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Showing posts from May, 2010

BEAVER

When I was a little kid, my friend Becky Mendoza invented a game to play while we were riding on the school bus. Whenever we saw a Volkswagen we had to point at it and shout "Beaver!" I'm telling you this because now that I'm working again I'm driving to and from work every day and I am astonished at the number of morons I see texting, dialing and talking on the phone while driving. I see them in front of me ... weaving over the line ... CAUSE THEY'RE LOOKING DOWN AND TEXTING. I see them ahead of me, driving very slow and holding up traffic ... cause THEY'RE LOOKING DOWN AND TEXTING. I see them on the freeway when traffic is bumper to bumper and hardly moving ... LOOKING DOWN AND TEXTING. It's so mind-boggling that I find myself pointing at them and thinking in my head ... YOU STUPID BEAVER! ... So be careful people ... cause they're out there.



DON'T TEXT AND DRIVE! The life you save MIGHT BE MINE.

I couldn't resist ...

Separated at birth?

MAMA GOT A JOB!!!!!

FINALLY!!! And just two weeks ago I was sitting on my patio, crying bitterly and staring blankly into space after receiving yet another "sorry, we hired someone BETTER than you letters" and thinking to myself WTF ... and in the snap of a finger ... bing, bang, boom ... two years of unemployment and no $$$ vanished ... and there we were, Dan and I ... celebrating my new job by having a beautiful dinner and cocktails ... and I looked at my wonderful husband and told him ... DAYUM ... THIS IS WHAT WE USED TO DO ALL THE TIME!!!!! WE'RE THE "REGULAR" PEOPLE AGAIN!!!

I'd tell you all where I'm working ... but then I'd have to kill you. Let's just say I'm grateful. Happy and grateful.

RE-RUN: An Oldie But Goodie ...

As most of you know I frequently complain about being a pre-menopausal woman. The night sweats, the irritability, the homicidal mania ... however, there is one other pesky little problem that I've yet to mention. Gas. Lots and lots of gas. All I do is fart ... I HATE IT! I just went upstairs and if my butt cheeks separate just a little out comes the putt-putt-putt of a motorboat. When I was a little girl I would do EVERYTHING in my power to hold in a fart. I mean, I couldn't even say "fart" until a few years ago because I hated everything connected to this action. Once when I was little I told my dad how I hated to fart and he told me with deeply serious concern: "you gotta let that stuff go .... IT'S POISON!" I'd rather explode in on myself, thank you. Today, some 40 years later, they come out at will. I have no control over it. 

Try getting romantic when you have gas. I once enthusiastically mounted my husband and out of nowhere ...  well, you can…

Happy Mother's Day Mommy

I initially posted this last Mother's Day as a tribute to my mother.  I would like to wish all the mother's out there a beautiful Mother's Day.  

My mother was a compulsive/obsessive list maker whose house was IMMACULATE. People would come into our house and, upon seeing their reflection in the varnished hardwood floors would marvel and always comment ... "My God! Your floors are so shineeeeeee!"

She took great pride in her home. It was spotless and, as my husband once said, if she could have placed a velvet rope from the kitchen to the living room she would have ... because no one was allowed to "live" in the living room.


Being raised in a home that was kept like a museum was not always easy. My bedroom was a little girl's dream ... beautifully decorated and perfectly kept. Everything was in its place, spotlessly clean and picture perfect. I remember how uncomfortable my little girlfriends felt when they came to visit me. If we were in my room sitting…

The Duck Man and other complaints

It's 4:30 in the afternoon and I am sitting on my patio listening to the water gurgle in the little stream that runs behind my condo (I can do this at 4:30 in the afternoon because I DON'T HAVE A FRIGGIN' JOB) and I just saw the Duck Man walk by. Allow me to elaborate. The Duck Man is a single gentleman of a certain age, probably in his mid 50's, who lives in my complex and every few days, without fail, I see him hurriedly running about with his fishing cap on and the pool skimmer he carries (that thing you use to fish leaves out of a pool) trying in vain to chase away every single duck he can find. He HATES the ducks. Now, if you live in a condominium complex rife with streams, ponds, rocks and trees you will inevitably have to deal with nature's little creatures like ducks and squirrels, you get my drift. He's lived here for 20 years and he has made it his job in life to try to rid this complex of every last duck in existence. How do I know he hates the ducks…