More and more lately, I fall asleep while watching a movie. While it isn't the worst thing in the world, especially with technology and the ability to rewind these days, it bugs the heck outta me.
It starts with a simple flutter of the eyelids and before you know it, you feel like your on the free fall at Knott's Berry Farm. Thankfully you catch yourself before hitting bottom (of whatever it is your gonna hit in a dream) but not without snapping your head up in a panic. You look around to see if anyone caught it and then go about acting as normal as anyone can who has a fine hairline of saliva just about to make it's way from your chin onto your shirt.
Before you get this gross picture of saliva hanging from my chin in your head, know that I don't drool. No, really, I don't. A few people in my family do (I wont' name names) which is why I'm familiar with the act. I myself witnessed it during one movie I was able to stay awake through.
As a kid, I recall being entertained by my father and uncle as they fell into the sleep zone. It would happen directly after a family dinner. The men, of course, mosey into the living room to relax and "watch a movie", while the women clean up the kitchen (which is another blog all together). They settle in for whatever it is they're going to watch and then proceed to take turns in the zone. It was always entertaining to see the drunken eyed look on their faces as the first person would walk into the room. Their heads would pop up and the eyes would roll back ever so slightly while they made every effort to look as wide awake as possible. This followed by a shift in the seat as if one could not possibly be asleep and shift at the same time, were all the signs that someone was about to snore.
Never, no NEVER in my life did I think I could possibly fall victim to this dreadfully embarrassing act. Yet, here I am 54 years old doing the head flop. It's ridiculous. I'm 100% awake at the moment booty makes contact with the seat, yet within minutes I'm down for the count. There's just no sense to it.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Why be mad when you can be angry. Really Angry!
Last Saturday night turned out nothing like I'd planned. I ended up disappointed, frustrated, mad and then Angry. I'm not really sure if there's any difference between mad and angry but for some reason "Angry" just sounds so....so....so much worse than mad. Mad is child's play when compared with angry. So let me tell my story and then maybe I can put it to rest, once and for all.
My Comadre called a week in advance to invite my husband and I out for a night of dancing. If you know anything about me, you probably know that I was a dancer some time back...okay, so it was eons ago....and I've never, ever gotten dancing out of my system. Don't believe I ever will. I was born to dance. Anyway, I checked with Juan Carlos to see if he was up for the evening and he agreed, it would be fun. Commitment made.
Half way through the week he gets a call...a reminder call; he has a gig Saturday night. Oh, oh. He breaks the news to me like a teenage girl telling her boyfriend she's pregnant. Fear in his eyes, trembling hands, shaky knees. He's committed one of the most unforgivable crimes - DO NOT BREAK DANCING DATE WITH WIFE! He's smart though; says "the gig starts at 6:30, it's a quinceañera and we'll be finished by 9:30 with plenty of time to meet the friends". I agree not to kill him and he suggests that if I accompany him to the gig, we'll be able to meet up with the friends earlier than if he drove all the way home to pick me up. I like it. He's thinking. He's planning. It'll be fun!
Saturday comes, we hop in the car, drive all the way to the valley; a good 45 minutes and arrive at the gig with time to spare. Then we wait. And wait. And wait. An hour and a half later, they do the first set. Okay, we're doing OK. Next set, it's 9 o'clock. Not so OK. It's late and I'm, what did I say? Disappointed. Set finishes and again, we wait. And wait. And wait. I'm now frustrated, border lining mad. It seems there was no contract for this event so there's no end time set for the band and from what I can tell, no one really cares. It's a quinceañera, for goodness sake.
Although most of the party have left, the band gets up to do the last set at approximately 11:30. A far cry from 9:30 end time. So you can imagine, I've gone from mad to plain out ANGRY. Controlled anger, yes. But that may just be the worst kind. The tough part is, it isn't my husbands fault. I really think he thought we'd be on our way, long before. But regardless of what he thought, we're stuck. I'm boiling over and there's not a darn thing I can do about it except go to the car and think mean, bad, terrible things. As if it would help. The time is gone, as is the opportunity to join up with our friends.
We drive home, mostly in silence, while my poor husband try's to make small talk and apologize for something that was out of his control. I know he feels bad but for some reason, it's not enough. I so wanted to meet with our friends and dance. And as we drive by the exit we should have take 3 hours earlier, he says "do you think they're still there, maybe we sh.....", "NO" It's all I could say. I attempt to hide my tears of disappointment but don't do a very good job of it. After all, I really haven't had the opportunity to go out with these friends. It's been almost 17 years since we last went out to dance with them. They all went and I missed out. I know there are worse things and I should count my blessings. I've heard all that and agree, but it doesn't mean it makes it feel any better. Maybe I just need to get over it.
So, I'm going with him to a gig tonight. Problem is, he plays, I watch. Ahhhh....so much for the dancing. Maybe its time to hang up the shoes.
My Comadre called a week in advance to invite my husband and I out for a night of dancing. If you know anything about me, you probably know that I was a dancer some time back...okay, so it was eons ago....and I've never, ever gotten dancing out of my system. Don't believe I ever will. I was born to dance. Anyway, I checked with Juan Carlos to see if he was up for the evening and he agreed, it would be fun. Commitment made.
Half way through the week he gets a call...a reminder call; he has a gig Saturday night. Oh, oh. He breaks the news to me like a teenage girl telling her boyfriend she's pregnant. Fear in his eyes, trembling hands, shaky knees. He's committed one of the most unforgivable crimes - DO NOT BREAK DANCING DATE WITH WIFE! He's smart though; says "the gig starts at 6:30, it's a quinceañera and we'll be finished by 9:30 with plenty of time to meet the friends". I agree not to kill him and he suggests that if I accompany him to the gig, we'll be able to meet up with the friends earlier than if he drove all the way home to pick me up. I like it. He's thinking. He's planning. It'll be fun!
Saturday comes, we hop in the car, drive all the way to the valley; a good 45 minutes and arrive at the gig with time to spare. Then we wait. And wait. And wait. An hour and a half later, they do the first set. Okay, we're doing OK. Next set, it's 9 o'clock. Not so OK. It's late and I'm, what did I say? Disappointed. Set finishes and again, we wait. And wait. And wait. I'm now frustrated, border lining mad. It seems there was no contract for this event so there's no end time set for the band and from what I can tell, no one really cares. It's a quinceañera, for goodness sake.
Although most of the party have left, the band gets up to do the last set at approximately 11:30. A far cry from 9:30 end time. So you can imagine, I've gone from mad to plain out ANGRY. Controlled anger, yes. But that may just be the worst kind. The tough part is, it isn't my husbands fault. I really think he thought we'd be on our way, long before. But regardless of what he thought, we're stuck. I'm boiling over and there's not a darn thing I can do about it except go to the car and think mean, bad, terrible things. As if it would help. The time is gone, as is the opportunity to join up with our friends.
We drive home, mostly in silence, while my poor husband try's to make small talk and apologize for something that was out of his control. I know he feels bad but for some reason, it's not enough. I so wanted to meet with our friends and dance. And as we drive by the exit we should have take 3 hours earlier, he says "do you think they're still there, maybe we sh.....", "NO" It's all I could say. I attempt to hide my tears of disappointment but don't do a very good job of it. After all, I really haven't had the opportunity to go out with these friends. It's been almost 17 years since we last went out to dance with them. They all went and I missed out. I know there are worse things and I should count my blessings. I've heard all that and agree, but it doesn't mean it makes it feel any better. Maybe I just need to get over it.
So, I'm going with him to a gig tonight. Problem is, he plays, I watch. Ahhhh....so much for the dancing. Maybe its time to hang up the shoes.
Friday, May 22, 2009
If I could put time in a bottle....la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
I'd market the stuff! Isn't it terrible how time really does fly?Reminds me of when I was a kid. I'd hear my parents say "time passes too quickly". "What the heck does that mean?" I'd think to myself. I mean, I understood the meaning, I just didn't understand the literal reality behind the phrase. As a kid, you really cannot grasp the concept or essence of time.
If you tell a child to go to bed because it's late, they might do as they're told, but it isn't because they're in agreement or understand what late is. Eleven o'clock is no different than 9 o'clock. Five minutes could be an hour as far as they're concerned. Time means nothing.
We all went for a ride in the back of a car when we were kids. We've seen commercials, movies and heard our own children ask that famous question "are we there yet". If you say to them "5 hours more", 20 minutes later they're asking "has it been 5 hours yet", are they not?
So my question is, is it better to be an adult and know how much you can accomplish within a certain period of time, or, like me, would it be better to play ignorant and act as though you have absolutely no concept of time so that when the house doesn't get clean, the errands are not run and dinner is not ready you have the excuse that you thought you still had time?
Just wondering what excuses you all use when you just plain don't feel like being responsible. Let me know....I'm desperate!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Roses in bloom
Stupid thorns! Sorry, I just had to get it off my chest. Monday was the day to prune the rose bushes. Juan Carlos and I went out to the back to do some work on the yard and work we did.If you know us and have been to our back yard, you know very well, we don't do a whole lot to make it look good. The only reason I can give is that our cute little MONSTER pups took the thrill away when they decided it would be cheaper to get to China by digging their way there instead of paying for an airline ticket. Time and again we tried to educate them in the ways of back yard beautification but being the MONSTERS they are, they merely dug in deeper.
Then came the pool. The pool only made it through two Summers. You may or may not be asking why, I'm gonna tell you anyway. The pool was a fight saver. It kept the kids busy during those long summer vacations. They may not have seemed long to the kids, but for us adults it was an eternity that is, until we purchased the pool. The fighting subsided and appetites went up but aside from a couple of hair brain ideas of jumping into the pool from a still moving swing seat, everyone was happy. (I can still hear harps and angels voices when I think about it) After the 2nd Summer we took it down and set it to the side to make sure all the water had drained. Penny (aka Penelope Ann) decided it looked quite tasty and well....made a meal of it. I'm not sure if she ever swallowed and quite frankly, had no desire to look for evidence. Not in a million years. Whether she did it out of hunger or fun, I'll never know. I only knew we were out of a pool.
If you've ever put up a pool, you know it leaves a big round dirt dip in the ground because it kills the grass under it. So there we were with what otherwise might have looked like an alien space ship landed in our back yard while we were sleeping. I considered calling the press thinking we might make the front page of the local newspaper if it hadn't been for my concern that they'd send out an investigative reporter and he'd discover pool pieces in where I refused to look.
Then came the gofers. Since the girls gave up on their trip to China, they found other reasons to dig. It took us a while to figure out why they would bark and stamp their feet on the ground. At first I thought it was some type of tribal dance and immediately started looking for a animal talent scout. However, after a few days of finding very large holes in the back yard. We soon discovered we had company. Thank God for experienced neighbors who educated us in the way of getting the pesky little creatures to move on to other grounds. The digging stopped.
And just when you thought I'd forgotten about the roses. It hasn't been all that long since they've been pruned but I have to admit, my fight to keep the yard looking like a million bucks dissipated along with the lawn. It's now become something we do because we have to.
Alas! Just when all desire was gone, the lawn mower gave out which forced us to purchase a new one. And you know all it takes is one step inside the garden area of any home improvement center when visions of castles and green islands dance in your head. All I can say is, get me working quickly, because if I think about it too long before actually getting started, I can promise you, roses or not, it will not happen.Sunday, May 17, 2009
Darn Dogs!
I can't tell you how many times I've asked the dogs to pick up their poop. Stubborn headed creatures, these. They just sit there and look at me like they have no idea what I'm talking about when I know darn well they do. 
Muñeca, probably the smartest of the three, barks at me. She gets that look on her face like, "don't tell me what to do" and then proceeds to bark at me like some teenagers do when they talk back to their parents. What's more, she stamps her two front feet at me. Can you believe that!
Penny, five going on 2, always has a "dahhh.... what?" look on her face. I don't really think she can help it. She's just plain dumb. Somewhere along the line she lost any sense of intelligence. She's the one that runs after the dog whose running after the ball. Then because she's big enough and strong enough, takes the ball out of the other's mouth and drops it in front of me so she can play chase the dog again. Poor Penny, I think she may have been dropped on her head as a pup.
Payton. Hmmm, what can I saw about Payton except that I threaten to lock her up daily. She's our yapper. Suffering from "Little Dog Syndrome". She barks for EVERYTHING! She truly gets on my nerves. I try to talk sense into her but I'm not sure it's possible. Maybe she's just too little to have a functional brain...then again, it may be she knows exactly what I'm saying and plays dumb to escape the task.
All I know is, I'm tired of picking up poop. No one picks up mine.
Muñeca, probably the smartest of the three, barks at me. She gets that look on her face like, "don't tell me what to do" and then proceeds to bark at me like some teenagers do when they talk back to their parents. What's more, she stamps her two front feet at me. Can you believe that!
Penny, five going on 2, always has a "dahhh.... what?" look on her face. I don't really think she can help it. She's just plain dumb. Somewhere along the line she lost any sense of intelligence. She's the one that runs after the dog whose running after the ball. Then because she's big enough and strong enough, takes the ball out of the other's mouth and drops it in front of me so she can play chase the dog again. Poor Penny, I think she may have been dropped on her head as a pup.
Payton. Hmmm, what can I saw about Payton except that I threaten to lock her up daily. She's our yapper. Suffering from "Little Dog Syndrome". She barks for EVERYTHING! She truly gets on my nerves. I try to talk sense into her but I'm not sure it's possible. Maybe she's just too little to have a functional brain...then again, it may be she knows exactly what I'm saying and plays dumb to escape the task.All I know is, I'm tired of picking up poop. No one picks up mine.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
And a good time was had by all......
I got home at 3:30 a.m. this morning. That's how much fun the reunion was with my high school girlfriends.
If you read my pre-reunion post, you might remember how concerned I was with my current state of appearance. Of course most of that post was merely mocking how we sometimes worry about what people will think of our aging selves. And then again, a bit of it was out of truth. I'm not quite as shallow as my post reads...or am I? Lord, I hope not.
I was late to the event. Last to arrive, last to leave. It so happened that the spa (my place of employment) was overbooked with beauty treatments of every nature. Daughter's taking mother's for a day of pampering and husbands treating wives to what they know they so deserve. So after my last appointment, I drove as quickly, as I legally could, home for a quick shower and change before meeting up with the girls.
On my way home I get a call from my husband, pleading with me to deliver a laptop to his first "gig" of the evening. A friend "needs it" and is leaving for a trip out of country. "But I....honey, but I.....tonight is my....okay! I'll be there in a while". So much for being on time to the reunion that started at the same time I walked out of my job.
And as if that's not bad enough, my 14.11 year old sends me a text "Jenifer took me". And I'm saying to myself, "Jenifer took me where?...Jenfier took me what?...WHAT? What is she saying?" Thank the good Lord for blue tooth capabilities, I made several calls (you know I wouldn't be texting while driving....Come On! It's illegal!). Turns out Jenifer gave her a ride to her friend Amber's house where the whole group of pimply faced, hormone ridden teenagers will be rehearsing the waltz for Amber's quinceañera. Oh joy! The dilemma now is that she will need a ride home. I send several texts and place several calls to find that she has no ride home and although I had asked that she have this all worked out and invite a girlfriend to come spend the evening with her....somehow it's back on me. You're surprised aren't you.
Unfortunately for my daughter, this was all resolved by my getting impatiently angry and actually yelling at her on the phone "Just take care of it! How often do I go out and did I not ask you to make arrangements?", silence followed by guilt! I'm a bad mommy. Jenifer, sitting in the next room over getting ready for a night out with her boyfriend, walks in and say's "mom, just go and have a good time, I'll take care of Karina".
So I leave my house with frustrated guilt and one side stop before the reunion. I could go on and tell you how I had to drive back and forth, due to a lack of parking space at my husbands gig and bla, bla, bla....but that's way too far off subject.
I finally arrive at the party 8 o'clockish. Yes, two hours late. By now, everyone has eaten and ready to party. I feel cheated, but, life happens. We take a few pictures and gather in the tv area where we commence to swap stories old and new. While sitting there listening I realize how much we'd all gotten to know each others families. Although the years have come and gone, we've somehow managed to keep in touch. Lives have changed in more ways than we ever thought imaginable but we still care and share concern for one another. We remember each others mom's and dad's, uncles and aunties, brothers and sisters and let us not forget ex's. We laugh with, at and for each other. And of course, no reunion would be worth the drive if we didn't talk about the ridiculous situations we got ourselves into and out of. Isn't that what youth is for anyway.
Last time I looked it was 10:45, it's now 2:45....we hate to leave, but we are tired. Our eyes show it much more now then they did even 10 years ago. So we make promises to get together more often. I hope we do....we've already got a date lined up for June and I can't wait. These girls are like sisters to me. Crazy sisters true, but sisters none the less.
If you read my pre-reunion post, you might remember how concerned I was with my current state of appearance. Of course most of that post was merely mocking how we sometimes worry about what people will think of our aging selves. And then again, a bit of it was out of truth. I'm not quite as shallow as my post reads...or am I? Lord, I hope not.
I was late to the event. Last to arrive, last to leave. It so happened that the spa (my place of employment) was overbooked with beauty treatments of every nature. Daughter's taking mother's for a day of pampering and husbands treating wives to what they know they so deserve. So after my last appointment, I drove as quickly, as I legally could, home for a quick shower and change before meeting up with the girls.
On my way home I get a call from my husband, pleading with me to deliver a laptop to his first "gig" of the evening. A friend "needs it" and is leaving for a trip out of country. "But I....honey, but I.....tonight is my....okay! I'll be there in a while". So much for being on time to the reunion that started at the same time I walked out of my job.
And as if that's not bad enough, my 14.11 year old sends me a text "Jenifer took me". And I'm saying to myself, "Jenifer took me where?...Jenfier took me what?...WHAT? What is she saying?" Thank the good Lord for blue tooth capabilities, I made several calls (you know I wouldn't be texting while driving....Come On! It's illegal!). Turns out Jenifer gave her a ride to her friend Amber's house where the whole group of pimply faced, hormone ridden teenagers will be rehearsing the waltz for Amber's quinceañera. Oh joy! The dilemma now is that she will need a ride home. I send several texts and place several calls to find that she has no ride home and although I had asked that she have this all worked out and invite a girlfriend to come spend the evening with her....somehow it's back on me. You're surprised aren't you.
Unfortunately for my daughter, this was all resolved by my getting impatiently angry and actually yelling at her on the phone "Just take care of it! How often do I go out and did I not ask you to make arrangements?", silence followed by guilt! I'm a bad mommy. Jenifer, sitting in the next room over getting ready for a night out with her boyfriend, walks in and say's "mom, just go and have a good time, I'll take care of Karina".
So I leave my house with frustrated guilt and one side stop before the reunion. I could go on and tell you how I had to drive back and forth, due to a lack of parking space at my husbands gig and bla, bla, bla....but that's way too far off subject.
I finally arrive at the party 8 o'clockish. Yes, two hours late. By now, everyone has eaten and ready to party. I feel cheated, but, life happens. We take a few pictures and gather in the tv area where we commence to swap stories old and new. While sitting there listening I realize how much we'd all gotten to know each others families. Although the years have come and gone, we've somehow managed to keep in touch. Lives have changed in more ways than we ever thought imaginable but we still care and share concern for one another. We remember each others mom's and dad's, uncles and aunties, brothers and sisters and let us not forget ex's. We laugh with, at and for each other. And of course, no reunion would be worth the drive if we didn't talk about the ridiculous situations we got ourselves into and out of. Isn't that what youth is for anyway.
Last time I looked it was 10:45, it's now 2:45....we hate to leave, but we are tired. Our eyes show it much more now then they did even 10 years ago. So we make promises to get together more often. I hope we do....we've already got a date lined up for June and I can't wait. These girls are like sisters to me. Crazy sisters true, but sisters none the less.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Girls Night
It'll be here soon. I'm referring to "Girls Night" with my high school girlfriends. Anything could happen you know and that kind of scares me but I'm going anyway.
It's been 36 years since we graduated from El Rancho High School. Could that be! I actually had to take the calculator out and double check my numbers because it just seems like an impossibility. I'm so young, I'm so energetic and good looking and in great physical shape and...did I mention...a liar! Ok, so maybe I'm not any of those these days but I've got to come up with something to make me feel good because 36 years out of High School is painful.
I look in the mirror sometimes and wonder who the heck that woman staring back at me is. I wonder where the tire around my mid-section came from cause it ain't rubber. And I wonder if there isn't some kind of magic pill to make me look better. I did just see a web-site that promises, if you purchase and use their product you'll look younger. I had to stop the video because I was beginning to believe it might be true.
I work in a day spa and our estheticians swear by a particular line of skin care, micro current and microdermabrasion treatments. They promise renewal of the skin and wrinkle removal. Could it be? Do I dare? How much?
I've got one day from now until Saturday night to look good. To look like life is treating me well. To look like I'm all that I can be....OR....I could be honest. Naw....I'm gonna start working out right now.
I'll burn as many calories as I can, drink a ton of water, eat nothing but carrots, go to a sauna, have liposuction, a tummy tuck (a boob job while I'm at it), wear clothes that are too big, say I'm suffering from a rare disease...whatever it takes!
Or then again, I can just hope everyone else looks worse than I do.
It's been 36 years since we graduated from El Rancho High School. Could that be! I actually had to take the calculator out and double check my numbers because it just seems like an impossibility. I'm so young, I'm so energetic and good looking and in great physical shape and...did I mention...a liar! Ok, so maybe I'm not any of those these days but I've got to come up with something to make me feel good because 36 years out of High School is painful.
I look in the mirror sometimes and wonder who the heck that woman staring back at me is. I wonder where the tire around my mid-section came from cause it ain't rubber. And I wonder if there isn't some kind of magic pill to make me look better. I did just see a web-site that promises, if you purchase and use their product you'll look younger. I had to stop the video because I was beginning to believe it might be true.
I work in a day spa and our estheticians swear by a particular line of skin care, micro current and microdermabrasion treatments. They promise renewal of the skin and wrinkle removal. Could it be? Do I dare? How much?
I've got one day from now until Saturday night to look good. To look like life is treating me well. To look like I'm all that I can be....OR....I could be honest. Naw....I'm gonna start working out right now.
I'll burn as many calories as I can, drink a ton of water, eat nothing but carrots, go to a sauna, have liposuction, a tummy tuck (a boob job while I'm at it), wear clothes that are too big, say I'm suffering from a rare disease...whatever it takes!Or then again, I can just hope everyone else looks worse than I do.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Hawaii fo sho.....
So about a week ago, a very interesting thing happened. Juan Carlos left for work in the morning, nothing unusual, calls me around 10 o'clock a.m. or so and says "I might be going to Hawaii". I'm thinking "Whatever!".Understand, Juan Carlos absolutely loves to travel. Well, who doesn't? But, he looks for every excuse to travel. Work, a gig, a family problem, a possible business venture, toothache...you name it. The interesting part of this is, when I met him he hadn't been back to Costa Rica for years. Really. He arrived in California when he was 16-17 years old. When we met he was about 29-30 with about 13 years in the Los Angeles area. He said to me "As long as you're with me, you won't be taking any vacation." (A little sure of himself, don't you think?) To which I quickly responded "Ah, you may not be taking vacation, but I promise you, I will". Seventeen years later Mr. "I might be going to Hawaii" has another thing coming if he thinks I'm not in on it.
I didn't say "that's what you think", "over my dead body", "you better 'might' again"...I just kept my cool. And I think it was that special shade of cool that gave him a clear understanding that he was not going to Hawaii without me.
Next day, phone rings again; "So....you wanna go to Hawaii or what do you think?". Aha! Cool is working...I say's to him I say's "how long", still playing the cool. "Three days", he answers. I'm thinking I have a buy one, get one free airline ticket but I'll be a donkey's momma if I'm gonna use that thing for 3 days.
Day three, phone rings; "So, you wanna go to Hawaii for 9 days, free condo, free car". Now we're talking. "Sure...." still maintaining my cool because if it ain't broke, don't fix it. If I can get from "I might be going" to "so you wanna go...", I'm hanging on to every shade of cool I own.
Now for the bad news. I have 30 pounds to lose in a month and a half....okay, how's about 5 pounds?....Oh, Man! I hate going knowing I'm waaaay over the legal weight but you know what? I'm going to Hawaii! Ohhhh Yes!
Monday, May 4, 2009
Happy Birthday Juan Carlos Boza....Happy Birthday to you!
Cinco de Mayo around our house really is party time. And it has absolutely nothing to do with Cinco de Mayo as everyone else knows it. It's Juan Carlos' birthday and oddly enough, he got a slow start on it this year.Typically he starts reminding us of his upcoming birthday at least a month in advance. This year, for some reason, he hasn't talked much about it. Could it be the added years that have slowed the reminders, or is it just the busyness around the house and studio? Not sure, but as you can see, May 4th was a pre-birthday dinner.
Karina and I went to visit my Comadre, Debbie, and left the house without making dinner. Sorry guys. Upon our return, I walk into the house to the smell of shrimp on the barbi. And to my surprise, there's our friend and fellow musician Oswald Bernard cooking for the boys. He's been promising to cook for us for some time now because he joins us for dinner frequently and maybe feels like I may not like it. But it doesn't bother me, he's family.
Unfortunately for me, I don't eat seafood so I just sat and watched. Well, the boys seemed to enjoy the meal and I got out of cooking. Of course, I did get the pleasure of cleaning up but I'm not complaining, I got a little time away from the house and a night free from the stove. Maybe I should try to put some guilt into Oswald....It's nice having someone else cook for a change.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Doomed to be bruised?
A few weeks ago while looking for keys, or something or other, I pulled the little drawer open where we often throw "stuff". It's a very small drawer so only small "stuff" goes in. I don't even recall the object we were looking for but I do remember it was imperative that we find it as quickly as possible.
With Juan Carlos and Karina standing by waiting to see if our missing object might turn up in that tiny little drawer, I quickly yanked it open to have a peek. Unfortunately for me, the drawer came all the way out of the slot and during one of those rare times when I have no shoes on, it fell smack onto the big toe of my right foot.
Tears, minutes and a bruised toe later we all agreed that the "missing object" was not in the drawer and that I should have shoes on. A little to late to make a difference, but I've been wearing shoes in the house since. I'm not one to go barefoot all that often anyway but if that day was the day to begin a new habit, it was quickly broken.
A few days later while at work, I stooped to pick something up and upon straightening back up, quickly found that a door had opened above me. The crack I heard on my head sounded much like that of a bat to a ball and the pain that followed was enough to bring tears to my eyes, again.
Sound like I'm on a roll? I am.
The door to our bedroom bath slides into the wall when opened. I suppose it was made that way in an effort to avoid having two doors in the same area. I neither like or dislike the sliding door...well, not until today, anyway because if you haven't already guessed....Strike Three! I pushed the door open and somehow the middle finger of my right hand managed to jam right between the door and the wall. Can you say OUCH!
Once again, I find myself bent over, teared and bruised. I'm beginning to think I'm just doomed to be bruised. There has got to be some way of protecting myself from a life of tears and pain but I'm not yet ready to lock myself away in my bedroom and be waited on like a princess, or queen, or famous actress or royalty....wait....what am I talking about...those are so descriptive of who I am. Quickly! Someone bring me some caviar!
With Juan Carlos and Karina standing by waiting to see if our missing object might turn up in that tiny little drawer, I quickly yanked it open to have a peek. Unfortunately for me, the drawer came all the way out of the slot and during one of those rare times when I have no shoes on, it fell smack onto the big toe of my right foot.
Tears, minutes and a bruised toe later we all agreed that the "missing object" was not in the drawer and that I should have shoes on. A little to late to make a difference, but I've been wearing shoes in the house since. I'm not one to go barefoot all that often anyway but if that day was the day to begin a new habit, it was quickly broken.
A few days later while at work, I stooped to pick something up and upon straightening back up, quickly found that a door had opened above me. The crack I heard on my head sounded much like that of a bat to a ball and the pain that followed was enough to bring tears to my eyes, again.
Sound like I'm on a roll? I am.
The door to our bedroom bath slides into the wall when opened. I suppose it was made that way in an effort to avoid having two doors in the same area. I neither like or dislike the sliding door...well, not until today, anyway because if you haven't already guessed....Strike Three! I pushed the door open and somehow the middle finger of my right hand managed to jam right between the door and the wall. Can you say OUCH!
Once again, I find myself bent over, teared and bruised. I'm beginning to think I'm just doomed to be bruised. There has got to be some way of protecting myself from a life of tears and pain but I'm not yet ready to lock myself away in my bedroom and be waited on like a princess, or queen, or famous actress or royalty....wait....what am I talking about...those are so descriptive of who I am. Quickly! Someone bring me some caviar!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)