You Only Live Once

When I was twelve years old, walking down the hallway of my junior high school, I saw a poster that someone had taped to the wall between two of the classrooms. It was a beautiful photo of the silhouette of a person diving gracefully off of a cliff into the sun-dappled ocean below. The caption read "You only live once, but if you live right, once is enough."

Obviously it made an impression, as I can still recall it in exact detail decades later. So, as corny as it sounds, I got my life's motto from a poster on a wall. But I do actually quote it all the time. In my late teens and early twenties, it was my daily mantra as I woke each morning determined to go out and make my mark on the world. It was responsible for most of the truly reckless decisions I made in my youth. But it was also responsible for most of the more amazing actions I've undertaken in my life. And the older I get, it reminds me to slow down every once in a while, and take time out to do something just for the fun of it, just for me.

It doesn't have to be anything crazy, like say following the sudden childish impulse to kick off your pumps in the middle of the mall and go wading in the fountain for just a moment. (But it was really a hoot watching the astonished faces of passers-by.) It could be just a whim - something spur-of-the-moment like turning around to go back to the Dairy Queen for some ice cream on the way home from running all those errands. Or deciding that the huge blanket fort that the kids are building in the dining room is just so much more fun and will be much more memorable than the china and antique furniture that is in imminent danger from little hands and pillow fights. I can always buy more china - and the antiques were already scratched when I got 'em.

So much more precious than the material accumulation, is the life - the memories, the laughter and even the tears that define who we are, who we were, and who we want to be in the future.

I can't say that I remember that every day. But I try to remember it as often as I can. So that usually, when given a choice between spending a Saturday running errands or spending a Saturday driving through the moutains, finding a trail and striking off to see where it goes for a few hours.....well, the grocery shopping can always wait 'til tomorrow.

I try hard not to think of it as being irresponsible or immature. It's just that I really want to be that smiling, batty old woman some day, cackling away as I tell my grandchildren about some of my more infamous exploits. I always want to be able to look back on my life - as I do now - knowing that I wouldn't change much, even if I could. Knowing that there were those times when I chose the less-travelled path, the riskier route and did those spontaneous things...not because I could, but because I felt like I should. If we do only get to go around once, I'm gonna make damn sure that I had a hell of a good time.

So raise your glass in solidarity. Go directly outside in bare feet and scrunch through the fallen leaves and chilly dew of October. Run around the yard, dance through the trees, sing in the rain, and don't give a thought to who may be watching or judging. Where will those judgements be at the end of your life? Will it really matter what anybody else thought of you?

For me, it'll come down to my family and closest friends - they're the only judges that truly matter to me. And I don't have any family or close friends who don't already accept me for the warped individual that I am.

So what are you going to do just for yourself today? After all, you only live once. But if you live right, once just may be enough.

ROTFLMAO

Okay, I just HAD to share.....

I have a news headline ticker thingy that scrolls the latest AP news headlines on my computer's desktop all day. I have to admit, I haven't paid much attention to it in a long time - too much doom and gloom just isn't good for you.

But I happened to glance up at it this afternoon and as God is my witness, this was a real AP headline scrolling by:

"Woman in Cow Suit Arrested for Running Amok"

I burst into hysterical giggles immediately.....no, I don't know exactly why. But the visual image I got in my head of some silly woman running amok in a cow suit just tickled my funny bone and I had to share. I'm STILL ROTFLMAO (Rolling On The Floor Laughing My -posterior region- Off).

I don't know if it's the cow suit or the 'running amok.' Amok is such a funny word.....

Cow suit........amok.........snicker, giggle, snort...........

Lumpy Butt and Football Crack

So it’s Tuesday night and normally I’d have taken back control of the big TV in our den, IF the big TV in our den wasn’t still broken, awaiting parts for yet another week. You see, on Sundays and Mondays, control is given over to The Man and the myriad of NFL channels showing games on those days.

I like watching the occasional game, especially if it’s a close one and the little guys on the field are really digging in, fighting for every inch. Of course, I don’t always mind the regular games that aren’t that exciting either….it just takes a little extra imagination. For instance, sometimes I find out which team The Man is pulling for and then I’ll loudly pull for the opposing team the whole game. If it’s a really boring game, we’ll put a wager on the outcome. If my team wins, HE gets morning bus stop duty for the next week so I can sleep in.

On other occasions, I start giving the players my own little nicknames – like “Lumpy Butt” and “Tattoo Guy.” Drives The Man nuts. But on those days when it’s a good game, I can just lie on my husband’s comfy lap and cheer along with him – at least until a big play causes him to involuntarily leap into the air with a savage cry, dumping me on the floor in the process.

But this year, that won’t happen. You see, this year, The Man finally made the perilous leap into Fantasy Football. It’s kind of like Football Crack. (As in the illicit drug, not what you see when that really big “Balloon Butt” guy bends over the scrimmage line.) Yeah….it’s a whole new ball game.

Now, instead of being content to simply watch a game and yell at the TV, he sits, remote in hand and laptop computer on his lap alternately flipping channels between three or four different games and following the points on the I-don’t-know-how-many Fantasy teams he’s created as he duels with various of his buddies to out-play them. Or something like that.

Yeah…it’s bad.

And I WOULD make more fun of him as he watches, gripping the arms of his chair, grabbing the laptop to jump up and cheer or drumming his legs uselessly against the recliner’s raised footrest to urge a running back to new speed. But then I remember…

He usually doesn’t say a word the rest of the week when *I’m* jumping out of my chair and shouting about how Gabby’s just not as funny playing a pregnant mother of two girls, or when I’m jubilant that Christina finally has a love interest and we can listen to somebody else complain about their love life besides Meredith. He doesn’t even mind when I’m comparing the pros and cons of McDreamy, McSteamy and McArmy-Guy. Oh, and don’t even get me started on what the heck they’re thinking when they try to woo Sylar to the good Heroes’ side. And Clare just needs to stop whining, too. Jeez, you’re freakin’ indestructible…waah waah waah.

Ummm…what was I talking about again? Oh yeah. Fantasty Football. So anyway, if you’re ever wondering what would be a good day to come hang out with me when I’ve got nothing else goin’ on, Sunday and Monday are a good bet. Just call ahead….I’ll save you some wine.

Vote MOM Party 2012!!

I've gotten lots of great comments about my various ramblings on this new-born blog. Some were posted to the blog and many more were verbal or emailed. Thanks for dropping by and sharing in my insanity! And for those few blogger colleagues who so generously gave me encouragement - thank you!! As soon as I can figure out why my comments won't post on your blogs, I'll get back to you!

Some updates since I last rambled.....

"Z" the spider is no longer a fixture on my front porch. (Yeah, I'm callin' her just "Z" now....as in "Hey Z! How's it hangin'?) She met an untimely demise when 'Terminix Dude' came for the occasional scheduled inspection. To combat my outright terror of anything with that many creepy little legs, I had begun telling myself that she was a spirit guide come to bless my house with good fortune. Sounded good.

So while Terminix Dude was proudly telling me how he'd dispatched the big spider by my front door (and scraping the evidence off the bottom of his boot all over my front porch), I was wondering what that might mean for my Karmic future. (Oh, and confusing the heck out of him when I wasn't very enthused by his heroic efforts.) Rest in peace...pieces....Z.

I've gotten lots of really entertaining name suggestions for my new car! Yay! I was going to list them on here, but I'm afraid I'll miss someone's suggestion and I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings. I'll have to do some research through all the comments, emails, and remembered conversations and get a list on here. So that's coming soon. (I know you'll be waiting with bated breath, right?)

Probably the most commented-on post to date is the MOM Party (Maternal Organization Management) - seems to have struck a chord. As a result, I've thought some more about it, too...

One conversation I've had revolved around the ability of a femlae candidate (and yes, this would be a question for any female candidate - no partisanship) to have a family and successfully run an administration at the same time. My answer? ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!!!

Here's my assessment of the gender war as relates to holding political office: MOMS rule, politicos drool. Why? Seriously, who do you think dressed, nursed, supported, fed, raised the families and took care of everything behind the scenes of every male candidate...ever? Have you noticed that almost all politicians are married? Of course they are - because they know they couldn't do it alone.
It takes a MOM to make sure everyone gets up, brushes teeth, gets dressed, has a good breakfast and gets where they're going on time and prepared. And then she takes care of the kids, the house, the yard, the pets, the class projects, the PTA fundraisers, coordinates all the extra-curricular activities, the doctor visits, grocery shopping - and in today's world, all that is done in the spare time she has in between working to supplement the household income.

Now, I do have to take a step back and tell you that the above paragraph wasn't describing ME. Yes, I'm busy and I work from home, but I am blessed with tons of help - from my robot vacuum, my really, good-guy husband to my saintly in-laws. Seriously, my hubby is very supportive of me and my in-laws are incredible. They live close by so they help with everything from my laundry to chauffering my kids to their various extra-curricular activities. Anyway, I stress that the super-MOM I'm describing isn't me - but you know these women. Many of you ARE these women.

And the ones I know could solve the current financial crisis, negotiate a peace setllement in the Middle East, and balance the Federal Budget somewhere in between PTA and piano lessons. (Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit.....it might actually take until after dinner to really complete all that.) And I mean a sit-down, home-cooked meal by the MOM in question, too - no pizza hut delivery allowed.

As a MOM, who knows many other MOMs and the intricate details of the reigning chaos that they whip into order every single day, I speak with factual assurance that any member of the MOM party would be highly qualified to represent the rest of us.

Any takers? VOTE MOM PARTY 2012!!!

Calling All Mythical Creatures....

WARNING: More venting ahead....

Okay, so I still have a dark, silent hunk of TV hanging on my wall. The amigos at the authorized TV repair shop won't call me back. It could have something to do with the overly-frustrated, sarcastic tone of voice on the messages I've left for them.....or maybe they're just on siesta. But either way, why is it that I should have to BEG someone to let me pay them?

Seriously. I need a service. They provide that service. I will pay for the service. Who's gonna turn down money? (Besides the amigos at the TV repair shop....) Unfortunately, lots of people. For example, I pay a lawn service to mow my grass, trim the hedges and take care of weeds and fertilizing....not because I'm that lazy, but because I'm so exasperated that what takes me three days of back-breaking labor, they accomplish in ten minutes and are off to the next house. I'm willing to pay for efficiency. But while I did finally find a company who actually shows up every week and they do mow and clip and sort of trim......well, I've asked many times for them to do some extra work that I was willing to pay them extra for. But will they do it? Um, of course not. They ignore those requests.

And then there's the phone company, and the cable company, and the many plumbers, fix-its and contractors who you'll call....and call again....and wait, and email and text and call some more.........um, am I not the one waving a fistful of $$ in the air? And then when you DO get hold of them, they'll give you a three-day window of when they might show up. Because I should stop my life to wait for them....and then pay them exorbitant amounts of cash for the privilege. sigh....

So without TV, my daughter has got me reading the "Twilight" series of books by Stepehenie Meyer. To her unending amusement, I'm actually enjoying them a lot. I'm totally sucked in, completely nostalgic for that teenaged girl genre. They're actually pretty well written, though completely predictable if you've ever read the classics...but an enjoyable escape just the same. So I've decided that what I need is a vampire or a werewolf to hang around me, making sure service people (and others I can think of) actually live up to their commitments. If I don't like the response....send out "Toothy" to hypnotize them to my will. And if I don't like the quality of the work, or the price....call in "Wolfie" to help in the negotiation.

Oh, I know I could just hire some normal, human "heavies" to throw some muscle around. But where's the fun in that?

Also Sprach Zarathustra

I've been remiss on my posts - life just gets in the way sometimes (and drowns out the voices in my head temporarily.) But I'm back to share some of my latest musings.

About a week ago, a very large, menacing looking "writing spider" took up residence just outside my front door. One of my mortal fears is spiders - even dead spiders give me the creeps and I won't go near them. So I entered and left my house by other doors for a couple of days, thinking the spider would move on. But no. She's still there. Spins a new, more intricate web every night with that funky white zig zag pattern down the center. I say 'she' because she really is quite a specimen as spiders go. No guy could look so .......regal. Unless it's a metrosexual spider, but I'm getting sidetracked.

Anyway, the spider has been there so long now, and I pass it so frequently on my comings and goings that I felt I should give her a name. And the voices in my head came up with Zarathustra. (I don't know why, I don't question the voices.) But before you think I'm a complete goober, you should know that "Also Sprach Zarathustra" is a very striking musical piece by Richard Strauss. You probably know it best by the version they used as the theme to the movie "2001: A Space Odyssey." ...... crickets........I'm a goofy goober, yeah! So, anyway, Zarathustra the spider is now official.

It's really not that strange if you know that I also call my robot, Roomba vacuum "Fred." Fred is a name that just stuck with me from somewhere in childhood. I had lots of Freds - from the small, green plastic turtle that I built houses for out of shoeboxes, to an unfortunate plant that died a lingering death in my bedroom, and a robot that I built in 4th or 5th grade out of cardboard boxes, tin foil, a string of christmas lights and an old tape recorder. I know what you're thinking.....yes, I built a robot. Why? Because I thought it was funny. And if you'd seen the routine that Fred and I presented to my elementary school class, you'd be laughing too. But I'm off on a tangent again.

I name lots of things - there's two bats that fly over my house every evening named "Spunkernickel" and "Bob." ......I know, right?

And my last car was named Lucille. She followed Esmerelda, Dottie and Lucifer in the automotive history in my driveway. All stories in themselves. But the naming of Zarathustra made me realize that I hadn't yet chosen an appropriate moniker for my new car.

I don't often call these things by the names I've given them out loud, you see. Well, except for my Roomba vacuum.....my whole family calls it Fred. Mostly the namesI give to random objects are between them and me. Oh, and you, now that you've read this. So the next time you come to my house, there's a stick propped up in the right hand corner by the door. It's so you can ring my doorbell (toward the left corner of my door) without disturbing Zarathustra. And if you have any suggestions for car names, well, the voices apparently burned themselves out on "Zarathustra," so let me know what you think.

Unless you just think I've crossed way over the line in my little rubber room. But just remember, you liked me okay before I named the stupid spider........I'm just sayin'.

Whack a Mole...

SIGH!!! Sometimes you have one of those days when you just seem a little "off" and things aren't quite going your way. Then there's the days when the Gods are laughing at you and seem to want to challenge your sanity.......and every once in a while, you'll have a day that leaves you stalking around your house with a maniacal grin and a baseball bat in your hand, just daring the next @%&$^!# thing to go wrong. Yeah. I'm there.

So last night our 50" plasma TV made a lovely "popping the champagne cork" sound and summarily died. My husband and I just looked at each other and sighed resolutely. It's just a Stupid TV after all, and something breaks or goes catastrophically wrong in our household at least once a week. No, I'm really not exaggerating.

And in yet another "they don't make 'em like they used to" moment, we realized the Stupid TV is just a little over two years old....and just out of warranty. Of course.

It's actually not even the Stupid TV that we originally bought. Oh no. When we first bought this house, the furniture layout in the family room was such that only a wall-mounted plasma TV would fit. Or so we told ourselves. It was a great excuse to buy what was then a brand-new phenomenon. (the flat, wall-mounted TV was still rare then) So we happily plunked down an exorbitant amount of money and enjoyed 2 years of plasma TV bliss...until the Stupid TV made a lovely sizzling noise and summarily died. Of course, it was just out of warranty then, too. Oh, and whatever it did to itself, it couldn't be fixed. It had to be replaced. But after weeks of days-long calls with Circuit City (heartless bastards of the universe), they finally agreed to replace the TV.

Our replacement TV was from a completely different manufacturer and was of significantly less quality than the one we'd bought. Not to mention that it cost $6,000 less than the TV we'd originally been sold from the heartless bastards of the universe. But we sucked it up, admitted we'd bought in too early and paid too much, and hung the new, replacement piece of crap on the wall.

Now, just two years later...again...we have no TV. And of course there's no warranty left. And the manufacturer won't touch it. All they will do is to give me the number of a local "Authorized repair shop" - whose answering machine message is in Spanish, by the way.....ummm, no habla espanol, amigos. Come fix my TV. Now.

Meanwhile, my wireless internet router seems to be on the fritz, my 20 year old cat has alternately pooped, peed and puked in my dining room - always waiting for me to get the carpet steam cleaner 2-ton machine put completely away before letting loose the next bout of bodily fluids. I've logged three calls from clients whose websites I built, and whose websites chose today to start acting up. Oh yes, there's more, but I'll spare you. Perhaps I should get some cheese to go with my whine.

Besides, holding up this baseball bat in between my chin and shoulder as I type this post is getting painful.......is it too early for wine? I think it'll go great with my new, rousing version of "whack a mole".........

Vote for the MOM Party!

Okay, I just couldn't help myself....I'm going to write a little bit about politics. Well, sort of.

I am a registered independent. I just haven't found a major political party yet that I can really, fully get behind. Politicians are all liars and hypocrites - you just can't represent any large group of people without pandering to somebody. But I will say that this year's election has got me thinking...

For many years, I've thought that a female president *could* do wonders for this country. I say *could* because it would, of course, depend on the woman. For example, I would never have voted for Hillary - putting aside my personal opinion that her political ambitions appear to be a maniacal, egotistical obsession for absolute power. I simply don't agree that it takes a village and socialist healthcare to raise my children. I can beat them into submission and send them to bed until they stop whining without governmental assistance, thank you very much. But I digress....

I'm not really going to espouse my views of political platforms and platitudes. Instead, I'm going to offer you an alternative:

The Maternal Organization Management (MOM) Party

Slogan: "Don't Make Us Come Over There"

Party Colors: Pink and "baby-poo" Brown

Party Mascot: "Minnie Merlot" the wine bottle of peace

Platform:
RESPONSIBILITY. Take responsibility for yourself, your actions and your future. You're a big boy/girl now - it's time to stop expecting the government to support you and clean up your messes.

HONESTY. Always the best policy. Even when it hurts. Like when I told you that new dress really over-emphasized the junk in your trunk. Or even when it's hard to admit we all rushed headlong into a war with no real plan for an endgame. But we can't just "pull out." Now we have to take responsibility for the offensive we began and help a foreign country regain a dignity long lost. It's not the easy road, but it's the right thing to do.

INTEGRITY. You know your Mama taught you right from wrong. Now stand up for it.

RESPECT. Respect is earned - it is not a birthright. Respect yourself. Respect others. Respect the boundaries, belongings and opinions of others. Your mother taught you manners. Use them. And when you choose to disrespect - whether it be the smallest slander or an international terrorist act, just know that we MOMS brought you into this world, and we can take you right back out if you can't learn how to behave like a human and not an animal.

HEALTHCARE: MOMs will wrest control of national healthcare from the money-hungry insurance industry and give that control back to the individual doctors and patients. Your care should be between you and your doctor. Not the insurance company conglomerates and the Federal government. But speaking of the government, here's something it should focus on:

IMMIGRATION: Close the borders. Summarily deport all illegal aliens from U.S. soil. There have been laws on the books for hundreds of years that provide for the legal immigration and naturalization of immigrants. Get in line, follow the process, learn the language, get a job, and provide for your family. Only after you have become a U.S. citizen and have begun financially supporting the social services can you reap the benefits of them.

SOCIAL SERVICES: MOMs will cut the purse strings on those who would live off the charity of others. Earn your living and earn our respect and support. Able-bodied persons must perform community service according to their abilities in order to be eligible for Welfare and other social support. Only those physically or mentally unable to perform any small task will live off the charity of the American taxpayers. Everyone will be expected to earn their way, to the best of their ability.

ECONOMY: Use the surplus of funds diverted from supporting illegal aliens and third-generation Welfare recipients to pay down the national deficit. MOMs will also take a strong stance on foreign aid - we'll "take care of our own, first." And when we are able, we will absolutely aid our allied countries, who have earned our support and respect.

Yes, the MOM party is tough. But America and her current government are like a wayward child - we just need a firm hand to guide us back to the simple goodness of Mom's teachings. So "do what we say, and don't make us come over there."

We are the Maternal Organization Management (MOM) Party. And we approved this message.

Labor Day Weekend

Neighborhood party at the club house, complete with beer pong and karaoke.......$0.00

Large bottle of cheap Merlot........$13

Having to explain to your neighbors at 1:00 AM how you just took out their mailbox with your brand new car…….. PRICELESS

Um....yeah. So how was your Labor Day weekend? Just click the "comments" link at the bottom of any post to publish your own comments - or just to lecture my driving and make fun of me. It's all good.

Okay, I do have to explain a little....I'm really not a drunk driver. I'm very adamant about not driving when you've had a drink. On this occasion, I was driving about half a mile - from our neighborhood clubhouse to my home. I dropped off a friend of mine in her driveway and I was backing out into the street in a brand new car that I'd only driven once before - the turning radius on this vehicle is much more radical than what I'm used to. It was late, it was dark, and I just backed right over the mailbox...........alright, I am an idiot.

Food of the Gods...

One thing most people learn about me very early on is that I am not a morning person. In fact, I'm not even really human before noon. My husband and my son are morning people. The kind of people who wake and rise with the sun, exuberantly active and ready to seize the day. I much prefer to sneak up on my day, preferably from the cozy comfort of my bed. But even after I'm "up," it may take several hours for my consciousness to begin to register my surroundings. So occasionally, my husband will try and entice me out of my stupor, and his weapon of choice?

Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Glazed chocolate iced. Oh yeah. And in my household of organic when I can get it, no-sugar-added, low-carb and low-fat....well concessions are made for the heavenly manna that is Krispy Kreme......Food of the Gods.

Seriously. No God could possibly expect mere mortals to resist the warm, gooey, goodness that is a Krispy Kreme doughnut. That would just be cruel.

So on those days that my husband waves a warm Krispy Kreme under my nose to coax me out of my walking coma, I mightily stagger up through the waves of semi-consciousness to scarf down one....or three.....along with my bowl of coffee. And afterwards, though I'm not entirely inhabiting the land of the living yet, I can at least function and join whatever plan we've made for the day......until the guilt sets in.

Then I have to go work out to pay pennance for my transgression. And I may just work out five or ten extra minutes....you know, to make up for the Krispy Kreme I'm going to eat as a snack while I'm cooling down from the work out.....

Okay, you're right. I wouldn't seriously work out and then eat another doughnut......I'll skip the workout until tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day......

Look Mom, I'm Bloggin'!

"Would you look at that? She's just puttin' it out there for everybody to see. Like she's all that."

Wheeee! Look at me! I'm blogging. Who'da thunk it?

Okay, so as I bravely venture out into the great, unknown blogosphere, I am immediately faced with a perplexing problem........what the heck do I want to write about? (Yes, I agree. You'd think I would have thought about that before now. But no.)

But as I sit here, pondering the many snippets of not-quite-publishable material that is swimming around in my brain, a TV commercial from the other room catches my attention. What I hear is this (in a deep, monotone male voice), "This is Life Alert. Your presence has been detected. Leave now."

Yeah, that's it. So now I'm laughing. Loudly. When in the other room, my husband who is currently in command of the TiVo remote, rewinds the commercial to play it again. And again. Now we're all laughing. God I love TiVo.

So here's what's going on in my "rubber room" of a brain: There are whacked out criminals ransacking my house and possibly my person when, from the walls, a disembodied voice booms monotonously and tells them to stop it and leave.

Criminal #1: "Was that you, God?"

Me: "Did you hear him? The police are on their way."

Disembodied Voice: "Your presence has been detected. Leave now."

Criminal #2: "Is that all he knows how to say?"

Criminal #1: "Maybe we should bug out, G."

Criminal #2: "At least he's polite."

Criminal #1: "Yeah man. Let's get outta here."

Criminal #2: "Hey, can I have this cookie?"

Me: "Sure. Would you like some milk?....Wait, hold on, I just bought the cutest paper cups. I'll make you some to go."

Okay, I know it's lame. But seriously, what would you expect to happen when some stern dweeb voice starts politely telling the criminals in your house to stop what they're doing?

So many giggles.....so little time.