Monday, March 31, 2008

Global Warming

It's over - done - feenished. The pool sports a new face lift. And to think it only took 5 months. Five months of frustration, setbacks and dry tears. Lessons I have learned from this - NEVER-EVER do this again. Life is easier when you hire stuff done by a professional or just a regular old handyman.

We have bright blue paint EVERYWHERE - on the tile floor inside the house, under my fingernails, on shoes, clothes, the outside wall, the pool ladder, the roof of the lanai - even the dog wears a blue tail. And remove this ever lasting paint -OH NO. Like the energizer bunny it keeps staying and staying. Paint thinner removes the surface layer of skin, scrub with soap and water and it turns rough and red but still the blue tinge pokes through.

It's over and I feel relief. Now the task of filling the pool with water rears its ugly head. How many times did it rain when the pool was a work in progress? Let me count the ways (times). Do I think it will rain now the pool is complete and ready to hold water. No way!!! I can see the water bill $$$$$.

What the pool project has done to my mind is represented in the photo. And I feel blessed that we have the only Monet inspired pool in my neighborhood and that we are the only fools that decided to resurface our own pool.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Orlando Magic

I went to Orlando and attened a seminar for work. I stayed in a very nice hotel - not the resort type but still a nice hotel. My room was on the 3rd floor and it overlooked the back parking lot. The view didn't matter so much as I was stuck in a conference room all day.

Early morning Friday - check out day. I went down stairs to find one of those rolling carts that you place all of your luggage on. I know, I always take too much. I really didn't need 5 pairs of shoes, two pairs of sneakers, 2 sets of flip flops for 5 days - whatever!

So I drag this rolling rack from hell up the elevator to my room. If you have ever tried to push one -holding a cup of coffee - you know what I am talking about. The wheels do not work together as a team. One goes North, one goes South, one twirls around like a dog chasing its tail and the other one is stuck and never moves.

I get to the door, spill a little coffee down the front of my white shirt and knock softly on the door. I know my roommate is up. No answer. Perhaps she is still in bed. I knock a little harder. No answer. She could be in the shower. My knock is now insistent. I add a little sound to my knock. The coffee spills all over. Now, I know she is just being spiteful.

I look up for some odd reason and I see room number 221. OMG!!! I'm on the wrong floor and at the wrong room and it's 5 AM in the morning. I drop the coffee cup on the carpeted floor and race down the hallway to the elevator - leaving the one and only rolling cart in front of their door. Two sprints away from room 221 I hear the door squeak open. I keep on moving and don't look back.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Things that make you think or not.

#Why are round pizzas put in a square box?

#Can you cry underwater?

#If you have cured ham, what disease did it have?

#If sandwich bread is square why is most luncheon meat round?

Back to thinking outside the box again. Perhaps this is why I prefer to think inside the box - I know my parameters. When I am inside the box I know where to go and my imagination can go beyond reasoning all while still inside the box.

Off for a week of box will be closed.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Happy Marriage and Low Blood Pressure

I keep reading these articles about happy marriages and low blood pressure. So, WHY is my blood pressure off the charts with medication? Does this mean that I live in an unhappy marriage? At the moment I would call it extremely chaotic and stressful.

It started back in November and now it's almost April - that would be 5 months of FRUSTRATION!!! The pool. Or shall I say the refurbishing of the pool. It may be the death of both of us.

Some women are married to romantics, organizers, workaholics, bums, cheaters and then we have the 'Do It Yourselfer'. That's the one I chose to spend my life with. We NEVER - NEVER - hire anything done by someone else. We do it ourselves - even IF we don't have a clue as how or what to do.

That's where the pool saga begins. It has been a nightmare since the onset. Rain - rain - more rain, broken equipment and anything else that could possibly go wrong - HAS.

Today we started the actual painting. Was there rain in the forecast? NO!!! Did it rain? YES!!!!

We chose a brilliant Robin's Egg Blue for the color and then the rain began (in earnest) and made wonderful streaks down the walls of the pool. Actually it reminds me of a Monet painting. So on the positive side - who else in this crazy world has a Monet style painted pool?

I guess I'm lucky to be wed to a real 'Do It Yourselfer'. So why doesn't my blood pressure go down?

Thursday, March 20, 2008

sell on ebay

I've decided to sell my soul - put it online at ebay and sell it to the highest bidder.
Should I place a reserve bid on it?
What is a soul worth?
What if no one bids on it?
What is the category for souls?
What should the shipping charges be?
What if someone buys it and then wants to return it?

I figure if someone can sell a cornflake, a grilled cheese sandwich or a human bone on ebay - I can sell my soul. Perhaps I can become a 'power seller' on ebay or a distributor of lost souls or franchise my business. If I sold my soul I could afford gas for my car, my prescriptions, my home owners insurance (in Florida) and sidestep home foreclosure.

My favorite movie is 'Oh Brother Where Art Thou?' and the guitar player Tommy or Robert, whatever his name is (you'd think being my favorite movie I would remember names) sold his soul to the devil to be able to play a guitar. I'm not asking for super talents or to live forever - I'm just looking for a way to cash in during this recession (not - by some) we are having. Times are tough and one needs to improvise to survive.

How much would you pay for a soul?
Would you sell your soul?

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

The Posse was assembled last night. All the troops came forward - at the same time. What a great choreographer he is. They rallied around for support, empathy (if they know what that is) and the roast. A very negative roast.

The poor girl was ripped to shreds by the verbal assault of the posse. Words illuminated her to neon glowing lights. Her 'my one and only' status was toppled and left in a crumbled pile of ruin. Phone calls were unanswered as the posse discussed her downfall.

Kicking stones, pacing a few slaps on the back and many gutter words spilled over into the street. I hunkered down inside wondering -what are the neighbors thinking? I suggested to the posse to keep the level down. They kicked more stones. The mood was dark and depressing.

I understand that you Mr. Wonderful have spent (wasted) 2 1/2 months of your life on this girl - but get over it. Move on. All this drama is coloring my life and not in a positive way.

The posse continued their emotional support for several hours - inside the house. The afternoon matinee for the neighbors was over.

The conclusion - he broke up with her. Oh, how that makes life so much easier when you are doing the dirty deed. The posse left with the dejected teen in tow and life continues.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Bumper Stickers

One single bumper sticker - One short sentence. Just a few words that place a perspective on reality. A vision of truth in our daily lives. An answer to why the world is the way it is. A path to follow or divert from. Run as if the world is melting into Swiss cheese - so much like the moon we have heard about.

The words create delusional thoughts with no regrets. Speculation about eternity swirls within. Questions remain hanging limply against the breeze. One single bumper sticker - One short sentence. And now you know - now you know why they multiply and darken your dreams of tomorrow.

"Hell was full so they sent me back."

Monday, March 17, 2008

The Death of ME

My 2008 goal of - get fit-get-in-shape-get healthy-get-more exercise will very likely be the death of me. Last night I'm doing the walk around the block strutting my stuff. My head is held high, shoulders back, arms swinging at a fairly steady pace (for me) and then - BAM.

I fall off the sidewalk and none too graceful. My vision is blurred by the twilight and confusion. My surroundings have changed. Down I go onto the sandspur filled patch of roadway grass. Cars continue to roll by without a passing glance but perhaps a snort or a giggle. I pick myself up and continue my journey to better health. The limp and searing pain is evident instantly. I pay no mind to my humiliation and suffering.

I limp home casting my eyes downward to watch my steps. My agility always amazes me. Why do I take my spills blocks away from my home turf?

This new goal that I have planned for this year will either help me or ruin me. Tomorrow is another day - I think Scarlet spoke those words or something to that effect. I wonder if she ever fell off a sidewalk while doing her get fit goals?

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Bubble Wrap

You know that annoying bubble wrap that you just can't help but pop and make that terrible noise that sounds like fingernails going down a chalkboard but now chalkboards are obsolete as we now use whiteboards, well there is a new game to pop all that bubble wrap stuff and make noise and perhaps cause you to exit from your chair in a not too graceful manner and tip over that chair, slip and fall and then feel oh so foolish.

Try it.................
Go to this link and keep clicking on the bubble wrap to see how many you can pop before the time runs out. I got 49. This is great!!!

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Doing the Circuit

Sometimes it feels like an insurmountable chore to walk the dog. He could do the 5k but I am only up to the 1k. He needs his exercise which is also his life. He likes to sniff every lamppost and blade of grass and snarl at pedestrians. His focus is off the board.

I understand that he needs more walking time and I need to work on my goal of 'get more exercise'. So I have made a compromise. I walk him on my bike. Actually it's more like a trot for him.

I am completing my goal and he is having his fun time. We've had a couple of mishaps on this new journey. A squirrel darts in front of us and off he goes with me in tow. It's difficult keeping the bike in an upright position when my leader is doing a 45 degree turn at top speed.

We've encountered a couple of unleashed pets on our journey. One little mongrel caused scrapes and cuts to my bod and the owner said nothing. That day I pedaled home bleeding profusely from the elbow and left a trail for CSI.

Bumps are somewhat of a distraction. One bump caused me to connect with a wooden fence. All in all it's been a very interesting activity. Ronster gets his freedom and I am getting my exercise and the environment is getting a little fertilizer. During the ride when he has to go - he lets her rip and little piles of doo line the street. I don't stop. My bad.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Hooked on a Feeling

I just heard on the news that some 'high class' hookers make $2,000 per hour. Wow! I could work like one hour a month and live pretty good. My career choice is so outta wack with these lovely ladies of the night.

I am surprised that big brother (the government) doesn't get involved in this lucrative business. The country would have no deficit if all those 'high class' ladies paid taxes on their earnings.

I've heard about the Mustang Ranch being owned by the government at one time. I wonder if Trigger ever visited the Mustang Ranch? Off on a tangent - again!!! I have difficulty with focusing.

Makes me wonder! Hooked on a feeling. High on believing. A melody from the past.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Lost in Transition

The head count at my house in wayward teenage boys has risen to 3 permanent and several part timers. I can't even discuss my utility and grocery bills. It's not the money so much as the emotional upheaval and unresolved conflicts. The television program the Lost comes no where near the lives these teens are experiencing.

I have made several calls for some (any) type of intervention for these poor lost souls. Guess WHAT? There is none - nada. The response was - "Wait till they are 18 and get into trouble and then they will be treated as adults."


If I was in charge I would intervene NOW and try to help. We toss these kids away as if they were dirty dishwater. We turn our back on them, slam the door and say fend for yourself. They can't. They're immature, irresponsible and still very much kids. Kids that need guidance, love, respect and a safe place to live.

Why do we do this? What does their future hold for them?

Do any of the candidates talk about this problem? No. It seems like it is of little importance to society. If Hilary stated it takes a village to raise a child - where is that village? Send me the road map - I will surely go there.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Alice in Stumbleland

Sur Amboy stood at the edge of the marsh his thoughts swirling like the incoming tide. His life had come crashing down before him and now he was left with questions mingled with dry tears. His heart cried on the inside hidden from view but all out word signs were contained. Sur Parrish was kidnapped most likely by the Queen of Hearts. Sur Amboy wondered if Parrish was safe and unharmed by his evil stepmother?

Days after the almost wedding Amboy and his posse searched diligently for Parrish. Sur Amboy's heart split apart and ruptured his common sense. There was no sign of his love: all trails were cold. His destiny now was to find Sur Parrish and have the reunion that they had planned for so many years. Years of enduring laughter, snide remarks and cruel overtures.

"I will find you Parrish. I will be your night in shining armour. I will not rest until we are together again. I will fight for our freedom and our right to be wed and live happily everafter."
A single solitary salty tear slid down Sur Parrish's cheek. The northeast wind blew the tear into the surf. The crash of the waves onto the sand gave Sur Amboy courage and fueled his outrage with society and the Queen of Hearts.

Friday, March 7, 2008

Friday Nite Confessions

Last week I watched this television program where the wife admitted 'on national T.V.' that she had an affair. The poor schmuck husband cried - right on national T.V. Wow, I bet those rating went through the skylight. So now I find myself in the same drama dilemma. Do I admit to my hubby about ME & Dennis?

What about this relationship with ME and Dennis? How do I describe it? Was it flirting? Or should I read more into it?

It started in the produce department at Sweetbay - our favorite place to be several times a week. Sorta like our 'hangout'. Me and hubby not ME and Dennis.

So I'm standing there drooling (spit and all) over the luscious Plant City strawberries. Oh!!! they are the best!!! I pick the 2 pounder and drop it into the empty basket. Out of nowhere comes the produce man. He smiles and says, "Have a great day."

I respond back, "Thank you, I will." And I move over to the pepper section. Two aisles later here comes the produce man - coming right at me with something in his hand. Did I knock down a display of veggies in the produce section? I'm really good at that.

He thrusts out this bouquet of flowers and says, "Here these are for you."

I'm thinking WHOA - whats up with this? My budget this week is minuscule so I'm thinking I can't afford expensive cut flowers. I think I gave him my dementia look.

He says, "This is a thank you for shopping at Sweetbay today. My name is Dennis. Tell the cashier these are from me."

I thank him and wheel the cart down the cereal aisle. I'm not used to these random acts of kindness. So I work my way up to the register with a cart overflowing with groceries and a busted budget.

I tell the cashier that Dennis said these were for me and there was no charge.

She says, "Sure?" Okay what does that mean? Does she think there is something going on with ME and Dennis? How often does Dennis do this? Did he think my ogling was for him and not the Plant City strawberries? Oh the drama.

So do I spill my guts to hubby - go on national T.V. and tell him there? What was the name of that stupid show anyways? I need to dispose of the evidence of my 'whatever' with my secret admirer. I give the beautiful bouquet to my grandson who gives them to his girlfriend who gets all mushy and weepy.

He says, "Here I bought these for you." So the lies continue.

I begin to put the groceries away and realize how much STUFF I bought. AHAH, it was a marketing ploy to get me to spend more money. And it worked. Do I embellish the saga, get the flowers back from the girlfriend and tell hubby about ME and Dennis?

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Every morning I do my power walk through the neighborhood. It's cheaper than the gym - much cheaper. Actually it's FREE - lucky me. I do have to force myself every morning - rain, heat or shine. At times my motivation level is equal with the road drains.

So off I go this morning in my $125.00 dollar sneakers. They are so comfy - it's like walking on the beach at Siesta Key. I get a few blocks from the house and I feel a tiny tiny pebble in my left foot. Does this mean I'm a Princess because I can feel such a tiny obstacle placed in my shoe most likely by the wicked stepmother of the charming Prince? Oh wait, she placed a pea under a zillion mattresses.

The minuscule object is annoying and uncomfortable. What to do? Go back home? That sounds like a plan. No - be strong I say to no one as I walk alone. I hop on one foot to dislodge the particle. It's probably a grain of sand. That would definitely make me a real live Princess. The hop don't work!

I give my foot a severe kick out to the left. Not a good move. I do a fancy footwork dance down the sidewalk. I'm hoping no one is watching this spectacle. I do the toe walk - then the heel walk. If only there were a bench. I look at the sidewalk. If I sit down to dislodge the perpetrator - will I be able to get back up? HHHMMM!!!! I proceed in discomfort.

Now it feels like the particle is growing. I start to hop and kick at the same time. These are dangerous moves for someone as uncoordinated as me. I see a large palm tree and lean in against the massive trunk. I reach down to remove the shoe and slip slowly face first into the sidewalk. Ouch. The shoe goes flying though the air and deposits itself at the edge of the road drain. I think I can crawl and reach in and grab it. I hear the crunch of tires and see a blur of black pass by. It's Wednesday and it's trash day and the haulers are late and in a hurry to finish the route and they don't see my shoe laying precariously close to the edge of the drain by the side of the road. SMACK. Right over my $125.00 dollar shoe sending it into the bowels of the earth.

I limp back home - one shoe on one shoe lost to the underworld. I look for the gilded carriage to come by to save me a Princess in distress. Or at least one of the seven dwarfs to assist me. At this point I would be glad to see the troll who lives under the bridge around the corner. There is no rescue for me.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Life in a Teacup

Tea leaf reading and me. If someone read my tea leaves they would see it's either feast or famine. At times I am drowning in STUFF. My cupeth runneth over just like when the toilet gets plugged. The toilet runs over lots in our house. Not a pleasant task.

Then I have the other extreme where the tea leaves are dry and lifeless. Very much so like my lawn. Bare spots, weeds, sand spurs and ugly black sand is my xeroscape.
At times my cup is cracked and leaks life sustaining forces that leave me hollow and brittle. As dried up as Crews Lake in Shady Hills. All of life disappeared, gone, missing - the only remnants are a few scrubs and dried grasses. Beating hearts and the shattered souls have limped to purgatory. Held against their will - connections cut - ready to become dust. Dust that blows away silently and softly with the desert winds. The migration of pain explodes within.

There seems to be no 'between', it's - either or. No spring breaks or pleasant plateaus. No calm boat rides down the Peace River. It's barreling down a class 3 rapid on the Colorado River. I went white water rafting once - it was terrifying!!! My life at times is terrifying and then it's thrilling - like hang gliding off of Jockey's Ridge.

Words and lack there of pain my heart. Locked rooms, slamming doors, fences way too high and rivers with out bridges make life's journey a desperate race. Tears and sadness explode without warning.

Add a little water to enhance the tea, perhaps sugar and a little cream to change the demographics and flavor. Become a coffee drinker? I wonder if anyone ever reads coffee grounds? Life is a journey of sensations, manipulations and confrontations.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Size Matters

This story is not even near funny - so please don't laugh. I didn't - honest!! Well, perhaps just a teensey bit, maybe more, like ROFLMAO. Do not try this stunt at home -----------

A certain person - he who shall not be named (hubby) took the car to the garage. It was long overdue but that is irrelevant. He who shall not be named (hubby) caught a ride home. The light bulb burst on when he who shall not be named (hubby) twisted the door handle - locked. Well - DUH. The burning light reminded he who shall not be named (hubby) that the house key was on with the car key that was at the garage with the car. The bulb dimmed.

He who shall not be named (hubby) proceeded around to the side of the house to the doggie door. Yep, the dog door -approximate size 12x18. We purchased the largest size for the German Shepard who tops out at 100 pounds.

He who shall not be named (hubby) needed desperately to get inside. It was time for lunch. Down on all fours like the dog he proceeded through the dog door. At some point he who shall not be named (hubby) became STUCK. You can't get there from here!

Sometime later the neighbor heard the pitiful cries and went to investigate. What a sight for her eyes. I can imagine her never seeing he who shall not be named (hubby) backside, she didn't know whose derriere she was viewing. A robber? A mass murderer? A house jacker?

She followed the correct criteria and called 911. I can just imagine the call. "Hello this is 911. What is your emergency?"
"Yes, I see this butt sticking out of my neighbors dog door and there is a lot of screaming."

I told you not to laugh!!!!

Monday, March 3, 2008

Secret Signs

I feel left out, alienated and not part of the pack. I was totally in the dark - clueless and oblivious to this connection. There's an entire culture out there that I knew nothing about. Till yesterday. You've all seen them roaring by on their big shiny machines, hair flying in the breeze, leather jackets rippling, hands high in the air on the handlebars. Doesn't that position get uncomfortable after awhile?

The sound - very distinct and hard to replicate the sound with words. Sometimes they ride together in packs - sometimes they cruise as a loner or perhaps a rebel. The black jackets, t-shirt with skulls, skullcaps, tattoos, black boots and mirrored sunglasses. Yes, I'm stereotyping.

Yesterday on the way to the Swamp Fest I witnessed a migration of bikers. Who else would attend a Swamp Fest? To be honest - I was on the way back from the Strawberry Fest when I saw the - Swamp Fest Signs. I was curious so I followed the signs. Into the back roads, past the bogs, sour smelling marshes, down narrow dirt roads into Florida's soul and backbone.

I watched the bikers and they had this wave yet not a wave every time another biker passed them. I was amazed. They have their very own communication. It was a low wave with a twist and sometimes different finger moves. I believe the finger movement depended on what type of hog you were riding on. It was like watching a conversation with a mime.

I don't know what they were saying. It's all part of a secret code, culture related and known only to them. I guess I will have to get a bike and ride with the gang to find out the secret codes. No longer will I feel clueless and an outsider.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Crimes of Passion

In the heat of the night -wait it was only afternoon and the temperatures were mild. It's difficult to start a crime story with just ordinary circumstances. One needs drama and suspense to capture an audience. To me, my life is overflowing with drama but when placed into words it seems so mundane.

I'll just go with the mundane and not elaborate. It was a lovely afternoon - not too hot -not too cold - "just right", said Goldilocks or is that what Little Red Riding Hood said? Goldilocks and Little Red are now felons doing time at the big house. Did they commit 'Crimes of Passion'? Well goldie was hungry and tired and helped herself to the spoils of others. Little Red (in some version) killed the big bad wolf and in others had a willing accomplice.

Once upon a time a lovely lady was walking through a private park (admission $15.00) with an enormous array of flora and fauna. Way too much for one organization to have and not share with the public and little old ladies. The golden trumpet flowers were fantastic and their splendor tantalizing. They appeared to be produced by that little old man Rumpelstiltskin. If that's spelt correctly - I believe I win. What I may win is another matter.

The little old lady huffed and puffed and tried in vain to blow one of the seeds down from the top branches of the tree. But they just held tight swayed in the wind and whispered. "You can't catch me I'm the gingerbread man."

The sign clearly stated - 'Please Stay On The Path.' Obviously it was not intended for the little old lady. She followed the tune of the Little Drummer Boy. She came to a fork in the road - and she took the path less traveled and jumped over the solar light that looked like a candlestick.

Now, the little old lady was deep in the forest - alone and off the path. Right there before her she saw the magnificent trumpet vine blooming like an idiot. She was greeted by the landscape gardener who eyed her suspiciously.

"Let's make a deal," whispered the little old lady.

"I will trade you my authentic leather bag (made from a cow) for a few seeds from that there silly little vine."

"Plant them next to your window," replied the Gardener as he rubbed his hands over the faux leather bag.

The little old lady clutched the seeds to her chest and fled away into the night. Actually, it was still afternoon but a thief always flees in the heat of the night. She planted the seeds right outside her bedroom window and lived happily everafter. Not entirely happily everafter because their was a drought in Florida and she couldn't water her seeds and they never grew but she did have a $2.00 off coupon to return to the gardens and she did.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

Theory of Relativity

Well the company (relatives) have left. It was a great time. I'm trying ever so hard sending the brain into overdrive for obnoxious - nit-picky - obscene family related horror stories about their visit. OMG!!!!

There is NONE. What's up with that? All (relatives) visitors have some flaw or annoying habit. Right. Why can I NOT find fault?

Well, Mike did buy that foolish hat at the gift shop. The one I purchased was awesome. And at night MaryEllen did insist on decaf tea. Can I stretch these two instances to a major relative issue?

The cold (and it was cold here) hard truth is we had a great time with the relatives and I cannot find any dirt to compose an epic novel. There is not even enough STUFF to get on the Jerry Springer or the Maury Povich show. Does this mean there is a possibility that SOME of our relatives are normal. NAW - I wouldn't go that far.