Tuesday, March 31, 2009

1,095 FORKS

If I washed 3 forks a day for one year, I'd have washed 1,095 forks.

I know you're wondering why I picked the number three. I don't know, I just did. Maybe because I realize that sometimes there are only three of us in the house, or maybe because, on occasion, one of us won't eat. Regardless, that's a whole lot of fork washing, don't you think? And I'm using a very low number, mind you.

I'll bet your asking yourself at this very moment, "Why didn't she choose spoons?". AHA! I see your on to my game....I never thought you'd catch it. You and I both know, spoons are a whole other story. Spoons lean toward avoidance. Oh yes! They manage to get out of a lot of work, they do. Why, I remember once, I could have used a spoon, and to tell you the truth I was just about to reach for it when I thought to myself....forks already in my hand, I'm just gonna go for it. And I did! Yes indeedy, I used that fork..almost with a sense of guilt, but I could have sworn that spoon turned the other way...anyway, it just felt right at the time. Feels right most of the time. Except when there's jello. See, jello and forks, they just don't mesh. Never have. Goes way back to a time when there was a whole lot of bread pudding being made. People wanted to use a spoon because of the pudding but, fact is, the fork has always played an intricate part in the consumption of bread pudding. Why on earth anyone would ever want to change that is beyond me. Well, regardless of what the people thought they wanted to do, the fork won out and as you know, to this very day the fork is dominant at the dinner table.

But...just for conversation sake...let me just put it out there. Let's say your at a...a...a.........a quinceanera. They serve you a plate of Mole and just to make things interesting, it's the kind made with peanut butter. You take your plate, walk down to the end of the table where the plastic utensils are and you have to make a choice. What's it gonna be? Fork or spoon? This is where you're true colors come out folks. Come on, fork or spoon? Fork or spoon??

Don't go with the popular response! Go with your gut! What's it gonna be?

Okay, okay...let me come at it from this angle. Before you get to the end of the table, where the plastic utensils are, they add rice and beans to the plate...Oh! and a corn tortilla...What's it gonna be?

I feel your hesitancy but really, no one will judge you on this. This is between me and you. You and I. The two of us. What's it gonna be?

Know what? This kind of pressure just isn't for everyone. I don't want you to answer. And no, I'm not trying to work any reverse psychology on you. I'm just more in tune with my inner-self than most, so I'll tell you what I'd do...I'd do what any honest Mexican American with any brains would do. Pick up the fork (no spoon)...sit down...use the tortilla for the mole and beans. The fork for the rice and...without a spoon...pay close, close attention here...fold the plate in half, lift it up to my mouth and drink the juice.

Once again, I've proven that when it comes to forks and spoons, there's no denying which you'll wash more throughout the year. Forks hands down. I Rest my case.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Wild Animals In My Bedroom

My husband went to bed late last night, or I should say this morning. Something like three thirty a.m. It's not unusual for him to go to bed after 1 in the morning but 3:30 is pushing it.

He and two buddies were in our little recording studio working on some music from about four, Sunday afternoon to 3:30 Monday morning. They're a perty good team, the three of them. One of them is a great lyricist, the other an outstanding arranger and then there's my husband....and if you'll excuse my bragging...he's good at everything (yes, I'm still on the subject of music).

They've been working on this project for quite a few months now and were smart enough to challenge themselves by coming up with a date for completion. I admire the fact that they've stuck to the project completion date and meet on a weekly basis while still working their day jobs. Personally, I'm not a great fan of the style of music they're working on but I do admit, "some" of it's catchy. I've even found myself singing some of the songs.

I went to bed at about 1:30 last night/this morning. I'd busied myself doing some stuff on the computer when I notice how late it was. Went out to the studio, controlled myself from putting my 2 cents in where it wasn't needed, and then said good night.

My head hit the pillow...take that back...I placed my head on the pillow (why would I hit it?) and knocked out within seconds. I was gaaawne. Then I woke to Carlos coming in, sliding the bathroom door open as if it was 3:30 in the afternoon (after all, he's awake, why shouldn't everyone else be!), brushing his teeth, tried to have some kind of conversation with me (can't remember what he said because it sounded something like "oud,nE ah.mX-84 20nNBpou9afd"). He still doesn't get it that I can't have a full conversation in the middle of sleep. I have to add that I love when he gives me some important piece of information at that hour and then actually thinks I'm gonna remember what he said the next day.

Anyway, as if he hasn't made enough noise, he puts a movie on. Seriously, what kind of nut am I married to?? What kind of human insists on torturing himself by denying himself the right to sleep. I've tried to explain to him that the human body can go without food and/or water but sleep is of the utmost importance. He shuts me out just like a 13 year old when you try to tell them to clean their room.

Finally, he reaches the point of exhaustion and falls into a deep sleep. How wonderful for him! I'm now awake thinking of cruel and unusual ways to torture him. I'm thinking of paying our daughter Karina to get up and play Dixie on her flute while marching on the bed or better yet turning the fan on full blast and pulling the blankets down. I've also considered pouring warm water on him to make him think he's wet the bed so that he'd have to get up and shower. Of course I wouldn't do any of these things but it some how comforts me knowing that all of these things are possible. I could actually do them.

And just when I'm about to lull myself back to sleep, due to my nasty thoughts of torture, he does IT. You know what IT is, don't you? Aha. He starts the snoring. Not just a little puff or whistle, not just the usual sawing wood. No, this guy goes straight to the jungle. He's a mad dog, a wild boar, a male Elephant in heat, the king of the jungle for goodness sake. He's like a demon possessed Hyena circling his prey. "Lord", I cry out in fear for my life, but the Lord himself has run. He can't take it either.

I'm alone.

There are wild animals in my bedroom and I'm alone.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

I said SING!

So Saturday night about 20 of us gathered at our house in celebration of my birthday. My husband asked me what I wanted and really, the only thing I could think of was a small party of family and friends and of course, karaoke.

If you know me, you know I love to sing, which is not to say that I'm that great at it. Doesn't matter, I love to sing anyway. I also love to hear other people sing. And if they're not that good at it, who cares. I certainly don't. It's not about good or bad singing, it's about fun. It's about together. It's about kicking off your shoes and letting your hair down.I normally sing the first song because I know someone has to get it going. To some, it might come off as if I just can't wait to get a hold of the mic but that isn't it at all. After enough karaoke parties, I've just learned that somebody has to go first. That's all it takes..one willing person..and then, inch by inch, note by note, step by step, they're hooked!

I take it as a personal challenge when someone tells me they won't be singing....HA! Think so, eh? Well, we'll just see about that! I have locks on my doors and no one gets out until I say so! It's sing or stay. This party ends when I'm good and ready.

Yo! Sorry, I kinda lost it there.....

One night we sang until...well, until the next morning. Three o'clock a.m. to be exact. And I believe it was the very same night that a neighbor from down the street showed up at our window (not door. Window.). We saw him looking in and the first thought was "someone called the police". Juan Carlos had been singing a song in Spanish, Mariachi style. So this guy shows up at the window and when Juan Carlos went to the door, the guy say's "Whoa! Was that you singing? I thought it was the radio man! You're really good". Now, I know Juan Carlos is good, but I think this guy who just happened to have a beer in one hand and has been known to walk down the street with a reefer stuck behind his ear, was looking for an invitation.

So, the party was fun. Those who said they wouldn't sing did. It's that simple: Sing or stay...you choose.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Happy Birthday to Me..eeeee!

54 that's a big number. It's one away from 55, which is 5 away from 60. And there's no where else to go but up. Not that I mind, mind you. The number itself is no big deal, for, as it has been said so many times, it's just a number.

Anyone asks, I'll tell them my age. It's not like, not telling them would make me any younger. It's not like, not telling them would stop the process and it's definitely not like, not telling them would take away the wrinkles. So what have I, or anyone else, to lose by divulging our age?

So many people lie about their age as if it's really gonna make a difference. My questions is, who are they lying to? See, if you lie about your age the person you're lying to may think "Wow, they look older than that!" or then again, they may not think anything at all. Let's just say they believe the lie. That, then, makes you a liar. Well ~ doesn't it? And if they don't believe it, they know your lying...either way, who's the fool?

So, here's the thing...I'm 54 today. Born March 26, 1955. If you like me, it has nothing to do with the date or time I was born. It has nothing to do with my age. Hopefully you like me because of who I am. And if you don't 5 years, more or less, will probably not change that.

My birthday present to me is not my age or the date I was born. My birthday present to me in all honesty, is you. My friend. And that is no lie.

This video is gonna get around. It's far too cool.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

What is this world coming to?!

How many times have you heard that question? I can remember my mom and dad using it. I've heard it so many times by preachers, teachers, politicians, Friends, friends kids, my kids; who hasn't thought or said it.

My mom and dad would use it when a new clothing fad came about. I remember I had some Levis; boy's cut, because back then there were no girls cut Levis. Anyway, I loved my jeans. So much so that I wore them constantly. After a while, a hole wore through in the knee until it was just shredded material. I'd remembered seeing an embroidered flower in a magazine and thought I'd just fix the hole in the knee by embroidering a flower over it and then add a few to the rest of the leg so no one would know it was there to cover up the hole. Something like this, but on the knee. Up until this point, I hadn't seen anyone else with embroidery on their pants (well, not at my school anyway) so, I decorated them the best I could and walked out of my room for school. My parents were in shock. "First, they let us wear jeans to school, now they're gonna let us go with embroidery, what next?"....and of course, you know what followed, right? "What is this world coming to?".

My brothers, by this time had already let their hair grow out and had worn afro's. And of course you know what my parents had to say about that; "What is this world coming to?".

I think college classes should be a prerequisite for new parent's; 25 hours of P101 - The how often and when's of "What is this world coming to?", followed by P102 Proper use of "What is this world coming to?", and of course P103 "Controlling your "What is this world coming to?". because each generation has started their own style of clothing that leave you wondering...

Personally, when I see someone from generation "y" wearing the famous show your butt crack pants, I want to say it! I do everything I can to keep it from coming out but I'm telling you, if they don't come up with some kind of prescription drug to help me control the desire to say it soon, people will know I'm an abuser.

And when did I turn into the parent I swore I would not be? I just don't know. It may have started as early as 42. I've been dealing with this silently for almost 7 years now. If there's help out there, please, please someone, let me know. I need help before I "What is this world coming to? myself and my family into insanity.

Truth is, there is so much reason to ask it because ..... well ..... because I wanna know What
is this world coming to?.

Monday, March 9, 2009

I love my work! Really, I do.

It's been one year and a month since I completed Massage school.

Prior to that, I'd worked in the "business" world for a good 35 years, working in various capacities. I started as an in-house auditor for Sears Roebuck. Moved on to be a receptionist for a back room drinking Optometrist, then customer service for 3 separate lighting companies over a period of 9 years (kept getting better offers, what can I say?), worked for a food broker and finally for a Marketing Company, which ended in a lay off. Boy, did they do me a favor.

My question is, am I a slow learner or what? It took me 35 years to finally realize that I totally disliked what I was doing. Actually...I guess you could say I knew it all along but didn't know what to do about it. I mean, I needed to work like anyone else. I was fairly good at what I did, my employers liked me, I could get a job at the drop of a hat...must be what I want to do, right? You know the answer...wrong!

Deep down, what I wanted to do was act, dance, sing, and of course, make money. Unfortunately, or not, my father taught me that I must be responsible and realistic. Looking back, I'm not so sure I should have listened to him...(please do not let my children read that last comment.....did I say please? I'm begging you!) Truth is, he was probably right and due to my insecurity I was afraid take chances with my God given talents.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not bragging. I'm just saying that I knew then and I know now that God did give me talent for the performing arts. He also gave me obedience. Sometimes, obedience to our parents (Lord, do not let my children read this) can hinder us. There! I said it and yes, I am trembling at the thought that my father is looking down at me saying "Wait until you get up here, young lady". Because of his intention to protect me and my fear of failure, I just didn't pursue my hearts desire. I mean, come on, we all know the percentages, and if we don't what chance did I have of stardom or even a career in acting?

So getting back to the subject at hand, I love my work. Years ago I wanted to pursue a career in Massage Therapy but due to the raised eyebrows of doubt (from all those who still think it's just about sex), I just didn't follow my second dream. So when I say my employer did me a favor and layed me off, really, I'm not kidding. If I hadn't lost my job, I'd still be sitting behind some desk out there in the world wishing I could get out. And though I may not be on a stage, I'm working with people and I love it. Some days I'm able to help someone, who's terribly stressed, into a calmed, relaxed state. Other days I can loosen up a stiffened neck or bring relief to an achy back. I feel privileged to have that opportunity and meet new people. Yes, I do love my work!

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Yahhh, ah, ah, aaawn.........who's idea was this time change thingy?

As usual, I went to bed far to late last night. Don't know why I do it, I just do. Sometimes I'm watching TV, reading, or as my friend Norma could tell you, sometimes I'm on the computer. Norma knows because we often have our late night chats about, you know, the ridiculous. Nothing of any substance, just ridiculous chatter.

So I go to bed at 12:30 A.M. this morning (not last night) so if you think about it, due to the time change, I went to bed at 1:30 A.M. Considering I'm 53 (nearly 54) years old and lack of sleep contributes to a number of wretched things (i.e. wrinkles, difficulty focusing & grouchiness), you'd think I'd know better...wouldn't you? But I kept telling myself, as soon as I finish "this" I'll go to bed. "This" as it turns out, is really nothing because "this" is just clicking, reading, clicking, snooping, clicking, watching, clicking typing little meaningless comments. None of which made a great or any, for that matter, difference in my life.

This morning my alarm either did not go off or, I suppose there's a possibility I just turned it off, rolled over and went right back to la, la land.

Around 7:00 A.M., I hear this little voice "Mom? Dad? aren't we going to church today?". Ugh! You know that feeling of panic that hits you when you've overslept and have someplace important to be? Well, it hit.

I jumped up, ran to the bathroom, ran out, looked at the clock, lost my balance, ran back in the bathroom, looked in the mirror and wondered...who the heck is that?!?! Talk about Scary! Seriously...for some reason I always think that first look in the mirror is gonna be....uhmmm.... I don't know.....different! After 53 years, I'm still amazed at how, how, how...unusual I look in the morning...back to the panic. I'm in that state of not awake, not asleep but moving and of course, I'm not going anywhere because I haven't yet gotten a grip. So I stop and think "what would Jesus do"....no! Okay, I didn't think that. I stopped and got my bearings (not sure what that means, but I think I got them).

We got to church at 8:30; a whole hour later than normal and somehow managed to set up and get through a full rehearsal before 10:00 when the doors open. Not sure how, but we did it.

So, now comes the question: Who's idea was this time change thingy? No matter how much we know it's coming, how much the news reminds us, we tell friends, we hear it at church, we tell ourselves, someone, somewhere still wakes up late (or early) and things are screwed up for some one's day. Do you think God planned this time change thing? Was he thinking, "how long will it take them to figure out they have to set the clocks forward (backward)?" Somehow, I just don't think so. I think we're supposed to adjust to the dark or light. Never know! It might be more fun.................

Saturday, March 7, 2009

It's getting near that time again

I'm feeling it in my bones, the twitch in the legs, the achy hip, the difficulty falling asleep....I desperately need to Salsa! Seriously. I ain't talking about chips and salsa either. I'm talking about one, two, three,...1, 2, 3...or as Desi would say on I Love Lucy.....Babaloo!

It's been a while since I've gone out dancing. I did go with Carlos to a club a few months back but he was singing that night so, of course, I didn't dance. When he sings he dances because it's all part of the show, but me, I just sit and watch. Then he comes off stage and sits and watches with me. Now where's the whoopy in that? Do I love to go see him sing? Absolutely. But geez, a girl needs to get her time in on the floor sometimes, you know.

These days, most of my dancing gets done at home when we're singing karaoke. But do I have a partner to turn me? No! Wanna know why? Because my daughter loves Salsa as much as I do and daddy always dances with her. Why, why, why, why, why her and not me?!?! Just because she's about 70 pounds lighter, 39 years younger and much cuter is no reason, in my opinion, why daddy should pick her over me. But I'll be darned if she doesn't get more attention. Darn kids anyway. Makes me wonder why I taught her to begin with.....and this is the appreciation I get.

I'm sure, about now your thinking I'm jealous of my daughters relationship with her father, Uh uh, wrong. That's not it at all. I actually love watching them dance together. It reminds me of when I used to dance with my dad and he would sing...correction...la rra rra, in my ear. It wasn't singing, believe me. He never knew the words so he did this la rra rra thingy in my ear and stepped on me ever other rra. But Karina doesn't have to worry about that because Carlos doesn't step on toes, he's a good dancer. OH! And then if Jenifer should walk in the room, he dances with them both at the same time; turns and all. Come On Now! Hello! I like to dance too!

Ahh poop. I'm getting myself all worked up. Know what? Just forget it, tomorrow I'm putting on my "Dancing with the Stars Latin Workout" and getting down with my bad 'ol self. Sitting around waiting for someone to ask...hmmm...think I can't dance anymore....right...just wait till I show them.....they'll be begging me for attention......

Sunday, March 1, 2009

i need MORE! i NEED more! I need more!

Seriously, say it however you want. The truth of the matter is, I need more time away.

Juan Carlos and I went to a couples retreat this weekend, except it wasn't for the weekend. It was only for one night. The price was right, the suite was perfect, the speakers were wonderful, the food was decent, the materials fantastic, the amount of time.....NOT enough.

Listen, when you haven't had a vacation for something like 3 years, one night just does not make it. Look at it like this: I worked Friday morning, went home packed and left for Irvine. Met up with the other couples and had a Maahhhvelous time. Laughed till we cried. Went to our room, relaxed and watched a movie (and never you mind anything else). Got up in the morning, ate and went into our sessions. Went to get a bite to eat with 3 other couples. Arrived at home Saturday 'bout 4:30 with every intention of resting, but did I? No, of course not.

Don't get me wrong, it was so nice to get away for even just that little bit of time with my husband but...okay, I'm a massage therapist so Friday as I was re-setting the massage room at the spa where I work. At some point I went into a dream of my ideal spa setting. I pictured Carlos and I someplace like Lake Tahoe; you know, up in the mountains somewhere, a log cabin type massage room BUT with an open ceiling looking up into the night sky; you can see the stars and the tops of the pines while laying on the table face up (would that be cool or what?). Then after your massage, you go into the jacuzzi; another open roof. You feel the cold from outside so you slip into the hot water and Never, ever, ever wanna come out. Of course, your spouse is there with you and your whispering sweet nothings.....hello! Wake-up Marie! Geez....finish cleaning the room.

If I had it my way, we'd still be gone you know. Relaxing, eating, laughing, maybe even a drink or two, what the heck... couldn't hurt! Is it true what they say? No rest for the wicked? Or is it that I just want too much.

I'm going to bed. Maybe I can dream about it and wake up feeling refreshed. Hey, It could happen.....