Good News/Bad News

Good News

My youngest began his clerkship (or, as it’s called in the U.S. and on medical television shows, internship) this fall.  His first placement is with the Psychiatry Department of a local hospital.

Bad News

I overheard him talking with one of his brothers – he’s ACTUALLY spent some time considering diagnoses that might be suitable for me!!  His dear sweet mother.  I’m not quite sure whether to be touched by his concern or pissed off that he thinks I’m nuts.  Or borderline nuts.  It’s one thing for me to admit to a certain (minor) level of craziness – it’s another to be labeled certifiably so.

Good News

He couldn’t find one!  Apparently, my (few) obsessive traits, astounding leaps of logic and quirky uniqueness don’t even come close to being considered a medical condition worth labeling or diagnosing. 

“So far,” he noted.  Ominously.

“Best watch yourselves,” I responded.  “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  Actually, there’s no way it possibly could unless there was a fierce wind, but anyway, apples falling from trees might land on your head so be careful in apple orchards.  And always listen to your mother.”

They exchanged glances and grins.  I grinned, too.  I was just messing with their minds.  Truly.

The fact the above makes perfect sense to me?  I’m not telling any of my kids –particularly son # 3.  I happen to think complete sanity is highly overrated.  I’m also going to start keeping some of my thoughts to myself.

photo credits: google images

It's (Almost) About Me

The above?  Fridge magnets given to me as gifts by those who know me well.  The sentiments expressed in each are rather close to home but not quite all the way there.  Yet.

They may be verging on “sad but true” but since they’re all so spot on in depicting certain aspects of my life (with some exaggeration) the humour factor trumps any “poor-pitiful-me” factor.  Each one makes me smile.

And isn’t that what humour is all about?  Its origins in reality and truth – its laughter and smiles in the exaggeration.

May I never be too stressed, too preoccupied with pain – or too forgetful – to smile and laugh. 

Credits: I scanned two of my magnets but the other one is at the cottage – so I used Google images – hence the wording on that image

Evidence

If you identified the objects embedded in my tire as porcupine quills, you’d win a prize.  If there was one.  Which there isn’t.

Perhaps the fact I find this picture amusing brands me as hard-hearted and insensitive.  If so, my immediate family shares the same affliction(s).  If you’re offended by our amusement, let me assure you we do not find the death of any living creature laughable.  It’s the existence and location of the undisputed evidence as to this particular porcupine’s demise that struck our funny bones.

I’m not the guilty party – nor will I identify which of my sons is the porcupine assassin.  He feels badly enough for having smoked that critter.  (Last summer another of my sons was responsible for the death of a wild turkey on the highway.  We left a blizzard of feathers in our wake.) 

Further amusement was provided for my sons courtesy of yours truly.  When they began pulling the porcupine quills out of my tire, my worry-prone tendencies (crazies?) kicked in.

“Hey, don’t remove them – my tire might deflate!”

Eye rolls, grins and groans of, “Oh, Mom…”

A Slice of Life (or Cake)

Last weekend we did the combined April birthdays celebration.  Not shown in the photos below is my eldest – he of the crazy antics, outrageous utterances and the goofiest of faces.  He’s currently reluctant to have these talents displayed on the Internet - even frowned upon learning his picture had been put on Facebook.  (A picture of him underwater, wearing a diving mask and completely unrecognizable.)

Although not visible, he is responsible for evoking the laughter in these pictures.

son # 3 is not crying – I think he’d just snorted with laughter

 son # 2 is no slouch in the crazy antics department, either

(not sure what I was doing with my finger – interesting gestures a camera captures)

Are there people in your life who can turn the negatives upside-down (or right-side-up) and make you laugh and smile?  Or who make you laugh and smile for no particular reason at all or for the most ridiculous of reasons?  I hope so.  They certainly exist in mine.

SWF

My on-line dating profile – which includes the standard evasions, exaggerations, misleading statements (and truth).

SWF seeks male companionship - not marriage  (this might appeal to some men – particularly the married ones – although they don’t appeal to me)

Divorced  (re: why the lack of interest in marriage)

Age:  A mature & fascinating one  (put actual age or be evasive with “mature”?  Let’s face it, either way I’m screwed.  I’ll be passed over for the 20 to 40 year age bracket - the preferred female age group for men ages 40 to 85)

Occupation:  freelance writer  (not an adequate income for survival)

Height and Weight:  Height: 5’ 4”  Weight: Within appropriate range – BMI just fine, thanks  (still retain girlish figure somewhere beneath the mature one)

Physically Fit:  Yes  (this is a stretch)  Excellent condition  (if you don’t count the wonky back which is not visibly apparent unless I’ve just been on a four to six hour flight or spent an hour or so weeding dandelions- see Hobbies)

Children:  Three boys  (All protective of their mother and of an age and size where they can HURT bad, nasty, deceitful men)

Family: Very much a family oriented person  (my family is somewhat dysfunctional & crazy but charming & lovable – as am I.  I’m hoping to keep the crazy & dysfunctional under wraps until the charm has worked its magic)

Sense of Humour:  Yes, a delightful one  (also raunchy, childish and perverse but no need for such honesty at this point)

Language of Choice:  English and Je parle un petit peu de français  (my French is abysmal but I think mentioning it adds a certain “Je ne sais quoi…”)

Vocabulary: Excellent  (includes creative & frequent profanity)

Hobbies and Interests

Reading  (in truth, this is an addiction but I think I can keep it under control - for awhile)

Music – eclectic taste  (if you make fun of my iTunes selections, I will be very sad and you will be very sorry)

Outdoors Person  (I occasionally enjoy breathing fresh air)

Walking  (“walking” is a euphemism for not really being into exercise but if you put it under hobbies & interests, people might think you are into marathon walking)

Pets - Love them!  (dogs only – no monkeys, parrots, snakes, lizards, rats, minks…)

Cooking  (this will capture the interest of hungry men but at this point in my life, I prefer food cooked by others)

Gardening - So relaxing and rewarding  (spectacular success with dandelions – quite the hearty annual)

Sports

- hockey  (used to play, reduced to just watching…)

- golf  (blatant lie – have never been on a golf course and bored to tears watching it on TV…however, including it might entice some males…I can always plead a headache…)

Films – both foreign and domestic (this sounds far more sophisticated than “movies” and I count anything made outside Canada as foreign)

Fine dining  (really, who doesn’t enjoy an occasional fine dining experience?  I’d actually be content with a Harvey’s burger but that doesn’t sound very impressive)

Love to travel  (you have to say this – everyone does.  What I don’t have to say is that I’m not a particularly great tourist – limited patience for line-ups and/or spending hours & hours in museums, galleries, etc.) 

Cottage Life  (of course I love cottage life – I own one.  But I’m not going to cop to that.  Anyone possibly interested - one of the 70 – 85 year olds - might think they’ve hit on a good thing in terms of retirement funding)

Swimming - love to swim in both the lake and the ocean  (okay in the lake after an “all clear” re: aquatic life but the ocean?...once got caught in an undertow…washed ashore with bathing suit butt full of sand…now leery of waves)

Boating – A great way to spend time – any time of day  (can paddle a canoe and wrench my arm out of its socket starting the 15hp motorboat)

Romantic Pastimes – walking on the beach and candlelight dinners  (again, these are a must for every profile…but if on a beach, do not push me into those waves and as for candlelight, I prefer to see what’s on my plate)

Describe Yourself in Ten words (words in brackets don’t count)

Attractive (if you have myopia or hyperopia)

Love to laugh (occasionally snort when doing so)

Empathetic (to a fault)

Intelligent (wonder what my I.Q. is?)

Independent (need my “alone” time)

Kind (unless forced to be otherwise – and then watch out…)

Low maintenance (god, this is so pathetically true)

Looking For:

Forget this part because I’m really not looking.  Absolute truth.  Cross my heart.  I created this far too lengthy & crazy profile as a lark – inspired by the experiences of others.  Some of those experiences were mind-numbingly boring or ridiculous - at best, laughable - at worst, horrific.  Forewarned is forearmed.  (and, no, I do not have four arms…)

photo credit: google images

Does Size Matter?

Perhaps after almost five years of blogging, it’s time to let you in on a secret.  While my blog posts (being rather light in terms of subject matter) might lead you to believe otherwise, I am not an airhead.  I read the morning paper, watch the news and listen to TedTalks.  I follow world events – Syria, Iran (uranium stockpiling), the Kony matter, our F-35 jets fiasco, the U.S. Republican primaries, my own government’s right wing agenda, the ups and downs of the stock market & the world economy, various social and medical issues and on and on and on…  However, I choose not to write about these things.  It’s enough that I read, think and worry about them.  My blog is reserved for lighter fare.

So, here’s yet another airhead post from an otherwise bright & informed individual – but one who would prefer you did not ask her for detailed explanations re: the above matters.

Had to buy a new bathing suit for my pool exercise class or risk literally coming apart at the seam – the rear one.  Not a pleasant visual.  Chlorine does quite a number on material.

I had success – in part.  After the dreaded fitting room part of the process, I bought two bathing suits - one a size 10 and the other a SIZE 16!!!  WTH??!!  (Yes, I checked the tag, numerous times.  If it weren’t for the size 10, I might have wept.)

I also needed some plain white and black 100% cotton t-shirts – impossible to find in the Women’s Dept.  Only t-shirts with cotton AND spandex were offered.  If I wanted to crush and flatten my upper torso, I’d buy Spanx.  (No, I wouldn’t…not ever.)  Headed to the Men’s Dept.  Yes, I found 100% cotton t-shirts but Men’s Small went to my thighs.  I was in a bit of a snit at this point, but had a “eureka” moment.  Try the Boy’s Department! 

Success.  Bought two packs (one white, one black, three per pack) of Boys’ Extra Large t-shirts.

In summary - I wear anything from Boys’ X-L to Women’s size 16.

So, in answer to the question, “Does size matter?”  Apparently not - and certainly not when it comes to clothing and my body.

Part-time airhead – over and out…

photo credits: google images

Down But Not Out...

Apparently, I set the bar awfully high in my last blog post as to the conditions of my return – to be rested and cheerful.  Considering what’s still going on in my life, god knows when either of these conditions will ever be met.  For sure, there’s light at the end of the tunnel but it seems to be coming from a 15W bulb.

So, as a distraction (an escape?) I’m back.  And what have I got to say?  Not much.  But I’m determined to churn out an upbeat blog post.

(ten minutes have passed – trying to come up with something positive – it’s not happening…)

Bloody hell.  I’m stumped.  This is so not me.  I’m going to have to resort to an attempt at humour – at my own expense.

I SHOULD NEVER HAVE WRITTEN THAT!  I just knocked over my coffee mug – coffee all over the kitchen counter and on and in the stove!  Shit.  (I would have found this amusing - had it happened to someone else.)

About the attempt at humour at my own expense?  I’m limiting it to two more.  Consider the coffee spill # 1.

# 2 – Tripped on a mat in the fruit and vegetable section of the grocery store the other day and my cart hit a full basket of lemons.  An intriguing and almost beautiful fall-out from the encounter, but still…embarrassing and a pain in the ass to pick up.

# 3 – Finally lost it with the site supervisor in charge of renovations next door.  (Horrendous noise, reverberations and blocking of my driveway since September.)  So, there I am – in a rage – standing in the mud pit of a front yard beside some effing loud machine – arms flailing, voice raised (and wobbly), a few tears (of frustration) – giving him holy hell.  Very, very effective – particularly the tears bit.  I should have done this months ago.  Every workman who observed this scene now nods to me with a quiet hello and stays a safe distance from the crazy lady.  No more blocking of the driveway, stomping about on my front yard or walking on my roof.  Looking and behaving like an idiot can work.  (Although not with lemons.)

Have these accounts of my follies and foibles made you smile?  A bit?  They worked for me.  I’m smiling.  Success – from my end.

photo credit: google images

Why I Am Not On Etsy

This is what inspired me:

This is my creation:

 

I give myself an E – for effort.

Would it have helped if I’d used a set of encyclopedias?  I doubt it.

photo credit: google images

S.P.E.L.L.I.N.G.

Ha! You have to laugh! Well, you don’t, but I did.

After a lifetime spent correcting the spelling of my given name* - “That’s Elisabeth with an ‘s’…” - I got both the ‘s’ AND the ‘z’ with this bill!

Now the ‘a’ is missing!

What next? No vowels?

“Attention: Lszbth Stewart…”

I have mellowed. If the misspelling makes me laugh, bring it on.



*usually to no avail – I have official documents to prove it

Being Me

Life’s been somewhat off-kilter here the past while. Thus, I’ve been a little off-kilter. Knowing why my behaviour is slightly wacky (more so than usual) goes a long way to preserving my sanity. So does retaining the ability to laugh at myself.

Two examples of my off-kilterdom – and two only. I’ve also managed to retain some pride.

While in a store the other day, I heard a cell phone ringing and my first thought was, “Hey, someone has the same ringtone as mine.”

It was mine.

Finally got around to some Christmas decorating and while setting up the manger/crèche, I actually got mad at Joseph for repeatedly falling over. He was momentarily at risk of being tossed from the scene.

Get a grip, Beth…he’s a figurine, he can’t help it and it’s Joseph!

I figure as long as I’m capable of recognizing the humour in these sort of incidents, I’m still okay. I laughed with the person who’d called me and I apologised to Joseph - with a smile.

And I do have plans (which include alcohol, deep breaths, some chocolate marshmallow Santas and regaining more control of my life) to get back on-kilter. (In-kilter?)

Kilter is a funny word. So is off-kilter. I looked them up. Kilter means “in working order.” Off-kilter means “a bit askew.”

I am a bit askew. That makes me laugh, too.

Have Been Busy...

Confession. My recent absence wasn’t due to any nasty respiratory virus. There were just so many repair jobs to be done around here that it seemed entirely reasonable and logical for Canadian icon and contractor extraordinaire Mike Holmes* of Holmes on Homes to temporarily move in to complete them all. I was kept very busy playing the role of his able assistant. As a memento of our time together, he left me with the above photo.

I’m still smiling…

Confession #2. Confession #1 is simply wishful thinking/fantasy on my part – on so many levels - the virus, the repairs, Mr. Holmes. The truth? My son met him at a convention this week and brought home the autographed picture for his dear old mom. Thanks, Teds.


Truth or fantasy, I’m still smiling…

…because my son thought of me
…because the comment on the photo is so apropos right now
…because I am (90%?) back in the world of good health (knock on wood)



(*Not sure how well known Mike Holmes is outside of Canada but I do know his TV show airs in the U.S. and that he helped out in New Orleans in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Have also previously mentioned him on my blog.)

Cab Smells

Unless the taxicab driver is some scary looking dude who emits grunts (and some are and do), cab rides can be an interesting and delightful experience.

My latest cab adventure:

After the initial hi, how are ya, where ya going, cold weather, huh? blah, blah, blah, the conversation went like this:

Cabbie: (with heavy accent) “You smell really nice. Is it your perfume?”

Me: (with a smile) “Why, yes, I think so. Thank you.”

Cabbie: “It smells flowery, refreshing… I like it.”

Me: “Nice of you to say so.”

Cabbie: “Some women wear really heavy perfume – makes me feel sick.”

Me: “Well, I’m glad mine doesn’t.”

Cabbie: “Is it for men, too?”

Me: (momentarily nonplussed) “Uh, I don’t think so. It’s only available in the women’s section of department stores.”

Cabbie: (undeterred) “But men could wear it?”

Me: “Well, sure they could.” (If they want to smell like a woman.)

Cabbie: “Could you write down the name of it for me?” (Hands me a business card and a pen.)

Me: “Sure.”

I scrawl the name as best I can while in a moving vehicle, hand it back and we go on to discuss other matters (the state of the world, etc.).

Surreal perfume discussion is over.

So, if anyone in Toronto ends up in a cab with a driver who smells “flowery and refreshing,” you have me to thank.

Perhaps I should have tipped him with my purse size bottle of perfume?

Marching With The Rest Of Them

No celebrities spotted vis-à-vis the Toronto Film Festival on Saturday BUT I did get my picture taken – while walking in a parade.

Somehow, while simply trying to cross the street I ended up marching with a huge crowd for about a block before I could make it to the other side. Others had successfully made it across. I got hemmed in by a line of police officers on bicycles.

I don’t know who organized this march but I was engulfed by people wearing t-shirts with the slogan, “For the Poorest of the Poor.”

Worthy cause (of course) but I don’t understand how these things happen to me. At a time when Toronto is full of limos, celebrities, red carpets, gala events, etc,. I end up in such a parade? Some of my fellow marchers looked pretty grim. I felt awkward for having inadvertently joined them and then guilty for leaving (ASAP) to meet my friend for lunch.

And, dear God, I hope my brief and unexpected participation wasn’t a portent of things to come re: my legal separation/financial hassles.

Despite the photographers snapping pics, I suspect my picture will not end up in People Magazine. If it ends up anywhere, you’ll recognize me as the only one not wearing the t-shirt and anxiously searching for an escape route.


Credit to: www.childrensrecordsandmore.blogspot.com for the above image.

And Now...

…back to our regularly scheduled programming.


Lots of men around the house these days as the front flagstone path is being repaired. (Backbreaking work.) These guys are polite, friendly, funny – and some of them are built.

I leave the side door unlocked so they can use the basement bathroom. (They are extremely neat and tidy, too. This rates right up there with the being built.) Late yesterday afternoon I was going out and figured they’d be finished for the day before my return. I didn’t want the door left unlocked.

I mentioned this to the Head Guy and also said (discreetly – with lowered voice), “So this is last call for a bathroom break. Check if anyone wants to tinkle.”

Yes, I actually said “tinkle” to this big, hulking guy.

He smiles and HOLLERS to the crew (my neighbours could hear!), “Anyone need to use the bathroom? Does anyone want a last “tinkle??!!”

Hoots of laughter and shouts of, “Nah, don’t have to tinkle,” and “I’m good,” from the guys. They knew the word did not originate with the boss.

And lots of big grins and more laughter accompanied by, “Have a good time,” “See you tomorrow!” and “Thanks for everything!” calls to me as I wended my through the tools and debris to get to my car parked on the street.

I was blushing.

Maybe I’ll keep the side door locked today - see who gets the last laugh.

You Can Dress Her Up...

So, Friday I’m on my way to a social function and dressed accordingly. Always a challenge but one I can handle.

Do a quick check in the mirror (tags showing? deodorant on smoothly?) and note a stray piece of fabric hanging out the right armhole of my sleeveless blouse. Yank at it. Fwap. Ouch. Not a thread. A piece of elastic from my (new) bra.

Try yanking again – carefully. No go. I have ten minutes before it’s time to leave. Grab scissors. Cannot manipulate hands, arms and scissors to perform amputation of said piece. Whip off blouse and bra and successfully remove wayward elastic. Note another loose piece. Damn. No longer trust this bra. Total disintegration a possibility.

Root around in drawer for another one. Favourite bra not an option – not party quality. Other (newish) bra drying in laundry room. Grab a pristine white one. Realize why it’s pristine - it makes me crazy – it’s a no clasp bra.

Five minutes to pick-up.

Pull bra down over my head – straps are all twisted, cup portion also twisted and ends up resting above my chest. Adjust accordingly. (Note to self – never again buy a no clasp bra.)

Blouse back on. Good to go. Another quick glance in the mirror. Put hands in pants pockets to get the total, cool effect. (Ha.) Shit. Thread hanging out of a pocket. This can be cut off without removing pants. Bonus.

No more looking in the mirror. No longer care and have no time to deal with whatever flaw I might find.

Run downstairs, grab purse. Made it. My drive has arrived.

Lean over to put on sandals. Straighten up. Note (slight) wedgie. Bloody hell. Twist around to see if it’s visible. Nothing from this angle but who knows? No time to change slacks and/or underwear (whichever may be the culprit – could be a combination of the two.) Will spend the evening discreetly dealing with it. Or never sit down.


I would like attend a party where t-shirts, old bras, shorts and flip-flops are the required dress.

Looking For Love In All The Right Places

It’s official. I’m in love.

My heart’s been captured by the man who cleaned and repaired my eaves troughs. My new-found love wears overalls just like Mike Holmes (of the TV show “Holmes on Homes”) AND has diamond studs in both ears. Who’d have thought I’d fall for this type of guy?

We spent a fair bit of quality time together. Granted, he was on the roof for most of that time but still, distance proved no barrier to our great rapport.

All kidding aside, I do love this man. In a good way. I am truly taken with the fact he came the day I called him and did not charge me one cent for the work he did. (I slipped him some cash – he promptly slipped most of it right back to me.)

And while he was casually walking around on the roof (yikes! no fear) he also pointed out the flaws from that previous roof repair job and told me to call those roofing guys – pronto. (I did.) I also didn’t have a clue what he was talking about (a stink pot? a flange?) and so took notes.

This is a man who owns his own business, possesses an old-fashioned work ethic (rare these days) and refuses to start the metre running as soon as he sets foot on your property.

“I’m not charging you for cleaning out some old leaves…”

He is honest, fair and friendly. And thus, cultivates trust and new clients.

I can envision he and I walking down a flagstone path together in the not-so-distant future.

Yes, that would be my dilapidated flagstone path. He gave me a quote I can live with – I gave him the job.


P.S. If you can find any inappropriate (and unintended) innuendo in this post, you’re good. Or, at least, better than me. I edited it twice to remove/change what I considered “iffy” words and phrases. I’m sure I missed something.

Crystal Ball Follow-Up

My visit to the psychic? A bust. Fun, but nevertheless, a bust.

When relating the experience to your son and all you can come up with in terms of a fascinating detail (how could she possibly know this!!??) is, “She said she saw a fish tank in our house,” you realize it didn’t go very well.

His response? (Accompanied by an incredulous look.) “Mom, you paid someone to hear that?? I don’t need a psychic to tell me I have a fish tank – I know I have an ‘effin fish tank.”

Right. Reality check. Burst bubble. But lots of laughter as my friend and I realized we’d been trying to convince ourselves we’d heard great stuff. Hmm. Great? How great is this? She said I should start dating - SOON. What’s the rush? Am I about to start decomposing in a few months? I’ll start dating when I bloody well feel like it.

As much as I really wanted this to work out, I had a premonition (ha!) that it might not pan out as I’d hoped when she served blueberry tea. It tasted yucky. And I had to drink it because she was reading the tea leaves. Some of those tea leaves were floating on top. If I accidentally sipped one with the tea, I very carefully (and discreetly) spit it back into the cup, wary of screwing up the reading. I AM A NUTCASE! And yet, she never came up with a “sense” of that.

On the plus side, she predicted a career change for my friend. Based on our analysis of this particular psychic’s ability (and the money she must make from dimwits like ourselves) my friend decided she too could become a psychic. Added bonus. She will side-line as a pimp – just for me. (You know, ‘cause I have to dive into that dating pool – pronto.) To any lovelorn but decent looking male clients, she’s going to say, “I see a beautiful, mature woman in your future. And by the way, here’s her address and phone number.”

(We share a whacko sense of humour.)

So, no great hints or predictions for my future. Looks like it’s all up to me.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be…

Or maybe I should try another psychic?

The Three Stooges

Would you trust these three goofy-looking guys to disconnect your old washer and dryer and install new ones?

I purchased them (the washer and dryer, not the boys) from a place that doesn’t DO installation.

One of the boys came up with the brilliant idea that the water to the washing machine must be turned off before the disconnection process took place. The other two were suitably impressed - as was I.

So there’s hope. Despite their lack of experience, they just might manage to pull this whole thing off.

Amidst much laughter, the usual good-natured evil teasing (i.e. “goosing” the guy leaning over unscrewing pipes), lint dust all over the damn place and declaring that Mom has a few screws loose, the disconnecting jobs were a success.

And I learned this: “Righty, tighty, lefty, loosey.”

But God help me, I’m afraid. The installation job is still to come.

I do not want to be the first to use the new machines.

(And I have the name of a plumber and an appliance repairman for back-up.)

As for the above picture, they’re actually very good-looking guys. They deliberately posed like that. Really.


Thanks, Curly, Larry and Moe for a job (partially) done.

We shall meet again in the laundry room.

More (Dirty) Pool Talk

I LOVE MY HYDROTHERAPY CLASS! Not only for the health and fitness benefits but for the great laughs.

In a previous post I related a tale of our class exercising with balls.

We recently used “noodles” in the pool. Our lovely sweet female instructor (whose British accent I adore) noted that THE ONE MALE in the class that day was struggling to stay afloat.

“Are you alright, Jerry?” she inquired. (Name changed to protect the innocent.)

“Not really,” Jerry replied. “I think I have a soggy noodle.”

Smiles and smirks from the female contingent. We will pounce on any opportunity to behave like silly twits. To our credit, we refrained from outright laughter. Poor guy – how did he end up the only one in the class with a soggy noodle??? (Ha!)

Instructor: “Not to worry - we can always provide firm noodles in this class.”

(We???)

Well, that did it. Our amusement became audible – although still somewhat restrained. The instructor was oblivious. Jerry was catching on….

The instructor continued. “No one should have to work with a water-logged noodle. And if anyone has a kink in their noodle, let me know.”

All efforts at maintaining a (minimal) level of maturity – shot to hell. Out loud laughter ensued as we all checked for kinky noodles…

At this point, Jerry was crimson with embarrassment. Our instructor finally (sort of) caught on and was blushing.

Balls and noodles, people – they make for some damn fine exercise classes!

(And, yes, Jerry ended up with a brand new noodle. Lucky guy.)

Watch Me Now!

I played Guitar Hero* on the weekend.

I sucked.

I played it again last night.

I ROCKED! (The video game said so.)

I owned that guitar….

So I’m a little crazy. That’s not news to anyone.

(Thanks, Chris, for your patience…and the fun!)


*Songs I conquered:
Slow Ride – Foghat
Rock and Roll All Night - Kiss