans at home, and I can wear them with the dresses I will need to be wearing in Chicago.  Mind you, I haven't bought any dresses yet.  I hate dresses.  However, when I buy the dresses I hate, I will be sure to buy ones that I can wear with those shoes.

Yes, I know I live in flip flops, but look how pretty they are!

TR was looking for some black pumps.  She ended up with these:

Again, this photo doesn't really do them justice.  These were the cutest black pumps ON that I've ever seen.  They are also made by Steve Madden.  The rounded toe looks adorable on her.

Isn't it fortunate TR and I wear the same size shoe?  It was great when she lived here year round, but now she only comes home for a few weeks at a time.  We can share shoes once in awhile but not nearly as often as we used to.

TR picked up a few other things but the only other things I bought were two bras.  I still have to wear a sports bra for three more weeks per doctor's orders.  I've bought a zillion cheap ones at this point and I don't like any of them.  

My boobs hurt.

You're shocked I said that, aren't you?

No.  I can't shock you anymore, can I?

I know I just had major boob surgery three weeks ago, but the cheap sports bras were rubbing my overly sensitive nipples and my boobs have been hurting more than they should, and, and, and!

The sales lady at Nordstrom was awesome.  She has a friend who had a reduction last year and she understood exactly what I needed.  She brought me a Donna Karan sports bra to try on.  Ladies?  Without question, it is the most comfortable sports bra I have ever worn.  It actually provides a lot of support and some shaping.  It's so much more comfortable than having your boobs smashed flatter than pancakes.  If you ever wear sports bras, I highly recommend it.

[No, nobody's sponsoring this post.] 

In addition, I bought one bra to wear once I'm done with the 24/7 sports bra restriction.  I can't wear any bras with wire in them for six months.  It's very, very hard to find bras with a C cup that don't have wire.  I bought one and it's okay and it shapes my breasts nicely, but I can't say it's a bra I'll love for life.  

I still have a lot of swelling around my rib cage so I imagine my size will be changing over the course of the next couple months anyway.  I should be shrinking at least one size around my rib cage as the swelling gradually decreases.  At some point down the road, I'll be able to buy sexy, lacy bras.  

Victoria Secret - I'll be visiting soon.  I can't wait!

© Twenty Four At Heart

Football and Vaginas Don't Mix

All of you Football Moms out there?  Please don't email me complaining about this post.  I know you exist.  I guess I should have titled this post Football and My Vagina Don't Mix.

OK, now that I've covered that ...

I read somewhere (I can't remember where) that men think vaginas resemble footballs, is that true?  I don't understand the concept at all, but I'm not a man.

Anyway, my youngest son graduated from middle school last Thursday and began high school football yesterday.  He's never played a minute of football before.  He's (maybe) 5'8" and 115 pounds soaking wet and with his cleats on.  In other words, he's very skinny.  He's not exactly a typical football build.

My older son played high school football too, but to be honest Briefcase handled all the details.  I was going through all my car accident surgeries at the time.  If I did handle any of the details, I've forgotten them.  My life was a drugged up haze for a few years.  I went to all of the games, of course, but I don't remember football details.

We're a baseball family.  Both of my boys have played year round baseball since they were toddlers.  I know a lot about baseball.  No, let me clarify that, I know more than most baseball-crazed men do about baseball.  In contrast, I know the basics of football.  I mean, I hope what I know is enough to be considered the basics.  

What I'm really saying is, I don't know much at all about football.

I'm at the two week post-surgery point and I'm getting out of the house now.  I'm supposed to be resting, but let's face it - I'm going stir crazy.  I've been to two movies in as many days.  I drove the football carpool yesterday.  I'm taking it easy.  I'm not moving my arms a lot and I'm not lifting anything, but I'm starting to get out a little.  That's why, yesterday, when PR told me he needed a few things for football I thought I'd take him to the store.

I wanted to get out into the real world again.

I drove to the sporting goods store.  I took my bionic nipples with me.

The shoe department at a sporting goods store is an amazing place.  Do you know there are bazillions of cleats for sale?  I saw some very pretty ones and immediately grabbed them to show to the salesman.  He informed me they were for soccer, not football.  PR also informed me he did not want "pretty" cleats.

Oh.

After that I sat back and let the salesman and PR talk things over.  My eyes glazed over listening to them so I began wandering around.  I won't bore you with the details of high top cleats and low top cleats and screw in thingies on the bottom of cleats vs. molded-on thingies.  (And I use the term "thingies" because I don't know what the proper term is for those thingies on the bottom of cleats.)

By the time they were done, I think I probably bought the most expensive pair of football cleats in Orange County.  I didn't even care, I just wanted to be done with them.  I'm sure the new cleats will insure PR runs very fast, or catches the ball at some big important moment, or smashes someone, or does whatever it is he's supposed to do.

He'll be a star, despite his size, and it will be entirely because of those cleats I bought.

Next, I wandered over to the section of the store where other football stuff is sold.  Like, um, footballs.

I'm pretty sure the high school provides footballs so I didn't buy one.

I looked at helmets, and face masks, and chin straps, and mouth pieces.  Mouth pieces?  Who would buy a piece of artificial mouth?  What is that for?  Is it a replacement in case you're injured and lose a portion of your own mouth while playing?  They were all packaged up so I couldn't get a good look at them.

The store also sold eye shields and eye decals.  

?

Why would you need a decal of an eye for football?

Does it make a player look scary to have extra eyes?

Clearly, I'm not understanding the need for some of these products.

There were shoulder pads and "protective pads."  I thought the protective pads must be for penis protection.

"Oh, like a cup!" I exclaimed.

"Nooooo," stammered the salesman.

Apparently, protective pads are for thighs, forearms, ribs, and other body parts which do not include the penis.

Oh.

What do the players use to protect their penises?

There were gloves and wristbands and something called "shivers."  I never did figure out what a shiver is.  (But I bet it's really cold!)

The store sold cleat covers.  Why would anyone want to cover their cleats?  Maybe because their cleats got the shivers?

There was also something called a wrist coach.  Hmmm.  Under what circumstances would a player need to coach his wrist?  And coach it to do what?

Have you ever heard of spatwrap?  No, I don't know what that is either.  It sounds like a wet ace bandage ... you know, one that has been spat on.

I could go on and on about the plethora of crazy football products, but to be honest I don't know what any of them are or do.

I finally gave up, paid for the cleats, and came home.  I was wiped out from expending all my energy trying to figure out football products.  I think I'll ask Briefcase if he can take care of whatever PR needs next weekend.  

Clearly, it's going to be a long season.

© Twenty Four At Heart

Dual Graduations

Yesterday was my first full day up and about.  PR graduated from middle school in the morning and RC graduated from high school in the evening.  I'm very proud of both of them.

My in-laws flew in for the day.  I'm sure you can imagine what it's like to try to take on the world, including in-laws, for 18 nonstop hours right after a major surgery.  I thought I was going to die from exhaustion.  I nearly passed out at the evening graduation, I literally started to sway on my own feet at one point.  Somehow I managed to hang in there, but I think it was through sheer will and determination.

I'll be back on the couch resting most of the weekend.

By the way, my in-laws never noticed my breasts.  I declined hugs by informing them my shoulder was sore and that was that.  (If anyone hugged me right now with my very tender breasts I would burst into tears.)

Why am I the one who is always trapped in a seat near a crying toddler for hours on end during graduation ceremonies?  I love kids, I really do.  I have three, remember?  I also always had the courtesy to walk mine right out of an event when they were younger if they were being disruptive to others. 

While everyone else was captivated by the graduation speeches and the reading of name after name after name ... I was noticing the following sights surrounding me.

If you had this growing on your chin, wouldn't you have it removed promptly?

I had to look at that for an hour during PR's ceremony.  <shudder>

When you are at least 55 years old it's time to stop wearing little girl barettes in your hair and looking like this:

By the way, if you are going to wear little girl barettes in your hair, please make them even because, really?

This Money Town woman got a little carried away with the idea of oversized sunglasses:

She reminds me of a giant fly.  Am I the only one who thinks that?

Some people can fall asleep anywhere.  I don't know if I've ever felt as exhausted as I did yesterday, and yet I managed to stay awake for both of my son's graduation ceremonies.

  

My favorite picture of the day is my last.  A mom near me fell asleep before the ceremony ever began and did not wake up until everyone rose to leave.  She missed her kid's entire graduation.

I hope everyone has a fun and restful weekend!

© Twenty Four At Heart

Need a Little Spice in Your Life?

My life is super exciting this week as I recupe from surgery.  (Yawn!)  By next week I imagine I'll be back in the Money Town scene, but for now I'm playing a hermit.  Letting my perky size C boobs heal up before I undoubtedly flash them at someone in town.

I had a couple topics to write about today and I decided to scratch all of them for the time being.  I wanted to do something different and change things up a little bit.  Most of my readers come from outside of California, and I thought I'd give you a little glimpse of the California lifestyle today.

Because the weather here is pretty nice year-round, we tend to use our grill for cooking year-round also.  (I'm going to make all my southern readers shudder when I tell you we call it a barbeque, not a grill.)

Spicy food is also pretty common in Southern California because we are so close to Mexico.  I grew up eating a wide variety of spicy food.  Briefcase grew up on the east coast and he is still shocked to see our kids throw Tabasco and/or salsa on everything.  Briefcase had never even tried salsa until he went to college in the south.  

In any case, I thought I'd share with you an easy summer dinner we had recently.  It might be something you're interested in trying yourself if you don't mind a little "kick" to your food.

It starts with thin skinless chicken breasts and this:

The Chili-Lime Rub is available at Williams Sonoma for $10 (you can get it online from them also).  There is enough of the rub in a can for more than one meal.  (And no, they are not sponsoring me to write this!)  It's a little spicy, but not overpowering.  Really, the rub just provides a nice blend of spices.

It takes maybe a minute to rub the spices into the chicken:

After that it's another few seconds to throw it on the grill:

I like to chop up a medley of veggies to cook in a mesh pan on the grill at the same time.

A lot of time we husk corn and throw it directly on the grill too.  There's no reason to turn the stove or oven on at all in warm weather.  The veggies are done when they look like this:

The chicken is done when it looks like this:

It's so easy!  

It takes a few minutes to scrub down the grill when you're done.  In addition to being quick and easy, the rub makes the chicken really flavorable.  It's a great day to day choice for yourself, but it also makes an easy meal for guests.  

If I were all Martha-Stewart-ish I'd have a picture for you of the meal displayed beautifully on a plate.  

Um ... I'm nothing like Martha Stewart, did I mention that?

© Twenty Four At Heart

The Latest & Greatest

I appreciate all the emails, tweets, etc. I've been receiving.  Honestly, this will be my most boring post EVAH!

I am doing better.  The recovery itself has not been bad.  Getting kicked in the ass with a bad anesthesia reaction is what has made this into an ordeal.  It's like a bad week with the stomach flu, but throw in some physical pain along with it.  Getting sick so often has caused a ton of extra bleeding and bruising and my doc tells me it will slow my recovery down by at least a week.

I appreciate all the suggestions on anti-nausea meds.  I had a patch on prior to surgery and the doctors have given me every medication available.  Nothing has worked for me.  But, I think (?) the worst of the stomach stuff is now behind me.

The good news ... I'm now able to eat a bite or two of mild food.  (Saltine crackers - ooh baby!)  The better news - when I manage to get some food down I can then take a pain pill which helps with the surgery discomfort.  The pain has not been too bad and I can handle it without any pain meds, but getting a little relief now and again helps my mental outlook tremendously.

Speaking of mental outlook ... I weighed myself.  Why did I weigh myself?  I figured with a couple pounds of breast tissue cut off and the fact I haven't eaten since last Sunday, I probably lost a lot of weight.  All that puking must be good for something.  Wouldn't you think?  But no, my weight is UP five pounds.  If anyone can explain that to me, you're welcome to try. 

My big goal right now is just to make it through the next ten days.  I know I'll feel so much better physically once I hit the two week post-surgery point.  Right now it's hard for me to imagine getting through two graduation ceremonies next week.  (PR and RC graduate on the same day.)  Hopefully, I'll be much better by then.  I'm definitely stressing the most about those graduations and having to entertain my in-laws when they fly in for them.  

Gah!

(My in-laws don't know I just went through surgery and I'd rather not tell them.  However, right now I'm so weak from not eating that it's a major effort to get up and walk to the bathroom.  I need to be a whole lot better a week from now.)

The reduction itself has been very low pain compared to what I've been through the past few years.  I'd be fine and doing great if I hadn't had the adverse anesthesia reaction.  

On a positive note, the doc removed the drains from each breast and I didn't pass out when he did it.  Having those gone is a huge bonus.  I also am finally able to shower which makes me feel human again.  The stitches are starting to itch which is driving me crazy.  On the other hand, I finally got a glimpse of my new boobs and even bruised ... they're fabulous!

© Twenty Four At Heart

Quick Update

Thank you everyone for the outpouring of support and concern.  I  feel very loved and I've needed every ounce of support the last couple days.  Thanks also to my niece, UndomesticDiva who has been fielding questions on my well being from my readers, the blogosphere, and numerous friends via Twitter while I"ve been out of touch.

The surgery itself went well, or so I am told.  I have yet to see my breasts.  They are bound so tightly I appear to have NO breasts anymore.  My doc, however, told me I do, in fact, have size C breasts under all that binding and that they will be "very perky" and he thinks I will be quite happy with them.  More importantly, the reduction should help tremendously with my ongoing shoulder/arm problems.

What didn't go well, was my reaction to the anesthesia.  As you know, I've been through multiple surgeries since my car accident.  For some reason, this time my body flipped out from the drugs.  I have been horribly ill as a result.  The docs have been trying everything to get me feeling better, but at this point I've been puking my guts out since I woke up from surgery.

Puking is not good for all the obvious reasons, but it also causes more bleeding and a slower healing process.  In addition, I've not been able to take any pain killers so I'm trying to get through this cold turkey pain-wise.

Fortunately for me, a breast reduction is way less painful than my past surgeries.  The pain is uncomfortable, especially when I have to get up and move around but I am able to tolerate it.  I guess this is where my years of pain come in handy - I imagine the first few days post breast reduction for someone else would be pretty tough without any pain meds.

Today I get the drains removed from each breast.  Tomorrow I will be able to take my first shower.  I will feel so much more human after that shower.  Hopefully by the weekend the anesthesia will be out of my system and I will be able to tolerate some pain meds for the discomfort.

My posting might be sporadic until I'm feeling a little better.  Thank you for understanding and thank you for all your support!

© Twenty Four At Heart

It's Your Turn

How sick of my boobs are you?

All I can think about are boobs, boobs, boobs.

I'll get over it soon.

In the meantime, I want to draw smiley faces on my areolas and go topless until my surgery.  I want my breasts to know how much I appreciate them.  They're still very nice boobs even if they're big.  They aren't sagging to my knees and my nipples don't point at my toes (yet).

I bet you'd really like my boobs if you met them.

A man at the gas station yesterday couldn't stop staring at me (but really them) and it made me wonder if men will ever look at me again when I don't have BIG GIGANTIC TITS leading the way everywhere I go.

What if I'm never noticed by a male again? 

And more surprising, why do I care?

Because I do care.

These are the thoughts that are going through my head as I start counting down days to my surgery.

Many of my readers have emailed me with stories of their breast reductions and I appreciate every single person who has taken the time to share their experience with me.  One woman told me the side effect she didn't expect was realizing her nipples are perpetually hard and at attention since her surgery several years ago.  She buys bras with enough padding to hide them.

I think Briefcase might really like that if it were to happen to me.  (Men?  Feel free to tell me if forever-hard-nipples is a good thing or not.)  Another reader told me her nipples don't stay permanently erect so it must not happen to everyone.

I've already started in with the pre-surgery regimen of supplements the doctor provided me with.  They are making me very tired and a little nauseous.  The doctor told me to expect a lot of nausea post-surgery due to the bazillion drugs I will be taking.  (Honestly, I've had a lot of surgeries and I've never seen anything like it ...  I think there's at least a dozen medications and/or supplements.)  

The doc also wants me eating a lot of food high in protein and drinking Gatorade and Ensure for the weeks post-surgery.

Bleh!

This is where you come in.  I need some help.  I've got a whirlwind of activities coming up in the next few weeks.  I can't sit around and rest for six weeks while I heal.  A lot of these activities can't be put on hold ... like my in-laws arriving (!), both of my boys going through graduations in less than two weeks, TR needing help moving home for the summer, and a zillion other things.  

I don't have time to sit around feeling shitty.

I think I'm going to have to tackle all of this activity with my tightly gauze-bound breasts, while looped on tons of drugs, and feeling very nauseous.

What tips can you give me for getting back on my feet quickly?  Do you have a winner chicken soup recipe?  What works for you if you're nauseous?  Is it Alka-Selter?  Ginger Ale?  Do you have suggestions for some high protein foods that won't be too hard on my stomach when mixed with all the drugs?

I'll be wiped-out tired from the trauma of the surgery, the anesthesia, and all the pain meds.  I'll be feeling very bleh ...  I need your help.  I'd love to hear as many suggestions as possible because if one thing doesn't work, maybe something else will.

Oh - and by the way, my surgery is at the crack of dawn on Monday.

© Twenty Four At Heart

My Hole Gave Birth to a Monster

This is a really gross, offensive, post today.  If you have a weak stomach, come back tomorrow.  I don't usually write about really disgusting things, but I'm rushing off to a lengthy pre-op appointment today and have very little time for writing.  Also?  Quite honestly, I'm so repelled by this story, I have to share.

Your welcome. 

Last March I went to Santa Barbara for a weekend and I came back with a new piercing in the upper cartilage of my ear.  I blogged about it at the time.  I even shared this picture with you:

Very pretty, yes?

I've never had cartilage pierced before and the directions for after-care were quite specific.  Disinfect the piercing twice daily.  Under no circumstances is the earring to be removed prior to the 12 week point.

I've been absolutely religious about putting the alcohol formula they gave me on the new piercing twice a day to ward off infection.  What no one told me prior to the piercing is, a cartilage piercing hurts for quite awhile.  Not the piercing itself, but if you bump it while brushing your hair, or if someone (ahem!) at PT is massaging your neck and whacks you in the ear ... you just might yelp.

(Not to complain about neck massages, because, um ... yeah.)

I did have to remove the earring twice though.  Both times hair had gotten wound around the back of the earring post and hopelessly tangled on it.  I removed the earring for a mere matter of minutes, cleaned it, and put it right back in.

I shower every day, did I mention that?  And I wash my hair daily too.

I tell you all this so you will realize, and understand, I have good hygiene.  Because ... because, something horrifying, nauseating, and vile happened this week.

(I've always been good with descriptive words.  Did you appreciate that last paragraph?)

(I also crack myself up.  Like right now ... I'm thinking I'm funny.  I bet that's annoying.)

(And once in awhile?  I over utilize parentheses.  Have you ever noticed that?)

My cartilage piercing started hurting.  At first it was mildly annoying.  I thought, perhaps, the hole was getting infected in spite of my rigorous routine with the alcohol solution.  I started using the solution three times a day instead of two.  My ear hurt more.  

The next day the pain increased.  And then, the day after, it increased even more.  Thoughts of having to remove the earring forever began repeating themselves in my head.  Finally, the pain became so intense I knew I had to give up the piercing.

I went to our master bathroom where I have one of those big magnifying mirrors.  I used it to help me find the earring backing on my very inflamed ear.  I removed the earring and ... and ...

My piercing hole gave birth before my very eyes to an abomination.  It literally pushed out a .. thing .. a glob ... a monstrosity that looked something (but not exactly) like this:

Mind you, this did not come out of my ear hole, it came out of the cartilage piercing site.  It was colossal, it was humongous, it was repugnant.

I named it Baby Jane.

I don't know if I've ever been so grossed out by my own body.

I was horrified.

I promptly washed my ear with more of the alcohol solution.  I inspected the piercing site and it looked perfectly fine.  I washed the earring itself with more of the cleaning solution and replaced the earring right back into my ear.

The pain was instantly gone.  My ear is fine.

My hole had just been in labor.  My piercing was having contractions apparently, and I didn't even know it could do that.

In some weird way it reminded me of the day our bird, Einstein, laid eggs.  We thought Einstein was a male bird for several years.  One day he started acting up and became downright mean.  The next day he laid eggs.  After the eggs were laid he/she became a reasonable and nice bird again.  We had to rethink everything we thought we knew about Einstein.

Once my hole gave birth to Baby Jane, everything was fine again.

(See, the bird and my cartilage piercing are practically the same thing.)

Except ... except, I've had a hard time sleeping every since all this happened.  My nights are haunted by terrible images of Baby Jane emerging from my body.

© Twenty Four At Heart

Save Me From What? It's a Contest!

I wonder how many people I will offend today.  I'm guessing at least a few hundred.

--------------------

Before I start offending people, I'd like to go public with a couple things.  First of all, I'm hopelessly behind on email right now and if you are waiting to hear from me, I apologize.  Second, thank all of you so much for your responses and concern about Mocha.  I couldn't believe the outpouring of love for our lab.  I have the kindest readers in the world.  Third, I will be available for meet and greets on a few occasions this summer.  Right now I know the following dates:

July 23 - 27  Chicago (BlogHer convention)

August 21 - 22 Charlotte, NC

**  More dates and cities to follow  **

If you live near where I will be, when I will be there, I'd love to meet you in person.  Just send me an email letting me know you're interested and I'll get details out to you.  I'll republish the dates periodically as they grow closer.

--------------------

Okay, now I'll carry on offending people.

For quite some time I've been getting emails from a very Right Wing Organization (RWO) based out of Texas.  I don't know how they found me, but my guess is they were wandering the Internet searching for sinners.  They found me, and I openly admit to being a sinner so, fair enough.  

At first, I'd get about one email a month telling me in quite forceful terms they could save me.  Lately, they've upped the email frequency to daily.

Initially, the emails amused me.  Lately, they've become downright annoying.

I realize by writing on the Internet I put myself out there for criticism and judgment.  

Fine.  

But!  

And it's a big but.

(Not as big as my butt maybe, but a big but nonetheless!)

I write Twenty Four At Heart because it entertains me to do so.  Hopefully most of you come here to read because it entertains you also.

Some of you may even feel you've come to "know" me by reading 24.  And it's true, you do get a glimpse of me here in my writing.  You see the parts of me, or my life, I choose to reveal in the fashion I choose to reveal them.

Yesterday I had lunch with one of my readers.  She lives in Money Town, heard about 24 and began reading on a daily basis.  After awhile she began exchanging emails with me.  We realized we have some mutual friends.  We now get together on a fairly regular basis for coffee or lunch.  

At lunch, she commented on how quiet I am and how "normal" and calm I am.  I suppose my writing gives the impression I might show up topless if you invite me to meet you for lunch.  I want to go on record as saying, I have never once shown up topless in public.

Not intentionally, anyway.

(Well, not counting the tanning salon, but that wasn't my fault.)

I'm such a disappointment.

The point I'm making is there is an awful lot about me that isn't anywhere to be found in cyberspace.

So when I get an email from RWO adamant about "saving" me day after day it begins to really annoy me.

How do they know I'm not saved?

Do they know anything whatsoever about my religious beliefs?

What are they trying to save me from?

Are they trying to save me from the chronic pain I live with?

Are they trying to save me from Roid or The Torturer?

Are they trying to save my boobs from getting cut off by a plastic surgeon?

Are they trying to save me from mooning the train?

Are they trying to save me from my leaking dog?  (By the way, the vet believes she has a kidney stone but she has stopped leaking!)

Maybe they're trying to save me from checking out the repairman's drill?

Maybe they're trying to save my clit, which I lost temporarily last March?

Maybe they think it's wrong for me to have a cuter cooter?

Do they really know anything about me?  Did I ask for their help? 

The answer is no, no, no!  And oh, how I hate judgmental people.

That being said, I'm asking for your help.  I know a lot of you are real smart asses, right?  Give me ideas for some funny or rude replies I can send to RWO next time I hear from them.  One idea per comment.  I will pick the funniest or rudest reply (yes, it's subjective) and the one winner will get:

This cool Starbucks Orange County coffee mug AND a $20 gift card to Starbucks.  I have one of these coffee mugs and I use it every morning.  It's big, it feels great in my hand and it has become my very favorite!  The mug has a cool surfing dude on the front.  The back of the mug looks like this:

The contest ends this Sunday evening, May 31st, at 8 p.m., Pacific Time.  One entry per comment.  The winner will be announced on Monday.  

Have fun!

© Twenty Four At Heart

My Dog is Leaking, And My Boobs Saved Me

Thank God we have a brick floor in our house.

Our Chocolate Lab has sprung a leak.  Her name is Mocha, because she's a chocolate lab and we're real original with the dog names ... or maybe not so much.  

Did you notice how she crosses her legs when she's just relaxing and hanging out?  She's so ladylike.  Mocha is the sweetest, most gentle dog you can imagine.  She and PR are best friends.  I've never seen a boy love a dog so much, and I've never seen a dog love a boy so much.

I kept seeing little drops of water on the brick floor yesterday.  I would normally blame my kids for ... I don't know, walking around dripping something, but they weren't home.  Awhile later I found a puddle.  Finding a puddle in your house is never a good sign, not even when it's on an easy to clean up brick floor.

Mocha is six years old and completely house trained.  She never, ever, has accidents and hasn't since the week we brought her home.  Literally, she's leaking.  Liquid is just trailing out of her and besides the ewwww factor, there is also the WTF? factor.

Really, WTF?

It isn't pee (not even slightly yellow), it isn't crap ... it looks just like water and there's no odor.  I can't locate where the leak is coming from other than the back half of her body.  I can't figure out what the leak is either.

Have any of you ever heard of a leaking dog?

Clearly I need to A) Keep her off the carpeted areas of the house and B) Get her to a vet as soon as possible.  Don't ask me how I'm going to pull off a vet visit on the Friday before Memorial Day weekend when every minute of my day is booked, but it's got to happen.

Because?  The dog is leaking!

I don't know what a trip to the vet costs where you live, but here in south OC we're lucky if we get out of the place for $400.  So then, there's that too.

But?  Leaking Dog!

On a positive note, and in totally unrelated news - thank God I have boobs!

I was running late the other day.  I might have been driving just a tad bit fast down a major thoroughfare.  I rounded a bend and said, "Oh shit!" as I slammed on my brakes.  Mr. Officer was right there in the shadows with his handy radar gun.

I think he was waiting for me, ya know what I mean?

Well, it just so happened I was wearing a relatively new shirt that day.  It's kind of a tealish blue and it's really pretty although, in hindsight, I don't think Mr. Officer cared at all what color it was.  And, um, it's very low cut.  I have big boobs.  In fact, I'm thinking about getting them made smaller but I'm a chicken shit so I probably won't.

Tangent:  Why would I get my tits made smaller?  Because they are not helping my arm and shoulder situation in the least ... as my doctor has told me in no uncertain terms repeatedly.  Also?  My entire life people have seen nothing but my boobs.  People talk to my boobs all the time.  They forget there's a me attached to them.  It gets old.

In any case, Mr. Officer came over to my car (now pulled to the side of the road) to say hello.  Very friendly of him, wouldn't you say?

The thing is Mr. Officer had polarized sunglasses on and when he stood next to my window looking in at me I could see perfectly well he was getting an eyeful of cleavage.  I don't think Mr. Officer ever looked anywhere except at my cleavage as a matter of fact.

I told Mr. Officer I was so sorry, and I was just running a little late, and I may have - just possibly - crossed my arms under my breasts as I was talking.  The (purely unintentional!) act of arm crossing just may have possibly created even more cleavage.

The next thing I knew I was being reminded to drive safely and sent on my way without a ticket.

Ladies?  Never, ever, underestimate the power of cleavage!

P.S.  How many people would put a leaking dog and the power of cleavage into the very same post?

© Twenty Four At Heart

An Inappropriate Post About a Man and His Drill

As some of you may remember, I've been working on my house off and on for quite awhile.  After wasting a few years on post-car accident surgeries and misery, I've been trying to get my life back in order.

Quite awhile ago I ordered a plasma stand to hold our TV.  We already had a funky piece of crap stand, but it really needed to be relocated to the local dump.  I was warned when I ordered the new one that it would take a few months to arrive.

It did.

Two weeks ago it was finally delivered.  The night it arrived I asked Briefcase to please put the TV onto the new table/stand.  (Since I'm sort of one-armed and TVs are heavy.)  He looked at the new stand and said, "There are no holes for the wires to go through," and then he sat on the couch to watch ESPN do some very hard work.

The new TV stand has been sitting around with nothing on it for two weeks.  Briefcase is, um, not handy ... to put it as politely as I can.  

I was going to call a handyman to come help me, but the store where I bought the stand said they could send someone out at no charge.

This week I got this message on my home answering machine:

Twenty Four, this is XXXX from XXXX.  James can come out to your house tomorrow afternoon to drill your holes.  <pause>  <giggle>  Oops, I don't think that sounded quite right.

My son, PR, and I?  We laughed till we cried when we heard the message. 

At 2:00 the next day James showed up.  While waiting for him to arrive I procrastinated doing chores by Tweeting:

I've got a man coming to drill my holes any minute now.

Those ladies on Twitter?  They are horny bitches.  If you're a man and in need of some action, I can't recommend Twitter highly enough.  You should especially follow the hos chicks who follow me.

I started getting all sorts of offers from women on Twitter for James before he'd even arrived.  I thwarted their efforts to steal James away to have their holes drilled.  Jeez, they were even offering to pay money for him!

Then the doorbell rang.  By that time, my mind was completely in the gutter.  I couldn't help myself, I immediately checked out his drill.  James had a big drill.

I showed James to my living room so he could drill my holes.  

James looked confused.  James looked deep in thought.  There are times when a woman wants a thinker, but it's never when she's waiting to have her holes drilled.

I sent out a quick tweet:

OK, this is no good. He's confused over what should go in which hole. FAIL.

Shortly after, James started making a lot of noise and I updated Twitter with this information:

Jeez ... he's got a huuuuuuuuuge drill!

James worked fast once he got the hang of it.  Too fast, really.  It's always nice to have a man who takes his time.  It wasn't long at all until James was thanking me (for the opportunity to drill my holes?) and on his way.

I updated all the ladies who were anxiously waiting for news on James with this:

The man with the big drill just left. He was a disappointment.

The whores on Twitter were not surprised.  I got all sorts of comments back saying, "it figures," and "typical."

Apparently, the bigger the drill . . . oftentimes, the bigger the disappointment.

At that point I went back and reread my Twitter stream.  I decided I needed to start being more productive for the day so I sent out my final tweet on the subject:

I'm all sorts of inappropriate today.  How unusual.

Who me?

©  Twenty Four At Heart

My Tinderbox, My Home

Before I get too deep into today's post I want to share some exciting news with you.  Last week I was contacted by Amazon.  By Saturday of last week, they began publishing Twenty Four At Heart to their Kindle readers.  If you have a Kindle, or if you have a friend or family member who might be interested in subscribing to Twenty Four At Heart by Kindle you (or they) can go here to do so.  This also seems to be a very appropriate time to thank each and every one of you who take the time to come here and visit.  There are no words to express how much I appreciate you.  Smooches!

Yesterday The Torturer let me out of PT a little early.  I came home and before I'd even left my garage I knew there was a problem.  I could hear a helicopter and it was close.  It was very loud ... and a loud helicopter near my house means only one thing.  

Fire.

My backyard ends with a slope down to this lake.  The lake is surrounded by dry brush this time of the year.  I live in a canyon and the canyon is a tinderbox ready to ignite.

Yesterday it ignited, but fortunately the fire was deemed as a "spot fire" and within a couple hours the fire was "under control" although not extinguished.  At no time was the fire close enough to threaten my home.

The Orange County Fire Authority helicopters fill their water tanks directly from the lake when there are fires nearby.  Unfortunately, living where I do means I see these helicopters at least once a year, and during many years even more frequently.

The helicopters always approach from the north.

The helicopters used to have huge buckets hanging from them that they would fill.  Now they have water tanks on board and fill them instead.

It only takes a couple minutes to fill the water tanks.

Then they are back in the air and headed towards their destination to drop the water.

  

Yesterday was unusual.  The fire department was using multiple helicopters.  At some points one would be hovering as another filled its tank.  As soon as the first would leave, the next would take its spot.  My normally quiet canyon was very loud until it became too dark for the firefighters to fly.

I started tweeting fire events as soon as I got home.  The Orange County Register follows me and contacted me for a phone interview.  They also asked if I could email them some pictures which I did.  If you're interested you can read the newspaper article here.  I am quoted and they also gave me a photo credit.  It made me feel *special*.  (Except for the part where they outed my identity to all of Orange County and the entire rest of the world when this was supposed to be an anonymous blog!)

That part of it?  Not so special ....

Mean Girls

This post has been removed.  

Thank you for all the comments, emails and feedback I received.  Clearly, high school and the emotions and memories it evokes brings up a lot of strong feelings.

When Outsiders Visit Money Town

I live adjacent to Money Town.  Money Town is a gate guarded community.  The guards at the gates are idiots, but they wear a name tag saying GUARD which makes them official.

I share the same Starbucks, grocery, and community stores with the Money Town folks.  For over 15 years my kids played sports in various Money Town sports leagues.  I like to make fun of the more absurd personalities Money Town offers, but the truth of the matter is I take for granted the general essence of Money Town itself.

Last Friday PR had a baseball game at the Money Town Sports Park.  His team was playing against a Money Town Team.  Over the years both of my boys have played many games there.  My car accident, in fact, occurred as I left one day after dropping PR at practice at this very same park.  To this day my stomach clenches in knots from the memory every time I'm there.  I have to take a deep breath each time I leave the park and re-enter the intersection where my life was left shattered right alongside my shoulder.

When PR was 12 we made a parental decision to remove him from Money Town baseball leagues for reasons I won't bore you with today.  Since that time we frequently comment about the fact PR now plays in "normal" leagues with "normal" people instead of surrounded by Money Town's finest.  (I'm pissing Money Town people off as I write this ... I can FEEL it.  To be honest?  It's not the first time!)  

The truth is, most Money Town people are a different breed of people.  They're sort of like their very own civilization.   Heh ...

I'm going to take a short detour here so you'll understand my state of mind at PR's game last Friday.  Earlier in the day I had visited with my surgeon for my MRI results.  I won't go into all the blah, blah, blah about that right now.  However, before I left he did a procedure on me which included inserting a thirty foot (maybe forty foot?) needle through my shoulder joint and injecting me with Shit That Hurts Like Hell.  Then he told me to go home, "take lots of pain meds, ice [my] arm and do nothing but rest and enjoy the drugs for the remainder of the weekend."

I went home and reported my status to Briefcase.  Then I took lots of drugs, had no time for ice or rest, and went to PR's game at the Money Town park high as a kite.  By that, I mean I was really out of my mind and extremely happy (if somewhat confused) on all those drugs.  I'm not used to them anymore because I rarely take them now.  

Really, you know what everyone around here wants?  They all want to watch me high and with no mouth control whatsoever in Money Town.  It's kind of like a train wreck.  You want to look away, but you just ... can't.

Briefcase later told me he looked into the bleachers where I was seated and saw me "holding court" for the other families on PR's team.  He said everyone was in stitches laughing at with me.  I don't really remember much at all.  I only remember snippets over the few hours I was there.  

I might have talked nonstop a lot and laughed even more.

I might have told a few zillion Money Town anecdotes.

I might have thought we were halfway through the game and tied 2-2 when the game was actually over and PR's team had won 5-0.

Someone might have laughed and asked exactly what game I had been at while everyone else was at the game right there in Money Town.  And then just maybe everyone laughed and asked if I'd had a good time at whatever game I'd been to.

When I think back on it I realize how odd Money Town must have seemed to many of those nice, normal families who had never been there before.  One man commented incredulously regarding the enormous homes he'd seen as he drove to the Sports Park.  One man asked if the front yard he'd seen "really belonged to a person" or whether it was a golf course.  (At first I thought he did mean the Money Town golf course, but then I realized he was indeed talking about someone's front yard.)  Several of the women commented on "the fancy cars" and "oh my, the WOMEN here!"

It made me realize how much of my surroundings I don't even see anymore. 

During the game I got up to stretch my legs.  I saw a woman walking in the park and I sent the following out on Twitter:

There's a woman here with fake boobs that are big enough to reach to Chicago.

What I didn't say was that she had on a skin tight tank top that said "Money Town" across her enormous fake boobs.

I found it so tacky ... it would be like having, "I'm Filthy Rich" printed across your chest in any other town.  Classless.

The woman smiled at me.  I stared at her in my drugged stupor.  I was thinking how ridiculous she looked with her enormous chest, her plastic face, her liposuctioned body and her tight Money Town shirt on.  She said hello, and I replied, "hi." She seemed too friendly.  I wondered if she was hitting on me.  She winked.

OMG!  Big Tits was hitting on me!

I went back to the bleachers and reported to one of my friends that Big Tits wanted me.

She winked at me!

Yes, I was THAT drugged.

Because REALLY?  What a rich, plastic Money Town woman wants is not a drugged up poor woman from outside the gates.  (That's how Money People talk ... you're a loser if you're from outside the gates.)

Right after Big Tits hit on me things got busy.  

Briefcase invited 20+ people over to our house after the game without warning me ahead of time.  (I had no food, etc. in the house and ended up ordering pizzas.)  Briefcase did this because in his mind when my doctor says I should do nothing but rest it somehow translates into my wife would love to entertain 20+ unexpected guests tonight when she's in a lot of pain.

It's just another example of the fine communication skills that develop between a couple when they've been married for many years.

It wasn't until around midnight when Briefcase turned to me and said, "Oh, I saw you saying hello to Ms. Bitch today at the park."

"Ms. Bitch?" I asked.

And that's when it hit me.  Big Tits?  Big Tits was actually a bitch woman I've known for six or seven years named Ms. Bitch.  She's had so much plastic surgery done recently I didn't even recognize her.  Would I have recognized her if I hadn't been so drugged up?  I doubt it.  She is only a ghost of her former self.  When she winked and said hello she wasn't hitting on me.  She just wanted me to see the "new" her.

I'm still floored.  How could I not have known?  I mean, just because she had a new face, boobs, stomach, ass and thighs ....

A change of identity like this is commonplace in Money Town.  And yet, I still can't believe Big Tits and Ms. Bitch are the same person.  

© Twenty Four At Heart

Spring Has Sprung?

It feels like summer has arrived instead of spring.  The weather has been hot (90F/32C), the pool is heated, and I'm beginning to see a lot more wildlife in and around our backyard.  I live in a canyon and we see a lot of critters here particularly in warm weather.

A few days ago a five foot long snake slithered it's way through my backyard.  I'm not real fond of snakes and most of the snakes we see are rattlers ... I'm really not fond of those.

We have a big pool in our backyard.  We spend a lot of time hanging out by the pool when the weather is warm.  Every single year we have birds that arrive and build a nest in the "cave" in our pool.  We have one of those natural looking rock pools.  It has a waterfall with a cave behind it.  There's also a slide for people to go down on one side of the waterfall.

I think the birds like to make a nest in the cave because it's fairly hidden from animals that might prey on it.  (We have hawks, big horned owls, etc. in our canyon.)  When the waterfall was off I took this picture of the nest inside the cave.

Maybe the nest isn't hid quite well enough?

My Golden Retriever can hear the baby birds chirping, but he isn't quite sure what to do about it.

The Mama Bird looks on anxiously at us when we're anywhere near the pool.  I keep the waterfall off whenever there are babies hatched so the Mama Bird can get in and out to feed them.  Do any of you know what type of bird this is? 

Our Golden climbed on top of the waterfall and rocks to chase her out of "his" yard.  She flew into a tree in our neighbor's yard.  He must think he's protecting us from her?

I swam into the cave to see how many babies hatched this year.  There are four, but they're hard to see.  They look like a big blob of fluffy feathers with yellow beaks.

After awhile our Golden decided he was hot and ready for another swim.

I knew he wouldn't swim into the cave after the babies.  He loves to swim too much to waste his time on them.  While he swam, the Mama Bird returned with food for her babies.  I made sure our Golden was distracted and having too much fun to notice.

Later in the day a red-tailed hawk spotted the nest.  I chased it away.  We've had the same hawk living in a nearby tree for years now.  

For now the babies are safe.  It won't be long until they're out of the nest and flying.  In the meantime, I'll make sure our Golden stays too distracted to bother them.

There's nothing he loves more than a good swim, especially if he has things to retrieve out of the pool!

Single Sentence Soup

Once upon a time, not so long ago, I was brand new to the blogging world.  I was uncertain and shy and in awe of all the famous writers surrounding me.  Most of these famous writers had no idea I existed.  A few of them blatantly ignored me as an unproven newbie when they encountered me.  One or two of them lashed out at me in superiority as I stumbled and fumbled my way ignorantly around the blogosphere.

One man was so nice, and so kind, and treated me as an equal from our very first encounter.  I sucked up the courage to email him with a few newbie questions.  He took me under his wing and gave me the confidence to be myself in my writing.  I am forever indebted to him.  I love Jason both as my mentor and my friend.  One of my favorite things he does on his blog is "Single Sentence Soup."  Jason roams the blogosphere and picks out interesting sentences he finds and then links them back to the posts they came from.  Today he's put together a Single Sentence Soup just from Twenty Four At Heart.  Many thanks, to Jason from The Jason Show for today's post!

Twenty Four at Heart:  The Formative Posts

 

I began reading Twenty Four at Heart back when Twenty Four didn't have multitudes of readers and commenters like there are now.  I remember that Twenty Four emailed me, voicing that she didn't feel very confident in her blog, asking for any general blogging advice I might have.  Yes, you heard me.  SHE asked ME for advice.  And now?  If you scroll through the past few months you will see that she has become tremendously popular--and for very good reason.  Not only is Twenty Four an excellent writer, she is witty, naughty, playful, thoughtful, and has an eye for the beauty (or the absurdity) of her surroundings.  Not only that, but she has been through some pretty grueling times, and in spite of it all, she manages to make us laugh post after post.  Many of you are familiar with her hilarious posts about adult toys, accidental nudity, and tanning booth mishaps.  But, perhaps you weren't around when Twenty Four first began posting.  Her take on Money Town is what pulled me in.  Her charm, sense of humor, and friendship keep me coming back.

 

Where I live parents give their girls fake boobs in high school.  Yes, and not just boobs - they give their daughters fake boobs and RIB REMOVALS for high school graduation gifts.

 

No one prepared me for this.  No one told me to expect it, or how to handle it ... or what to do if the inevitable happened.  Yes, I found my first gray hair today.  And no, it's not on my head.

 

Yes, I cried for hours as we drove, snot dripping from my nose, salty tear streaks, and red, unattractive, hive-like splotches all over my face. 

 

Secrets about lovers, imminent pregnancies or divorce, latent lesbianism amongst the grandmas, or possibly news that my youngest child has fathered a new species?

 

Or maybe one day a woman named Ms. Masochist thought to herself, "Hey, I'll light a candle and just sit here and let the hot wax drip all over the most private and sensitive parts of my body"? 

 

Mabel is the paternal grandmother and Abigail is the maternal grandmother of the same grandchildren.  If you are married, imagine your mom running off with your spouse's mom.

 

"Androgynous Logan is a tit toucher!"

To be honest, sometimes I make myself laugh just with the thoughts I have.  In another era, I probably would have been locked up in a mental facility for finding myself so amusing. 

On the Home Front - Marital Peeves

Who works harder in your house?  You?  Or you?  Because let's face it, without question you work the hardest.

Briefcase and I are having a little competition  war  spat right now, can you tell?

After several centuries of marriage, I've come to the conclusion Briefcase has a piece of cake life while I'm no more than an unappreciated slave or, perhaps, taken for granted live-in help.  I picture myself kind of like Cinderella without the pumpkin or glass slipper. 

Are your eyes welling up with sympathetic tears yet?  Can you hear the violins playing in the background?  

In any case, I toil away at tedious chores hour after hour.  My life is all about striving for a slight reduction in the overwhelming pile of perpetual laundry which grows out of our laundry room floor.  Not to mention all the other crap I do to the best of my one-armed ability.  And trust me, I do a lot of other crap.

In fact, just last week I had a garage full of crap, remember?

Briefcase was gone for that Home Disaster. I guess in his mind, it never happened.

Briefcase is confident I'm a slacker.  

S-L-A-C-K-E-R! 

I don't know what he thinks I do all day, but it must have something to do with bon bons and big hunky men.  (In reality, I'm dealing with lots of shit all day long!)  

It's also his perception he's at death's door from working so hard.  I concede the man works hard at his career Monday through Friday.  

You know, from 8 a.m. until maybe 4 or 5 or 6 p.m. 

(I can hear him swearing right now, can't you?)

The problem is, I don't get the evenings or weekends off ... why should he?  

Are you a honeymooner?  If you are you should print out this post and re-read it when you've been married for centuries.  It will mean so much more to you then.

Briefcase thinks he works the hardest because he's "got to make a presentation to the Board of Directors next week!"

OK, right there he loses and I win.

Board of Directors, Lord of Protectors ... eh, who cares?

He told me this after staying in his robe until noon on Saturday.  He was reading the paper, drinking coffee and eating the french toast I made him for breakfast.  The french toast I started making while he was still sleeping (nevermind I never had a minute to read the newspaper).  

I didn't get much sleep myself, because I married a buzz saw snorer.  No sleep makes for a cranky wife.

Let's be honest, if I could sleep in as late as Briefcase does on the weekends, stay in my robe until noon, and have someone prepare me french toast for breakfast I would really be loving life.

As Briefcase was still mulling over the paper and drinking coffee I was out the door running errands.  After, of course, throwing in a load of laundry.  I returned home just after 12:00 to find him still in his robe, now playing on the computer.

(Briefcase had cleaned up the dishes from his morning french toast ... which has been our marital arrangement for as many centuries as we've been married.  I cook; he does dishes when he's home.  He's not home much during the week.)

I put in another load of laundry, and pulled out an assortment of food for the kids.  Then I left again to finish up a few more errands. 

My life?  Is  ** exciting ** !! 

Stop yawning!

I returned home, changed the laundry yet again, and began chopping up vegetables and doing a lot of other prep work in our kitchen for a big family dinner we had planned.  

Around 2:00 in the afternoon Briefcase went out for a run with our retrievers to get some exercise.  I was still working in the kitchen.

Did I have a spare minute to get some exercise?  No, I did not.

Briefcase returned from his run (hard work!) and turned on ESPN.  He started yelling at the TV because apparently the Angels are not living up to their potential as a baseball team.  Yelling at the TV to make the Angels improve their bullpen is, without question, hard work.  I think he had to drink a beer as a result of all that yelling at the TV.

I gave the dogs more water because they drank the entire contents of their bowl after running.  I went to the laundry room and started another load of laundry. It was right about then I commented, "I've got so much I need to get done in the next day or two."

Briefcase threw his hands up in the air in exasperation as if to say, "Well, get to it ...! What have you been doing all day?!"

I almost lost my shit.

(!!!)

It was one of those marital moments.

Don't men even see what's happening around them?  Or does all that sitting on the couch watching ESPN blind them to what's going on in their surroundings?

I gave Briefcase The Marital Glare which means, "If you're smart, you won't say one more word right now or my head will explode all over the room and you'll be left to clean up the mess."

Briefcase is not fond of cleaning up messes and he particularly hates it when my head explodes.  He wandered outside and started watering our outdoor potted plants.  It was 4:30 in the afternoon at the time and, in my opinion, a nice hour for him to start thinking about making a contribution for the day.  Breathing doesn't count.  (Putting your own dishes in the dishwasher doesn't count.)

Ten minutes later Briefcase wandered back in and took a shower.  At 5 p.m. he announced his new glasses needed to be picked up.  He left to go get them and returned in time for a cocktail just prior to dinner.

Dinner, by the way, was a feast.  TR was home Saturday night but needed to leave the next day.  It was an early Easter dinner for our family.  I made a roast leg of lamb, a homemade mint sauce to accompany it, new potatoes, green beans in a butter lemon sauce and I concluded dinner with homemade strawberry shortcake for dessert.

After dinner I did more laundry.  Oh yes, I did.  I never stop doing laundry.

I suggested to Briefcase I would be happy to give a fifteen minute presentation to his Board of Directors next week.  I'm quite sure I'd do well and I think The Board would really like me.  How could they not?  I make a mean roast lamb and I'd be happy to bring some to the meeting.

I reminded Briefcase I have a lot of corporate experience.  I admit, I've been busy recovering from a car accident and doing laundry for several years quite awhile, but I'm sure it will come right back to me.

I think that might have been when Briefcase gave me The Marital Glare.

** We did NOT have wild, passionate, sex later the same evening! **

How do you divide chores in your family?  Who does the most work?  Do you ever feel cheated out of "me" time?  In a heterosexual marriage do you think the man or woman puts in more hours working each day?

© Twenty Four At Heart

So You Think You've Got A Lot of Shit in Your Garage?

If you follow me on Twitter, you already know part of this story.  I was screaming on Twitter the other day.  And oh  yes, it's entirely possible to scream on Twitter.

By the way, did you know I lost ten Twitter followers the day I tweeted my clitoris?  They were all Marketing People.  But, never mind because that's an entirely separate discussion.

People are so uptight sometimes.  Especially, apparently, Marketing People.  Really, what's a clitoris?  A body part that half the population of the world has.  Get over it marketers ... I tweeted my clitoris, and no one died!

Clitoris!  Vagina!  Penis!

Oh, right ... I said never mind.

My kids have been on spring break this week.  We didn't have any big plans so we've been mainly hanging out with friends at the beach or by our pool.  

I guess we didn't have enough shit going on.

The other day PR called me and informed me he was ready to come home from a friend's house to enjoy some pool time.  I left for 15 minutes to go pick him up and when I came home I immediately noticed water (*ahem*) pouring down our driveway.  

I parked my car in the garage and saw half of our 3 car garage was flooded and not with water.  Of course it was the half of the garage we use for storage.  When I opened the car door my nostrils were violently assaulted by the overwhelming stench of sewage.  

Next, I ran into the house and slammed the door closed really hard so the odor wouldn't follow me into the house.

Terrible odors can do that if you don't slam the door hard enough.

I swore loudly and repeatedly at Briefcase who OF COURSE was out of state as he always is when Home Disaster strikes.  (And oh yes, this was the very same day we had a 4.6 earthquake jolt us just a few hours earlier.)  

Why did I marry a man who is always away for fun times?

Or for that matter, always away?

He tricked me, that's why.  (Someday I'll tell you how!)

And yes, it's perfectly reasonable to assume we had an earthquake and sewage leak because Briefcase was out of town.  

I'm nothing, if not reasonable ....

It was then I realized our latest Pool Boy was in our backyard cleaning leaves from our pool.  Somehow, instantly, I knew he was responsible.  I don't know how I knew, but I did.

I don't even know Pool Boy's name.  I know Pool Boy's bosses name, but The Boss sends out different workers every few weeks.  This Pool Boy was new and unlike my favorite Pool Boy he was decidedly lacking in the HOT department.  (Being hot should be a prerequisite for all Pool Boys!)

I walked in the backyard and without even a hello I asked, "What are you doing?"

He looked at me with the pool net in his hand as if to say, "Isn't it obvious I'm pulling leaves out of your pool?"

Before he could actually say anything, I made my question clearer by asking, "What did you do right before I got here?"

Pool Boy told me he had "back filled" the pipes to the pool filter.

I told him the garage was filling with sewage as a result.

He kept sweeping the pool with the pool net and gave me a little half-witted smile.

Inside, he must have been wondering, "What the fuck did I do wrong and what do I do about it?"  Outwardly, however, he was calm and did nothing but give me his stupid half- witted smile.

I went back in the house and called The Boss.  His reaction was, "Oh SHIT you're kidding me?!"

My answer was, "Lots of shit, and no I'm not kidding in the least."

He instantly knew what was wrong and told me he'd call Pool Boy immediately.

Turns out Pool Boy had hooked up his "back-filling" equipment to the sewage line by mistake. Instead of cleaning our pool filter, he had forced a break in a sewage line ... right into our garage.

I thought we had a lot of shit in our garage before this happened.

The Boss promised to come out the next day to make all necessary pipe repairs.  Pool Boy spent the next several hours removing every single thing from our garage.  We were in need of a garage reorganization, so congratulations to him on getting the job done. 

He was up to his half-witted smile in shit for hours. 

Unfortunately, we had to throw away a lot of things we had in storage.  The biggest loss, as far as I'm concerned, were two large cardboard boxes of my favorite cookbooks.  I'd moved them into the garage temporarily because I've been reorganizing some things in the house.  And yes, I'm weeping over my loss because several of them are no longer in print.

Cardboard really absorbs shit.  Who knew?  Books stored inside cardboard boxes also absorb shit.  It was not a pleasant sight, at all.

In the end, we had to throw away a lot of stuff because once something has sat in shit, it's not really welcome in my home anymore.  (The only exception being babies because they're so easy to clean up and just adorable in general.)

Disclaimer:  There were no actual babies stored in my garage!

©  Twenty Four At Heart

By Request

This is not one of my normal posts, and I apologize in advance to any of you who will be disappointed today.  I'll be back tomorrow with one of my more standard posts.  (Is there such a thing from me?  I don't think so ....)

I'm going to talk about trying to parent teens, and for those of you who are not parents I apologize in advance for boring you.  Although, if you were ever a teenager, maybe you won't be bored.  And no, I did not pick this topic due to the much publicized Oprah episode on being a mom and/or a mom blogger yesterday.  (I'm not normally an Oprah watcher and I found the episode to be highly disappointing.) 

For the record, I don't consider myself a "mommy-blogger" because I rarely write about my kids.

However, last week I got an email from a reader and it gave me reason to pause.  I haven't asked permission so I'm not going to reprint the email in its entirety here, but it included comments on the following.

1.  The reader's concern over keeping her college-aged daughter out of trouble, particularly over spring break.

2.  Inquiring how I handle beach vacations.

3.  A reference to my "accidental nudity"  (this phrasing - so polite - made me laugh out loud.)

4.  Requesting a post on how I keep my college-aged kids in line.

5.  Flattering me about being cool and hot which is something I loved and can never hear enough of.  What?  Do you think anyone in my family ever says those things to me?

6.  Offering to buy my book.  (Which, by the way, I haven't written.)

But ... YAY ... one person wants to buy my book if I ever write one!

I write about my life, what it's like living in Orange County, my struggle recovering from my disabling car accident, sex, male/female communication, along with other subjects and situations that interest me.  I try to inject humor into most (but not all) of the things I write about because it helps me focus on something outside of the physical pain I live with. 

Also, I think I'm funny and I like to crack myself up.

Sometimes I just whine.  I apologize for subjecting you to my pity parties, but I'm sure I'll do it repeatedly given enough time.

My kids are all teens and want privacy. They've very specifically told me they don't want their lives on the Internet for worldwide viewing. That being said, they're on Facebook with their entire lives available for worldwide viewing.

I suppose that's lesson number one about teens - they make no sense.

To be honest, most of the time I don't know what I'm doing with any of my 3 teens, but I really appreciate the vote of confidence expressed in the email I received.  

My daughter, TR, is in college.  My son, RC, is a senior in high school and my youngest, PR, just turned 14 and has not yet begun high school.  Having one kid in college certainly doesn't make me an expert on college-aged kids.  Also, my daughter lives at her college so I'm not with her except when she makes trips home to visit.

I had very serious discussions with TR before she left for college about drinking, drugs, date-rape, non-date rape, never leaving a drink unattended, birth control, and every other topic imaginable.  I also discussed all those things with her when she was in high school just as I've discussed them already with both of my boys.  I'm very mom-ish like that. My kids and I are very close.  I actually think they listen most of the time.

Why we are so close and why they listen, I can't explain.  

Since the email I received focused primarily on my college-aged daughter I'll respond in kind regarding her.  In observing moms with daughters the same age, I think I mainly just got lucky.  TR and I are very similar and as a result we really understand each other.  (She tells people, "My mom and I are basically the same person.")  Sometimes our stubborness clashes, but it usually results in both of us bursting into laughter at how headstrong we can be.

I suppose neither of us are easy personalities (!), but we realize it and we're both willing to own it. We can laugh at ourselves when we need to.  Laughter goes a long, long, way with teens.

I've also made more than my share of parenting mistakes. 

I've had some very big challenges with parenting.  Briefcase has traveled extensively our entire marriage.  I've played the role of single mom more often than not.  Having a spouse gone so much presents a myriad of parenting and marital challenges.  (That's a subject I could write a book on!)

In addition, I was knocked on my ass by the car accident nearly three years ago.  I could barely function for over two years afterward.  I was undergoing numerous surgeries and very drugged up a good deal of the time while Briefcase was traveling.  I couldn't even cook a decent meal for over two years.  I'm far, far, far from being a perfect parent.  My kids have not been in a house with perfect, ideal conditions.

Have I qualified this post enough yet?

OK, then.

I not only love my kids, I really, really like them.  They know it and they not only love me in return, but they like me also.  We have a lot of mutual respect.  I'm their parent though - not their best friend and my kids have never questioned that.  I think a lot of parents try too hard to be a friend first and a parent second.  

In addition, most of the time, I have very good communication with my kids and that, probably more than anything, seems to head off a lot of problems from the start.  I really listen to them and I think, in turn, that makes them more willing to listen to me.

Did I mention my kids aren't perfect?  At all ....

Problems and disagreements come up and we deal with them as they do. Boyfriends, girlfriends, issues of responsibility, and issues of wanting more independence than they've demonstrated they can handle arise all the time with teens.  

One of the questions in the email was regarding beach vacations and I don't know how to respond to that.  Our life here is a life that has always included the beach. We are beach people. Our life, compared to most people's, is pretty much a year round beach vacation. My kids hopefully know how to handle themselves, safely, at beach parties. 

My daughter did take a "senior trip" to Hawaii with a group of friends (all female) to celebrate her graduation from high school two years ago.  We made her pay for it herself and she had just turned 18 years old at the time.  My feelings are once they're 18 we, as parents, can continue to guide them but they are adults and deserve to be respected and treated as adults.

Being treated as an adult also means taking full responsibility for the consequences of their actions.

By the way, when she took that trip to Hawaii she had a boyfriend.  Boyfriend did not go on the trip and actually hung out at our house a lot while she was gone.  I may not have felt as comfortable with the whole idea if circumstances were different.

TR's college is in California.  The kids at her college don't do the big spring break weeks many kids do because the beaches are right here all the time.  Do they party?  Yes, absolutely.  

Would I approve of everything they do at their parties?  I'm sure I wouldn't. However, I was a college student once too and I did my share of partying.  I survived it and ended up being a fairly responsible adult.

I do try to make my kids be accountable for their actions.  Do they screw up?  Do they make mistakes?  Yes.  (So do I - still!)  We've tried to teach them not to make excuses, but to own up to their actions, be accountable, and try to rectify things if need be.

That's another thing missing in Orange County.  Accountability.  Parents make excuses for their kids right and left here.  (Not ALL parents ... but a lot of parents.)  Isn't it our job as parents to teach our kids that actions have consequences?  And what happens to them as adults if they've never learned that? 

We've always insisted our teens (from age 15 on) hold paying jobs.  To some of you this is a no brainer but I live in a very affluent area.  Teens here are handed BMW's on their 16th birthday.  (Not my kids, but a lot of kids.)  Many kids in Orange County get everything they want, in addition to many things they haven't even thought to want yet. Briefcase and I feel it's important for our teens to learn all the lessons that come from having to work.

I can't tell you how few parents allow or encourage their kids to hold jobs in South Orange County.

Have these lessons been full-proof?  No. Just the other day my daughter sent me an email from college asking if she could have a vacation in New York for her birthday.  She and her best friend were going to each pay for their own flights.  She wanted to know if we would pay for their hotel in Times Square "for several days" as her birthday present.

I emailed her back and said no.  I asked her if she had any idea at all what a hotel in Times Square costs per night, and what exactly, did she think her birthday budget was?  She then went and googled hotels and pricing, reality set in, and she emailed me back to say, "Oops I guess that won't work."

Parenting is an ongoing process.

What did your parents do RIGHT while getting you through your teen years?  And what has worked or not worked for you if you are, or have been, a parent to teens?

** Now watch, I will have jinxed myself by writing this post.  One of my teens will inform me they're pregnant, about to be a daddy, addicted to heroin, or have just been arrested the minute this publishes! **

© Twenty Four At Heart

My Pre-Vacation Check List

When men travel they throw one or two changes of clothes in a bag along with their toothbrush and razor and leave.  That's it.  Life is simple for men.  Well, at least that's how Briefcase is.  It's so different for women, and even more so if we are mothers.  We not only need to get everything we need packed, but we also need to make sure all the needs of each child are met (whether the kids are going with us or staying behind).

I'm a list maker.  I'm not great at remembering things unless they're written down and then taped to my nose.  I've made a To-Do list to prepare for my upcoming trip to St. Lucia.  Over the weekend a girlfriend of mine stopped by.  She saw my list and burst out laughing.  I didn't think it was that amusing but she did, so I decided to share it with you today (unedited).

By the way, my mother-in-law (who hates me and our two lovable retrievers) will be flying in to stay with my two boys, and the dogs, while we're gone.  

I'm so * ahem * grateful.

TO DO LIST FOR ST. LUCIA

1.   Hide sex toys from mother in law!!

2.   Hide laptop from MIL!!

3.   Wipe Twenty Four At Heart off Favorites List on desktop so MIL doesn't discover my blog.

4.   Clean out PR's disgusting baseball bag.

5.   Write directions for MIL to PR's school and baseball park.

6.   Train dogs to jump on visitors and lick nonstop!

7.   Stock the house with groceries.

8.   Get sexy bikini wax.

9.   Don't scream or cry loudly during bikini wax!

10.  Make a visit to the tanning booth.

11.  Don't walk naked thru hallway of tanning salon!

12.  Teach dogs to whine and/or bark incessantly for treats.

13.  Re-hide sex toys in a better location (maybe the freezer?)

14.  Buy sunscreen.

15.  Leave emergency medical release form for each kid.

16.  Write confusing incoherent directions for MIL to grocery store, restaurants, etc.

17.  Give laptop to a friend to hide.  MIL will find it otherwise!!

18.  Pack flip-flops.

19.  Buy electric charger converter thingy.  Electricity is different in st. lucia!

20.  Download lots of books onto Kindle.

21.  Freezer is a bad idea, find better sex toy hiding location!

22.  Unplug all computers and tell MIL they're broken.

23.  Pack or hide all sexy lingerie so MIL doesn't think her son has sex with me.

24.  Instruct boys to tell their Grandma both of their parents are still virgins.

25.  Diet!!

26.  Exercise!!

27.  MIL doesn't cook - hide sex toys in oven or roasting pan!

28.  Get cash to leave for emergencies.

29.  Hide all reading material that contains the words damn, hell or anything worse.

30.  Train dogs to jump into bed and sleep with house guests.

What do you do to prepare for a trip?

© Twenty Four At Heart

Tanning Mishap!

Before I get started on today's post, can I just say you always amaze me?  The responses I got on yesterday's post were not at all what I expected to get.  There's a crisis of missing clitori (plural?) among women and I wasn't even aware of it until I read your comments. Honestly, I think it's a worldwide crisis in need of immediate attention.  

Obviously, it's a subject I'll have to come back to sometime soon.

In the meantime, if I ever lose my clitoris again I wouldn't mind having Brody Jenner help me find it.  I found this picture of him on line via People Magazine.

Don't you just love a man with a big bird?  

** Drool **

Anyway ....

I continue to work on my pre-vacation tan.  The purpose of my pre-vacation tan is not for vanity's sake.  I'm not subjecting myself to certain death (by tanning booth UV rays) for the sake of beauty.  I'm just trying to get a base tan because I'm so fair I don't want to be crispy fried in my first thirty seconds by the equator.  

My regular readers know my first encounter with the tanning booth resulted in me burning the hell out of my ass.

Since then, things have gone much smoother at the tanning booth.

(That is, after my butt was done peeling.  And my nipples too, for that matter.)

On recent visits, I've stayed in the booth for less time, and I've added minutes gradually. I bring spray-on sunscreen with me and make sure my very fair skin has been sprayed prior to tanning.  I ask for towels and I use them to cover my privates, my nipples and my face while I'm there.  (Because really, who needs wrinkles on any of those places?)

Sounds perfect, doesn't it?

And yet, this is me we're talking about.

Yesterday I was all set to hop in the coffin-like tanning bed.  I was stark naked, wet and slippery with sunscreen, and ready to tan.  That's when I noticed the error light flashing on the tanning bed.  

I hesitated.  I pushed the "on" button.  Nothing happened.  I pushed it again just in case. Nothing.  The error light continued to flash.

I paused.  I contemplated my nakedness in the mirror.  Certainly not great nakedness, but it could be worse.  (Maybe?)  I glanced at the pile of my clothes.  I could put them on, walk out to the reception area and tell Tan Barbie the bed was not working.  If I did that, my clothes would instantly be coated with the sunscreen I had just applied.

I looked at the three little hand towels I'd been given.  I remembered when I entered the building a moment before no one, and I mean no one, was in the building except for Tan Barbie and I.

It crossed my mind I could cover myself with the three hand towels, stick my head out the door and yell to Tan Barbie in the reception area.  Surely she'd hear me and flip a switch or something to make the tanning bed work.

Wouldn't you think?

If she told me she needed to actually come into the room, I'd ask her to hand me a bigger towel before letting her in.  It seemed full proof.

Did I mention this is me we're talking about?

I grabbed one of the towels and realized how very tiny it was.  It was only slightly bigger than a washcloth.  I held it up to my breasts.  I have big boobs and one of those tiny towels would not do the trick.  I grabbed a second one and tried to use my one good arm to pin the two towels over the my two tits.

I was left bottomless.

I put down the two towels and grabbed the third.  I realized there was no way I could hold two towels over my boobs, and one over my hoo haa and still have a free hand available to open the door.  I needed to improvise.

I'm kind of blushing now, just thinking about what I did.

**  Ahem  **

At the time it seemed to make perfect sense.  

I took one towel and sort of made it into a cooter cover and I gripped it with my thighs to keep it in place.  Think diaper-ish ... sort of.  Then with my left hand I tried to hold the two other towels up over my breasts while I opened the door with my right hand.

I kept my body behind the door, but I stuck my head out and glanced down the deserted hallway.

I was surprised to realize there was fairly loud music in the hallway.  I yelled down the hall towards the reception area for Tan Barbie.  The reception area was not in my field of vision, but around the corner at the end of the hall.  Tan Barbie did not hear me.  I tried again, but louder.

No response.

I glanced up and down the hallway.  There was no one there.

I swear it.

I thought if I just took one or two steps down the hall surely Tan Barbie would hear me calling out.

One step.  Then two.  And then one more for good measure.

I called out again.

No response.

I had just taken another step forward when I heard a male voice behind me say, "Can I help you?"

I whirled around and found myself face to face with a blonde man in his early twenties. He had perfectly styled hair, startling blue eyes, and he was very, very tan.

I yelped in surprise.

His eyes made a quick sweep of me from head to toe and then a huge smirk appeared on his face.

"Do you need help?" he asked.

Is it possible for a person's entire body to blush?  Because I'm quite sure every single bit of mine had turned bright red as I tried to cower behind my three, teeny, tiny, towels.

"Do you work here?" I stammered.

"I do," he said and I could tell he was using every ounce of willpower not to burst out laughing.

"My tanning bed won't start and there's an error message on the controls," I rushed to explain.

He turned and walked into the room I'd just come out of.  He leaned over the bed, pushed a button and the error message went away.

I had followed him into the room, still trying to hold all three towels strategically in place. All the while, I was quite aware my ass was completely uncovered.

Right then Blonde Man turned and faced me.  His eyes, smiling with mischief, suddenly softened and looked kind.

"Relax," he said, "I'm gay."

There was a pause.  I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say.  

"Don't burn your nipples," he told me.  "I did once and you wouldn't believe how much it hurts."

Before I could tell him I'd already had the pleasure of burnt nipples, he turned and walked out of the room.

I reached towards the door to close it when suddenly he turned back.

"By the way," he added, "If you ever get an error message again there's an intercom on the other side of the bed.  You can just push the button and talk to the front desk."

And with that he left.

What do ya know?  There's an intercom right next to the tanning bed.

© Twenty Four At Heart

When Life Goes Splat on the Windshield

Have you ever noticed how cyclical life is?  Everything is going fine.  Then everything is going great.  Then everything is in the crapper.  I suppose it all evens out in the end.  Sometimes when everything is great, it's hard to imagine it won't always be.  Sometimes when life is shitty, it's hard to remember things will get better.

When you have a family you have moments where so much is going wrong for one or more of your family members at the same time it's almost comical.  

A boss of mine once told me a story about his entire family puking 24/7 with the flu.  He had four kids so, along with his wife, that made six people barfing in one house at one time.  They only had two bathrooms in their home.  He lived in a cold climate and he told me he went outside one night to escape the smell of vomit.  He said he stood outside in the snow in freezing temperatures just so he could puke in fresh air away from everyone else.

I don't know why, maybe it was how he told it, but I laughed my ass off at his story.

At that particular moment, he must have wondered how much worse life could get.

Every year, at the beginning of spring, there is a huge butterfly migration through Orange County.  Last Friday I got my car washed.  Saturday I spent a good part of the day at Steed Park in San Clemente watching PR play in a baseball tournament.  It was a beautiful 80F (26.7C) day. Driving home PR and I watched in horror and disgust as butterfly after butterfly went splat! splat! splat! against my windshield.

As one particularly large butterfly made a horrific three inch yellow smear on the windshield PR shuddered in disgust.  When I got home I looked at my now yellow smeared windshield and thought about all those butterflies I slaughtered by driving home.

Then I thought, "Isn't that just how life goes sometimes?  You're flying along all happy and joyful and then life goes splat!"

I'm such a deep thinker.

Aren't you impressed?

It's because I knew what I was coming home to.  

TR was in our family room, teary-eyed and melancholy.  She had a box of tissues at her side.  She'd just seen her boyfriend off at the airport and her heart was breaking.  RC was the sickest I've ever seen him. He was laying feverish, despondent, with swollen glands, and unable to swallow on the couch in our living room.  (He still is.)

RC looked at me hopefully as I walked in with the mail.  I handed him an envelope.  He opened it and handed it back to me.  As if the kid wasn't feeling bad enough already from his illness, it was a rejection letter from his top pick of colleges.

My heart broke for him right then.

It's a mother thing.  It wouldn't have been so bad if he was healthy and himself. Instead, it was a swift kick to the groin when he was already down.  Painful.  

Very, very painful.

I gave TR a one-armed hug (that's what I do since my accident) so she would know I understand heartbreak.  Because folks?  I do understand heartbreak.  I got some Advil for RC and took him a glass of ice water.  I tried to come up with motherly things to say.

"You'll end up where you're supposed to be," I said.

He didn't respond.

"Things happen for a reason," I added.

His answer?

"What more could I have done?"

The kid worked his butt off, took, and excelled, in every honors class, has an exceptionally high GPA and test scores.  It wasn't enough for his dream school.  Never mind he's been accepted to nine other colleges so far, several of them offering him scholarships.  The school he dreamt of, the school he worked his ass off for, rejected him. 

He'll be fine.  It's one of life's disappointments and we all go have to go through things like that.  It's just too bad his came on a day when he had a 103 fever and felt like shit.

I walked out of the room for a few minutes.

When I walked back in I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  TR had joined her sick brother.  She'd gone to him, sat down next to his feverish body on the couch, wrapped her arms around his neck in a huge hug to comfort him. Then she began bawling.  RC gripped her in a bear hug and his eyes welled up too.  Seeing them together like that, brother and sister, comforting each other when they were both feeling so down tugged at my heart strings.

That's when it hit me.  Long after Briefcase and I have gone to The Big Beach In The Sky, they will have each other.  

And you know what?  That's a very good thing.

©  Twenty Four At Heart

I'm All About Balance

Wow, I've got a lot of whores reading this blog.  The comments on yesterday's post were hilarious!  How funny is it that people were begging to be considered a whore?  And trying to prove to me they are whorish enough to get into my whore club?  And telling me they could improve on their whoring abilities if I'd just give them a little time?  And asking if I could make whore blog badges for them to display on their own blogs?

You make me laugh my ass off!

I was embarrassed to see I had several first time visitors stop by yesterday.  I'm sure I successfully scared them away.  Imagine stopping by for a first time visit and seeing my contest to join a Whore Club.  I'd like to add, I find it hilarious that some of you would like to name the Whore Club Twenty Four's Twats.

Ha!  You're a creative group!

I had some law enforcement folks visit yesterday too.  I'm not even kidding.  Once they realized I'm not running the future Mustang Ranch they moved right along.

Sometimes I forget I'm not writing just to my best friends when I sit down to pen Twenty Four at Heart.  Other people with rules and agendas and strong opinions wander through here too. My apologies to all of them.  I'm an offensive human being and I openly admit it.

Also?  It's kind of creepy because there are automated robots out there in cyberspace. They secretly roam the web and find stuff for people and/or companies.  I don't really understand how they work, but there's no doubt that they're creepy and supernatural. 

I'll have an announcement on the contest winner tomorrow.

Yesterday I ate a Balance Bar for lunch.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with them, they're protein bars stuffed full of vitamins and other (gag!) healthy stuff.  I'm sure you're wondering why I ate a balance bar for lunch, aren't you?  

Because what I ate for lunch is fascinating, isn't it?

And no, this is not a paid product endorsement.

It has something to do with bathing suits, St. Lucia, bathing suits, and the fact I haven't tried to lose one ounce of my precious body fat in preparation yet.

And yes, my body fat is precious.  Someone has to appreciate it and if I don't, who will?

As an aside, let's place bets on how many days it will be until I hear from the Balance Bar people, shall we?  Since I know they'll be stopping by I'll just say this right now.  If they'd like to give me a lifetime supply of Balance Bars for free (those suckers add up!) I'll go on a diet and document right here on 24 how those yummy (bleh!) bars helped me look 24 again.

A lifetime supply probably consists of TWO.  I think it might be possible to force down two in a lifetime.  Like all protein bars, they taste like ass.

In any case, as I was choking down delighting in my peanut butter flavored bar lunch I contemplated the wrapper.  I realized my life, really, is all about balance.  I should be a role model or something because I'm all about moderation.

Let me give you a few examples.

If I have a cup of very hot coffee in the morning with a whole box of few Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies for breakfast it balances out very nicely with a protein bar for lunch.

If I have one or two or five margaritas I make sure to eat a full plate of nachos with them to absorb the alcohol.  Balance! 

If I don't exercise for four six twelve months it's absolutely no problem.  Why?  Because I can then exercise three times a day every single day for a month before I go to St. Lucia and make up for it.  That works, right?  

If most women have one sex toy, I *hypothetically* might have been gifted a full collection.  For the sake of balance, of course.  (I wouldn't want to wear out any one toy too quickly!)

If other people slowly tan in tanning booths beginning with 3 minutes a session, I find a way to burn my cooter to a crisp with a 10 minute exposure on my first visit.  Why waste visits after all?  Less visits means more time for balance in my life.

Do you have balance in your life?  Do you practice the art of moderation?  And most importantly, can you say crispy cooter ten times real fast?

© Twenty Four At Heart

Breaking Up is Hard to Do - The Story of Big Weenies and More

I dated the same guy through most of college and for a year or so after.  For the sake of today's post let's call him Big Weenie.  On occasion Big Weenie and I would break-up and date others, but for over five years he was pretty much the man in my life.  (And yes, it makes me cringe now to think I wasted all my college years on ONE person!)

Although?  Big Weenie.

Nonetheless, at the time Big Weenie and I were close and we got to know each other's families quite well.  His family took me along on vacations and my family took him on trips too.  I think a lot of people figured Big Weenie and I were destined to end up married someday.

Alas, it was not meant to be.  My feelings changed significantly once I got involved in my career.  I was living in my own apartment, supporting myself, trying to climb the corporate ladder and suddenly ... I didn't feel the same.  Big Weenie was busy with law school and still in student mode and we drifted apart. 

Eventually, Big Weenie and I broke up. 

I moved on.

Shortly after, I began dating someone new.  (No, not Briefcase ... he came along later in my life.)  Big Weenie would still call and sometimes we would meet "just for coffee" or "just to talk" but our lives were separating more and more.  I became quite infatuated with Mr. Electric.  We had electric (hot, magnetic, amazing, sweltering!) chemistry together.

At the time this was all taking place, I temporarily lived in Sacramento.  I had a favorite, very authentic, Chinese restaurant I loved near my apartment.  One night I suggested to Mr. Electric he would also love the food there and we decided to stop in for dinner. 

We walked into the very tiny, one room, restaurant and the hostess pointed us to a table.  To my surprise, and embarrassment, Big Weenie's family was seated at the next table.  The entire Weenie family was apparently in town visiting.

Can you say awkward?

I said hello to everyone.  The Weenie parents were confused and thought I'd been invited to join them and chosen to bring along a "friend."  My new flame, Mr. Electric, looked puzzled and then gradually the realization of who these people were began to sink in.

After saying hello to everyone and explaining to the confused Weenie parents that no, sorry we won't be able to join you tonight I announced, "We were just leaving."

Never mind that we had just arrived.

I grabbed Mr. Electric's arm and we turned and walked right back out of that restaurant.

It's a scene I've never forgotten. 

I think a tear might have dripped out of Big Weenie.

** Ahem **

Maybe that didn't sound quite how I intended it? 

It's a scene that was brought back to me in vivid detail recently.  My daughter was home from college a few weeks ago.  We decided to take our family, and her new boyfriend, out to dinner.  We walked into a restaurant and were seated at the table next to her high school boyfriend of three years and his family.   She broke up with Boyfriend #1 a few months back.

Boyfriend #1 used to practically live at our house for the three years they dated. He is far from over her.  He followed her to the same college.  He's renting a house only a few buildings down from hers.  Everyone who knows him has told us he "can't" get over her. When she broke up with him, he reacted in anger and quite honestly it got a little scary for a brief period until he seemed to collect himself.  They run into each other at college once in awhile, but not often.

As in my situation, our families had become friends too.  We greeted each other with hellos and hugs and then sat back at our separate tables right next to each other.  It was made more awkward by the fact that Boyfriend #1 is so dejected.  My heart went out to him.  How terrible to have to sit through a meal and watch the love of your life at the next table with your replacement?

Gah!

Later, after we left for the evening, we realized something even worse.  It had been Boyfriend #1's birthday.  He was out with his family for his birthday dinner celebration when we arrived.

How terrible is that?  We ruined his 20th birthday.  

I can't get over the pain in his eyes.  I can't get over the tremor in his voice when he hugged me and told me he misses our family.  I know everyone gets their heart broken eventually, but it doesn't make me feel any better for the poor guy.

Have you been in a situation like this too?  What's the most awkward new flame/old flame situation you've found yourself in?

** As an addendum to this post.  I've decided to leave the anonymous comment entered this morning calling me a California whore.  Initially I was going to delete it, but I figure you should have the opportunity to witness the negative side of Internet writing too.  Still wondering how a California whore is different from a Florida whore though.  What do you think?  **

©  Twenty Four At Heart

Beauty and Some Randomness

Yesterday I walked outside to the most beautiful sunrise.

It took my breath away.  I don't think I'm usually awake enough to notice anything other than how hot my coffee is.  (I like it very, very hot!)

I don't know what all those streaky lines in the sky were, but I like them.  The silhouette of the mountains was stunning.  

I love the reflection of the sunrise in the lake.  It was such a beautiful sight first thing in the morning.

Fantastic, isn't it?

I should just end this post with that, but no ... I'm going to muck it up with a couple random paragraphs now.

I have house guests arriving today from Missouri.  They've never been to California before.  I hope they have the opportunity to see some beautiful sunrises and sunsets while they're here.  I'm feeling a little out of control.  I'm not completely caught up from my trip up the coast and now I have guests arriving.  It's been a chaotic week.  My apologies to the Internet friends I've neglected this week.  I hope to get caught up next week once my guests have departed.

I can't seem to keep my hands off my own boobs and ... other parts.  I'm crazy-itchy, from my terrible sunburn.  I bought a lotion yesterday which consists of aloe and lidocaine and it seems to help.  I just need to fill a bathtub with it and sit in it all day long.  (Except, I haven't stopped running for a minute all week so that isn't likely to happen anytime soon.)  I was squirming around from the itchiness at PT and The Torturer said, "And the amazing thing 24, is you did this to yourself."

Doesn't he sound like a nice guy?

When I walked into PT yesterday, one of the techs, Dan, started laughing and told me he knew exactly who I was talking about in my Cougar post the other day.  Dan pulled the post up on his iPhone and passed it to one of the other techs, Derek, who had not yet read it.  The two of them snorted and giggled at my descriptions of their patients. Derek's feelings were a little hurt though.  He thought Ms. Cougar only moaned for him.  He was disappointed to hear she makes sex cries for The Torturer and Dan too.

I don't know why, but I found that very funny.  Maybe you do too?  Poor Derek!  He isn't quite the man he thought he was.  ** snicker **

©  Twenty Four At Heart

With A Side Order of Fried Ass

I always write my posts from the same worn chair.  It has an armrest that supports my bum arm just perfectly.  While I write I have a pretty view of the mountains behind my house.  I even get frequent glimpses of a beautiful red tail hawk who likes to perch in one of our trees.  Can I call a hawk a who?  Probably not.  I think of him as a who.  

Grammar police, can you help me out?

Right now, I'm typing standing up naked.  It's quite a feat and I really think I should be admired for the talent I'm showing.  (For typing while standing up, the naked part doesn't really affect my typing.)  My ass is so sunburnt, sitting down seems like an impossibility. Yes, I said my ass is sunburnt.  And not just a little sunburnt.  Hell, no!  

My ass is fried a bright cherry red.

Go ahead and laugh.  I don't mind.  I just want you to know I will laugh right back atcha when you fry your ass bright red.  And don't think you won't someday ...

My ass is smarting so much, it doesn't even faze me to walk around naked for hours on end.  

Clothes hurt.

I don't seem to have much luck with fake tanning adventures.  Last June I tried a spray-on tan.  I did this, which resulted in this.  I know what you're thinking.  I live in California, why in the world would I consider a spray-on tan?  Well, I'm also someone who has been treated for skin cancer.  I enjoy the beach frequently, but I do so in a manner which protects my skin.  

I'm very, very fair.  I've got blonde hair, blonde eyelashes, and milky white breasts and an ass to match. (Well, my ass did match a day ago.)  I can tan a little bit, but it takes forever.  Once in a great while, if I need a little color for a big event, I'll use spray-on tanning.  It doesn't damage my skin in the least and it's a quick fix even if it doesn't last long.  A spray-on tan basically just paints your skin.  It doesn't actually tan your skin and if you go out in the sun you'll burn just as badly as if you were casper white all over.

Do you see where this is going?  I'm going to be down by the equator living in my bathing suit in the not to distant future.  I need a base tan.  If I don't have one, I'll burn to a crisp on my first day there.  I'm a slow tanner.  I don't have the time to lay out in a bathing suit by our pool every day right now. 

I decided to visit a tanning booth.  I don't believe in them, but I decided to compromise my principles.  I thought it would be safer for my skin to slowly get a base tan before I depart for St. Lucia than to go there and get fried.

Things didn't quite work out the way I planned.

Tan Barbie greeted me and eagerly sold me a package of 14 tanning sessions.  Fourteen because I'm a sucker idiot slow tanner.  She also gave me a bottle of "deep tanning lotion" to apply before using the tanning bed.  Tan Barbie showed me how the tanning bed works, how to turn on the music to my liking, and most importantly how not to die in the coffin like structure.  (It has fans inside - how cool is that?!) 

Tan Barbie explained to me a normal session is 15 minutes long, but she programmed the tanning bed for 10.  I protested.  I wanted my full 15 minutes if I was spending the money.  Tan Barbie informed me 10 minutes would be "plenty" for my first visit and that I might want to even consider 10 minutes for my second visit too.

I was pissed at Tan Barbie.

Who knew?

I stripped off my clothes, applied some of the lotion she gave me (to the places I could reach) and hopped in the coffin tanning bed.  I forgot about my ass.  Not that I think it would have made any difference anyway.

I figure my ass probably was sunburnt after only 30 seconds in the tanning bed.  I won't even tell you about my hoo haa.  (Your welcome!)

I stayed in for my full 10 minutes.  I enjoyed the rockin' tunes and the warmth on my body.  I'm easy that way.  At the end of my ten minutes, I jumped up, toweled off and looked at my naked body in the mirror.

No tan.

Zippo.

I silently cussed out Tan Barbie and vowed to come back in a day or two for my second session.  I had every intention of using my full 15 minutes next time.

I'm writing this a few hours lately.  I'm lobster red.  My belly, my breasts, my nether parts, and my glowing red ass all hurt like hell.  My ass is the worst of all.  I've been searching the cupbards for solarcaine, aloe vera lotion ... anything at all.  Of course I have none of those items because I don't normally expose my ass to the sun. 

Most of all, I'm wondering how many days will I have to spend standing and naked?

©  Twenty Four At Heart

In Need of a Getaway

A few weeks ago something amazing happened.  Briefcase was gone on one of his long trips.  One night he called home and excitedly informed me his boss (the CEO of his company) had just given us an all expenses paid trip to St. Lucia.  Apparently his boss was having a fleeting moment of guilt for working Briefcase's ass off.  He decided to send us on a trip as a thank you.

Are you asking where the hell St. Lucia is?

Can you see the map or is it too small?  St. Lucia is an island north of Venezuela near Barbados.

His boss even gave us an "Adventure Guide" to look at ahead of time.  I can't wait to swim in the Caribbean Sea.

I've been to the Caribbean before.  I've been to Cancun and Aruba on two separate trips. Briefcase and I also honeymooned in Bermuda. Bermuda is in the Atlantic but hell, it's an island and it's sort of over in that same part of the world.  

Maybe not really, but all those islands are east of California so that puts them practically right next to each other.

Maybe geography is not one of my strengths?  (It's because I have no sense of direction whatsoever.  Who can keep track of where all the islands are anyway?  All we really need to know is they are in the ocean somewhere.)  

I've never done the whole Caribbean island hopping thing.  It's much easier to get to Hawaii from California so most of my island time has been in the Pacific.

I don't know much about St. Lucia but I did find a couple pictures online.

It looks very pretty.  And warm.  And tropical.

Insert Twenty Four At Heart right onto that beach.  It looks like heaven, doesn't it?

We're trying to lock down the exact dates to enjoy this unexpected gift.  (It's a one week trip.)  In fact, I'm still pinching myself in an effort to see if I dreamt the whole idea of someone giving us a free vacation.

We don't have family close by to watch the kids so I'm trying to figure out what to do with them while we're gone.  There's all sorts of other details I need to think about too.

For example, if we have a family member fly in to stay with the boys at our house where can I hide our stuff?

What stuff?

Well ... *ahem* you know.  Stuff like the toys one of my readers sent me a few months back?  Because, you know damn well, if my in-laws are in our house they will find the toys and declare me a skank.  

Oh wait - they already have declared me a skank!

Oops.  I'm not allowed to write about my in-laws certain people things.

Also, only a few of my family members know about Twenty Four at Heart.  What happens if someone uses my laptop while I'm away and discovers my writing?  Or some of the humorous responses to my writing like this comment from Sarah yesterday:

I would so want a big dick if I was a man and a hairy chest too : )

I laughed at Sarah's comment.  In fact, I showed Sarah's comment to The Torturer and several friends at PT yesterday and we all laughed.  My in-laws?  Well, they wouldn't laugh.  It would just be another nail in my coffin.  They've already picked out my gravestone and it's engraved SKANKY BITCH.

There are a lot of details to think about when an unexpected trip is thrown at you.  Like, how the hell do I get in a bathing suit when I'm not at all ready?  How much weight can I lose if I live on nothing but water until we depart?  If I exercise every day will I get buns of steel and firm thighs in no time flat?  Should I get a standard or Brazilian bikini wax? And, how do I keep from getting a terrible sunburn when it's winter here and my skin is not even slightly tan yet?

Not to mention ... Does anyone know what people wear in St. Lucia?

© Twenty Four At Heart

Someone Needs to Lock Up the Pervs and Throw Away the Keys

I'm pissed off.  I'm outraged.  I've had enough and I'm not going to take it anymore.

At the same time, I feel helpless to do anything.  How can I change a system that's broken?  Really, what can we do when we see a failing system of justice?

My daughter TR is in college and currently lives in an apartment with six other girls.  At the college she attends, the majority of students live off campus in apartments.  

TR called last Friday and she was upset.  She told me her landlord-to-be was arrested. He was arrested for hiding cameras in the apartments he rents. He was taking pictures and filming girls naked and/or having sex.  Charges are being pressed.  He's very wealthy.  He has lawyers up the gazoo to drag out the legal process.  In the end, everyone expects he will pay a fine and go right on "managing" the apartments he owns.

The Perv will walk away with a slap on the wrist.

In a rush of emotion, TR spilled out more and more details.  I went into "mother mode" and listened and reacted calmly, matter of factly.  TR is a lot like me (emotional) and she was outraged, insulted, and livid.  I was too, of course, but I tried to be a calming influence.

Stop laughing.  I can be a calming influence.  Sometimes.

Let me share with you The Perv's alleged background.  I learned a lot about The Perv last week.   The Perv apparently was a student in this same town a few decades ago.  Rumor has it, he and a friend sold drugs to other college students and made a fortune.  They dropped out of college and used their drug money to buy the majority of prime real estate in the college town.  They pretty much have a monopoly on all the "good" apartments. 

When TR and her roommates went to meet with The Perv about renting an apartment he informed them he "prefers" to rent to girls "because girls are less destructive than boys." TR and I thought nothing of his remark at the time.

Because, hello?  College boys? 

TR has signed a one year lease to rent from him, beginning this June, for the next school year.  Please don't suggest she find somewhere else to live - all the housing for next school year was booked by mid-January.

As I talked to her, TR brought forth other details she "hadn't wanted to worry" me with before.  She had heard rumors about The Perv being "a little sketchy" around the college girls.  She hadn't known if they were rumors or fact. 

I talked to her about checking all the bedrooms and bathrooms in the new apartment before she moves in for hidden cameras.  She informed me the recently discovered cameras were supposedly added later when The Perv came in and out to make "repairs" on various apartments.  

Apparently the local news stations have gotten wind of the story. The Perv is being publicly shamed.  TR, herself, is an editor of the university newspaper.  Trust me, there will not be a single female student unaware of The Perv and what he's done.

Which is not to say he won't do it again.

Although I did not say it out loud to TR, one thought keeps running through my head.

The Internet.

How much do you want to bet The Perv is not just getting off himself, but also making money by selling the pictures to porn sites?  For that matter, he might own a few porn sites of his own.  

Shudder.   

© Twenty Four At Heart

Moon Rises

I don't have much writing time today, so I'm sharing some pictures instead.  Before I do, I want to thank all of you for your comments and emails regarding my Infidelity post yesterday. Many people felt more comfortable sharing their stories with me in direct emails rather than in the comment section.  Regardless, I think all of you who chose to share in any form are very brave and compassionate to do so. Thank you for taking the time to write to me. 

Secondly, for those of you who have inquired.  Yes, I have now registered for BlogHer and I will be in Chicago for a little time prior to, and after, the convention also.  If I'm going all the way to Chicago I want to fit in some play time!  I think I'll be in town July 23rd through the 27th or 28th (Thr - Mon/Tue).  I look forward to meeting several of you in July. 

And now ... on to today ....

One of the things I love about our house is our nighttime view.  Every evening we see the moon rise over the mountains.  It's always beautiful, but some nights are more exceptional than others.

With my bum arm I'm only able to use a lightweight point and shoot camera, but these pictures will give you a general idea of how beautiful an Orange County moon rise can be. I wish I could still lift a bigger camera so I could take better quality photos to share with you.

First, the moon pops over the mountain at dusk.  (I did not photoshop the colors in these photos.)  I wasn't quick enough this time to capture a photo the minute the moon first became visible. It rises quickly and by the time I grabbed my camera it already looked like this.

The moon rises higher in the sky as darkness descends.

In only a few minutes, it gets quite dark and the moon appears bigger and brighter.

When it's dark enough the stars begin appearing also.  It can be breathtaking. Sometimes I sit out on our patio or deck with a glass of wine and just enjoy the night sky.  

I wish all of you a wonderful weekend!

Painter Hell & Twitter Love

** Are you easily offended?  Consider this a warning.  This post includes foul language.  Shocking, isn't it?  **

**  Also?  Did anyone else watch the Oscars and then have nightmares of a zombie monster chasing after them?  I think it was named Sophia Loren.  Dear Gawd, it was a traumatizing night!  **

I was off my game last week.  By Friday, I just wanted the week to end.  I did some chores in the morning.  My friend Nike and I had plans for happy hour at the end of the day.  Another girlfriend called to invite me out shopping and I decided it would be a welcome break. 

I returned home late in the afternoon.  I was all set to shower and get ready for happy hour with Nike.  As it turns out, I really needed that happy hour.  My painters had been very busy while I was gone. Unfortunately, they were busy doing the wrong thing while I was away.

It was not a good way to end my week and I turned to Twitter to vent.  What follows are excerpts straight from Twitter.  I've copied my actual tweets here and put them in bold black print so you can differentiate them from the rest of this post.

I thought those of you who missed my rant might find it entertaining.  

I tweeted: 

Just came home. Painters painted the entire exterior of house THE WRONG COLOR! F**K!

(Several Tweeps respond asking how the hell they did that.)
The store gave them the wrong color & they didn't check it when they picked up their order.
(Tweeps respond with sympathy over my painting disaster.)
TOTAL nightmare. Somebody save me from my own f*cked up week please!
(Tweeps mutter about incompetent workers.)
Can I say fuck on Twitter?
To which I got a ton of responses.  Many of them like this:
@TwentyFour fuck yes. ;)

@TwentyFour I believe you just did.

@TwentyFour Why the fuck not?

At this point my niece showed up on Twitter.  Being a good role model and protective aunt I sent this tweet to her:
I'm particularly foul mouthed today on Twitter. Cover your ears.
My niece swears like a drunken sailor and she responded with this:
We'll just call it a genetic flaw and leave it at that.

I decided it was time to change the topic because I become slightly schizophrenic when painters paint the entire exterior of my house the wrong color.  Also, by this point I had worked myself into a Twitter frenzy.  Twitter can have that affect. I decided to throw this tweet out there:
I think I might go to BlogHer.

BlogHer is a big blogging convention.  It's being held in Chicago this year towards the end of July.  Tweeps started discussing if they were going, who was going, how much it would cost to go, etc.  It's common practice for writers to bring and trade business cards at this type of convention.  Some bloggers also bring swag (free give aways) so that others will remember who they are and/or what they write about.
I already have business cards.  Some of the physical therapy practices in our area are kind enough to give them out to patients.  Money Town patients who might be depressed at what they're going through need to know, "Really, there's this woman writer and she's been through way worse than your stubbed toe or butt pains."
My card looks sort of like this on the front:

Excuse the smudges.  I suck on photoshop.  I wiped out my last name and cell phone number because really, the entire world does not need that information today.  The back of my card is black and white and looks like this:

I don't know what I would give away as swag though.  I tossed out an idea on Twitter which I had thought of earlier that day when emailing with my friend Neil.  
I could bring breast implants in baggies as my BlogHer swag to represent the OC.

Then I added:
Little bags of jello for implants. OMG what's wrong with me? Have I lost all my followers yet?

I also got an email from one of my readers who lives in Chicago where the convention will take place.  She (Lo) said:

YOUR ASS BETTER BE AT BLOGHER SO I CAN HUG YOU AND KISS YOU AND TELL YOU SWEET NOTHINGS ALL DAY LONG.

and buy you drinks.

o and bring clothes. you flasher you.

A couple little, very innocent, mishaps, and I see I have myself a reputation. 
(PS  My painters showed up over the weekend and repainted our house the correct color. They still need to do all the trim, doors and shutters ... hopefully in the colors I selected.) 

This Is Where I Ramble And Then We Pretend I Never Wrote This Post

I have a bitch of a headache.

My bum arm and shoulder are in intense pain.  OmigodItHurts.

Instead of trying to make any type of coherent sense I thought I'd just update you on some random things I've written about recently.  Oh, and about the boob picture I sent out to the entire world-wide-web.  (Yes, I did!)

PR's glasses arrived on Monday.  He ran around the house saying things like, "I can read the clock!" with total wonder in his voice.  He even said (in complete astonishment) "It says NBC at the bottom of the TV!"

*Ahem*  Mother of the year award .... I'm sure it's on its way.

I'm still working on my house.  Dealing with termites will have to come after the painters are done.  They had to take an extended break due to a series of storms, but they're back now.  They're rebuilding the majority of our deck.  Who knew painters could build decks? They have to because, apparently, it's very difficult to paint rotted wood.  I'll try to post a picture of the deck sometime soon because I know I have a lot of readers very interested in my house and the stuff we're working on.

That headache I mentioned?  Could it possibly be a result of their incessant hammering? 

All the windows of my house are covered with clear, fuzzy, plastic in preparation for painting.  It makes me feel incredibly claustrophobic.  On a positive note, if I can only see vague shapes through the plastic, they probably can't see in.  I might have regained a little privacy.  Just in case I feel the need to wander around naked or something.

Also, regarding indoor projects, for a few years I've been searching for the perfect round table.  We have a circular cubby formed by our spiral staircase and nothing else has worked there.  Last week I finally found one and it's the perfect size and height.  This little table?  Was a find!  The top is hand painted and it was on sale.  I love it when I find the perfect bargain!  

 

I'll have to find something to put on top of it once the roses die.

The Torturer is back from Las Vegas which means I'm back to being tortured.  I ended up only making one appointment with a sub PT over the last 10 days (said sheepishly).  I'm paying for it now.  (Or possibly I'm paying for my post on the harem?)  In any case, he's killing me and he is not a nice person.  Pain means nothing to him.  Well, my pain means nothing to him.  Either way ...?  It sucks.

I'm in love with Danny Gokey on American Idol.  He has, hands down, the best voice of any of the contestants.  I'm going to run away with him and marry him as soon as he asks.  Honestly?  Love his voice!  I hate Tatiana as much as I love Danny.  And yes, I'm really only 15 years old, why do you ask?

I accidentally sent a picture of my partially clothed boobs out to the entire Internet via Twitter recently with a caption that said, "Boobilicious!"  I meant to send it to a couple chick-friends as a joke ... and, um, something went wrong.  I can hope the entire Internet didn't view them it, but I'm pretty sure the 460+ people who follow me on Twitter all got a good look.

Your welcome.

Perhaps this is one more reason why you should follow me on Twitter?  Or not.

Save Me - Bring Vodka!

I'm hiding in my own house.  I'm trying to find someplace quiet.  Someplace where everyone will leave me alone just for a few minutes, please.   The volume of noise continues to escalate and I find myself contemplating ear plugs.  I suppose it's a sad day when you feel the need to escape your own family.

I think I've found a hiding place though.

I was all set to write about a funny experience I had last weekend, but you'll have to forgive me. Writing anything other than a stream of conscience rant will be impossible right now.

Briefcase is cranky and roaming through the house growling like a grizzly bear.  Also, when he's in a bad mood everything gets louder.  He slams closes doors and cupboards every thirty seconds.

It isn't just my family driving me crazy though.  RC has a group of teens over and they are VERY LOUD.  I walked into the kitchen and one of the boys who is about 6'5" tall, and well over 200 pounds, was inhaling food out of our refrigerator as fast as he could.  I asked if he could please leave enough so I could pack PR a lunch for school. 

He replied, "I left an apple."

Thank you, thank you very much.

His girlfriend looked at me apologetically and explained they had just gone out to eat at a restaurant on their way over to our house.

I'm used to this.  Sort of.

Teen boys never, ever, stop eating.  I have two of them, so I know.  They bring a lot of friends over to eat me out of house and home visit also.  Our house tends to be the "hang out" house.

Shoot me.

RC and his girlfriend have gotten quite serious over recent months.  His group of friends has always been a mix of girls and boys, but now it seems we have a lot of teen couples at our house.  As I'm writing this there are teen couples watching a scary movie downstairs.

At the most insane, loud, volume imaginable.

Periodically, a few of the boys roam through the kitchen again to see if there's a single morsel left uneaten.

Scary movies give the girls an excuse to cuddle and hang on to the boys which is really all they want to be doing anyway.  The girls keep squealing loudly.  I have a teen girl also, but I have to say all the girl squealing as I write this is driving me over the edge. The girls must think the squealing is appealing to the boys.

To me, it's like nails on a chalkboard.  

Stop.It.Now.

PR just found me.  He came wandering in as if he's known where I'm hiding the whole time. 

"What do you need?" I asked him.

"I need to cut my nails and I can't find the nail clippers," he said staring intently at me.

Honestly, the kid never wants to cut his nails.  More than anything, I suppose he wanted to see what I'm doing and why I'm hiding.  I think, perhaps, he's part of the conspiracy to not let me spend five minutes in peace.

I already had to tell Briefcase to please stop pestering me.  Why is it when I finally sit down to write, he comes up with at least 150 questions to ask me?

I need a better hiding place.

A few minutes ago RC found me also.  He came to ask if they (the annoyingly loud, squealing teen couples) could heat up our jacuzzi.

This is a favorite teen boy activity.  They love to invite the girls over to the pool in the warm weather or the spa in the winter.  Our pool is romantically lit at night.  The girls wear bathing suits and expose a lot of skin.  There's a degree of privacy awarded by the large rocks surrounding our pool.  It's perfect for making out.

My answer was no.

My answer was no because there has been lightening on the mountain by our canyon and it's not safe for them to be in the water.  It's a good excuse for saying no, don't you think?

As annoying as they're being with their loudness and squealing, at least if they're inside we can assure they get no privacy.  Really, that's my primary responsibility as a parent of teen boys.  It's my job to make sure they're never alone long enough with their girlfriends to get themselves into too much trouble.

Yeah, I know.  I don't believe I'll be successful either, but I can try, can't I?

Happy Valentine's Day!

Stop Peeping in my Windows

For some reason, things at our house always get really out of control complicated.  It's never smooth sailing for long.  I sometimes think it's because we're a very busy, active, family of five.  Since Briefcase travels extensively for business, I'm always left to run our household as a single parent.  We probably have too much going on.  Or maybe we just have a huge cloud called "Chaotic" hanging over our rooftop.

We are (finally) getting the outside of our house painted.  The house exterior was overdue for painting three years ago when I was in my car accident.  Once I was in the accident, I couldn't deal with anything but the surgeries, the pain, the drug haze, the recovery, etc.  I didn't care if the house rotted around us, it just wasn't important.  

Likewise, Briefcase was working and traveling nonstop.  Whenever he was home, he was watching ESPN trying to help out with the basic necessities.

So yep, the house basically did rot around us.  Of course, I didn't realize it at the time. We finally hired some very nice painters recently.  (It must be a sign that I'm finally making progress with my recovery?)  They started working four days ago. So far, they've just been doing all the prep work, which is really the most time consuming part of painting.

It seems like no matter where I am in the house, they are peering in the windows at me. If I'm in the kitchen, they are sanding the wood trim around the kitchen window.  If I'm in the family room, they are there.  It doesn't help matters that our house is nonstop floor to ceiling windows.  If the whole house is glass, how can they not be peering in?

Can someone tell me how I'm supposed to have romantic dates with my rabbit with men peering in my windows at me?

The painters show up early in the morning.  I went to shower the other day and they were already working on the window trim by our master bathroom.  Even though they're outside, and the shower is inside (with shutters on the windows) I could not bring myself to get naked with them right there.  I grabbed my shampoo and showered in a different bathroom.

You're surprised I haven't flashed them yet, aren't you?

There's been no flashing.  I did give one of them an unintentional cleavage shot though.  I was leaning down to reach into a drawer by our kitchen window.  I was wearing a low V-neck t-shirt.  I looked up and Painter #2 was looking down at me from his ladder outside the window. He had absolutely perfect cleavage viewing.  

THAT does not count as flashing though.

Also, he didn't seem to mind in the least.

I'm really a nice person to work for.  How narcissistic is that?  In addition to the free cleavage shot, I made the painters home baked chocolate chip cookies yesterday. They really liked them.  They sat upstairs on our deck enjoying the view while munching on their warm-from-the-oven cookies.

They really like the view from the deck.  They're very happy working at our house.

The painters power washed the exterior of the house on the first day.  Whatever remaining paint was on our wood trim and deck went flying off with the power wash. Two days ago, I heard them hammering.  And hammering.  And hammering some more.  My head was ready to explode. 

I went out to talk to them, because?  They are painters and, most often, painters aren't hammering (especially for hours on end).  I was trying to write.  Hammering and writing do not go together.

In very broken English one of the painters showed me where a lot of the wood trim (and certain boards on our wood deck) had rotted.  They were hammering out the bad spots. Then he asked, "You like me to fix?"

What were my choices here?  They had just removed entire sections of wood trim and gauged out other "bad" areas.  I wasn't about to start thumbing through the phone book for available general contractors.  Of course I wanted them to fix the areas they had just ripped out.

The painter informed me this would, of course, mean they'd have to charge more.  

Of course.

As I turned to walk back into the house he called to me.  He wanted to show me one more thing.  And that is when he gave me a quick tour showing me the termite damage we have to our deck and wood trim.

Termites are common here, especially back in our canyon.  Termites are damn expensive to eradicate.  It costs thousands of dollars to deal with termites.  One of my friends postponed treating them at her house with the mistaken notion they might go away.  She ended up needing major construction work on her home as a result.  Sixty thousand dollars worth of major construction due to extensive termite damage.  

Ignoring termites is not an option.

I thanked him for the cheery news and went back inside to cry write.

Views From The Deck

We have a huge deck off the back of our house.  It faces out towards the canyon.  The deck is accessible from the upstairs master bedroom and/or a spiral staircase off of our patio.  It runs close to the whole length of our home.  (It's great for parties!)  We built the deck many years ago to take advantage of the beautiful mountain views we have.  In fact, we can also actually see a small glimpse of the ocean from one corner of the deck.

Briefcase is off vacationing working on a tropical island this week.  He was there all of last weekend too.  Doesn't his life suck?  While he's been gone we've had two back to back storms.  I've been snapping pictures off of our deck almost daily to share with him when he returns.  Last Saturday I posted a beautiful picture of a rainbow.  We get a lot of rainbows off the lake behind our house.

Here are a few more photos.  They were all taken over the last few days from our backyard deck.  I never tire of the mountains.  The colors and look of them change constantly based on the weather and the time of day.  This first shot is of sunset on the mountain behind our house.  You can see the slight dusting of snow on the mountain. It always looks ominous during storms.

The next photo is another rainbow.

If you look south, the view changes to smaller mountains and hills.  If I'd taken this next photo a little further towards the right, you'd see a sparkly section in the distance.  The sparkle is caused by the light reflecting off the ocean.

Yesterday the sun was back out again, but temperatures remained chilly.  The mountain looks much friendlier in the sunlight.  The dirt path towards the bottom of this photo is a trail where Briefcase runs with our retrievers on a regular basis.  It leads down to the lake behind our house.

The dogs love to run back in the canyon.  When they get hot they swim in the lake to cool off.  Now if I could just convince them to take a shower when they get back home.

Palm trees and snow.  It's beautiful here - I love it!

First There Was Rain

It's been pouring here for the last two days.  A few minutes ago I walked into our backyard and snapped this photo.

 

Proving I'm a Terrible Mother Once Again

I don't write about my kids very often.  Once in awhile I share with you my attempts at being a good mom.  Like last summer when I wrote about putting my daughter on the wrong train and sending her off to oblivion.  I'm a stellar mom, there's little doubt about that.

About two weeks ago PR (13 years old) came home from his school day in 8th grade and told me he "might" need glasses.  

"Are you having trouble seeing the board at school?" I asked.

"No," he answered, "I see perfectly, but I flunked the eye test at school today."

Well, okay then.  

I have never once taken him in to an optometrist for an eye check.  His older siblings went a few years ago, but he (for reasons I don't remember) was not included in the visit.  Briefcase has the worst vision imaginable so you would think this would be something I'd be on top of, wouldn't you?

Right then RC entered the room (18 years old, high school senior) and informed me that although PR might be able to see the board at school, he was having a little trouble.  Fine, I decided to make appointments for both of them.  In fact, I've been squinting at my laptop lately, so I added myself into the mix.

RC had his appointment on Monday.  The doctor went through the standard tests with me looking on.  Towards the end she informed us RC's eyes aren't "too bad," but he could benefit with a pair of glasses just for reading the board at school.  Glasses are very "in" now as a fashion statement and I think RC was actually a little disappointed he wouldn't need to wear them all the time.

Then the doctor dilated RC's eyes.  RC had never had this done before because our previous doctor didn't feel it was necessary until he got "a little older."  Of course, this causes blurry vision.  The doctor then ushered RC into another room for "laser imprinting" of his eye.  Apparently this gave RC extreme vertigo.  I've never had it done so I can't explain why, but it did.

All of a sudden RC staggered out of the laser imprinting room (I had not accompanied him in there).  He looked like he was drunk.  He walked into a wall.  RC is the comedian in our family.  I thought he was goofing around.  

"What are you doing, RC?" I asked.

He staggered some more.  I started to tell him enough is enough, and to please stop embarrassing me with his shenanigans when he collapsed right there in the waiting room. 

Collapsed.

I rushed to him, and helped him into a chair (still not fully comprehending what was wrong with him).  He fell out of the chair right back on the floor again.  Omigod! Interestingly enough, no one in the waiting area, and none of the employees made any attempt to help.

Eventually the doc came out and ushered us into a back room.  She said she has seen the laser imprinting "affect a few people" like that before.  I told her I initially had thought RC was just goofing around.  She gave me a disapproving glare.  (What?  He's a clown!) After about 20 minutes, RC was fine to walk out to the car and go home.  He was embarrassed at having "made a scene" at the doctors.

Twenty four hours later PR and I were back in the same office having our eyes checked. The doctor decided not to do laser imprinting on either of us.  (I wouldn't have let her.)  I had not told PR about RC's experience because I didn't want to make him anxious.  It was his first visit to an optometrist.

Right before PR's test he looked at me and said, "I'm a little nervous.  I don't think I see so good."

(Nice grammar, I know!  And what happened to "I see perfectly"??)

His eye test began.  I watched on in horror.

My kid is as blind as a bat.

I sat in the room with him as he flunked his eye test.  I saw the doctor's disapproving expression as she made the eye tests bigger and bigger and PR still could not read them.  She glanced at me as if to say, "How the hell could you let your kid walk around like this?"

So, of course, filled with immediate and complete "mom guilt," I tried to explain.

In a nervous, apologetic, and guilt-filled rush of words, I began rambling.

"He must be able to see the board, he got straight A's!" I rationalized said.

The doctor remained silent and disapproving.

"Really, how could he do that if he can't see the board?"

She countered with, "Think how stressful it must be on him to accomplish that when he can't see."

Ouch!

More mom guilt resulted in me talking faster instead of shutting up.

"But he plays baseball!" I announced.

"Well, he can't actually be fielding the ball," she remarked skeptically.

Clearly she thinks he stands out on the field while balls go whizzing past him all day.

PR's whole life is, and always has been, all about his passion for baseball.  Currently his coach has him playing shortstop (because *ahem* he can field the ball.)  He also pitches and he has to be able to see in order to pitch.

"Yes, he fields the ball very well," I answered defensively.

"Does he ever hit the ball?" she asked, dubiously.

Now she was just pissing me off.  I felt bad enough about PR's eyesight without her rubbing in what a neglectful mom I am.

"He's been hitting great," I countered.

I was pissed off at her holier than thou attitude. The kid has been hitting the crap out of the ball.  Honestly, PR has not been stumbling around walking into walls ... like his brother did the previous day.

Is it my fault that I didn't know my own kid is half blind?  

(Yes, but make me feel better and pretend it's not.)

Her voice filled with skepticism, the doctor said, "Well he must be feeling the ball because he's certainly not seeing it."

Why not just call me the world's worst mom?

To top off my wonderful experience, she then informed me I now need reading glasses.

"That's what happens as you get older," she smiled.

Bitch!

Pain, Misery, and a Side of Crap

I apologize for today's post right up-front.  I wasn't going to even attempt to write anything, but then I figured what the hell.  It's Friday and readership is traditionally lower on Fridays. If you're reading today, you might (?) already like me.  Hopefully if you do, you'll forgive me for posting crap.

Over the last two weeks The Torturer has been rapidly building the amount of torture he inflicts on me during our sessions together.  I've been spending longer and longer periods of time each day at PT and my pain levels are through the roof.  He tells me this is something I "have to go through."  I recently ran out of pain meds and I'm not planning to renew them if at all possible. (Honestly, it's a minute by minute test of my fortitude right now.)  Wednesday and Thursday of this week were particularly brutal PT sessions.  

Brutal is, I think, too mild of a description.  

All I really want is for everyone to leave me alone for a few days so I can curl up in a ball and cry.  And when I say "everyone," I especially mean The Torturer.  

Since it's very difficult to have an ounce of creativity or funny in me when I'm clenching my teeth and trying to remember to breathe, I'm just going to share a lot of pictures today. 

Several readers have expressed interest in my house and the projects I'm taking on this year.  My house is basically a disaster area.  However, I'm finally working towards completing some long overdue improvements.  

Lately I've been working on my dining room.  My living room and dining room are what a person sees first upon entering my home.  The two rooms are actually one big room.  You see this a lot in California.  It's an "open and airy" look, or so I've been told.  The ceiling in these rooms is vaulted and at least twenty (?) feet high.

Right before my car accident I decided I hated all my draperies and I took them down and tossed them.  Nothing's changed with the windows since.  I currently have Silhouettes up, and nothing else.  I desperately need to get working on drapes.  (But remember?  Fabric phobia!  I need help!)

I'm probably going to be replacing the big couch you see in our living room, but it's not an immediate priority.  

I like my house to be casual.  I like it warm, inviting, and livable.  I do not want a showcase house.  I'll pick a comfortable couch or chair any day over a formal one.

I generally don't buy super nice furniture because our house gets a lot of wear and tear. The exception to this rule, was when I found our dining room table a few years ago.  It will be an heirloom piece for our family.  Photos don't really do it justice.  It's solid walnut, hand carved in Italy, and has beautiful hand carved in-lays of lemonwood.  

The table is truly a piece of art.  The intricacies of the hand carving amaze me.  I, literally, had to wait for months while this table shipped here on a container from Italy.  There's also some wrought iron underneath which is why we hung a wrought iron/crystal chandelier over the table.

It looks like pretty dusty wrought iron.  I guess I need to crawl under there and do some cleaning.

Doesn't it make you feel special to see someone else's dirt?

When I purchased the table, I knew there was a hutch (a buffet, actually) that matched.  I couldn't afford to buy both pieces at the same time.  (Shipping costs from Italy to California?  Ouch!) 

At the time, I thought I'd go back and buy the other piece in a few months.  And then I was in the car accident.  Furniture, even beautiful furniture, has not been a priority for me these last few years.  In November, however, I started researching whether or not it would be possible to find the missing piece.

It arrived from Italy last week.

  

Like the table, it's hand carved walnut with intricate designs of inlaid lemonwood. 

I'm still waiting on two end chairs for my dining room table.  They are going to be beautiful once they arrive.  They are also hand carved and being made in Italy at this very moment.  They should arrive in March.

The rest of my furniture?  Pure crap.  It makes me enjoy the nice pieces even more.

Of course, now I need to find a painting, or mirror, or something, to hang over the buffet. (By the way, the delivery man told me he had my buff-it in his truck!)  In addition, I need some accessories to go on top.  

Also?  Draperies!  Lots and lots of draperies because the whole room is filled with windows.  Are any of my readers experts with window coverings?  I'd like to find something beautiful, warm, non-frilly and not over the top expensive.  

Doesn't Everyone Sleep With Their Shoes On?

So many blog-worthy things have been happening lately.  In upcoming days I'll update you on The Torturer and his cult of women stalkers groupies.  Also, I have a story about a Money Town man I encountered this week.  Hmmm ... there's also a few gossipy tidbits about one of the Real Housewives.  I don't know if you'd be interested in that?

In any case, today I want to tell you about this picture.

Yes, that's my foot.  It's Super Glued right into a pair of my favorite sandals.

Oh, yes it is!

The situation is very understandable once you hear what happened.

I absolutely love these sandals.  I've had them for three years, I think.  I wear them more than any other pair of shoes (almost daily!) because I can just slip into them and go.  They have a low, but kind of sexy heal.  What you see in the picture is really all there is to them.  They are soooo comfortable.  The heels wore completely off of them once.  I took them to a shoe repair shop immediately because I can't bear to be without these shoes.

The other thing I love about these sandals is they are perfect for PT.  If I have to get down on a mat for floor exercises I can just kick them off into a corner in two seconds flat. Then I can slip right back into them until I have to kick them off for some other torture machine.  If I'm frustrated with The Torturer I can easily throw these shoes at him with just my left arm.  Easy, comfortable, lightweight enough to throw, what else could a girl possibly want?

So, it was much to my dismay and horror when I realized two days ago that some of the rhinestones were falling off.  Now, there's no question these shoes are long past overdue for the trash, but noooooooooo!  I couldn't bear the thought.  The rhinestones are sewn together in a strand so it wasn't as if one stone fell off.  No, an entire slew of them dangled off.

I suppose I could have taken them back into the same shoe repair shop I'd been to before.

Instead, the next time I was out running errands I picked up a bottle of Super Glue.  Then yesterday, I was waiting around the house for various repair and delivery men.  The men weren't showing up (of course not!) so I decided to work on repairing my shoe while I waited.  

I had no sooner put a big glob of super glue on my shoe when the doorbell rang.  Without thinking (obviously!) I slipped my foot into my shoe and ran to answer the door.  

Just for the record, I was fully clothed at the time.

The next few hours were chaotic.  Two men were at work in my family room attempting to mount our TV to the wall.  (FAIL!  They have to come back sometime soon with a different type of mount.)  At the same time they were working and chatting my ears off, the doorbell rang again.  Two more men showed up to deliver some furniture I've been waiting on for my dining room.  One of the pieces (a buffet) is large and heavy.  They wanted my help telling them where to position it.

I ran back and forth between our dining room and our family room until eventually all the men left.  Then I jumped into my car to run some errands.  I drive barefoot most of the time.  I kicked off my shoes.  Only one shoe came off.  Puzzled I glanced down at my foot as I tried, again, to kick off my sandal.  Then, suddenly, I realized my shoe was glued to my foot.

Fast forward about nine hours.  I was having visions of sleeping with one sandal on.  I wondered how hard the ER nurses would laugh if I showed up at the hospital requesting removal of a sandal.  Or perhaps it would be a better idea to call the fire department?  Firemen are always cute and they deal with all sorts of oddities every day.  Maybe I could get one of them to give me a foot massage remove my shoe from my foot?

Can you picture that call?

"911"

"I need help!"

"What's wrong ma'am?"

"I glued my foot into my shoe!"

I thought about soaking my foot in water, but the water would ruin my favorite sandals.  

Do you know there's a warning on the Super Glue bottle?  It says it's important to avoid contact with skin.

I tried prying my sandal off with a can opener.  Oh, stop laughing ...!  I poked a pencil and a paperclip along the edge trying to loosen the glue.  In fact, I think I tried using just about everything imaginable to get that shoe off.  (The handle of a spoon, a nail file, an old memory card from my camera, etc., etc.)

Finally!  Finally, I got it off, but not in a manner I would recommend to anyone.  I used an exacto knife (basically a razor blade) to cut my sandal off.  The glue was thick enough that I was able to run the knife along the edge of my shoe strap (without cutting the shoe) and remove it.  I was left with some glue on the shoe and some glue left on my foot.

The excess glue on my sandal strap was fairly easy to remove with the exacto knife once it was no longer attached to my foot.  The glue on my foot hasn't been nearly as easy to remove.  I did manage to get a lot of it off, but I have a feeling I'll have glue remnants of my foot for weeks to come.

Inadequate? Why, Yes I Am!

I've mentioned before, I'm sorely lacking in all some of the girly genes.  All my male readers should thank God they aren't involved with an inadequate female. Decorating, shopping as a form of entertainment, sewing, fabric in any form whatsoever, it all makes me hyperventilate. 

I'm a pretty good cook.  My brother, however, is a better cook (and he's a better cook than the vast majority of women I know too).  I can tell you when I see a house decorated in a way I love, but putting a house together myself is a completely different matter.  Clearly, I spent way too much of my childhood playing baseball with my brother and his friends when I should have been learning girly shit.

I just never liked all the girly shit.

One year when I was in school, I was required to take a class titled, "Creative Stitchery."  I don't believe the teacher had ever seen stitchery quite as creative as mine.  Over the course of the class, we had to embroider, crochet, knit, and sew.  I want to go on record saying I did okay with the crocheting part.  Meaning, that was the only part I didn't fail.  At the end of the course, the teacher agreed to pass me if I agreed not to sign up for any type of stitching or sewing class the following year.  

It was a win-win.

One of the wonderful things about writing Twenty Four At Heart, is I've met a ton of fantastic people all over the world.  One of them, is my friend Linda and she excels in areas of stitchery which stymie me.  I've seen pictures of Linda's creations and I'm astounded at her talent.  I have no talent.  None, whatsoever, in any area.  Linda is an artist with a crochet hook in her hands.

Awhile back, Linda offered to make me whatever I want, a hat, a scarf, or whatever. She did this because she's an amazing person and a loyal reader and friend.  She recommended I pick out a yarn I love and said she would do all the work.  I decided on a scarf, but I didn't get around to going to the yarn shop until last weekend.  Linda lives in South Carolina and she knew where my nearest yarn shop is here in Orange County.  The woman is talented!

On Saturday I found myself parked outside the yarn store, trying not to hyperventilate prior to entering.  Once I walked in, my heart nearly stopped.  There were fifteen women seated around a huge table taking a knitting class.  Young women, and old women, all holding knitting needles and skeins of yarn.  They were girly women, not impostor women like myself.

A sales lady approached me to see if I needed help.  Panicked, I looked around the store at the hundreds and hundreds of skeins of yarn.  I pulled a paper out of my purse and read to her the quantity and type of yarn Linda had recommended.  The class was amused.

The sales lady asked me a few questions, none of which I knew the answer to.  This seemed to amuse everyone even more.  Then she escorted me on a tour of the shop.

As we walked aisles, she said things like, "That's a very nice Alpaca, but we don't have enough for what you need."  Or, "These are wools, but you can't ever clean them."  Or, "What did you say your requirements are again?"

My requirements were 1) I wanted something soft and 2) I was leaning toward brown for the color.  

"Soft ... and ... brown?" she asked.

I glanced at the knitting class and noticed the ear splitting grins.

Maybe they were just impressed with my in depth knowledge of yarn?

I ended up with a soft, and sort of lime-ish green yarn.

Won't that look pretty once it's made into a scarf?  (It's real-life color isn't as bright as it looks in this photo.)

I was only at the store about 30 minutes.  Something happened during that time, however.  All those women taking the knitting class?  They were all laughing their asses off by the time I left.

I'd like to say they were laughing with me.  Unfortunately, they were most definitely laughing at me.  

One by one they started turning their attention away from the class they were taking to the inadequate blonde woman trying to pick out a SOFT yarn.  A few of them offered suggestions.  One woman tried to talk me into taking a knitting class.  

I gulped.  I explained I'm recovering from a car accident and I only have one working arm, but thank you anyway.  I did not tell them about my experience in my Creative Stitchery class.

Unfortunately, hearing I only have one working arm got more people interested in me.  I was becoming the pied piper of the yarn store as more and more women followed me in my quest.  Everyone wanted to help, but mainly they wanted to laugh at my running commentary as I wandered the store.

"I met an alpaca last week in Oregon," I said as I fingered some, soft, lovely, yarn.

(Laughter.)

"Oooh, this is soooooo soft," I moaned as I groped a skein of something blue.  "I'd like to go home and sleep with this one."

(Laughter.)

"I thought about making a sweater once, but I knew it would come out with only one arm."  

(Guffaws.)

Looking wounded, I added, "I'm not joking!"

(More laughter.)

Eventually I filled my arms with skeins of the yarn pictured above.

"Will this work?" I asked.

The ladies laughed again, and then they assured me it will work just fine.  I think they were ready to adopt me at that point.

So tell me, are you talented?  Can you knit, crochet, or sew things?  (I'm asking you too Mr. Goodfather, and Mr. Allan!) 

Or are you like me?

Inadequate.

Don't Flash the Painter

I'm sure you've noticed there are times in life when everything seems to be in sync.  Life flows smoothly, although never perfectly.  Then there are other times.  Times when you accidentally flash men things seem a little more chaotic.  Try as you might, things are just not clicking along in an optimum manner.

I seem to be running in "out of sync" mode lately.  I'm trying very hard to juggle a lot of balls and instead I'm sending them flying through the air all over the place.  (This might be the time to apologize to my Internet friends for not being around much lately!) 

It's easy enough for me to identify why I'm feeling out of control.  My life is out of balance. The problem is, I don't see any immediate way to get my shit together again. Here are the areas in my life causing me stress right now.

1.  Travel.  It might help if I stay in town for a week or two.  I enjoyed my trip to Santa Barbara, and also my trip to see family in Oregon.  I'd love to travel even more.  But ... between Briefcase's work travel and my fun travel, we've barely seen each other for over a month. I can't afford to keep buying so many batteries.  If you think air travel is expensive, you should take a look at my monthly bill to keep my toys working.

2.  Teenagers.  I rarely write about my kids.  I have three teens.  Does anyone out there in cyberspace know what it means to have three teens?  It's payback for my own teen years.  Yesterday one of my sons informed me he was off to the library to study "physics" with his girlfriend.  Why was I so skeptical?  After all, physics/physiques what's the difference?  By the way, it was a very long study session.  He was gone for hours.

3.  My house.  I decided to "take my life back" this year, remember?  A huge part of that goal entails completing my half-ass house.  So why am I so stressed out?  My house has been halfway done ever since the car accident.  Now, as I try to knock out projects I realize just how much time all that house crap takes.  Getting estimates, deciding priorities, picking out colors, blah, blah, blah ... it takes a hell of a lot of time.  Too bad I don't have a decorator to do all that for me.

My big goal for the upcoming months is to not flash the painter.  He's going to be in and out of my house for weeks to come.  

Does anyone want to place bets on whether or not the painter sees my boobs before he's done?  How about my other lady parts? 

4.  Physical Therapy/The Torturer.  PT is my full time job.  

I understand that statement because it's been beaten into my head repeatedly by the medical experts in my life.  My friends don't necessarily understand it, but I've been the one to hear every last detail about the necessity of my PT program from my doctor.  I want to get better.  I've got one of the top doctors in the country.  I try to listen to him and follow his advice even when I don't always want to hear what he has to tell me. 

Nonetheless, I'm burnt out and want to dedicate my time to other things.  I know I can't, yet.  I understand all the whys behind my doctor's decision.  All the same, PT is a major time suck.  I tried to take an additional day off when I got back from my trip this week.  I really needed a day to get caught up from all my travel.  

The Torturer lost it.  He was in rare form with his temper tantrum.  It was quite impressive and it got my ass into PT on a day when I really didn't have time to be there.

His reaction also impressed all his employees.  They were talking about it for days.  He tells me we've officially moved into the "tough love" stage now.  I guess that's a nice way to tell me he's going to kick my ass (more than usual) on a regular basis.  The lengthier, more brutal sessions are leaving me in teeth clenching pain.  It's hard to get motivated for shit like that, even when you know it's in your best interest.

5.  Bottled Water.  I'm dreading our next home delivery of bottled water.  I think maybe I'll plan to be away from home for the next few deliveries.  I can't get the image of the surprised delivery man's face out of my head.  I'm being ridiculous, I know.  It was only a nipple ... or two.  And a pair of breasts.  I'm sure he's already completely forgotten the whole incident.

Pardon My Nipple(s?)

So, I did it again.

Oh yes, I did.  I flashed an unsuspecting gentleman man and I think he liked it.

It really wasn't my fault.  (!)

I was just finishing up my morning shower when Briefcase called.  I ran to get the phone. Of course I was naked, because helloooo ... showering, remember?

Briefcase was on two phones at one time.  He was at his office talking to a repairman, and trying to set up a date for the guy to come to our house.

"Can you be home next Tuesday at Whatever O'Clock?" Briefcase asked.

"My calendar is downstairs," I reminded him.

"Well, will you go look?" he asked impatiently. 

I glanced out my bedroom window to make sure there were no random landscapers out in the canyon behind my house.  No one was anywhere to be found.  I ran downstairs, stark naked, to my calendar in the kitchen.

As a reminder, the back of my house (which includes my kitchen) is pretty much all glass. No one is ever back there.  I stood there in all my nakedness examining next Tuesday on my calendar.  Then I ran back upstairs to report to Briefcase Tuesday looked just fine.

I hung up the phone, finished drying off, brushed out my wet hair, and began contemplating what to wear for the day.  Suddenly, I noticed my skin was looking unusually dry.  (Most likely from the cold weather when I was up north.)  I took my time rubbing lotion into every nook and cranny.  Well, not every nook and cranny.  

Never mind.

The point is, a little time passed as I was playing with Rabbit putting lotion on.

Shortly after, I had a brilliant flash of genius.  I could wear my dark brown pants, with my white t-shirt which has just a little edging of leopard around the collar.  If I wore that, I could also wear my cute leopard shoes.  (You know, the ones I showed you about a week ago?).  

There was only one problem.  In order to wear a white t-shirt, I needed (of course!) a nude colored bra.  

Wake up male readers!  Wake up!  Stop yawning, it's rude!

Ladies, you understand, right?  I couldn't wear a lacy black, or pink, or red, or blue, or chocolate brown bra under a white t-shirt.  (Yes, I really do own bras in every color imaginable.  I'm not sure why?)  In any case, my nude colored bra was downstairs in the laundry room where I had left it to dry after being washed.

I pulled on my chocolate brown pants and I ran (topless) down to get it.  I knew there was no one around because I had just been in front of all those windows perusing next Tuesday on my calendar.  

I headed downstairs again.  My tits bounced down each step.  This time, I was all soft and slippery from ... all that lotion I put on.  

** Ahem **  

I got to the bottom of our stairs, made a right turn to go to the laundry room, grabbed my nude colored bra, and without a second thought headed back toward the stairs.

I should have put it on while I was in the laundry room.

Because, there he was.  Our friendly, local, bottled water company representative was standing by the window adjacent to our front door.  He was staring at me through the window and his mouth was formed in a perfect "0" of surprise.  He was not looking at my face.  

No, he definitely was not.

I stopped dead in my tracks in utter astonishment.

The first thought to run through my mind was, "I must have forgotten to put the bottles out on the driveway for him."

Half a second later, I tried to cover my boobs with my good arm.  His head immediately popped up.  (OK, stop it ... I mean the head on his neck!)  He met my eyes for the first time.  I tried to act cool, calm, and collected.

I wanted to project an air of normalcy.  Topless?  No big deal.  

I gave him a questioning look.  He said loudly, so I could hear through the partially opened window, "Wasn't sure if you wanted one bottle or two today?"

"One will be fine," I answered as if I were standing there fully clothed.

He nodded in acknowledgment and turned to walk away.  Then he stopped and looked back over his shoulder one more time and he most certainly was not looking into my lovely brown eyes.

He walked away.

I glanced down at my tits; my hand was still haphazardly hiding them.

It was at that moment when I realized I was only partially covering my breasts. One soft, pink, nipple jutted out completely exposed.

I think, perhaps, we need a new bottled water service.

Frozen Fog And Other Foreign Concepts

Have you ever heard of FROZEN FOG?  

How can fog freeze?  (Asks the blonde from warm, sunny, Orange County.)

Last week PR and I departed to visit my parents remote little farm.  It's a long and arduous journey because they live out in the middle of nowhere.  Nowhere has it's charm, but Nowhere is certainly not easily accessible to the rest of the world.

From Orange County, Delta Airlines happily transported us to Utah where we had a several hour layover.  As we waited for our connecting flight something disturbing started happening at all the nearby gates.  Flight after flight headed for the Northwest was cancelled due to "frozen fog."   

Am I the only one who has never heard of fog freezing?

In any case, we ended up arriving eventually, but I think it was around 11 p.m. Friday night before we arrived at my parent's house.

We woke up Saturday morning to this.

That's my parent's barn shrouded in fog.  Frozen fog, apparently.  Nearby farms were covered in frost.

Morning temperatures hovered in the high 20's (F).  

I needed gloves.  I needed a warmer jacket.  I needed a scarf (I forgot to bring one).  I needed a nose warmer.  How do people in cold climates keep their noses from freezing off?

Luckily for us, although the temperatures remained very cold (mid 20's - 40F) for our entire visit, the fog cleared.

And when it did ... it was beautiful!

I took this photo on our second morning.  The morning sunlight was beautiful on these old stables.  I love the rustic charm.

Everything in Orange County is new.  I don't get to see things like this at home.

This is the Williamette River.  It flows north to Portland.

Since when do rivers flow north?  

A northerly flowing river is another foreign concept!

My parents have a forest on part of their land.  I took a lot of pictures of trees while I was there.

Not too far away, there are Christmas tree farms.  Most of these Christmas trees will be sent down to California for sale eventually.

It was wonderful to see family again.  I admit, however, it felt good to get back home. I'm just not used to cold weather.

My parents live in a beautiful location though.  Right before I left I took this photo.  It's a picture looking out at nearby farm land from their front yard.

Pretty, isn't it?

And Poof! I'm Gone!

You may continue to enter my Decadent Indulgence Contest through TONIGHT (Friday), at midnight Pacific time.  Prizes include a Breville Panini Press and a Decadent Indulgence sex toy.  They add up to a combined dollar value of over $250.  To enter, please click here.

I'm not here today.

You are.  Obviously, because you're reading this.  And I appear to be, but I'm not.  That's one of the amazing things about cyberspace.  Cyberspace holds magical powers allowing you to disappear, but appear to be visible.  Cool, isn't it?

A little known fact about me is I hate to fly.  I'm not afraid of flying ... not at all.  I'm afraid of falling.  I'm scared of heights.  I used to fly all the time back in my career days. Then I was involved in a near miss on a flight into the Dallas airport.  Maybe someday I'll share the story.  Suffice it to say, ever since I've had a mild fear of flying.  I say mild because I don't freak out or anything, but I don't like the idea of being up in the air anymore.

My niece, Undomestic Diva, has my permission to inform you of my death and close out my blog for me if I die while flying over the next few days.  She's a real smart ass.  I don't know where she gets it from.  Genetics are funny that way. 

(By the way, she's afraid of flying herself.  She sent me panicked, inebriated, text messages from LAX one night just prior to departing on a flight of her own.  Like I said, genetics are a funny thing.) 

For Christmas this year, Briefcase surprised me with two airplane tickets.  One ticket was for me and the other was for my son, PR.  He's trying to get rid of both of us at the same time.  What do you think of that?

Actually, the tickets are to give us an opportunity to visit with my parents.  I grew up in Southern California, but when my parents retired they moved to a little farm in the northwest.  A little, very remote, farm.  There are no flights in and out of the closest town.  Going to see them involves multiple flights and a long car ride.  From the time I leave my house until the time I get to their home, PR and I will have traveled for 9+ hours ... and that's if the flights are on time.  It makes for a long, long, day.

It also means, I don't get a chance to visit them often.  Generally, they come to California a couple times each year because they spent most of their lives here.  They have family here, and they have friends here.  

For many years after they retired, my parents raised peacocks on their farm.  Now they just tend to their orchard and large vegetable garden.  How remote is their farm?  Well, the Internet is only available by dial up where they live and even that can be a spotty connection. 

"Don't bother bringing your laptop," my mom told me. 

I started hyperventilating at the very thought of NO Internet!

Recently my mom tried to download the latest iTunes software and was told it would take EIGHTEEN HOURS to download by dial up.  She drove an hour into town to get a wireless connection and in less than five minutes her download was complete.  That's what life is like "out in the country."

About two weeks ago, my sister decided to join in on my fun.  She arrived two days ahead of me from Colorado.  It will be a partial family-reunion.  We will drink and bathe in the water supplied by my parent's well.  (A concept which is quite foreign to this Orange County girl!)  Actually, we'll probably shower in the well water and drink wine.  My parent's home is heated by a wood stove.  It's beautiful there in the spring and summer, but I've never seen it in the winter.  I've been told to expect grayness and rain.

I'd love to see some snow, but snow can be a problem where they live.  My parents home is at the top of a very steep, narrow, mountain.  When it snows they get stuck in their house until it melts.  The road down the mountain is too steep for snow plows and too long to shovel.  Snow means being snowed in.  (Or snowed out.)  Also, I don't own anything warmer than a sweatshirt.  Snow might be a problem.  

Snow might be ... cold!

Stop laughing at me.

Here's hoping I make it TO their house.  First of all, the two planes I take to get there better not CRASH!  I think that's really the most important thing.  Second, if it snows before I get there I will be in a hotel for the entire weekend and won't even get to see my family.  I'm also hoping it doesn't snow much once I'm there so I can make it back home. Lastly, my two returning planes ALSO better not crash.  I've got a contest winner to announce next Tuesday! 

PS  I wrote this post late at night, and I was very tired.  I think if you look close enough you will probably find all sorts of grammatical errors and tense changes.  Consider all of them my special gift to you today.  Hugs!

Sex Toys And Sandwiches

You can continue to enter my Decadent Indulgence Contest through this Friday, at midnight Pacific time.  Prizes include a Breville Panini Press and a Decadent Indulgence sex toy.  They add up to a combined dollar value of over $250!  To enter, please click here.

Well, the contest seems to be off to a good start.  Thank you for participating and I wish the best of luck to each and every one of you!  Remember, you may enter as many times as you like.  Obviously, your odds of winning increase the more times you enter.

A few of you sent me emails saying you already have a panini press but would like the sex toy, or you have enough sex toys ** snicker ** but would love a panini press.  You can always use one of the items as a gift if you want.  

I'll be honest, all this talk of good food and great sex has really been on my mind.  I can't help you out with the sex part, so I thought I'd give you a few tips on making the best-ever panini sandwich today instead.

If you're on a New Year's diet you can modify the following with whole grain bread and low fat fillers and spreads!

Panini Tips  (Sounds kind of dirty doesn't it?)

Use the freshest, best, sourdough bread you can find.  Foccacia and ciabatta are also great options.

Optional: Fire roasted peppers are traditional on a panini, but not everyone likes them.

Fresh basil can be the key to taking your panini above and beyond an ordinary sandwich.

Use an assortment of thinly sliced sandwich meats to give your sandwich a more interesting flavor.  My family's favorite paninis include genoa salami, turkey, prosciutto, pepperoni, ham and a little cappocolla. 

Tomato, onion, avocado, and pepperoncini are all great options.  Lettuce just becomes limp when heated, I don't recommend it.  We wouldn't want limp, now would we?  

(What is WRONG with me today?  It must be the giveaway ... or something.)

Provolone and/or mozzarella cheese both melt nicely, but any cheese you like is fine.

Mincing a clove of garlic and mixing it in with some mayo makes a great, flavorful, spread.

To give the bread a great color and the perfect crispiness, brush the outside of both pieces of bread very lightly with olive oil prior to putting the sandwich in your press.  This is the KEY to a perfect panini!

Toast the sandwich in your pre-heated panini press for 5-8 minutes depending on its thickness.  You should end up with a nicely browned, crispy panini.  When you bite into it your tastebuds will explode at the combination of flavors.  The gooey melted cheese inside will send you over the top.

Are you hungry now?

You can still enter my contest to win a panini maker and a sex toy!

Gossip About Me, Part II

To everyone who Twittered or emailed last night, thank you for your concern.  Yes, I felt the earthquake(s) and yes, we are fine.  

It's Friday and at some point today I'll be on my way to Santa Barbara for the weekend. Yay!  I know, you're probably wondering why I'm going again.  I had so much fun last time, I decided to make another weekend trip.  And yes, I'm taking my laptop with me. 

I'll be back on Monday, and next Tuesday launches my laugh-out-loud, loads of fun, contest!

OK, so let's get going on the rest of those questions you left for me.

How long have you lived in the OC?

I've spent my entire life (except for one summer) in California and twenty three years (out of 24?) in Orange County.

How do you like having a salt water pool?

why a salt water pool? is it easier to take care of ?

I'll answer these three together.  I love my salt water pool.  It's much easier on the eyes, hair, skin, and bathing suits than a traditional chlorine pool.  I don't know that it's much different to take care of.  You still need to scoop leaves out of it.  Once or twice a year we dump a shitload of salt in it for the salt machine to work it's magic.

Any significance to the year on the brick in the pic?  

No, no significance.  The brick came with a few random years stamped on some of them. The name of the brick company is stamped on a few also. It adds character to the floor. I love it.

What's your favorite thing to do after a long day ?

Nothing.  If I'm at home then a glass of wine and a great book is like a slice of heaven for me.  If I can, a walk on the beach at sunset is ideal. 

what your fav color ?

I don't know if I have one.  For many years it was hunter green.  For the last couple years I've been leaning more toward the deep reds.  

what color are your eyes ;) ?

Brown.  I know, it's unusual with blonde hair.  My mom has blonde hair and brown eyes. My dad has jet black hair and blue eyes.  My whole family is ass-backward.

out of the fun toys , what your fav so far ? :)

Flipper.  (But, shhh, I think I might be falling in love with Rabbit!)

oh and whats the strangest game you ever played? my gamer bf wants to know :)

Strangest?  I don't know.  I'm not much of a gamer.  I'm pretty damn good on Guitar Hero though.  I know, child's play ....

My question is - what happened to the comment I left this morning? Did it disappear into cyber space?

Probably.  Maybe you forgot to type in those annoying verification letters?

No comment off limits heh?  SO does that mean you'll tell us the name of the celebrity whose wife had an affair with Joe the bigamist?

I wish I could.  If I did, however, someone would have to kill me.  That would be the end of this blog (and me).

What does the torturer think of short shorts? (smirk)

He's out of town this week so I couldn't ask.  I'm sure he thoroughly enjoys her presence.

If you could go anywhere on vacation tomorrow where would it be?

Australia AND New Zealand.  They are the top two places on my wish list for a vacation. Unfortunately, I don't see a trip like that happening anytime soon.

Do you ever run into the Real Housewives?

Yes, some of them.  It's not a frequent occurrence, but it wouldn't be unusual or a surprise either.

Are you rich?

No.

What's your favorite book?

I love to read.  I don't have ONE favorite.  In recent years I've really enjoyed, Pillars of the Earth, World Without End, and Water for Elephants.

You've said before you have male friends. Does that bother Briefcase? 

Nope.  If it did, I imagine I wouldn't have male friends.  Briefcase is a secure guy.

If you won the lottery tomorrow what would you do with your money?

I don't even buy lottery tickets so I haven't given this any thought.  (Of course, World Peace and charitable donations would follow.)  Maybe I'd finally make that trip to Australia.

Can we get a picture of The Torturer?

I've asked in the past; The Torturer has declined the invitation.

Can we see pictures of your house?

Perhaps I'll share down the road, as projects get completed.

When did you last feel like an ass on Twitter? :D

Two days ago, thank you very much for reminding me.  Also, thank you for the fact that now all my readers know I was an ass on Twitter.  (You are a smart ass, and you know who you are.  I love you anyway.  In a non-romantic, non-stalker-ish way.)

You got a good deal on the chair huh? 

I did!  I think I benefited from the poor economy.

How do you clean a brick floor?  I know, not a very interesting question. But I am curious.

I had a sealant put on the brick.  (Brick is porous and we didn't want spills to absorb into the floor.)  We vacuum it and then follow up with a mop.  Actually, because or my injury, I currently get some help with the mopping part.  Once in awhile we steam clean it too. It cleans up nicely.

How often do you go to the beach?

It varies.  Sometimes I'm at the beach daily in the summer.  During the winter months I'd say I make it at least once every two weeks and sometimes more.

Favorite song? 

It's impossible for me to even pick a favorite BAND, let alone a song.  I love music!

Where would you like to see your blog in five years? 

I'm taking blogging one day at a time.  I'm not out to conquer the Internet.

Why did you start a blog?

I've always been a writer.  It gave me something outside of myself to focus on through some very tough days in my recovery.  I really enjoy it!

How are you related to the See's family [See's Chocolates] and do you get a discount?

Good question!  You know that little old lady pictured on the See's box?  Someone in her family married into my mother's side of the family a zillion years ago.  I'm convinced it has created a genetic mutation destining me to love See's candy above and beyond any other form of chocolate.  And no, See's was sold to a corporation years ago - I don't get any type of discount.

How long have you guys been married? 

A few centuries at least.  Actually, my parents married me off as a 2 year old toddler.  It will be 22 years this summer ... on the Fourth of July.

I've been curious how you injured your right shoulder when you were hit on the left side.

Aren't you a smart one with this question?!  My right hand was gripping and rotating the steering wheel as I turned left.  (My left hand was not on the steering wheel.)  The force of the collision was so severe, it ruptured stuff inside my shoulder on impact.  It hurt.  (Still does!)

Have you started reading the book I recommended? Do you plan to or are you just humoring me?! LOL

I downloaded it onto my Kindle, read a couple pages, and have not done any book reading since.  Yes, I will read it.  No, I'm not humoring you.  I love to read.  I've just been very busy with the holidays.

Since you live in the OC, how do you keep your kids grounded or do your kids constantly ask for everything because of their environment? (My kids want everything and get too much so no judgement here!)

We are surrounded by wealth, but we are not wealthy.  My kids understand that.  They don't ask for everything, so I guess I'm fortunate.  I, personally, believe even very wealthy people can raise down to earth children if it's a priority for them and they resist over indulging them.  (That doesn't happen often in the OC, but it does happen.)  My kids don't lack for anything they need, but we taught them early on they must contribute for those things they simply want.

What is the worst thing each of your kids have done that got them in huge trouble? (I was in 8th grade and got drunk w/a friend at her house while her parents were home. We snuck vodka, wine, beer and whiskey. After I threw up many times I was grounded for a month!)

Oh - I don't want to jinx myself, but so far we are muddling through the teen years without any major mishaps.  I, however, was a parental nightmare as a teenager.  I'd be happy to share some of those stories with you on another day.

What are your top 5 favorite desserts? : )

I don't eat many desserts but I've got a weakness for homemade, warm from the oven, cookies.  Probably oatmeal (without raisins), chocolate chip, and "Snicker" cookies are my favorite.  If I'm out for a fancy dinner with Briefcase we might indulge once in awhile with Creme Brulee or something chocolate and decadent to share.

Who is your nicest neighbor and what are they like?

My nicest neighbor lives right next door to me.  She is married, with four children.  She and I are friends and neighbors.  We have lived next to each other for years, get along great, but we aren't best friends.  We respect each other's privacy, never pry, but share a great "deal" (particularly on house/home stuff) when we hear it.  I'm very lucky to have her!

If you were stuck on a desert island and could only bring one CD (because they only have CD players on deserted islands, no place to charge the IPOD) what CD would it be? 

Very tough question for a music junkie such as myself.  But, wait, I'm on an island?  Then it would have to be The Best of Jimmy Buffett.  I'd make my own rum out of sugarcane on the island.  Then I'd drink the rum and sing along to Jimmy while I danced!

OK, this is kinda a technical question but seem to be an uber-ipoder so I thought I'd ask. When you got a new computer, how did you get your music files transfered to the new computer? Love your blog, I really enjoy the peek into the rich lifestyle of the OC

Thank you!  

I bought a little portable hard drive (mine is a La Cie), I formatted it to work with both Windows and Mac.  Then I just copied my entire pc iTunes library onto it and put it on my new Mac.  Once that was done, I reformatted the La Cie to read Mac only and I use it to back up my entire computer now.  It may sound complicated, but it was very easy and quick.

What kind of work do people do to afford to live in OC? I live in a small town (ONE stoplight) and honestly can't comprehend living there, please tell more

Orange County is big and all sorts of people live here doing many types of work. In Money Town, there are a lot of professionals.  When my sons played in the Money Town Little League we would joke that every dad was a lawyer except for those who were doctors.  Not accurate, but maybe not so far from the truth.

Hmmm... always curious, just wondering WHAT you must have learned on that perusal of the sex toy website... (!)

I'll be giving you the link next week, so you will be able to peruse it yourself from the privacy of your own home.  I admit, however, a double sided aluminum dildo had never occurred to me!  Actually, what am I thinking?  You can look at some sex toys today to help you get psyched up for next week's contest!

Gossip About Me, Part I

Before I get started, I wanted to let you know that the best (funniest!) contest EVER will begin right here, next Tuesday.  More details to follow soon!

I thought I knew what type of questions I'd get from yesterday's post, but I admit a few of you surprised me.  I'm just going to tackle them in the order they came in, okay?  It makes it easier for me to keep track of.  There were so many, I had to break this into two posts.  Part II will post tomorrow.  I'm copying and pasting most of the questions straight from yesterday's comments.

Tell me everything you've learned about Golden Retrievers. My (40 lb) 14 week old puppy is adorable. She looks like a stuffed animal. She announced yesterday that she has officially entered the hard-core chewing phase  ...

I'll send you a separate email, but congratulations your Golden is officially teething.  She will lose her baby teeth next and then the chewing will stop.  I'd provide her with a lot of chew toys in the meantime.  If you don't, she might gnaw through the support beams of your home.  Really.

I love chair and a half's they are big and comfy and you can curl up and fall asleep if you want too. My next furniture set will have one. I am glad you picked the blackberry it is going to look great. You will post pictures when it is finished right?

Sure, I'd be happy to post pictures if you'd like.  The furniture won't be here for about six weeks.

How come you never talk much about Briefcase?

Briefcase is a private person and he'd like to keep it that way.  I respect his wishes.  Some Most of the time, anyway.

What else are you going to do to your house?

The outside desperately needs painting.  I also need some window treatments.  There's probably a zillion other projects too.  I'm trying to take it one step at a time.

Do you and The Torturer still fight a lot?

Sometimes.  Not as much as we used to.  It's not my fault.  The man can be IMPOSSIBLE. 

Do the two of you (T) actually get along?

Most of the time we do.  We've known each other for a very (!) long time.  One day with The Torturer is like a decade with someone else.  If you do the math factoring THAT in, I've known him forever.

What's changed most in your life since the car accident?

What hasn't changed?  The hardest adjustment, I suppose, has been dedicating almost every moment of the last 2+ years to my recovery.  The rest of my life had to be put on hold.

How old are you really?

Um ... 24???

Where's the most unusual place you've had a reader so far?

Now, that's a hard one.  The Internet makes the world a very small place.  I'm very fortunate to have readers in over 100 countries right now.  (And I love every single one of you!  Smooches!) 

Where's your favorite place you've traveled to?

Another hard question.  I don't know if I can pick one favorite.  (I love to travel, but I hate to fly.)  I did particularly like Germany when I was there.  Also, I'm mostly drawn to warm, tropical, places which is why Hawaii is a destination I've returned to many times.

oooo i love that one question: how old are you REALLY? heh. i'm askin' that one too.

So, you won't let up on me, huh?  Twenty four.  (Or, possibly in my forties.)

what zodiac sign are you?

Scorpio.  The sex sign.  Are you surprised?  Heh!  Did I mention CONTEST next week?

what kind of toothpaste do you use?

I'm a loyal Crest girl.

what kind of car do you drive? can i see pics?

A mail truck.  

Not really, but wouldn't it be great if I did?  It's a black SUV.  A very dirty one at the moment, so no pics today.  All SUV's look alike anyway.

shower or bath girl?

Shower.  I suppose I may have taken a bath for relaxation now and again prior to having kids in my life.  Now there is no time for relaxing ....

do you happen to work at the moment?

No.  My rehab at physical therapy has been a full time job for the last several years.

i'm wondering what you did pre-accident?

are you planning on going back to work if you're not working now?

I'm going to answer these two together.  I was a SAHM immediately pre-accident.  I spent a lot of my career time working for a Fortune 500 company in a managerial position.  I have a lot of experience with advertising, and public relations.  I've written many press releases in my life .....  I hope to go back to some type of paid employment at some point.  For now, my priority is still my recovery.

what on earth does briefcase DO?

Briefcase is the Vice President of a medical company.  He travels a lot.

what's your fav pair of shoes? and picture of them please.

Speaking of Briefcase, he's laughing his ass off at this one.  I'm not Imelda Marcos, but I may be close.  I have an ongoing love affair with shoes.  I pretty much live in my Rainbows (flip flops), but it doesn't stop me from collecting a lot of other shoes.  It's impossible to pick a favorite, but here are a couple I really like.

do you color your hair? (evil laugh)

What color is your hair?

I'm going to answer these two together.  My hair is blonde.  I do sometimes add either highlights and/or low-lights.  If I didn't I would walk around with white-blonde, straw-like, hair all summer.  (Bimbo hair!)  Swimming in a salt water pool and the ocean does that to blonde hair.  I have a great stylist who takes pride in evening out the varied shades of blonde which grow out of my head.  (No gray or white hairs yet!!)

Do you have any connections to anyone in the entertainment business?

Yes.  My cousin is the business/finance manager for many celebrities.  Having lived my entire life in Southern California, I've met some famous people over the years. 

I think that's enough for today.  I'll finish up the rest tomorrow.  There are some pretty funny questions I'll be answering in tomorrow's post.

Go Ahead, Ask Me!

First of all, this post is not being written under the influence of pain meds.  Most likely, it will seem like it was, but I'm perfectly undrugged (my new word).  

I'm loving this week with no PT.  I feel a sense of freedom and it's exhilarating.  I'm leaving my house in the morning and getting home just before dinner.  I'm accomplishing things.  I'm out in the real world like a real person.  The icky aura of being injured or "disabled" is gone, at least for this week.  

It's a taste of what's to come ... someday ... hopefully soon. 

I have some random things I wanted to touch on today, and a few reader's questions to answer.  We've become friends, and we've got things to talk about!

So let's get started.  I've been in correspondence with the sex toy company which contacted me.  I perused their website and (oh my!) learned a few things in the process.  I have picked out a toy for a giveaway.  It's a rabbit, and a very nice one at that.  It's so nice, in fact, they are completely out of stock right now from the holidays.  They will be contacting me when they get more in, and at that time (it should be soon) I'll put it up for grabs.  So to speak.

It's going to be a very fun contest.  I have a surprise for you, but you'll just have to wait until contest day to find out what it is.

Short Shorts wore bright pink short shorts into PT on a cold, rainy, day last week.  I'm not allowed to talk about it though.  Would you wear short shorts (ass hanging out) if you knew your PT regimen meant your ankles would be wrapped around your neck?  In a public setting?  With a male PT working on you?  In cold, rainy, weather?

Just sayin' ....

I ordered the leather furniture for my family room yesterday.  And yes, I went with the Blackberry.  It will arrive in about six weeks.  I ended up getting a sofa, a love seat, and a chair.  I've already dibbed the chair for myself.  You know how they make those big, comfy, oversized chairs now?  Well, this is even bigger.  The one I ordered is called a "chair and a half," and it's huge and soooooo comfy.  It's very cool looking.  I can't wait to sit on something that doesn't have fluff falling out of it.  

The amazing thing?  The economy sucks.  You'd pass out from shock if you knew how little I spent.  It's a buyer's market right now.

Last night I was flipping through a newspaper and I saw a woman had written into a national advice columnist.  She was a newlywed and had just discovered her husband had another wife.  She was wondering if she should keep or return the wedding gifts.

Really?  THAT'S what she's worried about?

And no, her bigamist husband is not Joe the Bigamist.

I got lots of comments and questions about my brick floor.  (Not interested?  Skip this and the next paragraph!)  When we put our pool in, about eleven years ago, I wanted a bullet proof floor.  Our house is at the end of a cul de sac.  We've never had just our kids here, we've raised the whole neighborhood.  To get from the pool to our bathroom you have to enter our back door, and walk down a long hallway to get to the bathroom.  I wanted hard wood floors but knew the salt water from the pool would destroy them when kids came in dripping wet.

I came up with the idea of an indoor brick floor.  At the time, it was pretty much unheard of.  I looked long and hard to find the right person to do the work for me.  I knew I wanted a herringbone pattern and real brick.  Brick would not work for everyone, but I have absolutely loved the results.  Our whole downstairs, except for our living and dining room (and RC's bedroom) has brick floor.  Laundry room?  Brick.  Entry way?  Brick?  Downstairs hall?  Brick.  Downstairs bathroom?  Brick.  Kitchen and Family Room?  Brick.  I've since seen other homes with brick, but usually just brick accents.  Area rugs warm it up and soften the look.

Did you know a nonfat, grande, cappuccino only has 80 calories in it?  And you can add the sugar-free syrups if you need it sweetened.  I just thought I'd throw that in for all of you who are working on losing weight as a New Year resolution.  I haven't weighed myself since January 1st, but I've been very good about healthy foods and small portions.

OK, so here's the deal.  I've planned on doing this for awhile, and today seems like a good opportunity.  I get questions emailed to me and/or left in my comments section pretty often.  I try to answer people directly, but sometimes I'm rushing and don't get to it.  I'm opening my comments section today for you to ask me anything you'd like.  No subject is off limits.  The car accident, my house decorating, PT, my dogs, life in the OC, my life pre-accident.  I'm pretty boring, but if you want to ask ... I'll try to answer in tomorrow's post.  You may ask as many questions as you like.