So we sold some eggs and went into the big city for 2 nights at the Hyatt in Jacksonville. The room overlooked the St John’s River with all its lights and boats. Our room had a king size bed, cable TV, wifi, an ipod docking clock radio, and quality sundries. For me this was a long way from when the high life meant a 12 pack of Miller and spending the weekend at my older sister’s apartment.
Since it was my 29th birthday again, Wayne splurged and took me to Ruth’s Chris to dine. Because I was celebrating, I had 2 cosmopolitans in the bar before dinner. The server would have made a great used car salesman. In fact after the 2 cosmos I definitely would have bought a car from him. By the time we got to our table I was lovin everybody, and feeling pretty sure they were loving me. I glided through the room like a Dame who paid a lot more for her shoes than I did.
Some water and concentration got me back on track, but when our server Marcus, who would be taking care of us that evening, offered wine, I knew I would need a red that could slap me in the face and say “listen up missy”. A bottle of Cabernet from Rutherford California did the trick. Is there anything better than a dusty cab? No, I don’t think so!
The best French onion soup I ever had was not spoiled by watching Wayne’s Fear Factor appetizer. Really, who eats snails? Gross. By now the wine had been breathing a while and Marcus’ assistant delivered the entrees. I don’t know what they do to the steaks at that place, but I had to ask to be excused so I could be alone with it. (Note to self: Don’t lick plate at restaurants where asparagus costs $7.50)
A wonderful evening capped off by a water taxi back to the Hotel and Cragganmore single malt in the lounge. Gawd I could get used to being called by name by a stately doorman.
The next day we had lunch with friends at the Landings, just a block from the hotel, a fun spot where the locals were gathering to watch the NFL draft for their beloved Jaguars. Followed by a trip to the zoo; the zoo gets a C+, but it was still a great day.
We had brunch before leaving in the morning. On the way home we stopped by a waterfront haunt. I was wearing my birthday tee-shirt which was good for a free shot from the bartender. That would have been great if he had offered up the gratis libation before I had indulged, yes again, in two Rum Runners. To top it off the double shot of Tequila was pink and decanted from a bottle with a distinct phallic shape. Wayne has a picture of me caressing said decanter. The pained look on my face is not from embarrassment but rather from the breathtaking effort it took not to hurl.
I recovered and enjoyed a beautiful Florida day, listening to one of the locals play Buffet songs while the waves slapped the shore. Not bad…right? I think I’ll be 29 again next year.
April 29, 2008
April 24, 2008
Where are my glasses?
So I think I have to get glasses. I haven’t been to the Doctor yet, but I can’t read what I am typing so my guess is ..glasses. However, this is not going to be a morose rant about being 40 something, everything going to hell in a hand basket, and needing glasses. In fact I am looking forward to it. Why, you may be asking yourself, when every time you need your glasses they are in the other room, under your butt, or right on top of your head where you left them, though you sure as hell can’t find them because you can’t remember anything either.
No no not I. I do not rue the spectacle of a woman looking for her spectacles, for this fate will not befall me. If my plan comes to fruition, it will be Wayne who will always knows the location of my goggles. And my scheme shall be executed hence.
Wayne being a man of greater than average intelligence has always been attracted to brains over boobs, booty, and ba da boom. The three B’s will easily attract his attention; it can be retrieved with a knuckle to the deltoid, but they won’t keep it for long. No longer than it takes anyway… But seriously folks, I am more threatened by Condi Rice than Paris Hilton.
Marina the sexy philologist of Hot for Words does give me pause, but I like her website too so I can’t really complain. In fact, from her I shall glean some of my ploy to make Wayne remember where my glasses are. Clever, am I not?
Often when exploring the origin of words and how it led to their modern usage, Marina employees glasses as a prop. She uses them to look scholarly, which she most defiantly is, but her combination of beauty and brains often confuses and frightens some men who tuned in just for the 3 B’s.
I tried to pull off the glasses thing in college but it just led to bad poetry.
However, in deference to Wayne's propensity for brainy chicks, I'll use my glasses to evoke the persona of a naughty librarian with a dossier of dirty tricks that is so thick she needs the Dewey Decimal system to catalog them. I will peruse "literature" that is so risque I'll have to hide it in a cookbook. And then I am going to show Wayne what I read. I will act out every tawdry little romance novel fantasy I can. I don’t care if it involves throbbing stallions, pirates or butter. My glasses will be like lingerie…the fun stuff starts when they come off. Like Pavlov ringing a bell, every time I take off my bifocals, shake my head from side to side, as if I had cascading waves of flaming auburn locks that reached the delicate curve in small of my back, Wayne will start to drool.
My exotic plot shall not be without rewards for my mate and his cognitive powers of recall. Wayne knowing where I left my glasses will be like foreplay for the over 40.
No no not I. I do not rue the spectacle of a woman looking for her spectacles, for this fate will not befall me. If my plan comes to fruition, it will be Wayne who will always knows the location of my goggles. And my scheme shall be executed hence.
Wayne being a man of greater than average intelligence has always been attracted to brains over boobs, booty, and ba da boom. The three B’s will easily attract his attention; it can be retrieved with a knuckle to the deltoid, but they won’t keep it for long. No longer than it takes anyway… But seriously folks, I am more threatened by Condi Rice than Paris Hilton.
Marina the sexy philologist of Hot for Words does give me pause, but I like her website too so I can’t really complain. In fact, from her I shall glean some of my ploy to make Wayne remember where my glasses are. Clever, am I not?
Often when exploring the origin of words and how it led to their modern usage, Marina employees glasses as a prop. She uses them to look scholarly, which she most defiantly is, but her combination of beauty and brains often confuses and frightens some men who tuned in just for the 3 B’s.
I tried to pull off the glasses thing in college but it just led to bad poetry.
However, in deference to Wayne's propensity for brainy chicks, I'll use my glasses to evoke the persona of a naughty librarian with a dossier of dirty tricks that is so thick she needs the Dewey Decimal system to catalog them. I will peruse "literature" that is so risque I'll have to hide it in a cookbook. And then I am going to show Wayne what I read. I will act out every tawdry little romance novel fantasy I can. I don’t care if it involves throbbing stallions, pirates or butter. My glasses will be like lingerie…the fun stuff starts when they come off. Like Pavlov ringing a bell, every time I take off my bifocals, shake my head from side to side, as if I had cascading waves of flaming auburn locks that reached the delicate curve in small of my back, Wayne will start to drool.
My exotic plot shall not be without rewards for my mate and his cognitive powers of recall. Wayne knowing where I left my glasses will be like foreplay for the over 40.
Thursday's Non-new Review...Here's a good one for your queue.
Listen, I know I swore off DWTS, but I just had to see how far Marlee could go. She got the boot, or should I say strappy dance shoe, in the ass this week but she did a great job on the show and an even better one in this week's pic for when you can't find anything in the new releases.Children of a Lesser God (1986)
If you have been watching Dancing With the Stars you know that Marlee Matlin can dance. If you rent Children of a Lesser God this weekend you will see that she can also dirty dance.
In her Oscar winning role as a deaf cleaning lady for her former school, Marlee plays Sarah, a bitter, frightened deaf woman with a tragic past, who also happens to be smoking hot, can dance like a bad girl and likes to take nakedy dips in the school’s pool.
William Hurt is James; a speech teacher for the deaf, so loved by his students they adoringly refer to him as asshole, dick brain and fuck face. Way to teach em those verbal skills Jimmie.
After bumping uglies in the natatorium, James and Sarah fall in love but there is no guarantee of a happy ending as Sarah has some nasty wasties in her closet and James just doesn’t know how to break down the silent barriers that block their bliss.
Take a bathroom break when William Hurt tries to interpret Bach with his arms so Marlee can see the music. The scene does not go on for long, but you could still lose your popcorn. Come right back though because this really is a good movie about the give and take aspect of relationships that holds true deaf or no, and a woman struggling to find herself and her place in a world she can’t hear.
Interesting questions regarding who should learn whose language offset the awkward looking signing done by some of the actors. Piper Laurie as Sarah’s mother is particularly lame. William Hurts’ signing is more tolerable, but you really have to do some forgiving for bad writing, when in one scene he expects his students to read his lips while he is standing on his hands with his tie flapping across his face.
Good back story on Sarah revealed throughout the film and the non typical love story with some steamy romps, will keep you watching. Overall a good movie, a good story, and a great performance by Marlee.
Wendy
April 21, 2008
Birthdays
Today is Rachel Lucas’ 36th birthday and she is celebrating by being a capitalist pig. Happy Birthday Rachel, you’re my kind of gal. Check Rachel out, she has the nerve to say what you’re thinking. Sunday I will be celebrating my 29th birthday again, and since I admire Rachel, I want to be a capitalist pig too.
To that end, I have started my own little gallery at Zazzle.com where you can buy stuff that I have thought up. In honor of my birthday, I have for sale a tee shirt commemorating the 14th anniversary of my 29th birthday. You can customize to indicate how many years you have been celebrating your 29th birthday.
I am not really the kind of person that worries about people knowing my age, there are too many other things I am trying to hide from them. I just like to watch people try to do the math when they have to add 14 to 29. (Please refrain from saying, “OH! You are holding up pretty well.)
Since Wayne has planned something for my birthday, (he won’t say what, just to pack for 3 days), I have been trying to get off 5 lbs. Not that 5 pounds will be noticeable, but like wearing silk undies, nobody else will know it but I will. So this past Saturday night I skipped my self administered weekly allotment of wine; and I didn’t drink Wayne’s either. For 3 days in a row I have done 30 minutes of cardio exercise, usually I just think about it for 30 minutes, and I have refrained from sweets, save for the greater portion of a largish water melon. Don’t judge me; it’s all water and fiber.
Just remember, you don’t need desserts and wine to make you forget your birthday. Celebrate your age, your wrinkles, and your grey hair. You’re holding up pretty well.
On a side note: is Xanax fattening?
Wendy
To that end, I have started my own little gallery at Zazzle.com where you can buy stuff that I have thought up. In honor of my birthday, I have for sale a tee shirt commemorating the 14th anniversary of my 29th birthday. You can customize to indicate how many years you have been celebrating your 29th birthday.
I am not really the kind of person that worries about people knowing my age, there are too many other things I am trying to hide from them. I just like to watch people try to do the math when they have to add 14 to 29. (Please refrain from saying, “OH! You are holding up pretty well.)
Since Wayne has planned something for my birthday, (he won’t say what, just to pack for 3 days), I have been trying to get off 5 lbs. Not that 5 pounds will be noticeable, but like wearing silk undies, nobody else will know it but I will. So this past Saturday night I skipped my self administered weekly allotment of wine; and I didn’t drink Wayne’s either. For 3 days in a row I have done 30 minutes of cardio exercise, usually I just think about it for 30 minutes, and I have refrained from sweets, save for the greater portion of a largish water melon. Don’t judge me; it’s all water and fiber.
Just remember, you don’t need desserts and wine to make you forget your birthday. Celebrate your age, your wrinkles, and your grey hair. You’re holding up pretty well.
On a side note: is Xanax fattening?
Wendy
April 20, 2008
The "Bitter" Truth
When Wendy and I decided to take the plunge into the blogosphere, we had envisioned the Lemon Tree Chronicles as a blog that would be potentially free from the blogging fodder of religion, politics and sex. Well, it IS an election year, the available material is hard to resist and I seem to be terribly fond of participating in, and talking about all three.
So, against my own best judgment, my first entry in Lemon Tree Chronicles tackles the recent Sen. Obama comments made in Pennsylvania, and I quote, “And it’s not surprising, then, that they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.”
This is the person that most large media outlets think has a lock on the presidential election in November? Barack Obama plants his foot solidly in his mouth and reveals that he is first and foremost an out of touch political hack, just like the other leading candidates in this race. This man hasn’t got a clue about the average American; what they believe, how they see the future of this country or what our values truly are. So, I’m going to spell a few things out for those of Sen. Obama’s ilk and fill them in on the “bitter” truth.
My family has been in this country since the mid 1700’s. My lineage shows at least two Revolutionary War soldiers and continuing on, several that fought in the War Between the States, the American Civil War. Which side did they fight on? My great-grandfather’s first and middle names were Ulysses Grant, kind of gives away the answer! My grandfather was a coal miner, raising eight children in one of the most economically depressed areas in the country – Logan County West Virginia. He worked three jobs to keep the family together, food on the table and a roof over their heads. He built the house they lived in with his own hands, kept a vegetable garden his entire life and built handcrafted furniture in his “spare” time. He was married to the same woman for 54 years, until he passed away from lung cancer in 1977.
I put these details out there, not because they are unusual or in any way extraordinary, but precisely because they are not. Millions of Americans can tell similar stories, with similar examples of dedication to country, dedication to family and a work ethic that epitomizes what America stands for.
My grandfather was not a bitter man. He lived through the Great Depression, suffered terribly for what he achieved, but to the end was someone that above all else was proud of who he was, what he had worked for and the friends and family that surrounded him. In an era and a place where the “N” word was common vernacular, and the KKK was active, my grandfather worked alongside Black Americans, had Black friends and even though times were tough, when he owned a local grocery store, everyone got credit and a lot of that credit was written off because he knew the economic hardships that his neighbors suffered.
There were scores of immigrants in the coal and steel areas of the United States during the times that both my grandparents and Wendy’s grandparents lived. My daughters are a mix of English, Scottish, Polish, German and Sicilian ancestry. Even though separated in origin by birth, language and culture, each of these respective groups came to this country with a common goal – to be Americans. And they all succeeded. They learned English, intermarried, overcame prejudices and united in hard times, war times and good times to create the America they envisioned. I think they did a great job.
My ancestors; Silas Pennix Wooten and Josiah Marcum knew and respected the value of guns. They had to take up arms against a repressive government that no longer valued or respected its citizenry. Far from clinging to guns, they recognized that a free people cannot rely on the government to provide for their needs, only the people can and should do that. The best government gets out of our way and allows all men (and women) to find their own way to the American dream.
For all of my forebears and those of millions of Americans, the faith they chose was not something that separated them from their neighbors, but rather the glue that helped keep the fabric of our united dreams, our united America and our united future together. They may not have all worshipped together, but they knew that a respect for a power greater than them helped provide a common denominator for the basis of the society they all believed in. They didn’t fear each other, they did not have an anti-immigrant sentiment; because they knew from whence they came, and they believed that the American Dream was open and available to anyone willing to do the work necessary to obtain the blessings that our country offered.
Wendy and I are fortunate to live in a neighborhood that represents the best of America. It is diverse; within several hundred feet on our pleasant street we have Asian, African-American, Hispanic and mixed-race neighbors. We all get along, our houses are well-kept and we invite each other to cook-outs, Pampered Chef parties, and buy Girl Scout cookies from each other. All of us have seen hard times, good times and we have all persevered to be where we are.
Two of my best friends happen to be black. It is not noteworthy, it is not something that we feel we need to talk about and it has never been an issue with any of us. These are men of character, with families that are strong, with church ties that are enviable, and due to our backgrounds and upbringing, all three of us are gun owners. We have all worked hard to achieve what we have and I know that each of us is ready to protect that from someone that wants what we have without doing the work. On many occasions we have stood together, hands clasped and heads bowed, and thanked our God for the food on our table, the blessings we have and the freedom, the opportunity and the bounty that this country offers to all who are ready to accept the responsibility that being an American requires.
No Mr. Obama, we aren’t bitter. But we suspect that you are, and that those who believe in a care-taker government, in socialism, in universal healthcare, in no self reliance and self respect are the real bitter Americans. You don’t understand people like us and you can’t figure out how to get us to turn on each other and the shared values, faith and respect that keeps us united. Truth is, we are glad you can’t and we aren’t worried about the November election. I’m a registered Republican, both my friends are lifelong Democrats, but in the last election we all voted for the same candidate. I have a feeling that is going to happen again. So long Barack.
So, against my own best judgment, my first entry in Lemon Tree Chronicles tackles the recent Sen. Obama comments made in Pennsylvania, and I quote, “And it’s not surprising, then, that they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.”
This is the person that most large media outlets think has a lock on the presidential election in November? Barack Obama plants his foot solidly in his mouth and reveals that he is first and foremost an out of touch political hack, just like the other leading candidates in this race. This man hasn’t got a clue about the average American; what they believe, how they see the future of this country or what our values truly are. So, I’m going to spell a few things out for those of Sen. Obama’s ilk and fill them in on the “bitter” truth.
My family has been in this country since the mid 1700’s. My lineage shows at least two Revolutionary War soldiers and continuing on, several that fought in the War Between the States, the American Civil War. Which side did they fight on? My great-grandfather’s first and middle names were Ulysses Grant, kind of gives away the answer! My grandfather was a coal miner, raising eight children in one of the most economically depressed areas in the country – Logan County West Virginia. He worked three jobs to keep the family together, food on the table and a roof over their heads. He built the house they lived in with his own hands, kept a vegetable garden his entire life and built handcrafted furniture in his “spare” time. He was married to the same woman for 54 years, until he passed away from lung cancer in 1977.
I put these details out there, not because they are unusual or in any way extraordinary, but precisely because they are not. Millions of Americans can tell similar stories, with similar examples of dedication to country, dedication to family and a work ethic that epitomizes what America stands for.
My grandfather was not a bitter man. He lived through the Great Depression, suffered terribly for what he achieved, but to the end was someone that above all else was proud of who he was, what he had worked for and the friends and family that surrounded him. In an era and a place where the “N” word was common vernacular, and the KKK was active, my grandfather worked alongside Black Americans, had Black friends and even though times were tough, when he owned a local grocery store, everyone got credit and a lot of that credit was written off because he knew the economic hardships that his neighbors suffered.
There were scores of immigrants in the coal and steel areas of the United States during the times that both my grandparents and Wendy’s grandparents lived. My daughters are a mix of English, Scottish, Polish, German and Sicilian ancestry. Even though separated in origin by birth, language and culture, each of these respective groups came to this country with a common goal – to be Americans. And they all succeeded. They learned English, intermarried, overcame prejudices and united in hard times, war times and good times to create the America they envisioned. I think they did a great job.
My ancestors; Silas Pennix Wooten and Josiah Marcum knew and respected the value of guns. They had to take up arms against a repressive government that no longer valued or respected its citizenry. Far from clinging to guns, they recognized that a free people cannot rely on the government to provide for their needs, only the people can and should do that. The best government gets out of our way and allows all men (and women) to find their own way to the American dream.
For all of my forebears and those of millions of Americans, the faith they chose was not something that separated them from their neighbors, but rather the glue that helped keep the fabric of our united dreams, our united America and our united future together. They may not have all worshipped together, but they knew that a respect for a power greater than them helped provide a common denominator for the basis of the society they all believed in. They didn’t fear each other, they did not have an anti-immigrant sentiment; because they knew from whence they came, and they believed that the American Dream was open and available to anyone willing to do the work necessary to obtain the blessings that our country offered.
Wendy and I are fortunate to live in a neighborhood that represents the best of America. It is diverse; within several hundred feet on our pleasant street we have Asian, African-American, Hispanic and mixed-race neighbors. We all get along, our houses are well-kept and we invite each other to cook-outs, Pampered Chef parties, and buy Girl Scout cookies from each other. All of us have seen hard times, good times and we have all persevered to be where we are.
Two of my best friends happen to be black. It is not noteworthy, it is not something that we feel we need to talk about and it has never been an issue with any of us. These are men of character, with families that are strong, with church ties that are enviable, and due to our backgrounds and upbringing, all three of us are gun owners. We have all worked hard to achieve what we have and I know that each of us is ready to protect that from someone that wants what we have without doing the work. On many occasions we have stood together, hands clasped and heads bowed, and thanked our God for the food on our table, the blessings we have and the freedom, the opportunity and the bounty that this country offers to all who are ready to accept the responsibility that being an American requires.
No Mr. Obama, we aren’t bitter. But we suspect that you are, and that those who believe in a care-taker government, in socialism, in universal healthcare, in no self reliance and self respect are the real bitter Americans. You don’t understand people like us and you can’t figure out how to get us to turn on each other and the shared values, faith and respect that keeps us united. Truth is, we are glad you can’t and we aren’t worried about the November election. I’m a registered Republican, both my friends are lifelong Democrats, but in the last election we all voted for the same candidate. I have a feeling that is going to happen again. So long Barack.
April 19, 2008
It's OK, It Happens
Did you ever dream you were in the bathroom? Did you ever dream you were sitting on the toilet? Did you ever wake up to the feeling of a little bit of warmth squeaking out? No? Well I haven’t either, I was just asking.
But I’ve heard of such things happening; like after a night of wild drinking and partying when you’re so drunk you pass out and can’t wake up to use the bathroom so you dream you are there and oops! Or like when you are over 40, same thing.
This is a very traumatic thing, I’m told, for a girl to deal with. At least if your stumbling, fall-down drunk you have an excuse when your college roommates catch you shoving your sheets in the washer a week ahead of your usual once-a- month whether they need it or not washing. But suppose you send your boyfriend de jour yellow water rafting into a tinkle eddy in the middle of your futon, then what? You could play if off like you’re some kind of super freak, and if he’s not down with that, then he’s a prude and maybe even a Republican. Yeah, that might work if your room wasn’t full of stuffed animals and your white cotton granny panties come clear up to your boobs.
The only way you are going to be able to pull off that kinky shit is if you are wearing your Saturday underwear and your girlfriend/boyfriend, Brittney/Brian helped you dress and did your makeup. Even then the guy you are performing for would have to be a math club, Star Trek* geek to let you piss all over him.
On the flip side, have you ever been on the receiving end of a golden shower? Me neither, I was just asking. There was this one time though, when after having hosted an especially jovial Halloween party, one of my guests who had been too responsible to drive home after partaking in my refreshments, passed out in a heap on my couch. I woke in the wee dawn hours to find him staggering over my bed and freely peeing on my feet. I don’t think he was awake so I am not sure if that counts as kinky experimentation on my part, but he was a cousin so that adds a little forbidden flavor to the tale.
As far as incontinence after 40, again I don’t know, but I have heard, that sometimes when a girl that is looking at the big 4-0 in the rearview mirror sneezes, it can produce a chain reaction that is not only not kinky, but in some cases stinky, and is kind of sad and can lead to massive chardonnay consumption which in turn leads to drunken potty dreams. A vicious cycle indeed!! Doing Kegel crunches can help that, but I am just relaying stuff I saw on the net as I do not have that problem, really I don’t.
Note: When doing Kegels in your cubical at work, make sure you are aware of who is around you because if you start to start to grimace or moan a little you do not want to suddenly realize that the janitor is bent over getting your trash can from under your desk, and is now looking at you with new found enthusiasm. You can take my word for this as my girlfriend from row three, cubie 4 told me, because I really wouldn’t know.
Take heart my friends a night time leaky has happened to just about everyone, except me, and is not the end of the world, or the beginning of plastic sheets. Keep the chardonnay to a minimum, drink your 8 eight ounces glasses of water before 7 p.m. and do your Kegels in the car where you always have the option of tinting the windows.
Wendy
*Oringinaly I had written Star Wars geek, but Wayne made me change it because he said no self-respecting Jedi would let you pee on him.
But I’ve heard of such things happening; like after a night of wild drinking and partying when you’re so drunk you pass out and can’t wake up to use the bathroom so you dream you are there and oops! Or like when you are over 40, same thing.
This is a very traumatic thing, I’m told, for a girl to deal with. At least if your stumbling, fall-down drunk you have an excuse when your college roommates catch you shoving your sheets in the washer a week ahead of your usual once-a- month whether they need it or not washing. But suppose you send your boyfriend de jour yellow water rafting into a tinkle eddy in the middle of your futon, then what? You could play if off like you’re some kind of super freak, and if he’s not down with that, then he’s a prude and maybe even a Republican. Yeah, that might work if your room wasn’t full of stuffed animals and your white cotton granny panties come clear up to your boobs.
The only way you are going to be able to pull off that kinky shit is if you are wearing your Saturday underwear and your girlfriend/boyfriend, Brittney/Brian helped you dress and did your makeup. Even then the guy you are performing for would have to be a math club, Star Trek* geek to let you piss all over him.
On the flip side, have you ever been on the receiving end of a golden shower? Me neither, I was just asking. There was this one time though, when after having hosted an especially jovial Halloween party, one of my guests who had been too responsible to drive home after partaking in my refreshments, passed out in a heap on my couch. I woke in the wee dawn hours to find him staggering over my bed and freely peeing on my feet. I don’t think he was awake so I am not sure if that counts as kinky experimentation on my part, but he was a cousin so that adds a little forbidden flavor to the tale.
As far as incontinence after 40, again I don’t know, but I have heard, that sometimes when a girl that is looking at the big 4-0 in the rearview mirror sneezes, it can produce a chain reaction that is not only not kinky, but in some cases stinky, and is kind of sad and can lead to massive chardonnay consumption which in turn leads to drunken potty dreams. A vicious cycle indeed!! Doing Kegel crunches can help that, but I am just relaying stuff I saw on the net as I do not have that problem, really I don’t.
Note: When doing Kegels in your cubical at work, make sure you are aware of who is around you because if you start to start to grimace or moan a little you do not want to suddenly realize that the janitor is bent over getting your trash can from under your desk, and is now looking at you with new found enthusiasm. You can take my word for this as my girlfriend from row three, cubie 4 told me, because I really wouldn’t know.
Take heart my friends a night time leaky has happened to just about everyone, except me, and is not the end of the world, or the beginning of plastic sheets. Keep the chardonnay to a minimum, drink your 8 eight ounces glasses of water before 7 p.m. and do your Kegels in the car where you always have the option of tinting the windows.
Wendy
*Oringinaly I had written Star Wars geek, but Wayne made me change it because he said no self-respecting Jedi would let you pee on him.
April 17, 2008
Wanna Get A Movie?
It’s Thursday and that makes it trash day in my neighborhood and Non-new Review Day at Lemon Tree Chronicles (when you just can't find anything else to watch)……and there’s nothing more trashy than this weeks pic.
Joe Dirt (2001)
If you dig David Spade you’ll love him shoveling up the laughs as writer and star of Joe Dirt. (I know, I know, but I couldn’t resist it)
Warning: Watching this movie will do little to improve your friend’s opinion of you. Tell them you watched Little Miss Sunshine this weekend and were very much moved. It was a poignant look at today’s society, a family’s dynamics, and a surprisingly touching performance by Steve Carell. Ok good, now back to the mindless fun.
I liked this movie so much I wanted to be Joe’s sister, and you will too if you just give it a chance or a six pack. Save for rueful moments when the movie reminds you of your last family reunion, you will, if nothing else, come away feeling pretty good about your own life, no matter how crappy it is. Joe Dirt makes redneck, inbred, unemployed, white trash, trailer-park rejects, look like a step up from his gene pool and current residence; if you count a janitor’s closet as a residence.
Abandoned as a child our hero makes his way through myriad obstacles accompanied by the finest in classic rock tunes. Seriously, the soundtrack of this movie is a one right after the other time warp back to when rock was rock. TURN IT UP! Along the way he encounters a plethora of social outcasts and rejects who help him on his quest to find his family, his home, and his love.
It’s complete with a requisite bad guy adequately portrayed by Kid Rock. But I use the term portrayed loosely, as I doubt Kid Rock did little more than show up in clothes from his youth and his own car to convincingly interpret the troglodyte pubescent antagonist, Robby. Def Leppard does not suck, Mr. Rock! And of course the beautiful love interest, Brandy, played by Brittany Daniel…she is ok if you like blonde, skinny, built girls who deep down inside, despite their own beauty, see beyond other people’s outer flaws and accept them for who they are because she has a heart of gold and is also an animal lover. I mean if you like that type whatever, she didn’t do much for me.
On a more serious note; about mid way through the film there is introspection on the male/female mating ritual in rural America. Exquisite cinematography, with the finest use of slow motion seen in recent weeks, Joe Dirt’s bravado and animal magnetism peak as a carnie worker who takes carnal knowledge of a small town’s not so nice girl.
Ok so who else is in it:
Christopher Walken as Clem the mobster mentor to Joe. Walken is his usual quirky character and does not disappoint. If only I were a broom so he would dance with me.
Adam Beach (currently of Law and Order) is Kicking Wing, a road side fireworks entrepreneur who befriends Joe and learns a little something about marketing.
Jamie Pressly, (currently plays Joy on the NBC show My Name is Earl), in a Joy Jr. type roll. As Joe’s sister she is, well, Joy basically. But she plays the country hick thing to perfection.
Dennis Miller as Dennis Miller being Dennis Miller, so if you like Dennis Miller ok, if he works a nerve, he is not on screen very much, so ok.
You can also look for Rosanna Arquette, (or close you eyes like I did), a bit part with Chris Farley’s brother, and Carline Aaron and Fred Ward who played Joe’s parents round out the cast.
So get a cold one and some space peanuts, cuddle up next to your dog, (remember you don’t want your friends to know you watched this movie) and enjoy. Oh, go ahead you know you want to. DANG
Wendy
April 16, 2008
And the Winner Is......Ali
Last night was the finale for The Biggest Loser, and fan or not you have got to admire a girl who can lose 112 lbs in 6 months with nothing but hard work.
I won't go into the details of the show, if you're a fan you know, if you're not, you don't care; this is about what you can do.
Six months ago, 20 contestants started filming the latest season of The Biggest Loser that ended last night. The final 4: Ali, Kelly, Trent and Mark, were on the show for 15 weeks and then at home working out for 6 weeks before the finale. That is a long time to put your life on hold, so why do they do it? One of the players, Bernie, said it best. “People don’t go on this show to win the money.” Curtis’ goal was to lose enough weight to qualify for health insurance for himself and his family. He did it. Finalist Kelly, wanted to lose enough to be able to have a baby. She did it too. All of them cited health and family and wanting a better life.
You see, there aren’t really many fat people on The Biggest Loser. The winners are those who happen to be fat. There is a big difference between people like them and people who are inherently fat. The winners are fat because things have happened in their lives and they took it out on their bodies, hid behind their weight, or just didn’t know any other way. They are not gluttons, slobs, or hedonists; they are people who lost their way. Naturally the show throws in some fat people, but the ones who go the distance are the people who happen to be fat.
I have auditioned for the show because I don’t believe I am a fat person either. I have never thought of myself as a fat person, and I have always tried not to act like one. There have been times when my mind was shut down and my body bore the burden. I felt asleep and unable to wake, but now I have been recalled to life, and so I auditioned. And not because I want the money. Of course I would take it, but it would not be worth the humiliation of the whole world watching my struggle unless it made the difference for the rest of my life.
I drove 3 hours to the audition. I looked around and boy did I see fat people. I almost didn’t go in because I did not want to be associated with this herd. I thought I could just act like I was not there for the audition and no one would notice me. Just then two other non-fat fat girls invited me to go in with them. We had a great time. 6 hours in line, most of it on our feet and we managed to laugh our way through it.
We started out telling each other about ourselves but then we got hungry, so my new friend suggested we order a pizza. By this time we had been in line for nearly 4 hours and we were deep in the middle of the crowd. By our estimation the pizza delivery boy would have to squeeze past 300 to 350 starving fat people, some of whom had been there a lot longer than us. They’d have torn him limb from limb. Had he lived to tell about it, that pizza guy would have come out of there missing not only his pizza, but possibly a leg or an arm if the pack could have figured out a way to make a fire.
Luckily one of my new friends had some gum. Any port in a storm right? But then she came up with an idea! Looking around at the ever weakening band of stout rivals she reasoned that we might be able to sell our treasured cache of Trident. A buck a piece we reasoned. $1.50 for the kind with sugar in it. We settled for chewing away and making fun of some of the more flamboyant fatties. They must have thought they were dressing for a Let’s Make a Deal audition.
Three Grande Amigos dreaming of working out with trainers Bob and Jillian, while praying somebody would pass out or give up and leave so we could have their seat. It turned out we did not get picked that day, but have since sent in a video as a team. Keep your fingers crossed. I can’t complain, I made two new friends who aren’t fat people either, and I have since lost some weight on my own. So I will continue to watch Biggest Loser and cheer for all the people like me who just got lost and are looking for the way back.
Wendy
I won't go into the details of the show, if you're a fan you know, if you're not, you don't care; this is about what you can do.
Six months ago, 20 contestants started filming the latest season of The Biggest Loser that ended last night. The final 4: Ali, Kelly, Trent and Mark, were on the show for 15 weeks and then at home working out for 6 weeks before the finale. That is a long time to put your life on hold, so why do they do it? One of the players, Bernie, said it best. “People don’t go on this show to win the money.” Curtis’ goal was to lose enough weight to qualify for health insurance for himself and his family. He did it. Finalist Kelly, wanted to lose enough to be able to have a baby. She did it too. All of them cited health and family and wanting a better life.
You see, there aren’t really many fat people on The Biggest Loser. The winners are those who happen to be fat. There is a big difference between people like them and people who are inherently fat. The winners are fat because things have happened in their lives and they took it out on their bodies, hid behind their weight, or just didn’t know any other way. They are not gluttons, slobs, or hedonists; they are people who lost their way. Naturally the show throws in some fat people, but the ones who go the distance are the people who happen to be fat.
I have auditioned for the show because I don’t believe I am a fat person either. I have never thought of myself as a fat person, and I have always tried not to act like one. There have been times when my mind was shut down and my body bore the burden. I felt asleep and unable to wake, but now I have been recalled to life, and so I auditioned. And not because I want the money. Of course I would take it, but it would not be worth the humiliation of the whole world watching my struggle unless it made the difference for the rest of my life.
I drove 3 hours to the audition. I looked around and boy did I see fat people. I almost didn’t go in because I did not want to be associated with this herd. I thought I could just act like I was not there for the audition and no one would notice me. Just then two other non-fat fat girls invited me to go in with them. We had a great time. 6 hours in line, most of it on our feet and we managed to laugh our way through it.
We started out telling each other about ourselves but then we got hungry, so my new friend suggested we order a pizza. By this time we had been in line for nearly 4 hours and we were deep in the middle of the crowd. By our estimation the pizza delivery boy would have to squeeze past 300 to 350 starving fat people, some of whom had been there a lot longer than us. They’d have torn him limb from limb. Had he lived to tell about it, that pizza guy would have come out of there missing not only his pizza, but possibly a leg or an arm if the pack could have figured out a way to make a fire.
Luckily one of my new friends had some gum. Any port in a storm right? But then she came up with an idea! Looking around at the ever weakening band of stout rivals she reasoned that we might be able to sell our treasured cache of Trident. A buck a piece we reasoned. $1.50 for the kind with sugar in it. We settled for chewing away and making fun of some of the more flamboyant fatties. They must have thought they were dressing for a Let’s Make a Deal audition.
Three Grande Amigos dreaming of working out with trainers Bob and Jillian, while praying somebody would pass out or give up and leave so we could have their seat. It turned out we did not get picked that day, but have since sent in a video as a team. Keep your fingers crossed. I can’t complain, I made two new friends who aren’t fat people either, and I have since lost some weight on my own. So I will continue to watch Biggest Loser and cheer for all the people like me who just got lost and are looking for the way back.
Wendy
April 14, 2008
Will Work For Cookies If I Have To
I HAAAAAATTTE punching the clock. I know I should shut up, I mean really shut up. I sit on my ass in a nice cubicle with plants and family pictures, in an expensive chair that adjusts 10 different ways, lifting nothing heavier than my headset. The building is beautiful, there is a FREE gym, big screen TVs in the cafeteria, and the bathrooms that have real doors and walls around the stalls.
So what’s my flippin problem? My mother raised 5 kids and waited table in an Italian restaurant. My grandmother raised 12 kids without a washer, dryer, dishwasher, car, air-conditioning, or TV! My husband works 10 hour days in a stressful job, I don’t even have a cat, and I can’t drag myself to my cubical to drink diet coke and surf the net between calls? What the hell is my damage Heather?
I have got some sort of self-destructive thing about being somewhere when someone else says I am supposed to be there. I think I would play hooky from an appointment to receive free cookies for life just because I don’t like to get nailed down to a certain time, and how dare they expect me to show up for cookies on their time table when really they are just using me anyway, and do they really think they can expect me to show up when they say to be there when I know damn well they gave other people with less qualifications and experience than me more freakin free cookies for life.
Ok, well obviously I have some issues.
It’s not that I am lazy, really, ask anybody. I can work like a Clydesdale when properly motivated by things that interest me. I have spent 12 hours at time at the computer writing stuff I will never get paid for.
And I know what it is to work in a physically demanding job for way less pay than some cubicles. I know what it is to not have insurance, or to not have gas money to get to work. So what is my problem, why do I have to be dragged kicking and screaming into a job a lot of people would be glad to have? (This is not the first time this has happened so we can’t blame my current company.)
I don’t know, but I will go tomorrow.
So what’s my flippin problem? My mother raised 5 kids and waited table in an Italian restaurant. My grandmother raised 12 kids without a washer, dryer, dishwasher, car, air-conditioning, or TV! My husband works 10 hour days in a stressful job, I don’t even have a cat, and I can’t drag myself to my cubical to drink diet coke and surf the net between calls? What the hell is my damage Heather?
I have got some sort of self-destructive thing about being somewhere when someone else says I am supposed to be there. I think I would play hooky from an appointment to receive free cookies for life just because I don’t like to get nailed down to a certain time, and how dare they expect me to show up for cookies on their time table when really they are just using me anyway, and do they really think they can expect me to show up when they say to be there when I know damn well they gave other people with less qualifications and experience than me more freakin free cookies for life.
Ok, well obviously I have some issues.
It’s not that I am lazy, really, ask anybody. I can work like a Clydesdale when properly motivated by things that interest me. I have spent 12 hours at time at the computer writing stuff I will never get paid for.
And I know what it is to work in a physically demanding job for way less pay than some cubicles. I know what it is to not have insurance, or to not have gas money to get to work. So what is my problem, why do I have to be dragged kicking and screaming into a job a lot of people would be glad to have? (This is not the first time this has happened so we can’t blame my current company.)
I don’t know, but I will go tomorrow.
April 12, 2008
Nothing in the new releases you want to see?
Have you seen everything in the new releases you care to see? Do you need suggestions for your wish list? From time to time I will be reviewing older movies that are on my favorites list. And sometimes a heads up from my trash list. This week's pic is defiantly one of my favorites.
Connie and Carla (2004)
…..you had me at Oklahoma!
If you don’t love this movie… SHUT UP, because the sound of your voice is giving me mono.
I love this movie. As a wanna-be torch singer and victim of unrequited Drag Queen love, I could relate to this story on so many levels. And though I am not Greek, I did have a big fat wedding so I was already a Nia Vardalos fan.
Connie and Carla is: a buddy movie, a romantic comedy, a chase movie, a gangster movie, a social commentary on self acceptance, a tale of family drama, and a Victor/Victoria type musical all rolled into one. Gawd, I adored it Mary.
Nia Vardalos, as Connie and Toni Collette as Carla; sing, dance a little and are funny, endearing and totally believable as life long best friends who get into more than they bargained for. They stick together to the end and make their dreams come true along the way.
From the brilliantly written hilarious opening scene, (thank you Nia), through the great dialog, the extremely well done musical numbers, featuring Nia and Toni in fabulous costumes, this movie honors all that is holy in classic musicals and drag shows. Including a cameo from The Miss Debbie Reynolds, singing a far too short number, dinner theater performances, Drag Queens and boob glitter galore.
The romantic comedy portion is handled by David Duchovny, who delivers a good performance as the love interest of……not gonna tell ya. In one scene after kissing one of the girls or boys or girl boys, he plays an old time site gag to the hilt. There is no Mulder in the movie; he is pretty fun to watch.
The supporting cast made me cry with joy, and ache with envy. I could have been a drag queen, I know I
could have, is it too late for me Mary? (Per the Connie and Carla website, my drag name is Cherry Poppadopolus, you may call me MS. Cherry if you’re nasty). Best friends Peaches and his partner N’cream, played by Tony Award winner; Stephen Spinella and Alec Mapa were perfectly cast as the side kicks, who can chorus kick BTW.
Michael Lembeck directs and the soundtrack is to die for, so unless you’ve got something against laughing, singing and boob glitter, go rent this movie or I’ll punch you in the throat.
Connie and Carla (2004)
…..you had me at Oklahoma!
If you don’t love this movie… SHUT UP, because the sound of your voice is giving me mono.
I love this movie. As a wanna-be torch singer and victim of unrequited Drag Queen love, I could relate to this story on so many levels. And though I am not Greek, I did have a big fat wedding so I was already a Nia Vardalos fan.
Connie and Carla is: a buddy movie, a romantic comedy, a chase movie, a gangster movie, a social commentary on self acceptance, a tale of family drama, and a Victor/Victoria type musical all rolled into one. Gawd, I adored it Mary.
Nia Vardalos, as Connie and Toni Collette as Carla; sing, dance a little and are funny, endearing and totally believable as life long best friends who get into more than they bargained for. They stick together to the end and make their dreams come true along the way.
From the brilliantly written hilarious opening scene, (thank you Nia), through the great dialog, the extremely well done musical numbers, featuring Nia and Toni in fabulous costumes, this movie honors all that is holy in classic musicals and drag shows. Including a cameo from The Miss Debbie Reynolds, singing a far too short number, dinner theater performances, Drag Queens and boob glitter galore.
The romantic comedy portion is handled by David Duchovny, who delivers a good performance as the love interest of……not gonna tell ya. In one scene after kissing one of the girls or boys or girl boys, he plays an old time site gag to the hilt. There is no Mulder in the movie; he is pretty fun to watch.
The supporting cast made me cry with joy, and ache with envy. I could have been a drag queen, I know I
could have, is it too late for me Mary? (Per the Connie and Carla website, my drag name is Cherry Poppadopolus, you may call me MS. Cherry if you’re nasty). Best friends Peaches and his partner N’cream, played by Tony Award winner; Stephen Spinella and Alec Mapa were perfectly cast as the side kicks, who can chorus kick BTW.Michael Lembeck directs and the soundtrack is to die for, so unless you’ve got something against laughing, singing and boob glitter, go rent this movie or I’ll punch you in the throat.
April 11, 2008
This is Your Ass on Doughnuts
Imagine you’re a crack head. Your mama’s a crack head, your daddy’s a crack head and your family reunions look like a crack head convention. Heck, you’ve even got a sister who’s a crack whore.
All your family functions revolve around crack. Funerals bring tears and comforting crack casseroles. What’s a wedding without Italian crack cookies, crystal crack pipes and a three tier crack cake marbled with meth. And when your mother’s not shoveling an eight ball down your neck, she’s riding your ass about cutting back on the smack.
So now you’ve decided that enough is enough and you’re giving up your crack head ways and all the crack head regrets of what you could have been. But it’s not as easy as all that.
You can’t get from your front door to the CHA (Crack Heads Anonymous) meeting without passing six crack houses, four of which have drive-thrus, and you’ve got buy- one get- one coupons for at least one of them in your glove box. Go the long way to your support group meeting and you pass a SuperCrack Mart, and the big bulk crack club, where you can buy a year’s supply of crack for way less than SuperCrack Mart if you’ve got the pantry space to store it.
Let’s be honest, shall we. A year’s supply of crack would only really last about 4 months.
Might as well just go back home and watch a little TV. You better avoid the crack network. Seeing so many different ways to prepare crack, the history of all your favorite crack snacks and really sexy dealers with bulging muscles or low cut blouses may not be the best way to keep you mind off the pipe.
You might also avoid the sports channels. The commercials for crack showing a group of really cool people having a great time while enjoying an ice cold bottle of crack, or piping hot bucket of crack, could be more than a recovering crack head can stand.
Best to just turn off the TV, but you are getting a jones on. Like it or not you have to take three square hits of crack a day; you need it to live. Too little and you get sick and weak, too much and you’re a crack head. So you can’t just walk away from the crack. Break out your measuring cup and scale, read the label on the Crack Lite, and serve it in a lunch size crack pipe so it will look like a bigger portion than it is.
The worst part is; every junkie on two legs thinks they are better than you. They could be drunks, thieves, liars, molesters, killers, nut jobs, who knows, but their deal doesn’t show on the outside. The whole world knows your problem as soon as walk in the room. Its shows! So you can’t hide and act like you got no problem and they think that makes them better than you. Hell, even some of the other crack heads act like they are better than you because they don’t use as much. They can hold their crack head high and say; at least I’m not as bad as her. It’s shouldn’t bother you; you know those judging M F’ers are the worst sinners of all. But it does and it makes you want to go right back to crack to numb up.
Yeah, diets can be like that, when you’re tryin to get your ass off doughnuts.
Wendy
All your family functions revolve around crack. Funerals bring tears and comforting crack casseroles. What’s a wedding without Italian crack cookies, crystal crack pipes and a three tier crack cake marbled with meth. And when your mother’s not shoveling an eight ball down your neck, she’s riding your ass about cutting back on the smack.
So now you’ve decided that enough is enough and you’re giving up your crack head ways and all the crack head regrets of what you could have been. But it’s not as easy as all that.
You can’t get from your front door to the CHA (Crack Heads Anonymous) meeting without passing six crack houses, four of which have drive-thrus, and you’ve got buy- one get- one coupons for at least one of them in your glove box. Go the long way to your support group meeting and you pass a SuperCrack Mart, and the big bulk crack club, where you can buy a year’s supply of crack for way less than SuperCrack Mart if you’ve got the pantry space to store it.
Let’s be honest, shall we. A year’s supply of crack would only really last about 4 months.
Might as well just go back home and watch a little TV. You better avoid the crack network. Seeing so many different ways to prepare crack, the history of all your favorite crack snacks and really sexy dealers with bulging muscles or low cut blouses may not be the best way to keep you mind off the pipe.
You might also avoid the sports channels. The commercials for crack showing a group of really cool people having a great time while enjoying an ice cold bottle of crack, or piping hot bucket of crack, could be more than a recovering crack head can stand.
Best to just turn off the TV, but you are getting a jones on. Like it or not you have to take three square hits of crack a day; you need it to live. Too little and you get sick and weak, too much and you’re a crack head. So you can’t just walk away from the crack. Break out your measuring cup and scale, read the label on the Crack Lite, and serve it in a lunch size crack pipe so it will look like a bigger portion than it is.
The worst part is; every junkie on two legs thinks they are better than you. They could be drunks, thieves, liars, molesters, killers, nut jobs, who knows, but their deal doesn’t show on the outside. The whole world knows your problem as soon as walk in the room. Its shows! So you can’t hide and act like you got no problem and they think that makes them better than you. Hell, even some of the other crack heads act like they are better than you because they don’t use as much. They can hold their crack head high and say; at least I’m not as bad as her. It’s shouldn’t bother you; you know those judging M F’ers are the worst sinners of all. But it does and it makes you want to go right back to crack to numb up.
Yeah, diets can be like that, when you’re tryin to get your ass off doughnuts.
Wendy
April 8, 2008
Lost Love
It was a white hot love that burned too hot to last. It was inevitable that it would end, maybe even that it would not end well. It didn’t start out like that, in fact I was somewhat indifferent really. Once out of curiosity and nothing else to do, the second time just for fun, and the rest because I needed it. I kept it secret at first, and then I dragged HIM in with me.
So it became me and Wayne on Mondays lustfully indulging that which we knew was wrong. Popcorn and champagne in hand we became armchair judges of gowns, tuxes, and boob glitter. We gasped at missed steps, guffawed at awkward B celebs and were beguiled by Bruno’s rapier wit.
God help me, I even made him try it at home. I bought a How to Tango video from Amazon and we practiced in the garage, the neighbors be damned, let them look, we didn’t care. We danced a tango at our wedding, complete with a plastic rose. I am sorry Wayne.
Wayne was the first to lose interest; feigning multiple trips to the bathroom and kitchen. My pleas to bring him back brought only sad looks and slight pity. He moved further down the couch and began to play golf on the laptop during commercials. Then one Monday he declined to watch at all.
Alone was I now this past Monday, watching, hoping! I just wanted to feel the old magic one last time. Be moved to tears by a dedicated dance or a one legged back flip; I just wanted one last burst of excitement that made me want to waltz. But I got nothing.
And so I write this open goodbye to a former love; it was fun, but it wasn’t meant to last. Farwell old friends; goodbye Tom Bergeron, so long Carrie Ann Inaba, cheerio Len. Dancing With the Stars has lost its fire, I have lost my love, and Wayne has lost his lunch.
I am however, keeping the boob glitter.
Wendy
So it became me and Wayne on Mondays lustfully indulging that which we knew was wrong. Popcorn and champagne in hand we became armchair judges of gowns, tuxes, and boob glitter. We gasped at missed steps, guffawed at awkward B celebs and were beguiled by Bruno’s rapier wit.
God help me, I even made him try it at home. I bought a How to Tango video from Amazon and we practiced in the garage, the neighbors be damned, let them look, we didn’t care. We danced a tango at our wedding, complete with a plastic rose. I am sorry Wayne.
Wayne was the first to lose interest; feigning multiple trips to the bathroom and kitchen. My pleas to bring him back brought only sad looks and slight pity. He moved further down the couch and began to play golf on the laptop during commercials. Then one Monday he declined to watch at all.
Alone was I now this past Monday, watching, hoping! I just wanted to feel the old magic one last time. Be moved to tears by a dedicated dance or a one legged back flip; I just wanted one last burst of excitement that made me want to waltz. But I got nothing.
And so I write this open goodbye to a former love; it was fun, but it wasn’t meant to last. Farwell old friends; goodbye Tom Bergeron, so long Carrie Ann Inaba, cheerio Len. Dancing With the Stars has lost its fire, I have lost my love, and Wayne has lost his lunch.
I am however, keeping the boob glitter.
Wendy
April 6, 2008
Blogging Business
Hi to all,
I've just added ScribeFire to enable faster blog posting. Soon you will all be seeing entries from me on a regular basis.
Take care,
Wayne
I've just added ScribeFire to enable faster blog posting. Soon you will all be seeing entries from me on a regular basis.
Take care,
Wayne
The Today Show
And because I hear the song of the maybe pearl, I have envisioned my future appearance on the Today show after I have finished my book and am touring to promote it. And it goes a little something like this:
Fade in from black…………
Announcer:
Live from New York City it’s the Today show.
Matt Lauer:
I’m Matt Lauer, on such and such date here with my co-hosts, Meredith, Ann and Al. Good morning Meredith, good morning Ann, good morning Al, and Good Morning America.
(Gasp from the camera man; Matt looks like he just farted on air)
Meredith Vieira:
I’m Meredith Vieira, good morning Matt, good morning Ann, good morning Al. Matt…..
Matt Lauer:
Ok, thanks Meredith, now let’s go to Ann for our top story, Ann….
Ann Curry:
Good morning Matt, good morning, Meredith, good morning Al. Covering our top story is our white house correspondent, Holly, good morning Holly.
Holly:
Good morning Ann, good morning Matt, good morning Meredith, good morning Al and, good morning to all of you at home.
Matt:
Good morning Holly
Meredith:
Good morning Holly and I think my good morning to everyone at home was implied.
Al Roker:
Good morning Holly, and please say good morning to everyone at the white house for me.
Holly:
little chuckle
I would Al, but that would be a lot of good mornings.
Matt:
saccharine, fakey chuckle
Meredith:
overt scowl
Camera Man:
slight nauseated grunt.
Holly:
The president has nothing on his schedule this morning, telling reporters at a press conference yesterday morning, that he thought he would take this morning off and return to his usual morning schedule tomorrow morning.
Ann:
Ok.., well thanks for that Holly. Meredith; back to you.
Meredith:
I’m prettier than you Ann. Matt….
Matt:
wrinkles nose at Meredith them resumes a big smile
Now for a quick check of the weather, let’s send it out to Al on the patio.
Al:
Thanks Matt and good morning, good morning Meredith, good morning Ann, and good morning to all you good folks at home.
Merritt:
We all said good morning Al.
Al:
Whinny
Not me!
Ann:
It’s ok Al. Good morning.
Al:
Thanks Ann you’re nice…I miss Katie
Ann:
Well, I’m going to go that far, but….
Meredith:
Al…..the weather!
Al:
Now here’s what’s happening in your neck of the woods.
Local weather man:
Thanks Al, good morning and good morning to every in the tri-county area. It’s raining. Back to Al in New York….Al.
Al:
Matt; back to you.
Matt:
Thanks Al. This morning we have a special guest. It is our honor and great privilege to have a new author on the show this morning that is taking the literary world by storm. Please welcome Wendy. Good morning Wendy.
Wendy:
Good morning Matt, thanks for having me here today.
Meredith:
off camera
Ut um! Good morning Wendy.
Wendy:
Uh, yes hello Meredith, I mean Good morning.
Ann:
Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but good morning Wendy
Wendy:
Good morning Ann, your hair is super cute.
Camera man:
to himself
WTF
Ann:
unabashedly smiles
Meredith:
steam rolls out of her ears.
Matt:
So Wendy, please tell us a little about your book.
Wendy:
impishly
Good morning Matt
Matt:
somewhat confused
Yes. Good morning Wendy
Wendy:
My book is a day in the life kind of story that starts first thing in the morning.
Matt:
Really; that’s not what my notes say.
Wendy:
I’m just kidding Matt.
Al:
That was funny.
Wendy:
Thanks Al, good morning
Al:
Good morning Wendy.
Meredith:
Ut um! Good morning Wendy
Wendy:
What’s up with your hair Meredith?
Camera man:
laughs out loud.
Matt:
Well thanks for being here this morning Wendy; I know your book will be a best seller.
Wendy:
Good morning Matt
Matt:
Fade in from black…………
Announcer:
Live from New York City it’s the Today show.
Matt Lauer:
I’m Matt Lauer, on such and such date here with my co-hosts, Meredith, Ann and Al. Good morning Meredith, good morning Ann, good morning Al, and Good Morning America.
(Gasp from the camera man; Matt looks like he just farted on air)
Meredith Vieira:
I’m Meredith Vieira, good morning Matt, good morning Ann, good morning Al. Matt…..
Matt Lauer:
Ok, thanks Meredith, now let’s go to Ann for our top story, Ann….
Ann Curry:
Good morning Matt, good morning, Meredith, good morning Al. Covering our top story is our white house correspondent, Holly, good morning Holly.
Holly:
Good morning Ann, good morning Matt, good morning Meredith, good morning Al and, good morning to all of you at home.
Matt:
Good morning Holly
Meredith:
Good morning Holly and I think my good morning to everyone at home was implied.
Al Roker:
Good morning Holly, and please say good morning to everyone at the white house for me.
Holly:
little chuckle
I would Al, but that would be a lot of good mornings.
Matt:
saccharine, fakey chuckle
Meredith:
overt scowl
Camera Man:
slight nauseated grunt.
Holly:
The president has nothing on his schedule this morning, telling reporters at a press conference yesterday morning, that he thought he would take this morning off and return to his usual morning schedule tomorrow morning.
Ann:
Ok.., well thanks for that Holly. Meredith; back to you.
Meredith:
I’m prettier than you Ann. Matt….
Matt:
wrinkles nose at Meredith them resumes a big smile
Now for a quick check of the weather, let’s send it out to Al on the patio.
Al:
Thanks Matt and good morning, good morning Meredith, good morning Ann, and good morning to all you good folks at home.
Merritt:
We all said good morning Al.
Al:
Whinny
Not me!
Ann:
It’s ok Al. Good morning.
Al:
Thanks Ann you’re nice…I miss Katie
Ann:
Well, I’m going to go that far, but….
Meredith:
Al…..the weather!
Al:
Now here’s what’s happening in your neck of the woods.
Local weather man:
Thanks Al, good morning and good morning to every in the tri-county area. It’s raining. Back to Al in New York….Al.
Al:
Matt; back to you.
Matt:
Thanks Al. This morning we have a special guest. It is our honor and great privilege to have a new author on the show this morning that is taking the literary world by storm. Please welcome Wendy. Good morning Wendy.
Wendy:
Good morning Matt, thanks for having me here today.
Meredith:
off camera
Ut um! Good morning Wendy.
Wendy:
Uh, yes hello Meredith, I mean Good morning.
Ann:
Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but good morning Wendy
Wendy:
Good morning Ann, your hair is super cute.
Camera man:
to himself
WTF
Ann:
unabashedly smiles
Meredith:
steam rolls out of her ears.
Matt:
So Wendy, please tell us a little about your book.
Wendy:
impishly
Good morning Matt
Matt:
somewhat confused
Yes. Good morning Wendy
Wendy:
My book is a day in the life kind of story that starts first thing in the morning.
Matt:
Really; that’s not what my notes say.
Wendy:
I’m just kidding Matt.
Al:
That was funny.
Wendy:
Thanks Al, good morning
Al:
Good morning Wendy.
Meredith:
Ut um! Good morning Wendy
Wendy:
What’s up with your hair Meredith?
Camera man:
laughs out loud.
Matt:
Well thanks for being here this morning Wendy; I know your book will be a best seller.
Wendy:
Good morning Matt
Matt:
becoming a little miffed
Yes well, good morning Wendy. Meredith……
Meredith:
with a school girl snarl
Yeah good morning Wendy… back to you Matt…
Matt:
No, it’s you now Meredith.
Meredith:
Oh, Good morning Matt and good morning America……now a word from our sponsors
Fade to black.
Yes well, good morning Wendy. Meredith……
Meredith:
with a school girl snarl
Yeah good morning Wendy… back to you Matt…
Matt:
No, it’s you now Meredith.
Meredith:
Oh, Good morning Matt and good morning America……now a word from our sponsors
Fade to black.
Somebody have Loren Michaels give a call.
April 5, 2008
Too Happy?
When I was in college, brief stint thought it may have been, I was feeling about as cereabral as you can get. Consider here that among my college courses were basic math and English refreshers, as I did not go to college until I was 29, but never the less I felt cerebowl and sometimes secretly wished that I wore glasses so that the world might now the extent of my cereebral powers. Exponentially smart was I, and hopped up on high brow, long haired, egg headed ideals.
So, I began to write poetry.
I would include some of my poetry here, but when I read it now I feel like a big fat fakey glasses wearing wannabe cerebrawl antagonist. I might do it anyway because deep down I love me, which illustrates my point…. I am just too happy to write good poetry. Not that I haven't had some bad times, (I could tell you some stories), but one day, with any luck, Queen Latifah will get her first Oscar for her funny yet heart wrenching portrayal of me, a girl who just never gave in. I just can’t give up, I love my husband, I love life, and if I let myself think about the other stuff for too long I would go coocoo for cocoa puffs bat shit crazy and I don’t think you could ever get me back. But I know that won’t happen. (Nervous giggle, creepy smile.)
Good poetry requires angst.
And now for your consideration…..A Poem by Wendy.
Oh, my little water can,
nothing more than a sculpted pan.
You feel so perfect in my hand,
giving moisture to the land.
Your spout turned up shows your pride,
in the painted tulips on your side.
Lots of blossoms is my plan,
with help from my little watering can.
(I also love gardening….is that so wrong?)
You get my point! Sans angst equals sucky poetry!
PS. Highlights for Children rejected this poem but the letter came from Honesdale PA, so YAWN. (see yesterday)
So I’m too happy to write good poetry…. don’t hate because I’m beautiful. I hear the song of the maybe pearl, (if only I had written that line) and I make no apologies. I’d rather make you laugh than cry anyway.
So, I began to write poetry.
I would include some of my poetry here, but when I read it now I feel like a big fat fakey glasses wearing wannabe cerebrawl antagonist. I might do it anyway because deep down I love me, which illustrates my point…. I am just too happy to write good poetry. Not that I haven't had some bad times, (I could tell you some stories), but one day, with any luck, Queen Latifah will get her first Oscar for her funny yet heart wrenching portrayal of me, a girl who just never gave in. I just can’t give up, I love my husband, I love life, and if I let myself think about the other stuff for too long I would go coocoo for cocoa puffs bat shit crazy and I don’t think you could ever get me back. But I know that won’t happen. (Nervous giggle, creepy smile.)
Good poetry requires angst.
And now for your consideration…..A Poem by Wendy.
Oh, my little water can,
nothing more than a sculpted pan.
You feel so perfect in my hand,
giving moisture to the land.
Your spout turned up shows your pride,
in the painted tulips on your side.
Lots of blossoms is my plan,
with help from my little watering can.
(I also love gardening….is that so wrong?)
You get my point! Sans angst equals sucky poetry!
PS. Highlights for Children rejected this poem but the letter came from Honesdale PA, so YAWN. (see yesterday)
So I’m too happy to write good poetry…. don’t hate because I’m beautiful. I hear the song of the maybe pearl, (if only I had written that line) and I make no apologies. I’d rather make you laugh than cry anyway.
April 4, 2008
Loving It
I am a blogging zygote; and I am pretty new to this whole writing thing in general. Unless you count the vast number of what I consider gut busting emails to friends, and some ex- friends, (you know who you are), that have largely gone unanswered. Not everybody gets me, although some have said, I just don’t get it. I have always thought that my life would be so much better if I were just a little smarter, or just a little dumber. If I were a little smarter I could figure things out faster; I could figure people out or at least how to work around them. If I were a little dumber I wouldn’t care so much and I might even be a little cuter. There just aren’t that many knock out rocket surgeons.
But I solider on!
Besides I am loving, say loving in an Adam Sandler operatic voice, LOVING writing daily. I don’t actually feel like a real writer yet, after all would a real writer get excited about a rejection letter just because it came from New York City. I can’t help it; how often do you get letters from a real person in New York City, let alone letters from real agents and publishers. The day I get anything but a rejection from New York City I am sure I will pee my pants. This also happens when I sneeze but I have started doing Kegels in my cubical at work to combat that.
I have been writing children’s book and short stories, mostly of a memoir varietal. Years of TV abuse have left me with the attention span of a head of lettuce, but I can still bang out a short story. I am also working on a memoir/ screen play where I would very much like for Queen Latifah to play me. We have some things common and I really like her. (We are both, shall we say, voluptuous, and smokin hot.) And now, Wayne and I have started a blog. I hope you enjoy my entries, even if you don’t always get them. If not read Wayne’s stuff; he is way smarter than me, but not nearly as cute.
But I solider on!
Besides I am loving, say loving in an Adam Sandler operatic voice, LOVING writing daily. I don’t actually feel like a real writer yet, after all would a real writer get excited about a rejection letter just because it came from New York City. I can’t help it; how often do you get letters from a real person in New York City, let alone letters from real agents and publishers. The day I get anything but a rejection from New York City I am sure I will pee my pants. This also happens when I sneeze but I have started doing Kegels in my cubical at work to combat that.
I have been writing children’s book and short stories, mostly of a memoir varietal. Years of TV abuse have left me with the attention span of a head of lettuce, but I can still bang out a short story. I am also working on a memoir/ screen play where I would very much like for Queen Latifah to play me. We have some things common and I really like her. (We are both, shall we say, voluptuous, and smokin hot.) And now, Wayne and I have started a blog. I hope you enjoy my entries, even if you don’t always get them. If not read Wayne’s stuff; he is way smarter than me, but not nearly as cute.
April 1, 2008
A Gift of a Year
MMMM, Monday morning! Got to get to work! I just woke up, no alarm clock, I just woke up. Coffee; yum yum yum, coffee. Breakfast… to diet or not to diet? Work out? Depends on the weather… gym, neighborhood walk, video, I can choose which ever I like. Shower? Maybe a bath, maybe do my toes.
I have been given a gift, an amazing, priceless gift. A gift of a year to work on my dream. For that year the bills are paid, my job awaits my return and my only task is to work on my dream. My dream: to write and to publish.
It’s 10am. Oh dear, Stephen King has probably logged 100 pages by now. L’Engle would have penned a Newberry award winner and it’s not even noon. I better get started.
11am: Damn all these e-mail forwards! I better get started.
Noon: I should eat something… diet or not to diet?
1 o’clock: Damn the e-mail, seriously, back to work, NOW!
3pm: I have managed to “write” a half a page of drivel I wouldn’t let the dog eat if it were due tomorrow. I had better start dinner. My husband will be home soon; don’t want him to think I didn’t do anything all day.
MMMM, Tuesday! Got to get to work! (See Monday’s schedule)
Wednesday: My sister called, my other sister called, my mother called to see if my sister called. I called my oldest sister to see why she hadn’t called. My brother never calls. Try telling these people you can’t talk because you have to work! They think all I do all day is read e-mail and take calls.
Thursday: Same as Tuesday, same as Monday.
1 week later: Same.
Friday night in bed: IDEA!!! Write it down! My brain is firing on all eight.
Saturday morning: Got to get to work! Up before husband, warmed left over coffee, no e-mail, write, write, write. Love every minute of it. You couldn’t distract me with a grenade.
Saturday evening: I forgot to eat all day… great diet.
Sunday morning: I am up with husband. We have breakfast… no diet! Fresh coffee from beans that he ground himself, if I didn’t live another day, I have all I could wish for.
I can’t wait for him to read it. He’s wearing the robe I made him, I’m drinking the coffee he made me, and he begins. He likes it, he doesn’t like it, I can’t tell yet because he is so busy fixing the spelling and grammar. I’m not sure how I feel about that; no, I like it. This man has a poker face indeed. I better get more coffee.
He likes it! He believes in me! He says “when you’re published” not if. He gives me a couple of vocabulary suggestions. Not sure how I feel about that; it’s OK. He loves me, he loves my writing, he’s on the fence about my singing. I don’t care; I’m a writer not a singer. I could write songs! NO! NO! NO! Stay focused!
Sunday afternoon: Revise, reread, revise; break for football, cuddle with husband. Eat, revise.
I can’t believe I get to do this for a whole year. I could do it for the rest of my life. I feel so blessed I could burst. But a year will go by quickly. I mean a year, that’s not long enough! How can anyone expect you to write your first work and get it published in one year?
Um, excuse me! Remember you’re blessed……
MMMMM, Monday morning! Got to get to work!
AWE….if I really could get someone to pay the bills for a year.
I have been given a gift, an amazing, priceless gift. A gift of a year to work on my dream. For that year the bills are paid, my job awaits my return and my only task is to work on my dream. My dream: to write and to publish.
It’s 10am. Oh dear, Stephen King has probably logged 100 pages by now. L’Engle would have penned a Newberry award winner and it’s not even noon. I better get started.
11am: Damn all these e-mail forwards! I better get started.
Noon: I should eat something… diet or not to diet?
1 o’clock: Damn the e-mail, seriously, back to work, NOW!
3pm: I have managed to “write” a half a page of drivel I wouldn’t let the dog eat if it were due tomorrow. I had better start dinner. My husband will be home soon; don’t want him to think I didn’t do anything all day.
MMMM, Tuesday! Got to get to work! (See Monday’s schedule)
Wednesday: My sister called, my other sister called, my mother called to see if my sister called. I called my oldest sister to see why she hadn’t called. My brother never calls. Try telling these people you can’t talk because you have to work! They think all I do all day is read e-mail and take calls.
Thursday: Same as Tuesday, same as Monday.
1 week later: Same.
Friday night in bed: IDEA!!! Write it down! My brain is firing on all eight.
Saturday morning: Got to get to work! Up before husband, warmed left over coffee, no e-mail, write, write, write. Love every minute of it. You couldn’t distract me with a grenade.
Saturday evening: I forgot to eat all day… great diet.
Sunday morning: I am up with husband. We have breakfast… no diet! Fresh coffee from beans that he ground himself, if I didn’t live another day, I have all I could wish for.
I can’t wait for him to read it. He’s wearing the robe I made him, I’m drinking the coffee he made me, and he begins. He likes it, he doesn’t like it, I can’t tell yet because he is so busy fixing the spelling and grammar. I’m not sure how I feel about that; no, I like it. This man has a poker face indeed. I better get more coffee.
He likes it! He believes in me! He says “when you’re published” not if. He gives me a couple of vocabulary suggestions. Not sure how I feel about that; it’s OK. He loves me, he loves my writing, he’s on the fence about my singing. I don’t care; I’m a writer not a singer. I could write songs! NO! NO! NO! Stay focused!
Sunday afternoon: Revise, reread, revise; break for football, cuddle with husband. Eat, revise.
I can’t believe I get to do this for a whole year. I could do it for the rest of my life. I feel so blessed I could burst. But a year will go by quickly. I mean a year, that’s not long enough! How can anyone expect you to write your first work and get it published in one year?
Um, excuse me! Remember you’re blessed……
MMMMM, Monday morning! Got to get to work!
AWE….if I really could get someone to pay the bills for a year.
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