Something’s Amiss

Back in high school I sported the very unattractive uni-brow. Why I listened to my Mother and did not try to put some shape into my brow, I still don’t know? She told me the longer I waited to pluck, the less headache I would have down the road. Well maybe Mom, but you weren’t the one getting-made fun of each day in school.

Luckily for me, my elder sister had already broken the no pluck rule and was ready to assist me in my misfortune. While on Christmas break, my sister told me to bring her a pair of tweezers, sit down in front of her and lay my head in her lap. One hour later, she handed me a mirror. I went from uni-brow to a pair of pencil thin perfectly arched eyebrows. An exact duplicate of her look. Don’t get me wrong. Her plucking abilities were gorgeous but I looked like a different person with red and swollen eyebrows. No wonder my eyes were tearing nonstop the entire time. It was a drastic change. It took almost the entire week for the redness and swelling to dissipate.

When I returned to school, of course I drew a lot of attention. Something I have never enjoyed, even now. I’d rather blend into the crowd than make an entrance. Sadly, this was not the case. Almost everyone who encountered me that day asked me the same questions:

1) Did you get contacts over break? ( I do not wear glasses)
2) New hair style? ( In high school I had long straight hair)
3) Something is different, what is it?

I cannot tell you how quickly all the attention wore me down. I would politely say no; hair style is the same and I don’t even wear glasses. I did not want to announce that the change involved my eyebrows. Too embarrassing I guess. Not the new brows, the attention they garnered.

I almost made it through the day without having to divulge my change in appearance. Then it happened, in History class. My new look completely baffled my teacher, Mr. Stewart. He would keep interrupting his lecture with the standard questions and I would tell him no, all is the same. He tried to continue with class but it was bugging him to no end. He asked me one last time. "Wicked, you look very different. What is the change?" I summoned up all my courage, stood up next to my desk and announced, "I plucked my eyebrows. Do you mind?!?!?!"

Well he finally understood that I did not want the attention. Good ole Mr. Stewart, he was dense that way. With that came a barrage of complements and one very backhanded one. Phillip whom I secretly had a crush on for most of my time in school told the class "oh yea, she doesn’t look Russian any more!" ( Gee, thanks Phillip - end of crush)

Mamas, don’t let your daughters grow up with bushy eyebrows. Trust me. You’ll thank me one day.

Reflections of What My Blog Means to Me

Has it been a year? Already? Time flies when you’re having fun blogging.

I am honored to be among the countless talented writers out there in the blogging community. I am highly amused at the hits received by this site. It is passe to list the way in which some of you have found this blog, I won’t itemize the searches. It is for my own amusement after all and for the individuals who search. I am surprised by the number of visitors, over 10 thousand. Amazing. If you have the time to let me know how you found me, leave a comment or e-mail.

Many new friendships have been forged in this past year, I cherish them all.

Some of you can’t seem to start your work day without visiting. Who knew I was so inspirational? I might have to market my power of inspiration to certain HR departments. Maybe I can motivate a whole company instead of a loan employee. Something to think about.

Happy Blogiversary to me and to those of you who continue to visit. I promise to keep having fun if you promise to keep reading. Deal?

Hey Diddle Diddle

If I am having good rapport with my restaurant server, I enjoy measuring his/her level of humor.

Last night, HFS, HFS Jr. and I ate out after a very intellectually stimulating experience at the Smithsonian’s Museum of Natural History. We ended up at one of my favorite places and had a very fun server, TJ. ( Hi TJ!!) When our meal was done, TJ asked us if everything was ok. There was barely a morsel left on anyone’s plate.

Wicked H: It was TERRIBLE, we are never coming back here again.

TJ: I can see that. The salmon must have swum right off your plate.

HFS: The chicken was horrendous.

TJ: So, the salmon and the chicken ran away.

Wicked H & HFS: ( in unison) Yes, and the cow jumped over the moon.

TJ left us visibly giggling while retrieving our bill. HFS Jr. on the other hand was trying to become invisible. We make every effort to embarrass her while out in public.

Mission accomplished.

10 Years Ago Today.....

I was racing to get to Maryland from NC in a monsoon. The stereo in my car was struck by lightening during the drive and I made the trip in silence. This allowed me much time, 6 plus hours, to worry and pray that all was ok with my elder sister who after countless hours of labor was rushed into a C-section because both her life and the baby's life were in danger.

We can't do anything simple and with ease in my family. Thankfully it all turned out well. I know I am biased, but I have been told by many of my friends who have met Little Mermaid that for being an only child and the sole grandchild on my side of the family; she is very grounded and not spoiled. I am very proud of that and thousands of other characteristics she possesses.

Happy 10th Birthday Little Mermaid!!! Hurry back so we can have a big party here too.

Drug Dealers

My endearing term for the pharmaceutical reps who visit our practice. It’s not original but it makes some members of the staff and very few reps chuckle. On the average we receive at least a couple of lunches a week courtesy of the Drug Dealers.

You’d think it was the only meal our staff consumes each week. They are like vultures over prey. The caterer can’t set the food up quick enough from all the swarming. It’s kind of embarrassing. What is amusing is the covert ways in which some of the staff squirrels away the stash. My office is right next to the break/conference room so I am keenly aware of the activities surrounding the luncheons. We have one staff member who volunteers to clean up after the luncheons. At first I thought she was very generous or a clean freak. Turns out she is guaranteeing her evening meal. She does do a great job cleaning up. I figure it’s a just reward.

Drug reps generally don’t like talking to me. I do thank them for the meal they have supplied and for the record I don’t partake of each meal. A girl has to watch her figure and the lunches can be quite rich. Should a Drug Dealer engage me in conversation, I always ask if the consumer would benefit from lower medication costs if we could eliminate the luncheons. I mean I am the first to give up the lunches and the coveted chachkas but I also am the one signing for the caterer’s bill. Feeding 50 plus staff is not cheap.

I would gladly give up the lunches for more reasonable medication costs. I understand that the pharmaceutical reps need this avenue to market the new products, but still. There has to be a better way.

Paging Dr. Aggressive, Dr. Passive Aggressive

Back in rural NC when I was running five medical facilities, I had a nemesis. A locum tenens physician who was from the old school and had zero tolerance for policies and procedures. Unfortunately, until we were able to recruit new physicians for all the clinics, Dr. Aggressive was the temporary medical director. I can honestly say that I have not put all my management skills to such good use since his tenure.

In order to store controlled substances in a clinic you have to follow stringent rules. When Dr. Aggressive was going through medical training back in the day, the rules were not very strict. He told me time and time again that medicine was much simpler before the emergence of Managed Care. I never disagreed with him but it really had nothing to do with current day medical practice management.

Controlled substances must be stored in a locked container with the keys being available to the medical director and his/her designate. Dr. Aggressive and I had the keys for our lock box containing injectable Valium for seizure control and cough syrups containing codeine. Anytime these drugs were ordered, dispensed or destroyed, they had to be clearly documented. Every ounce had to be accounted for, no exceptions. These policies and procedure are governed by none other than the DEA. The DEA can drop into any facility at any time and go through the controlled substance log. The are penalties are steep, physician licenses can be suspended or revoked, clinics can be shut down. In principle, you really don’t want to piss off the DEA.

Because we were in such a small town, Dr. Passive Aggressive did not feel the need to follow any of these rules. He would pick up a couple of vials of Valium from the hospital’s pharmacy and tell the pharmacist to get the paperwork from me later. The pharmacist was not too pleased with this method but would generally go along with the city-slicker attitude of this visiting medical director. During Dr. Aggressive’s tenure the hospital pharmacist and I became close acquaintances. Dr. Aggressive continued taking many liberties with the controlled substance rules to the point where the pharmacist called the DEA for intervention. The pharmacist’s license and reputation were on the line as well. Luckily I was made aware of the covert operation and had my end of the paperwork in order.

The DEA agent showed up in the middle of a very busy day. She asked to speak with the medical director and the administrator. Before I went into Dr. Aggressive’s office, I brought the controlled substance log with me along with my copies of the signed order forms. The order forms are numbered and need to be used in numerical sequence; if not, it is considered a red flag. Dr. Aggressive handled the meeting in his typical aloof manner.

Here is the exchange between the DEA agent and Dr. Aggressive:
DEA: Why are the prescriptions being used out of order?
Dr. PA: I grab whichever one is handy at the moment, I don’t pay attention to it. My administrator must be responsible.
DEA: Really? Does she write the prescriptions?
Dr. PA: Of course not, I do.
DEA: Who keeps the prescription pad?
Dr. PA: I do.
DEA: Why are they being used out of order? Where is prescription form 1123? I won’t leave here until you produce the missing form.
Dr. PA: Well in that case, let me arrange for you to get a hotel room in town as I have no idea where that form is.
DEA: I have a better idea. I’ll just take you to our Charlotte headquarters where we may be able to jog your memory. (Charlotte is a good 2-hour drive from our location)

At that point I was dismissed from the room. An hour later, Dr. PA and the DEA agent left to go to Charlotte. One week later, we replaced Dr. Passive Aggressive with another locum tenens physician. Luckily for me, one who enjoyed following all policies and procedures.

Plant Whisperer

My older sister, the brain surgeon, is also a big time green thumb. Bordering on fanatical. Seriously.

Long ago while she was still single, I once had to foliage sit. (I am telling you, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I wanted to) Inside her adorable 2 bedroom condo were at least 30 plants. The first day I arrived to water the plants I found intricate instructions on umbrage care. If she had the time to give me each plant’s botanical history, I am sure I would have been well versed.

Thankfully I was able to keep the plants alive and thriving for her return. It was actually more difficult caring for those plants than it was caring for my infant niece, her spawn. Who knew being an aunt to plants was going to scar me?

Four years ago when I moved back to this area, my sister gave me cuttings from 8 of her prized plants. These babies were packaged with much TLC and of course 8 pages of instructions. If I could read and purchase the correct potting soils, mix them to exact specifications, layer the bottom of the pots with stones of the precise size, shape and consistency and water them exactly as instructed, she had no reason to believe these plants would no thrive in my tutelage. Oy, the pressure.

I am proud to report that after 4 years all the offspring are flourishing. I have even had to repot 3 of them and without her knowledge or instruction. Amazing, I know. I used to experience a small amount of anxiety each time she came to visit. Before she could remove her coat or put her purse down, she would be at each pot checking its progress. She thought she was being covert about it but Dexter would have to wait for the perlustration to be complete before she would even pet her furry nephew. I mentioned it to her once and she has tried with all her might to ignore my plants when she enters my abode but then she experiences the anxiety. So I let her have free reign upon entrance so that the rest of her visit will go well.

Martini Lady

Best described as a cross between Scarlet O’Hara and a future enrollee of the Betty Ford Rehab Clinic. This woman is certifiable. I sure hope the mold broke after her because even one of her is one too many on the planet.

What’s the old saying? If you want to get to know someone well, either move in with him or her or take a trip with them. I am here to tell you that Martini Lady is a trip without luggage. She had such promise too. Before actually meeting her I had only heard good things.

I got more than my fill on a 3-hour bus ride from Reading PA to NYC. Mindless chatter with the sickeningly sweet pseudo southern charm. Thankfully she was so self medicated that she lost consciousness mid-sentence. We arrived in the Big Apple and hit the ground running. Even HFS’ step mom was able to keep the pace and she had 2 bad knees. Martini Lady must have taken the wrong combination from her mobile pharmacy, known as a purse to the rest of the population. She was stumbling along in a dazed state.

It was annoying. We had an itinerary full of fun things to do; no time for drug induced stupor. Had I known that was the only time she would be quiet, I would have taken over the mobile pharmacy and dispensed the drugs for maximum effect.

Despite Martini Lady, aptly named for her favorite libation the Chocolate Martini, we did have a fun time. A couple of Broadway shows and a trip to the Improv later we were back on the bus heading home. Hey, in case you didn’t know, it is “HUGE” inside the Improv. There is no need to show up too early. Also, it’s a two item minimum not a 2 drink minimum. Get it right Mr. Concierge! Cause if you don’t step mom will correct you. “Good fer you!”

Martini Lady’s life almost came to an end while she had to palpate EVERY item in the souvenir shop. I’ll let HFS expound on those details because I left the store and walked back to the hotel.

I don’t exactly know why this story popped into my brain, but thought I’d share it.

Battle of Wills

My parents had a child once every eight years. In essence, each of us grew up missing the typical rivalry that occurs between siblings that are closer in age. By the time my younger sister (YS) came around my parents were pretty relaxed about the stringent rules my elder sister and I had to follow.

My YS was and still is the typical youngest child, extremely spoiled, very self-absorbed. Call it pecking order or nature versus nurture, either way you slice it she is a piece of work. I don’t want to brand all youngest children, this post relates to my YS.

I had the privilege of commuting to college. Truth be told my Father bribed me with a car if I stayed home and commuted. I realize now that it was a mistake on my part another post for another time. While I was a freshman at the University of Maryland YS was in 4th grade. You would think we did not have too much in common. You would further surmise that any of my belongings would not interest her in the least. You’d be extremely wrong.

I began noticing things either missing or moved around in my room. I do have a nosey Father but the items missing or ransacked were not things he would intrude upon. My Mom just would not enter my room because there was nothing in there she needed. That would leave YS. Before I made a fuss about my assets I conducted an experiment. Each morning before I left for classes I would leave a piece of paper wedged in my door. Sure enough each evening when I returned the paper would be missing. Someone had been in my room.

I casually mentioned the intrusion one night at dinner. YS began staring at her plate, dead give away. I turned to my parents and asked them to make it stop. They complaisantly told her to stay out of my room. When I was her age, the punishment for trespassing was detention for a week. I know first hand, I served that punishment several times. I was pretty defiant at her age; maybe a simple statement would do the trick in her case. Wrong again.

Things were not changing, in fact getting worse. We talked about it again at dinner, I was pretty angry about it by then. My Father asked me what I wanted? I reminded him that he was the parent and I the sibling. I told them that I would take matters into my own hands if it did not stop. The punishment that he doled out was detention for a week in her room, which was completely stocked with stereo and television. Amenities I did not have at her age.

After she was paroled it all started again. This time I took care of it. I purchased the items needed to install a small padlock on my bedroom door. Once I was able to secure my room I decided to teach her a lesson. I was not satisfied that she learned anything from her punishment. The Monday following the padlock installation I placed her stereo into my room before heading off to class. At dinner that night we had a long family discussion about how elder siblings should set good examples for the younger ones. I told everyone that I was trying to teach her the consequences of stealing. I went on to say that if her behavior was not corrected by the time she entered any type or roommate situation, she would most likely get beat up.

I love it when I win a debate. I returned her stereo in a week and she did not bother my things again.

Reckless Cyclist

My younger sister (YS) for some reason never got into the normal childhood activities. I have many theories that may explain this but I won’t go into them right now. Trust me, there are thousands of posts dealing with YS. All in good time.

For her 12th birthday, I purchased a 10-speed bike for her. She knew how to ride but was reluctant to do so, lack of confidence if I had to put my finger on it. Part of my responsibility, as an elder sibling, was to help get her confidence on track hence the gift. We grew up in the perfect neighborhood for cycling. So one day I was able to convince her to go riding with a visiting cousin and me. We decided that I would take the lead, followed by my cousin and YS heading up the rear. The neighborhood is built around a 4-mile parkway. Most of the parkway is wide containing no medians, there is one section of the ride which had a grassy median involved which of course made the road a little narrower.

I knew that she would get a little nervous as we approached this section especially since there were a few cars parallel parked in front of their homes in that area. As we embarked the section I turned back to see if all was well with my caravan. My cousin looked very relaxed. My sister on the other hand had white knuckles. The narrow portion of the ride was no longer than maybe 250 yards it shouldn’t have been a problem. Halfway through the narrow zone a car passed us. I heard my sister very nervously announce that a vehicle was approaching and I looked back to see how she was handling it. The car passed her first, then my cousin followed by myself. The driver was very conscientious and drove as far left of us as possible. I was very relieved to see how much room he left us and was silently proud of YS.

As I turned to tell her how proud I was, I found her dangling by her elbow from the side-view mirror of one of the parked cars. Her bike passed me at that exact moment. It was some type of panic reaction on her part. The passing car had cleared us by at least 20 seconds and then she decided to become one with the parked car. I was amazed. I didn’t know she was agile enough to suspend herself by her elbow from a 4-door sedan. Her feet were completely in the air. She was still in that position when I got to her, unbelievable! I pried her off the side-view mirror and made sure she wasn’t injured in any way. Then I looked at the car to make sure it wasn’t damaged. Amazingly, it was not. My cousin brought the bike back to her and she refused to get back on. I understand how unnerved she was but I was always taught to “get back on the horse.” Nope, she was having none of that and we were at least a mile away from home. In an effort of solidarity, we all walked our bikes back home.

That was the first and last time she ever road that bike. She is 33 years old now. The bike still sits in Mom and Dad’s garage. I think I will pass it down to Little Mermaid.

Over Reaction

My Father is a very controlled person. He is not very demonstrative when it comes to anger. He takes the high road and throws a curve known as the guilt trip. Actually he did that mainly for when I misbehaved as a kid, through my teen years and all through college. Every now and then I still might receive the beginning of the “what did we do to deserve this” speech. It’s rare but I am the middle child, placed on the planet to push buttons.

This tale is not an account of my misconduct; rather it is an uncharacteristic portrayal of my Father’s actions. We treasured dinnertime as a family. It was when everyone caught up on each other’s activities. This particular evening it was rather silent as I, a teen in high school at that time, made it through the day without incident. Mom, who is a fabulous cook, made some type of a stew. So we were all enjoying our dinner and casual conversation.

It was during a moment when all that could be heard was the quiet, yet polite, slurping of the stew. We usually ate in the nook off the kitchen, which was carpeted. (That detail of our house never made sense to me but it is important to my story) My Father took his spoon that was at the level of his mouth and dropped it to the table. He then took the bowl of stew, raised it up, turned it over and left it upside down on the table. Stew went everywhere. He pushed his chair away from the table and deliberately left the room.

My Mom did not interrupt her eating pace at all. My younger sister and I were clamoring to get the mess cleaned up as quickly as possible. Once we were able to stop the stew from running further off the table and as soon as my Father was out of earshot, my Mom informed us that he must have found a hair in the stew.

Apparently she has experienced this before. I was in total shock. As I said, I have never seen him react like that ever or since.

Father’s Day 2004 – CANCELLED!!!

Ah family drama, aint it grand? Let me explain.

Last year on Father’s Day eve, my then 8 year old niece – Little Mermaid, had a minor accident while playing basketball and broke 2 fingers on her dominant hand. A few things to keep in mind while reading: Little Mermaid is the only grandchild/niece on my side of the family, her Mom and my Dad are in the medical profession and our family rarely makes plans to eat out together as a group; some of us are too picky, etc.

The news of Little Mermaid’s accident came just as my Mom, older sister and I were being seated at Wolftrap to watch Riverdance. My sister’s cell phone rang and I could clearly hear Little Mermaid wailing in the background, my sister turned very pale while attempting to understand what my panicked B-I-L (Brother-in-law) was trying to relay. He had Mermaid in the car and was so anxious that he could not find the urgent care center that he passes every day 10 times a day. My sister stayed on the phone with him till he found the place and tried to calm both her daughter and husband down. We are at least an hour and a half away. We could have left, but as a trio we decided we would wait to find out the results of x-rays at intermission. B-I-L was sure Mermaid had broken her wrist, Mermaid howled louder and louder each time he mentioned the possibility of the wrist. My Mom had to pop a nitroglycerin pill due to her anxiety.

I doubt anyone of us were able to enjoy the performance. At intermission my sister called to find out the results. Turns out Mermaid only broke 2 fingers, she had some sort of splint on and was to see an Orthopedic surgeon Monday. We were relieved that the news was not as bad as each of us were imagining and watched the remainder of the show. I dropped my Mom and sister at the Metro and told them I’d see them for our Father’s Day Celebration the next day.

Here is my phone conversation with my Dad on the morning of Father’s Day 2004:

Wicked H: Hi Dad, Happy Father’s Day!!

Dad: Did you hear about Little Mermaid?

Wicked H: I did, she broke 2 fingers. She’s going to be fine. What time are the reservations?

Dad: Father’s Day is cancelled!

Wicked H: For the whole nation? Wow, I should turn on the news. Why?

Dad: DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT HAPPENED TO LITTLE MERMAID?!?!?!?!?!?

Wicked H: I did, Dad. She is going to be fine. Just a splint for her fingers.

Dad: (actively upset and trying to hide the fact that he is crying) We are not having it this year. Goodbye!

So, needless to say I did not make the hour and a half trek to visit with my Dad last year because Father’s Day was officially cancelled. Hopefully this year will be much better.

Happy Father’s Day to you Dad and all the Father’s out there!

Joke for the Day

I am uninspired today so I thought I'd pass along this joke. Which, by the way, has me laughing still. Either the joke is great or I have a weird sense of humor. Probably a combination of a + b.

Enjoy!

The Boss was in a quandary. He had to get rid of one of his staff. He narrowed it down to one of two people, Debra or Jack. It would be a hard decision to make, as they were both equally qualified and both did excellent work. He finally decided that in the morning, whichever one used the water cooler first would have to go.

Debra came in the next morning, hugely hung-over after partying all night. She went to the cooler to get some water to take an aspirin. The Boss approached her and said: "Debra, I've never done this before, but I have to lay you or Jack off." Debra replied, "Could jack off? I feel like shit."

VIP: Very Important Papers

I am happy to report that project de-clutter is finished. I took advantage of my parents being on vacation. In all fairness, my mom has always wanted us (her 3 daughters) to help her purge things. Until now, I just couldn’t find the motivation. I figured it would be much easier to get rid of things without both parental units being present. What I didn’t know was that my elder sibling unit is just as much a pack rat as my parents. I had to fight tooth and nail for some items to be either tossed or given away.

There are many anecdotes to share from this experience, I decided on the discovery of the VIPs. My parents have been living in this house for 30 years. Being pack rats yields much stuff to sort through. Their garage was semi- organized into a his and hers section. Again, too much to write about. On Dad’s side there were piles upon piles of boxes. None of them labeled except for the one box on the bottom of an amassment of 9 boxes. It took me a good 2 hours to reach the VIP box. I had to go through most of the contents of the boxes for fear of throwing away an important family heirloom. (My elder sisters request) For the record, there were no precious artifacts to be found just lots of junk.

I finally reach the VIP box. Inside of it I found 3 legal sized expanding folders. The contents of the first folder revealed old applications for hospital privileges, items relating to medical licensing, etc. The second folder yielded copies of all his diplomas, DEA licenses, all very important papers. The third folder was much heavier and bound more tightly than the 2 previous. Once I got all the string untied and the rubber bands removed, I was expecting to find deeds to properties or something equally important. What did I find? Twelve mint conditioned Playboy magazines. I kid you not. My Father is saving the entire year of 1978 Playboys. There is not a nick or dog-eared page on any of them. I did not peruse any of them except to see which year they were from and whether or not they were subscribed or purchased.

It looks like he purchased them. My reaction to this discovery was way to go Dad! He is a wonderful husband to his wife of 51 years, a terrific Father - he raised 3 daughters, he is an accomplished Psychiatrist. Most of all he is a man. This did not bother me at all. Both my sisters reacted with “Ew!” I still don’t see anything wrong with this.

After a lengthy discussion, my sisters, 2 brothers-in-law and I decided that the VIPs would remain our little secret. I have placed them back into a sturdier container along with the other VIPs. They are now up on a shelf. My Father will know that the box was opened when he returns, I wonder if he will ask me what I found. My guess is no. I will keep you informed.

VIP = Very Important Playboy Magazines. Now I know. Anyone know what they might be worth?

Pay It Forward

May the fleas of a thousand Camels infest the crotch of the person who screws up your day...

And may their arms be too short to scratch.

Amen.

License to Breed

While driving to work today, I heard a very disturbing news story. A woman in Maryland was charged with reckless endangerment of 3 children. She was caught driving her car with 3 children in the TRUNK!!!!

An off duty State Trooper witnessed the children exiting the trunk of her vehicle when she parked in a local grocery store. The Trooper hung around and when the woman returned to her vehicle the 3 children got back into the trunk of the car. The moment she attempted to back out of the parking space he confronted her.

It is of note that this woman drives a school bus for a living. When asked why she allowed the children - ages 3, 9 and an 8 year old neighbor’s child – to ride in the trunk? She responded because they wanted to.

We need licenses to operate a vehicle and to get married. I seriously think we may need licenses to breed.

Dear Lady in the Green Explorer:

I have to say I was quite amazed nay shocked that you were applying mascara while actively navigating traffic at 55 miles per hour. Had we all been at a complete stop I would not have even mentioned the event. What’s more incredible is that you had a jersey wall to your right and an over sized tractor trailer to you left.

So I ask you, how did you manage to end up in the dip of the right shoulder during a point in your trip where you were free and clear of any obstacles? Perhaps your mascara applying skills are at their best when you are endangering more than just your life.
I sure hope the paramedics appreciate your full face of makeup as they tend to your injuries. What a great way to start off a week. Maybe next time you’ll wait until you are NOT actively driving to apply your mascara. Something tells me you may not have learned your lesson.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

There are several advantages to being bilingual. Even more so if that language is not easily recognizable. Any time a relative comes over for a visit we would take them to the major site seeing venues. This particular incident took place at Walt Disney World in the early 80’s.

If you’ve visited Disney World, then you are quite familiar with the lines that snake through to each attraction. The whole system is very organized and efficient. The wait can range from 10 minutes to 90 minutes. While my family and I were patiently waiting and moving through the lines, we were conversing in our native tongue. It usually draws some sort of attention. Typically someone will look over and try to identify the language and then look away. Back then and even today, I am not one to draw attention to myself. So when I noticed someone staring intently, I would turn towards them and tell them that what I was speaking was not, Italian, German, Greek, Spanish, Portuguese or Arabic. Of course I was speaking to them in my native tongue. Usually by “its not Greek” the person would turn away.

It became a game for me that day. Some would simply ask what the language was and once their curiosity was satisfied they’d return their attention to the line. This one gentleman would not stop staring. I went on with my prattle and when I was finished he looked me in the eye and said” I know because it’s Turkish.”

Busted!!!! Turns out he was visiting the World of Disney from Germany and he was married to a Turk. Our family befriended him. He later told me that I was very brave about challenging those who would not look away. He asked if I would be as comfortable from that moment on. I told him no. I’ve said before I always learn from my mistakes.

My family recounts this story every chance they get. Trust me!

Protected Zone

The first house my older sister and brother-in-law inhabited had a very obnoxiously loud alarm system. A series of alarms would go off that sounded like tornado warning sirens and then this deep, booming recorded voice would bellow:

YOU HAVE ENTERED A PROTECTED ZONE. THE POLICE HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED. LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!!!!

It took them a while to get the routine down. I think this particular system had all the latest (for its time - 10 years ago) bells and whistles. Different rooms could be set for different levels of security - it was all very complicated.

In the middle of the night one fateful evening, my sister and BIL, brother-in-law, were rudely awoken by the alarm. It was 3 am. My BIL was still on the police force at the time so he sprung into action. First he had to find his pants - TMI, I know. Then he grabbed his gun and instructed my sister to call 911. My sister lunged for the phone, adrenaline pumping full speed. No dial tone.

Sis: They’ve CUT the phone lines!!!
Alarm: YOU HAVE ENTERED A PROTECTED ZONE. THE POLICE HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED. LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!!!!
BIL: Who...what? Call 911!
Alarm: YOU HAVE ENTERED A PROTECTED ZONE. THE POLICE HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED. LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!!!!
Sis: I can’t the phone won’t work!
Alarm: YOU HAVE ENTERED A PROTECTED ZONE. THE POLICE HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED. LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!!!!
BIL: Jiggle the cord first. (It is of note that my sister had a bad habit of stringing multiple phone cords together back then for perfect phone placement in the room - this sometimes rendered the phone useless)
Alarm: YOU HAVE ENTERED A PROTECTED ZONE. THE POLICE HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED. LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!!!!
BIL: Call the police, I am going downstairs.
Alarm: YOU HAVE ENTERED A PROTECTED ZONE. THE POLICE HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED. LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!!!!
Sis: (Frantically checking/jiggling all the connections of the multiple extension cords- finally a dial tone- she dials)
Alarm: YOU HAVE ENTERED A PROTECTED ZONE. THE POLICE HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED. LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!!!!
Operator: What City and State please?
Alarm: YOU HAVE ENTERED A PROTECTED ZONE. THE POLICE HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED. LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!!!!
Sis: WHAT?!?!?! I need the police! (Yes, in her distress she miss-dialed)

In the meantime, my BIL’s colleagues, guns drawn, now surround the house. My BIL apparently forgot to grab his badge so it took everyone a minute to understand who was who.
The story ends well. The house was newly built and that night one of the windows with a loose latch decided to open. Crisis averted.

Do I capitalize on every opportunity to bring this story up - absolutely? Does my sister still use 5 phone extension cords on her phones? Yes, she continued that until the latest gadget, cordless phones were invented.

Attach of the Killer Chameleons

Ok, so I exaggerate a tad. I don’t do well with critters. Anything that can creep along is not for me.

I love a wood-burning fireplace. I enjoy the smell of the wood and hearing the crackling sounds. They sooth me just like the sound of the tide rolling in and out. One Fall evening I had gathered a pile of wood and began the process of staring a fire. We all have our own tricks for the perfect fire. I like to use pinecones as kindling. I also have this habit of standing in front of the fireplace with the screen wide open while I wait for the pinecones to ignite.

This particular evening as I was watching the pine cones blaze, something hurled itself out of the fireplace and onto me. Actually, there were 2 of them. Lizards! Apparently, they were living in my woodpile. They did not take kindly to being set on fire. I promise I did not see them. For if I had, I would have definitely gone without a fire that night.

I admit to screaming like a little girl while doing some kind of crazed dance in an effort to get the lizards off of me. Of course in the process I tripped over the coffee table in the living room and one of them crawled right over my neck. EWWWW!

Dexter was still a puppy then and he was very excited to have 2 new playmates. One of them was partially singed and the other had a burnt tail. The 2 critters dove under the couch in the scuttle. Great! Dexter is now barking at the couch and I am trying to remain calm and figure out how to get the intruders out of the house.

After 10 minutes, one stiff drink and a phone call to a male friend for moral support and guidance, I decided to let Dexter handle the situation. I pulled the couch and love seat to the middle of the room. He immediately bounded on Partially Singed. He batted him around between his paws enough to stun him. Then on advice from my friend I got the broom and swept Singed right on out the door. Missing Tail was smarter than his friend; he was on his way up the wall towards the ceiling. I forget how much energy Dexter had back then. It took a couple of leaps but he knocked Missing Tail to the floor and stunned him as well. Missing Tail was evicted from our house in the same manner.

Lessons learned from this event? I drop each piece of firewood on the ground several times before bringing them inside my house. I make sure the fireplace screen is closed before I ignite the kindling. At least I learn from most of my mistakes.

Bad Karma leads to Killer Chameleons. Don’t forget it!

Disappointing the Boyz in da Hood

I work with a large number of people. We have a wide variety of age ranges; I am on the older end of the age scale.

We have a good mix of college aged kids ( lovingly tagged by me as Boyz in da Hood) working with us and they keep me on my toes and hip. I like to mix it up with them. I am not their supervisor but I am in Administration so it’s amusing to them and myself during our interactions.

We have had a parking problem in our building for a while. We have an electronic conglomerate housed in the building next to ours and we are a medical facility with much traffic in and out of our parking lot. For some reason the conglomerate, which has ample parking for their employees and visitors, won’t let the employees park in their own lot for free. The logical place for the electronic cartel employees to park, in their estimation, is our lot. Now we are just as neighborly as any other business; however we need every spot we have due to the number of patients we see.

For the past month, those of us with offices facing the lot have been on parking patrol. We take down the tags of the offending parkers and turn them in to the building management. Until recently, the only action taken by the building has been to affix this very bright orange sticker on the drivers window alerting the vehicle's owner that this is not the right place to park. There are also numerous signs in our lot also explaining who can and cannot park there.

This did not stop the cartel employees from parking in our lot. Yesterday we had a brand new BMW towed. I was the one who gave the information, the building management had the Beamer towed. The Boyz were not happy with me at all.

I have been banished from our usual banter. I am now considered big time Establishment. I may have pushed them right over that edge to where they feel compelled to protest the next World Bank meeting.

Disappointing the Boyz in da Hood, now how will I be a hipster?

Stealth

The other day when I returned from work, I found 5 Verizon technicians staring intently at a 3-foot diameter hole they had dug in my yard. They seemed to be mesmerized by their efforts. It was as if the hole was speaking to them. The rest of the world was oblivious to this crew of 5.

This was more evident when my 12 year old golden retriever, Dexter, ambled down the deck’s steps and into the back yard. He doesn’t move that fast anymore so when he saw the 5 of them huddled around the opening he decided he would stick his snout into the group.

It was like watching a movie in slow motion. The first guy performed this Smokey the Bear sanctioned: stop, drop and roll maneuver. Another guy yelped and dove into the hole. The remaining 3 screamed like girls and ran about 100 steps away. Dexter remained, his tail wagging happily. He figured this was all a big game and was intently watching the guy in the hole. Once they realized Dexter was calm and non-dangerous, one by one they returned to their sunken friend and helped him out.

Dexter completed his business out side, came back up the steps and had dinner alfresco. I, after quickly changing my shirt due to spilling my drink from the hilarity of the situation below, returned back out to the deck and proceeded to relax. Who knew I’d have free entertainment that evening?

Good times!

Craptastic

Pretty much sums up the week I've been having. Not even going to honor it whith a whine fest, I refuse to give into the temptation.

Hope you all are faring better than me this week.

Be back real soon with better vibes......

Dear Over Zealous, Ecology Conscious Waste Management Patron:

I thoroughly understand your correcting us when we, God forbid, tried to toss a cardboard tube into the general trash bin. Really, if our true purpose for physically transporting our detritus all the way to the dump was to properly sort out general versus recyclable trash, your point was well taken.

I would like to point out; however, that you came perilously close to falling headfirst into the paper recycling dumpster. Was it necessary for you to pull out the 2 boxes of old medical periodicals and books, empty them of their contents and then throw both boxes back into the dumpster? Who has this kind of time? Maybe you did not notice the other 34 vehicles some patiently some rather irritatingly waiting their turn to deposit their crap into the properly labeled dumpsters.

Perhaps you should consider a weekend part time position at the waste management facility. You certainly seem to be following the facility’s mission statement. Your customer service skills could use some tweaking but nobody is perfect. You actually have me to thank. You perfectly read the expression on my face as I was depositing the 2 old kitchen cabinets doors into a dumpster that was not clearly labeled “old kitchen cabinet doors.” Had you questioned my actions, I would not have been able to guarantee your time left on our planet.

I did not believe, after spending the better part of 6 hours cleaning out my parent’s garage that we would end the day laughing to the point of uncontrollable snorting.

Yes, Internet - I occasionally snort in association with a hearty chuckle.

The Road to Good Intentions…..

…..paved our plumber's driveway.

I’m human and make many mistakes. Through my experiences, the bad ones, I have learned – I will never repeat those blunders.

My Father receives many drug samples from pharmaceutical reps that make the rounds to his office. On one of his trips abroad, I went on another clutter cleaning binge and found a ton of drugs that had expired. My Father keeps them in a recessed corner of his closet. I decided I would do him a favor and dispose of them before he returned.

The day before his return, my older sister and I went through all the expired samples and systematically emptied them from their packaging and flushed them down the toilet. We had method to our madness, we would only flush maybe 30 pills at a time. We felt that was enough time for the pills to dissolve and move through the sewer system. Three hundred pills later, we completed our mission.

Mom and Dad had a happy homecoming. That is until Dad made a midnight trip to the bathroom. Poor Dad, when he tried to flush away his evacuation his shower backed up. And up and up. The next day the plumber found our little covert pill disposal project. Turns out 300 hundred pills cannot be disposed of in such a manner. We know, NOW.

During the most current clutter clearing, we again have found many samples that need disposal. This time we will let them disintegrate in a solution of bleach and water and then flush them. It was a hard and expensive lesson but at least we learned.

Perfect for What Ails You

Mental Health Days. I cannot recommend them enough. I took one yesterday.

My older sister and I went to Annapolis on what has to be one of the more perfect Spring forecasts. We lunched At Carol’s Creek on the water. If you are ever there, may I suggest the seared tuna mixed green salad accompanied with a Tanqueray and tonic. Yummmm.

After lunch we strolled around Ego Alley which was great because the rest of the world was at work – suckers! We had the place pretty much to ourselves along with the elementary kids on field trips. We also met Noah the Boa. I am not a big fan of snakes at all but you can’t help but get to know the man with the 100 pound, twelve foot, 17 year old snake. He told us that the snake needed its sun bathing and massage time. No, I did not aid the snake by giving it a massage. There were plenty of school kids who were more than happy to oblige.

Back to reality today. Hope you all had a good extended weekend. What? You didn’t? C’est domage!

Happy Cinco De Mayo

I don't typically celebrate this day. However after the day I've had, any excuse to partake in the marguerita libations is good enough for me.

Ole!!!

Runaway Bride

I don’t know all the details about this young woman from Georgia who fabricated her abduction to elude her massive wedding. I do have a few thoughts on the matter however.

You’d think that with what appears to be a loving and supporting family she would have had someone to turn to in her time of need. I mean who has 14 bridesmaids? At least one or two of them had to be close friends, don’t you think?

I find it quite sad that her only option was to concoct the story. I do hope that when she gets some type of punishment that the authorities also add therapy to her sentence. I truly believe she needs it.

Dear Metro DC Police Officer:

I cannot express to you how grateful I was this morning. You had every right to issue me a citation for carelessly running the red light. Not only did you not give me the citation, you also did not lecture me on how to be more careful. A simple "watch the lights young lady" was all you said.

Let me thank you again in writing. I would also like to thank you for calling me young lady as I am clearly much older than yourself. You made my dreary, rainy day so much better than I could have imagined after stupidly running the red light, right in front of you. I know! Thank God you didn't ask me why I did that for then I would have had to admit to you that I usually sleep-drive at such an early hour. I am more than sure that you would not have taken kindly to that statement.

I only hope that the speed trap cameras are equally as kind to me. I am surprised that I have yet to receive a citation for speeding. Oh, wrong sister. That would be Nutcracker Sweet. Never mind then.

You have a safe day too, Officer.

Popeye, Schmopeye!!

My Parents will be the first to tell you, or anyone else who will commiserate, that I am responsible for most of the gray hairs they have developed since my birth. I am going to blame some of my actions on the pecking order; the middle kid is supposed to test the boundaries. That is my story and I am sticking to it. Besides the other 2 siblings were eager to please. I was eager to push buttons.

When I was a child, the rule during dinner was if it made it onto your plate it must be consumed. This rule does not apply to and Grandchildren I have noticed as my niece is 9 years old and has yet to sample a vegetable. I will discuss that another time.

One night the dreaded cooked, gross spinach made it onto my plate before I knew what was happening. If I was not running my mouth during the doling of food I could have vetoed the spinach but as per usual I was discussing my day with my Dad. Dinnertime was when we all caught up with each other. (Translated: when all the bad things Wicked did during the day were rehashed)

So I am still at the dinner table while my Mom is doing the dishes. The already gross, wretched spinach is now cold and even more unappetizing. What to do? I started praying for a dog to materialize but that didn’t work. I continued to push the spinach from one side of the plate to the other hoping that my Mom would hurry up and finish the dishes and leave the kitchen. You think it was a coincidence that she decided that night would be the perfect time to polish all the cabinets in the kitchen? I think not.

After about the 47th "look" from my Mom. I came up with a brainstorm. While she was on top of the stool polishing the cabinet above the refrigerator, I dashed out of the kitchen to the hall closet. My Dad keeps his shoes in the boxes they came in. So I quickly grabbed a box emptied it of its worn shoes and ran back into the kitchen. As I was scooping my spinach into the box my Mom turned around.

Mom: WHAT. ARE. YOU. DOING? (Complete with clenched jaw)

Wicked: Um.....I am really full. So I decided to mail this spinach to those starving kids in India because they need to make their muscles strong like Popeye. My muscles are already strong....see? (Showing Mom my bicep)

Mom: (still with the clenched jaw) Sit down and eat that spinach from that box! And if you gag or vomit, you will eat that TOO!!!!

Wicked: GULP!!

From that point on I made sure that when the food was being doled out onto my plate, I was paying attention. I can tell you that I avoided spinach from that day forward. Once you have eaten cold, slimy, gross spinach seasoned with your Dad’s feet, it will turn you off FOREVER

Menopausal Mother Nature

How else can we explain these bizarre temperature ranges this Spring. Actually each Spring brings weird weather now that I think about it. I truly believe Mother Nature has hit menopause. Chills followed by personal summers; I can totally relate – unfortunately.

Well Mother Nature, I am going to make it my personal mission to find you some type of homeopathic remedy. I am sure the ozone layer resembling Swiss cheese is not helping the cause. I find that ice packs kept within proximity help with the personal summers and may I suggest keeping a light sweater on hand for those chills.

Bring back the gorgeous weather we had just 10 days ago, the Cherry Blossoms were perfect this year. Thanks for that. However; waking up to 40 degree temps in late April is just not good. Come on Lady, if the rest of us can get through it, so should you!!

OCD Much?

An old friend of mine ( Hi! DK) used to berate me every time he came over to my place. He would immediately head to my stack of CDs and strategically place them in order of musical category AFTER he made sure they were in the right CD holder and the CD was facing in the proper direction in it’s jewel case. Following that, he would leave an empty area on my CD rack. DK explained to me that each time I play a CD I am to put it’s case in this holding area until such time that it is ready to be placed back into the main rack.

OH. MY. GOD!

What doesn’t make sense about all this is that besides his CDs, DK’s place is always a wreck! I am talking the typical guys place; although DK is married and his wife is just as lax about housekeeping as he is. They are very suited for each other. Their housekeeping skills make me look like Felix Unger. Trust me, I am no where near that organized or clean.

It goes without saying that each time I go over to DK’s I quietly make sure that his CDs are not in their proper alphabetical, musical category. I even go so far as switching out some CDs from case to case. This drives him nutso. Muhahahahahaha

So, what type of OCD issues do you suffer from?

Ghost Writer

98% BABY!!!

Beat that!!!

We now go back to our regularly scheduled programming.....

Serendipity

79 years ago in a land far away, my parents were born. They are exactly the same age. Well my Mom was born an hour and a half ahead of my Dad, that detail doesn't come out unless needed in the case of leverage.

They were raised in different cities separated by a few hundred kilometers. They met while in college, Dad in Medical School and Mom in Law School. I am not quite sure of the details but I do know that my Dad transferred schools so that either they could be closer or that was what facilitated their meeting. I will have to get back to you on the details. Either way, if you ask my Dad he will tell you that it was my Mom's encouragement and support that got him through Medical School. Their courtship was very traditional for their generation. It has been said that my Dad would sell his own medical books to be able to afford to bring Mom flowers. There are hundreds of stories that I am chronicling. I promise to share a few in the future.

They have been married for almost 52 years. To this day their relationship remains special. Of course they have their moments of discontent, they are human. My sisters and I have been blessed to have been raised by such a great set of parents. There always was and continues to be much humor and love in our lives.

Happy Birthday Mom and Dad! May you have many, many more.

Welcome Back to DC!

For something like 37 years, Washington DC has been trying to get a baseball team back. Yesterday was Opening Day for the new Washington Nationals. They will play at RFK stadium for 3 years until their new digs are done.

I am not a big baseball aficionado but I thought it needed to be mentioned. They did win 5-3 against the Arizona Diamondbacks. Welcome back to DC. We hope, Baseball will be "berry, berry good" for us.

Now, who wants a hot dog?

Binging and Purging

My parents are away on vacation for a while. So I made myself a promise to go over to their house and begin cleaning out some of the years of stuff that they can’t seem to let go. You see my Father is a pack rat and my Mother is a binge shopper. For as long as I can remember, my Mom has asked that when she passes on she wants us to make sure the house is presentable. I usually would respond by telling her if her friends don’t know that she is a relaxed house keeper, they will figure it out then. That exchange is typically followed by my Mom lobbing something in the direction of my head.

You have to understand that we are talking about at least 30 years of crap, I mean paraphernalia. Carbon dated dust bunnies. For some reason, purging someone else’s belongings is more rewarding. I don’t ever remember having the same cathartic effect when cleaning my own abode. My older sister came over to help as well. We experienced a wide range of emotions while rummaging. At one point we were giggling so hard that we ended up sobbing uncontrollably. I decided to let my sister know then that once, God forbid and may they live many, many more years to come, our parents do pass that I would be useless at this task. Which of course lead to more crying, sniffling, etc.

The fun part of the task was trying to figure out how valuable some of the items would be to someone else. For example: a circa 1959 manual Smith Corona typewriter and a circa 1962 Grundig stereo. Also among the treasures was probably $40 worth of pennies in various containers. Little Mermaid was with us so I put her to work rolling pennies. Do you know that she found at least 8 pennies over 50 years old. She made out like a bandit. She wasted no time jumping on the computer to find out their worth.

We had a slight dilemma when it came to removing some of the impedimenta. My sister wanted to save way more and I definitely wanted to eliminate. If it had not been used in the last 1-2 years, chances are they don’t even know it exists. I mean come one, they are 78 years old. We compromised and a good chunk of it went to Good Will. Let someone else benefit from our former worldly possessions, mom and Dad will enjoy the tax break.

Oh, you may be wondering if Bridezilla was helping. Not so much. She did show up at one point and I saw her rolling pennies with Mermaid. When she left I noticed that she contemplated taking the pennies that she rolled but I think Mermaid won that dispute.

It took a whole weekend to clean out one room. Glad they will be gone for a while.

Dear Mr. Dominator:

I need to tell you that is not acceptable for you to infringe on EVERYONE’S relaxation time because you cannot let your woman (and yes he grunted the word) get a manicure and pedicure on her own. Was it really necessary for you to make such a production while choosing the nail polish? I mean come on. It’s a color that will last at the most 2 weeks if your nail tech is good at what she does. If it were a tattoo, I would have understood. Furthermore, if you are indeed an expert in the art of nails then why not do your woman’s nails in the privacy of your own abode? On behalf of all the other female patrons, we would sincerely appreciate your NOT letting us know whether or not you approve of our color palate and nail style. Your opinion carries ZERO weight. So for the love of OPI, keep your comments to yourself.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not here to judge your choice of the Dom/Sub life style. To each is own, whatever flips your switch. Have at it. All I ask is that in the future you are courteous to the rest of the patrons. If you’ll recall, not a single client uttered a disparaging word. The rolling of eyes was completely free of charge.

Thank you so much.

What Not to Wear

I am a person who enjoys the conveniences life has to offer. If an errand can be accomplished via the Internet, I am all over it. If I can handle a task via a drive through, life is good. I am not avoiding people by completing my business efficiently, I simply don’t like to lengthen any task that can be accomplished quicker; ergo less hassle.

This brings me to my dealings with my Bank. I noticed that my debit card was going to expire in March 05. Near the end of February 05 I went into the Bank and inquired as to the status of my new card. They assured me that I would have it prior to the end of March. I asked them if the expiration date was enforced at any particular time of the month. The Bank told me it could be used through the month of March. Great, no problem. Of course, the first time I tried to use my card in the month of March, it was denied due to expiration. I rarely carry cash so this was a rather large inconvenience for me. Off to the Bank I go, again.

I walk into my local branch and am greeted with the following ( keep in mind that it is casual Friday):

Bank Manager (BM): Oh ma’am, it is no longer the 80’s. You don’t need to match your socks to your sweater.
Wicked: (Befuddled) First of all, I didn’t ask you for fashion advice. Secondly, if I need a fashion consult I will contact Stacey and Clinton. Is it possible for you to give me advice regarding my debit card?
BM: Absolutely, I’ll need to walk over to my terminal.
Wicked: Walk quickly. I don’t have a lot of time.

With a few clicks of her mouse she stated that I would have my new card in 3 business days.

BM: I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for my earlier comment.
Wicked: Apology not accepted; it’s a bit too late.

And with that I took my matching socks and sweatered-self out of the Bank.

Drunkard Dialing

I had the misfortune of receiving a phone call this past Saturday morning at 3 am. I don't know about the rest of you but I generally do not welcome phone calls at 3 freaking am. My immediate thought was who's dead or injured?

I answered the phone and this is what I encountered:

Wicked: (after dropping the phone once) Erm Hello?
Inebriated Hispanic Male (IHM): Te-re-saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Wicked: No Teresa here pal.
IHM: Get her to the phone! I need to speak to Te-re-saaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
Wicked: What number are you trying to reach.
IHM: Te-re-saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Tell her I must speak with her, NOW.
Wicked: You have the wrong number.
IHM: You tell Te-re-saaaaaaaa if she not come to the phone right now she will never come to my house again.
Wicked: Wrong number dude....
IHM: Click

Well thankfully I was able to drift back to sleep. Sunday morning my internal clock woke me up at 4 am. Probably a combination of the time change and being woken up at the same time the night before, what's a girl to do? I knew exactly what to do....

Wicked: (giggling while dialing - great invention that caller ID).......
IHM: Erm......Aa-lo
Wicked: Hey it’s me. I caught up with Te-re-saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and she said that she has no desire to ever see you again. So there you go. Click.

So, um, hopefully Te-re-saaaaa will not be found in a shallow grave any time soon. Whatever, I didn't ask for the call in the first place.

Dear Young Blonde Misfit:

I realize that you are not to be blamed for being a child who seems to be ignored by your parental unit. However, you are old enough to know better. I am quite sure that your single father did not teach you to go up a dog that is not yours who is on it’s own property. I am also pretty confident that he did not instruct you to take said dog off his lead and try to steal him.

If I EVER see you near Dexter again, trust me it will not be pretty. You have your own dog, leave mine alone. Consider yourself warned!!

Thank God for HFS, Jr who rescued Dexter before any harm was done to him.

If you will pardon me now while I tend to Dexter and try to cool off. I cannot remember the last time I have been this angry.

Good Sport

The Southerners enjoy their pranks. I will tell you first hand that they do not mess around with the April Fools Day hijinks. .

April 1, 1995 I was letting Dexter out into the front yard for his morning ritual of greeting the school kids. I used to live in the center of town, Main Street of course, my street was the only way in and out of town. As soon as I hooked up his lead, he began barking incessantly. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed something in my yard. I put on something presentable, I didn’t want to scare or scar the kids, I went out front to find one of those storks set up in my front yard announcing to God and everyone that I just had a boy. I was neither seeing anyone nor gestational. I decided I would leave the stork there since whoever went to the trouble did make me chuckle.

All day long I was receiving phone calls from friends and townies. Some were asking me if Dexter had sired another round of puppies some were congratulating me, etc. The best call came from my lawyer, Max. He asked me the same questions and I told him it was an April Fools Day joke. He told me that he would be happy to assist me in retaliation. So I called up the local florist, yes the one with the pierced appendage, and asked him who had placed the stork order. I called Max back and told him the culprits were a nurse and a nurse practitioner in one of my remote clinics. He told me that he would send a Sheriff’s Deputy to the clinic with a summons and have them arrested. Why not, I was a temporary Southerner after all. I told him to go ahead. The deal was that the Deputy would call me before he set out so that I could be there when the “arrest” happened.

I made my way to the clinic like I usually did just to check in and see how things were going. While I was there the Deputy showed up. He came into the clinic with his summons and read the charges to both culprits, hand-cuffed them and as they were being placed into the Sheriff’s car I wished them all Happy April Fools Day! I so wish I had a camera that day.

What’s your best April Fools Day gag; delivered or received?

Absorbency Trip

When I graduated from high school one of my gifts was a trip to visit our relatives over seas. I was going to spend 3 months there. This would be my first time traveling that distance alone. I was very excited.

Figuring out what one might need for 3 months turned out to be more of a challenge than I expected. I decided to take the safe route and bring everything I would need. I am not a high maintenance female but there are certain products you get used to and I wasn’t sure if I’d find exactly what I needed while on my excursion. So I made sure I had a 3 month supply of hygiene products as well as other stuff.

My Father thinks he is the King of luggage packing. He offered to pack my suitcases for me. The catch, he wanted me to sit there and observe his efforts. It seemed silly to me so I left him alone to pack up my stuff. I also declined the final inspection of the King’s work, if he is the King I trust him. Why not?

When I arrived at my destination I knew that my suit cases would be searched in Customs. The Customs agent asked me to open up my luggage. In an effort to be expedient, I flipped the suit case facing him, unlocked them, unzipped them and opened them so that the lids were up towards me. He had full access to my stuff. I have never seen anyone shut a suit case so fast. His face was red and he could not look me in the eyes. He marked an X on both bags and waived me through. I figured I would not tempt fait and ask what the problem was so I went and reunited with my relatives.

It was later that night when I began to unpack that I realized the Custom agent’s dilemma. You see the King layered both of my suitcases with my 3 month supply of feminine hygiene products. Back then they were not inconspicuously packaged. They were on top in their full gory. The agent was mortified.

Hey, it got me through Customs in a flash. You better believe any other trip I took I made sure the top layer was riddled with unmentionables. Long live the King!!

It’s a Religion...

At the risk of being Dooced, I want to make it clear that I have witnessed verbal approval before writing this post. All parties involved have approved my re-telling this story.

The other day while at work, a group of us were discussing the American Idol competition. Since none of us were too savvy when it came to remembering the actual names of the participants we used specific descriptors to further our discourse. For example: Serial Killer = Scott Savol, Wacky Haired Lady = Nadia Turner, Greek Dude = Constantine Maroulis, Country Girl = Carrie Underwood - you get the idea. So I declared that the Dread Locked Music Teacher (Anwar Robinson) would win.

From that point our conversation took a strange turn and what follows is our exchange:

Co-Worker 1 (CW1): Who started the whole dread lock craze anyway?

Wicked: Not sure, but I remember when Bo Derek made it all the rage during the movie “10”.

Co-Worker 2 (CW2): Never heard of the movie.

Wicked: What?!? How old are you anyway? (Figuring out that I am on the high end of the median age range in our office, I quickly dropped the age reference)

CW1: It’s a religious thing isn’t it?

CW2: What? The movie?

CW1: No, the dread locks. The Rosh Hashanians started it.

Wicked: Excuse me? (Snorting the entire time)

CW1: What? That’s what they are called!

CW2: Blink, blink...blink

Wicked: You mean the Rastafarians?

CW1: Whatever, Rosh Hashanian - Rastafarian. You knew what I meant....

CW2: Well I think I might ask the 2 Jewish doctors in our practice why they aren’t following the traditional hairstyle of the Rosh Hashanians?

CW1: Bite me!


So anyway...go Anwar!!! To my Jewish friends, who knew????

This Thing Called Blogging

I mentioned when I first started my blog that I was way behind the times. Apparently so is the general media public. I read in today’s Washington Post Magazine what trendsetters we bloggers are.

Imagine that. Me, a trendsetter? Not hardly. I am amazed and humbled at the number of new friends I have made since starting my blog. I am also quite amused at the number of lurkers and stalkers I have acquired. I am going to have to guess that the lurkers visit because they find my writing/ranting entertaining. I have my own theories on why the stalkers persist. No matter, glad you have so much free time on your hands.

I am proud to be compared to the talented writers out there, these are the Magazine’s words not mine. This is a fun way for me to be creative, rant, amuse or whatever my heart desires. For those of you who visit regularly, glad to have you for whatever your reasons are.

Compassionate Mermaid

Dexter, my 12 year old golden retriever, has recently started showing signs of aging. I am pretty sure his hearing is almost gone. He can still process loud noises, in fact they make him skittish. Otherwise he is not hearing up to par – if that is the worst of his aging then he and I can be real thankful.

I spent the weekend with my 9 year old niece, Little Mermaid. Half of the time we were at my Mom and Dad’s house. Saturday evening after dinner, Little Mermaid, her parents and I were going to leave and head to the movies. Then I would spend that night at her house. Dexter was going to stay at my parent’s house.

As the rest of us were getting our coats on, Little Mermaid went over to Dexter to say good bye. He was laying quietly on one of my Mom’s love seats, his snout in between his front paws. He was watching Mermaid with his eyes. She decided since he could not hear she would pantomime our agenda. So I watched her “act” out our itinerary. Dexter’s eyes were following her arm movements and gestures very carefully. She used her fingers to show how we would be walking out the door and used the standard charades symbol for watching a movie. When she was done, she kissed him on the head and assured me that he completely understood and okayed our plans.

I love that kid!!

Note to Self!

In the future, refrain from buying toothpaste and hair product that are the same color. Also, NEVER keep them next to each other in the medicine cabinet.

It’s looks my week is off to a great start. Any ideas on ho to get the hair gel taste and it’s memory out of my mouth? Yuk!

It can only get better from here….right?

Deja Vu?

I remember hearing this joke and laughing hysterically when the comedian delivered the punch line. I can't for the life of me recall which comedian told the joke. Imagine my surprise when the exact scenario played itself out in real life.

The other day I was on the Metro and I happened to be sitting on a newspaper, unknowingly of course. After a few stops, a man tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I was reading the paper. That is when the joke and it's punch line raced to the forefront of my brain. So I told the gentleman that yes in fact I was reading the paper. I got up turned the page and sat back down. He was either dumb founded or thought keep away from that whack job!

I giggled the rest of my time on the train.

You're So Vain....

....You probably think this post is about you.

Keep thinking.

Busy.....

...recovering from the Plague and catching up with the work backlog.

Ok, it was really only a bad cold but one that is lingering forever. One of the perks of working in the medical field - more bug strains more of the time. Of course with all that, work has piled up more than usual. I hate it when works gets in the way!!

You all stay healthy and I'll blog again soon.

The Dreaded DMV

Back when I originally moved to East Jesus NC, I immediately broke the first rule of moving into another state. I did not register my vehicle in NC or get a NC driver’s license within 30 days. OK, so sue me. It was my way of hanging on to my roots. I didn’t particularly like the photo on my Maryland driver’s license but it was my way of not being homesick.

After 5 months of living there and one warning from a State Trooper, I made my way to the local DMV. I was warned that the female clerk at that location (it was East Jesus NC no other DMV in the vicinity) was evil. I was further instructed to not use my razor sharp wit to make my experience any easier. It’s this lady’s way or the highway. At first I didn’t believe the townies but after my employer’s wife was chased out of there due to the attempted use of razor sharp wit, I decided I would play the game as directed by the DMV Nazi.

It was also recommended that I go before her lunch break because she is much more pleasant in the mornings. Armed with all my advice, I entered the tiny DMV office. Sure enough the DMV Nazi was there with her omnipresent scowl. Luckily I was the only patron, I foolishly figured I’d be in and out of there quickly. Mistake number one. She loaded up her typewriter and began gathering my information. I have an unusually long and weird name (especially by East Jesus standards). I have mastered the perfect speed in which I recite the letters when someone asks how to spell it as they type it on a form. Even though I patiently waited while she pecked away on her keyboard, she was annoyed by the abnormality of my last name. When she asked my marital status, I could not resist the use of wit, I replied single, waiting on Mr. Smith. She actually grinned and looked me in the eye. That was a good thing because I figured she was going to kick my ass right out of there for that. Whew.

It’s now test time, by now there are 3 more victims/patrons patiently waiting. She placed the written test on the desk where she had me seated. The test was one page in length yet double sided, one in English the other side in Spanish. She gave me the exam with the Spanish side up. Mind you our entire exchange took place in English, I have no command of Spanish at all. Before she walked away from me I asked if I could take the test in English? She said with a name like mine she thought I was a Mexican. I told her I wasn’t and I took my test.

DMV Nazi was in full multi-task mode. She was registering another person for the exam, answering the phone, grading my exam and taking license photos. Thankfully I passed my exam. She took my photo and told me to have a seat in the waiting room till the picture was ready. It was close to lunchtime, I was getting worried. There were a total of 8 people in there with me. I was wondering if all of us would be dismissed at lunchtime or just the ones she had not gotten to yet. In the meantime, I hear her quietly repeating Mrs. Smith from the back and I kept looking around the room wondering why no one was responding. DMV Nazi finally came out to the waiting room with my license in hand. She said "Mrs. Smith, you have a wonderful day now, ya hear."

Remember.....

....the simple times? Back in elementary school where you had to decorate a shoe box with red construction paper with lots of hearts and stuff. Then you labored over the box of 100 generic valentine's greetings to figure out which one would win over Steven's heart? And you held your breath as each classmate dropped a valentine in your shoe box?

I want those days back....

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

Oh Yeah!!!

This post is for all my friends in NC who had no problems getting in my face any time my alma mater was beaten by Duke. I lived in NC for 9 years and believe you me they were not shy.

For all of you Duke fans, in NC and anywhere else, FEAR THE TURTLE!!!!! Not only did we beat you on your turf but the icing on the cake was beating you again here at home, in overtime.

Duke schmuke. Go TERPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Listen to that Inner Voice

What? You don't have voices in your head talking to you? How strange!

I have a very demanding job one that keeps me from taking a break for lunch. Generally I am working through lunch. It's just easier that way. Friday, I decided to join the girls for a well deserved break. We went out for lunch. Nothing fancy just out of the office. The company was good, food even better; ambiance - check plus. We got to our vehicle and I noticed that our driver was having some sort of dilemma. Her SUV's keyless entry gadget ( low tech gal - remember) was malfunctioning and her alarm was set.

So here we are, 5 intelligent women standing in front of her vehicle wondering what to do. Did I mention we are already pushing it for time? We should have already been back to work by now. We are literally 5 minutes from the office. One of the group was sure that if she used her key to get into the SUV and quickly started the ignition, surely the alarm would go off. Because I am low tech and don't have an alarm on my vehicle I was not part of the decision making process. We rapidly found out that our plan was not working. We are now in the car with the key in the ignition and the alarm BLARING! The owner is now on the phone with her husband. Another co-worker is on the phone with work. You'd think in the lunch rush of a metropolitan area someone would offer some assistance. No such luck. The husband tells us to look for some type of switch under the steering column that would turn off the alarm. Wrong, nothing.

Someone from work came and rescued us. He took the 4 of us back to work and took the owner to her house to grab the extra keyless entry gadget. The story goes on forever. The Reader's Digest version goes like this. The husband has the other keyless gadget and he is now on the way to the vehicle. The owner of the SUV and the rescuing co-worker are at 3 different stores in search of a new battery. The husband gets back to the vehicle and the alarm is no longer deafening. It turns out after some amount of time it goes off on it's own. Maybe 30 to 45 minutes.

Lessons learned from this adventure:

1) Vehicle owner will now make sure the first time the gadget malfunctions (it has been doing this for a week) she will promptly change the battery.

2) I will listen to my inner voice that warned me of how behind I was in my duties when asked to go out to lunch.

Size Really Does Matter

What do you buy your Father on special occasions? Clothes are usually top on the list. We all want our Parents to look good when they are out representing the Family in public, right? For as long as I can remember anytime my Father receives an article of clothing as a gift, he will hold it up against him and say it’s great thank you. However, we never notice him wearing it, EVER.

As he ages, my Father is becoming more vain. It becomes increasingly difficult to buy presents for him. We have tried to move away from clothes. We have purchased gift certificates for restaurants although he is a very picky eater and that isn’t the best gift. We once arranged for the yard to be taken care of for a season and he chased the kid away with all his meddling.

So this year for Christmas I bought my Dad a new coat. Similar to a parka but not as bulky. My Dad is cold in August so imagine how he gets through the winter months. A month or so before Christmas I had most of the Family over to my house for tea. I can’t remember why, but my Dad chose not to come - no big deal. I chose that time to show my Mom the coat. She thought it would fit fine; the only problem was the size. She asked me to bring her some scissors so that she could remove all the tags related to the size of the coat. You see if my Dad notices that the size is larger than what he perceives himself to be, the clothing will not be worn. Narcissism or denial; doesn’t matter if he saw the actual size label he would have tossed it aside after holding it up against him and thanking me.

Uncle Fun, my newest brother-in-law was very intrigued by all this. He figured we were exaggerating Dad’s behavior. I told him to watch Dad open up any clothing item. He will hold it up against himself, thank the person and then covertly search for the tag. Uncle Fun and I had a deal. C’mon Christmas!

Sure enough when Dad opened up the coat he performed as per usual. Uncle Fun and I were sitting next to each other. In our Family we each take turns opening up the gifts so we can a) see what kind of loot each one of us received and b) see if the receiver enjoyed the gift. We form a circle and go at it. After Dad opened up the coat and the entire time the next round of gifts were being opened; he was feverishly looking for a size tag. Uncle Fun was watching in wonderment. Every now and then he’d ask Dad what he was doing. My Father would then point out all the different interior pockets in the coat. It was hilarious. He would put the coat down only when it was his turn to open up his next gift then as soon as he was done, back to the search for the tag. Uncle Fun was giggling uncontrollably.

So you see, size really does matter.

Disappointing Thus Far...

As I sit here watching Super Bowl 39, I am disconcerted by the lack luster commercials.

Maybe the geriatric Beatle will flash us or something. (Shudder) On second thought, never mind.

Go Patriots!!!!

4th Quarter update. I enjoyed the halftime show as I am a big fan of Paul McCartney. The 2 teams obviously both belong at the Super Bowl. Commercials a bit better but not up to par.

Most memorable/my favorite commercial? Anheuser Bush's tribute to the Troops. Standing ovation from other passengers waiting for their flights as a handful of soldiers return home. I just might have to purchase some of that product tomorrow.

What were your favorites?

Material Girl

In the early 80’s my Mother’s youngest sister developed breast cancer. My Aunt lives over seas. My Mom was ready to move heaven and earth to be able to be with her sister in her time of need. It’s what sisters do.

It took a few weeks for my Mom to get all the details settled to be able to leave us and help out her sister. The typical things one must do to go over seas; ticket purchase, passport details, prescriptions for a few months, money, making sure Dad will be taken care of - you get the idea. As you can imagine all these plans were a bit harried due to the circumstances. The family here was concerned for Mom being that she has hypertension and doesn’t handle medical crises all that well. My Mom is a worrier; to the point of making herself sick. It’s not something she can control; it’s simply part of her make up.

So the day finally came and we sent Mom on her way. As luck would have it a friend of hers was also making the trip so at least she would have a travel buddy. Their itinerary was to leave BWI airport, fly to JFK International with a 3 hour layover then board their flight to Germany, switch planes there to the final destination.

I returned home later that evening to find my Father pacing irritatingly and my younger sister (Bridezilla) hysterically crying. My first internal thought was my God the plane crashed. I swallowed the lump in my throat and asked what was wrong? My Father informed me that while waiting in the transit lounge at JFK, my Mom was robbed. It was the classic bait and switch her purse was taken. The contents of the purse included her identification, passport, and her medication for 3 months, her ticket, and money - everything she needed to make the trip. I also found out that due to her determination and the fact that she had received her boarding pass prior to the robbery she had persuaded her way onto the plane. My Mom was flying over seas with no way of proving her identity except for the police report from JFK.
My Father’s fear was the unknown. What would happen to his wife once she tried to board the flight in Germany and how was her health - was her blood pressure sky rocketing at this point between her sister’s illness and the robbery. Thus the irritated pacing. So I turned to Bridezilla and asked what her problem was? Why the histrionics? She was upset because some of Mom’s jewelry was in the purse as well. WHAT?!?!?!

What you might need to know is that Bridezilla has a running inventory of all of my Mom’s baubles. I am not kidding. She has them listed with weight of gold, carat of gem, etc. The only piece of jewelry I could tell you about is Mom’s plain wedding band. These are not details I am bothered with. So the crying was over her list being altered in some way. Not the fact that Mom could possibly stroke out during the trip or maybe be detained in a foreign country or worse.

While I was on the phone with immigration officials and the embassy of my Mom’s final destination, Bridezilla was begging Dad to go to the bank as soon as it opened the morning so he could give her an inventory of the items that remained in the safe deposit box. Believe it or not, he did do that the next morning.

After hours of phone calls, I found out that if my Mom was allowed to board the plane in Germany and if she was able to get off the plane at the final destination, they would depose her and all would be well. She would then have to go about getting all her ID replaced. If they refused to let her board the plane in Germany, she would be placed on the next flight back to the USA and according tot he rules it would have been as if she never left the country.

We did have a multiple happy ending to this event. Mom made it to her sister safely and Bridezilla’s inventory list was only minimally affected. Crisis averted!

Previous Life of a Cat, the Power of the Evil Eye, Guardian Angel or Sheer Luck....

Maybe all of the above. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that my Mother survived a very serious car accident. Since last Friday, it’s weird how the little things just don’t bother me nearly as much or if at all. Perspective is a very powerful thing.

Besides the 6 broken ribs my 78-year-old Mother suffered, she is faring quite well. She is recovering painfully and pretty bravely if you ask me. It really is a miracle. The whole incident could have ended in so many varying horrible ways. In fact as I write this I am sobbing uncontrollably. I didn’t cry when I got the phone call about the accident or when I got my hourly updates from the family. I was anxious and worried and all the other emotions you endure, crying just didn’t happen.

Unfortunately, my Mom is not a stranger to major car accidents. If I am not mistaken, she has taken a helicopter ride at least twice to Shock Trauma. I wonder if she has accumulated any frequent flier credits? My older sister and I believe that in a previous life she must have been a cat. Call it superstition or fear but we really don’t want to go back and actually count how many close calls she has had and what number remains.

Mom has decided to not drive anymore. I really can’t say that I blame her. It will be a huge adjustment for her to have to rely or ask someone else for a ride. Thankfully she has that choice to make. Like I mentioned above, we are quite grateful that she survived. The rest is gravy.

We will figure it out Mom. Get well soon!!!

2005's First Snow Storm

I was going to write a post about the various embarrassing ways dog owners brace their pooches for the cold. Then I realized that people who live in glass houses should not throw stones. You see I have a senior dog that needs to wear snow booties to be able to enjoy the white stuff that has accumulated in our area over the last 24 hours.

Dexter loves the snow. What he doesn’t love are the balls of snow that form between the pads of his paws. Last year I purchased some booties for him and after wrestling with him for 10 minutes to get the damn things on, he would not move. He stood there frozen in either awkwardness or shame. Probably a combination of both. Once I was able to drag him outside and he started prancing around in the snow without his paws freezing, he was one happy elderly golden retriever. It certainly beats the old days where he would just lay down in the snow and wait for me to pick out the snowballs.

The things we do for our furry kids. I am thankful that Dexter embraces the snow with vigor. His normal routines are not disrupted by the white stuff. I just came in with Dexter after a hearty walk. We ran into a neighbor who was distressed by her dog’s snowstipation. It appears poor Paco cannot or will not poop in the snow. He does look stylish however; a fleece lined suede number. I am sure Dexter is thankful that besides the booties he is not required to wear any other snow gear.

Helpful Hints from Wicked H

It is not advisable to stage a revolt in the middle of DC during the week of Inauguration ever. Especially during rush hour when most streets are closed for the upcoming festivities. It is further imprudent to threaten to blow up your van that you refuse to remove unless your friends’ immigration issues are settled immediately.

Please, buy a clue.

Tsunami Relief Concert

Was it just me? Or were most of the artists off key, I mean waay off.

Sure the whole thing was a very noble cause but for some reason it did not move me nearly as the 911 concert did. Maybe it’s sensory overload. I know it isn’t apathy. I did my part and sent my donation long before the concert was even organized.

It’s sad to me that all the devastation of the tsunami leaves me numb now. I am hoping that 2005 yields more happiness around the world.

Happy MLK Day!!

Cows, Flatulence and Physics

During my sophomore physics class, it became abundantly clear that the portion of my brain that processes 3 dimensional thinking and the ability to decipher word problems was left out. It is one of the reasons my dream of becoming a physician never came to fruition. Of course the fact that I was more of a relaxed versus aggressive student played a big part as well.

I did extremely well in the physics lab class, which is a really good thing. At least in the lab the 3 dimensional deficiency was overcome with the models that we used. Also the lab consisted of 30 students where it was less intimidating asking questions. I was not apt to interrupt a lecture with 450 other students present to ask a question. I have tried to erase most of this experience from my memory banks as I try to do with unpleasant events in my life. However, I will never forget the final exam for that class.

I attended the University of Maryland - GO TERPS!!! Back when I was there the physics department was so big that the final exam took place in Cole Field House, the basketball stadium. The students were seated strategically to avoid cheating with a piece of ply board on our laps as make shift desks. The test was handed out and we had 2 hours to complete it. To my horror the test consisted of 25 word problems. I did my best to plod through the exam.

I had an outer body experience right after I read question 15. The question was this: A cow is grazing in a field. There is no wind. 250 yards behind and to the left of the cow sits a young boy reading a book. 250 yards behind and to the right of the cow sits another boy writing in a journal. If the cow expels gas which young man will smell the odor first? I cannot make these questions up; this truly was question 15.

I calmly wrote down my answer complete with expletives, got up, gathered all my belongings and turned in my exam. Shortly after that I dropped my pre-med minor. It just was not meant to be.

Never Let Them See You Sweat

I have never responded well to those who like to push buttons for the sheer pleasure of getting a reaction. I am not sure how I developed my credo however I am quite good at not giving anyone the reaction they are trying to illicit. I am not sure if this is a learned behavior for me or if I was born with it. I’ll let you decide.

I carried a pacifier and blanket around well into age three. I honestly don’t remember it being an issue for my parents. It became an issue at an afternoon tea party that my Mom took me to. I may have been the only child there, I don’t remember those details. I do know that all of the women there had known me since birth. I refer to them as pseudo Aunts still. One in particular was very bothered by my pacifier and blanket. The entire time we were there she kept berating me about how I was a big girl and that I should be embarrassed by my blanket and pacifier. She was relentless. I, of course, did not show any type of reaction other than having a firmer grasp on the blanket and maybe sucking on the pacifier with vigor. She finally gave up and went back to the tea party festivities.

Later that afternoon when we got back home, I went directly to the kitchen trash can. I opened the lid, turned to my Mom and told her I no longer needed the pacifier and blanket and I threw them away and replaced the lid. I never asked for them again nor did it affect my sleep patterns or security issues.

The Ambiguity of Depth

Do you remember when you were in college and you found yourself asking “when will I ever use this in real life?” I personally found myself asking that question numerous times while struggling through physics – don’t even get me started on that right now.

In retrospect, I figured I would be using most of the knowledge gained in my psychology classes. What I didn’t predict was that Dexter, my dog, would prove the depth ambiguity theorem. Please, allow me to explain.

I had just moved into a rental house in rural NC and had left Dexter with friends during the ordeal. Why stress the dog out as well? After getting things organized enough for Dexter to join me, I brought him to our new abode. He spent a good hour trying to figure out how the old scents co-mingled with the new surroundings. I was busy unpacking the kitchen. In most southern homes the main entrance is through the back door. It took me a while to get used to front doors not having sidewalks that lead up to them.

In this house the back door was in the kitchen. Also a southern staple if I am not mistaken. The floor was covered in linoleum with a black and white checkered pattern, each checker was 2 square feet. Exhaustion had set in so I was ready to call it a night. I wanted to let Dexter out one last time before we turned in. I called him and he came galloping around the corner, took one step onto a white square and froze. I have never seen him come to a dead stop like that. He became a statue. I could not figure out what was wrong. I looked into the kitchen to see what had spooked him, I found nothing. I tried coaxing him with treats, sweet talk – nothing worked. He was not going to move off that square! I literally had to drag him by the collar across the kitchen floor and out the door. Once he hit the threshold of the back door he was back to normal. I was still clueless.

Of course trying to get him back into the door and across the kitchen floor was even harder. I really was too tired to fight with him. I went outside with him and we both came back into the house through the front door. He was happy, tail wagging the whole bit.


The next morning it all became clear. I had inadvertently left a throw rug on the kitchen floor when I let Dexter out. By the time he was ready to come in, the throw rug was missing from the kitchen. He froze again. Dexter thought he was going to fall through the black checkers on the floor. Depth Ambiguity.

How did I solve the problem? Throw rugs the length of the kitchen. That in and of itself made college worth it. Well not really, but it sounded good anyway.

The Wisdom of Little Mermaid

Let me start off by wishing everyone a prosperous New Year. I made a resolution to not stress out about the lack of posting every day. I am happy to report that so far, I have been able to keep that resolution. Phew, glad when the pressure is off.

On New Year’s Day, my 9 year old niece and I were taking the long way back to her house. It is one of my quirks to take the longer route if the mood strikes and anytime I have quality Wicked and Little Mermaid times the mood is always good. She was telling me about a bullyette in her class at school. From the many scenarios I have heard from her parents and the accounts she gave me herself, it seems like this bullyette has major issues. Unfortunately, she is taking them out on MY NIECE. The quandary is this: the bullyette is very intimidating and when she doesn’t get her way she tattles. She tells the teacher that Little Mermaid is being mean to her. The teacher then has a conversation with my niece and her feelings get hurt. Some progress has been made in that the teacher has separated the two, they no longer share a table/desk. However; the browbeating continues and it is stressing out my niece.

I had some advice for her. I told Little Mermaid to ignore bullyette. Little Mermaid said that if she did the retribution was to be pulled aside by the teacher and told not to be mean. To which I suggested that Little Mermaid let the teacher know that she chose the high rode by ignoring the troublemaker so that all her energies could be devoted to school work. She should further clarify that bullyette is distracting her and by ignoring her she is not being mean, rather being diligent about her studies.

After a long pause, Little Mermaid asked me if I was sure about the advice. I asked her why she was hesitant to go with my suggestion? She reminded me that I was the one who had to wear her chewing gum on her nose, during lunch in the cafeteria while seated next to the teacher in the 7th grade. I hate when my indiscretions are thrown back to me. I defended my actions by stating that since I was such a trouble maker when I was her age I was able to learn by mistakes and pass my wisdom onto her. I certainly didn’t want her to repeat my mistakes.

Good save – right?