Since my last post went over like a lead balloon...

...I will post again.

Just for me.

No longer for comments.

Those days are gone.

Soooo...

I am taking this week off of work (of which I do not reveal what I do for anonymity reasons...yeah, yeah, I'm a very important person in the witness protection program and can't have my identity revealed).

While lazing around the house yesterday with a cold and cough, and quite frankly enjoying doing absolutely nothing, I tuned into the Ellen Degeneres show.

She begins the show with a monologue, and then breaks into dance.

Wow, how great is that?

I turned to my husband (who is also on holiday from his highly confidential job, and sat very patiently with me while I hackingly coughed my way through the day) and said...

"What could be better, I mean really, than to have your own talk show, where you can get up and dance each and every day, with an audience cheering you on, and your own D.J.?"

Of course my husband turned back toward me and said, "why don't you blog about it?"

Isn't that cute? How sweet,huh?

And in that moment it hit me...

this guy has figured out how to get me off his back!

Now that I think about it, this isn't the first time he has gently suggested I go blog about some inane topic.

And all this time I thought he was supporting me in this endeavor, while praising my great writing talents (coincidentally, especially when they are posts about him).

So there you go. After two years of digging into the depths of my brain, cranking out stories from my past and present, the truth is revealed...

Turns out, blogging has saved my marriage. When my husband was frustrated with me, he told me to blog.

When he could no longer listen to my words (I know, hard to imagine), he told me to blog.

When I couldn't stop talking about the same thing over and over, he told me to blog.

Turns out...the act of blogging is more than just a place to express oneself...

Turns out...



Blogging is a marital aide. (you should pardon my expression).

Who needs Dr. Phil when you've got blogging...

Drove my Chevy to the Levy

inspired by Val

It's funny how all of your feminist ideals get thrown right out the window when staring into the eyes of a great big policeman.

Especially when you're 16. Especially when you have just gotten your license a few weeks prior.

There I was, newly licensed, in my brother's "kelly green" '69 Camaro. I had four other girls in the car with me. For those of you who know Los Angeles, you will recognize the exact off-ramp of the 405 Freeway I'm about to describe. The exit is Mulholland. As you pull off the freeway, there are a couple of lanes...you can go left from the left and right from the right lane...makes sense, right?

Sitting in the left lane with my four friends all screaming different things at me..."go left, no, go right, no left, no right"...I finally had to choose. Unfortunately, the last thing I heard was "GO RIGHT!"...and so, I did.

OOOPS! I was in the LEFT turn lane.

And there it was. The thing we fear most. The thing a brand new 16 year old driver fears most. Those lights, the siren. I knew I was "dead".

I pulled over, in my brother's kelly green Camaro. The Camaro that, in this year of 1971, had a huge peace sign in the back window. Not to mention the crap all over the car...a rolling trash can as it were.

The nice, rather large policeman came over to my car, motioning to roll down the window. I began to roll it down, and then it happened.

I burst into tears. Uncontrollably. I couldn’t stop.

The great big policeman asked me a few questions. I answered through my tears. My girlfriends were as still as statues. And then the miracle happened.

He asked me to promise I would never do it again. Hell yeah officer

Of course it was more like “y-y-y-es officer”.

“O.K.” he so generously said. “Then go, and don’t ever do anything like this again”.

And you know what? I never did. Until I was 34, and pregnant with my youngest. I was nabbed doing 40 in a 30 zone. And hormonal. And figured, hey those tears worked oh so many years ago, why not now, right?

So, bring on the tears! Only, this guy? Wasn’t buyin’.

Crap…out came the ticket book…I was doomed to “comedy” traffic school. (which, by the way…NOT funny)

I have never sped down that street again.

Somehow, the picture of a flashing 52 year old with tears streaming down her face, just isn't quite the same as a cute, perky, scared out of her wits 16 year old.

Maybe I'll soon be able to play the "poor old senior" card.

Hey, you do what you can.

Does this make my butt look big?

AWWWWW...the holidays...

CAKE CANDY COOKIES...

EVERYWHERE

And so here is what I am acutely aware of this holiday season...

My derier enters the room about 5 minutes after I do.

Yep...everything I eat goes straight to you-know-where. The cake, candy, and cookies do not pass GO. They make a bee-line for my (in the words of Tyra Banks) "big fat ass".

Now, really, is this such a bad thing? Let's face it...it's worked well for J Lo hasn't it? Kim Kardashian had a whole show planned around her big booty airing on the scholarly "E" network.

So why shouldn't it work for a menopausal, post mid-life, Jewish woman, right?

In fact, I say, a big rear is like wrinkles...they are earned.

With hard work.

Determination.

Getting rid of wrinkles has never made sense to me. Have you seen botoxed women? Their foreheads literally do not move. What happened to aging gracefully? As far as I'm concerned, each little line and wrinkle is a like a road map.

A map that carefully lays out where you have been. The heartaches, the triumphs, the wins and losses, the births and deaths that have boosted up or torn out your heart.

All of these expressed in the little lines that run through our faces.

Wrinkles really are a beautiful thing. They are wisdom, laughter and tears all rolled into one.

And so, I say it's time we re-think the rear end.
It's time to find it's beauty, wisdom, and true meaning.
It's time to stand up and let the big rear be counted.

We must appreciate a large tush for what it really is...

it is a woman's expression of having lived a "full" life.

And so, the next time you realize yours is entering 5 minutes behind you...remember,

it is merely a testament to...

a lifetime of talent, beauty, inner strength, and wisdom.

Enchanted Memories

When I was a little girl, I went to Disneyland twice each summer.

Yep, you read that right...TWICE each and every summer.

Why, you ask? Well, my father, an elementary school teacher, needed to supplement his income. So, he and a fellow teacher, borrowed money, worked hard, and opened a well-respected summer day camp in L.A.

The camp ran two sessions each summer. And each session consisted of various field trips...Disneyland, Knott's Berry Farm, Mattel Toys, and Helms Bakery, to name a few.

This was how I spent each summer, until I turned 10...the year my father died. The next summer, my mother would run the camp with my dad's partner, one last time.

I was reminded of all that last weekend when I went to see the latest Disney blockbuster..."Enchanted".

It is a tribute to all things Disney...and they were not afraid to make fun of themselves. (Of course, putting McDreamy in the staring role, didn't exactly hurt).

Isn't it strange how a movie can take you into the hidden corners of your mind...corners that have gone unnoticed for years.

Movies, just like music, have a way of transporting us to another time, place, or emotion that has gone unexplored for years.

Maybe that's exactly why we go to movies. To relive long lost feelings. To escape to another time and place.

As the movie Enchanted moved along, I found myself giggling like a little girl...enjoying every aspect of this movie. I felt slightly silly. Until I realized that an entire audience was enjoying it just as much as I was. I wasn't the only one finding their way back to a simpler moment in time.

Maybe it's that Disney is a constant in our lives. Always there, always dependable. Disneyland is, after all, the happiest place on earth. Disney characters find their way to the hearts of generation after generation.

Even when everything else changes or falls apart, Disney is always there.

I guess we need to be able to escape to those corners.
We need constants.
We need the things that connect us to the warm, safe places that exist in our hearts and minds.

Even if it's just for a mere 90 minutes.

A little sappy...maybe...but, hey...

Thanks Disney...

for connecting me to memories of my past, and for memories yet to come.

Selling my Soul

Unlike most people, I'm willing to openly admit that I blog because I love the comments.

Oh sure, it's a great outlet. I love digging into the recesses of my mind (which has become quite recessy) and tying the past with the present as I have often done.

I love telling stories about my poor husband, the clutz, I mean PRINCE, uh yeah, that's it...PRINCE.

But without the feedback...it simply just isn't as much fun.

Now, when I first started blogging...I was a complete whore...selling my soul on EVERYONE'S blog just to get people over here to read.

And it worked...you began coming in droves. 10,then 20, then sometimes 35 comments a post would come.

But then...my blogging slowed down for personal reasons...and my posts were fewer and farther between.

The comments slowed down.

And now I'm back (well,sort of)...and the comments are very slowly coming in.

C'mon people, do I have to start whoring around again? I mean really, now I'm 52, not the spry 50 year old who started this thing.

Do you really want me out there "selling" myself again?

I DON'T THINK SO!

So, if you don't want that to happen...you'd better show yourself here...that's right...leave me a comment...

Are you still out there?

When this old world starts getting me down...

(yep, that's my husband)

Last week, as I was pulling out of my driveway, I just happened to look...UP.

Lo and behold, there was Mr. Cruisin atop...the roof.

WTF?!!!!

This is the same man who has fallen off a ladder and twisted his ankle, fallen off a ladder and broken his toe, been knocked in the head while dumpster diving for accidentally thrown away keys...is this really the same man who should be up on a roof?

I don't think so.

So, how was I to drive off, while my husband was up on the roof? Everything ran through my mind...

-Maybe I should bring him his cell phone, so when he goes tumbling, he could call 911 to come scoop him up.

-Maybe I should sit there until he comes safely down from the roof.

-Maybe I should yell and scream at him for going up on the roof at his age, after breaking a toe, and twisting an ankle (which, by the way, he is still hobbling on, but of course won't admit it).

In other words, should I be an annoying, overbearing, controlling, protective wife, or should I be cool, calm, collected?

Well, hard to believe...but I drove off, putting all images out of my mind of Mr. Cruisin sliding off the roof to his doom.

While driving myself to my destination, not thinking about my husband's demise...my cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's me, Mr. Cruisin" (yes, of course he always identifies himself this way)

"Just thought you'd like to know...I'm off the roof".

OH MY GAWD...how sweet was that? Does this man know me, or WHAT?

And of course, in my own cool way, I calmly answered...

"OH, were you up on the roof?...hadn't noticed".

can I quote you?

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

I found this quote today, and thought it quite appropriate for my birthday.

I think it's true. If you can find what makes you come alive (hopefully it's legal and doesn't hurt others)...then what could be better for the world?

We are here for such a short time. It seems that we should really make an effort to be "alive", productive, meaningful, and touch a heart or two.

It's not always an easy accomplishment though, is it?

Have you found what makes you come alive?

aging and ice cream

One
More
Week...
and I have to change my heading again...

Turning 52...Oy

I suppose it doesn't matter, since I have no readers anymore. But, I might as well keep it updated.

Turning 52...Oy

What's changed most is my stomach...no longer nice and flat.

And the changes in my body temperature...I travel from Hawaii to Alaska several times a day (if you get my drift).

Still love ice cream...maybe that's why my stomach isn't flat anymore.

Still love Mr. Cruisin after 26 years of being together (or is it 25?)(whoops, losing memory is certainly a part of this aging thing).

Well, in a week, I'll let you know what it's like to be 52...until then...gonna enjoy the remainder of being a young 51.

"the shoes"

As I drive to work in the morning, depending on what time I leave, I watch the parade of ladies in "the shoes", as I lovingly refer to them.

You may know who I mean. Maybe you pass them on your way to work.

These are the dedicated: "it's-my-break-so-I'll-put-on-my-sneakers-and-
walk-like-a-maniac-around-the-block-time" women.

I admire these women. Not a one is skinny. Not a one is fit. Not a one is in sweat clothes.

But they're trying. Trying to get skinny. Trying to stay fit. Trying to pretend to be in sweat clothes.

Who started this trend anyway? I think it started in New York. Because in New York, you take a subway and then walk another 10 blocks to get to your destination.

Putting on your sneakers (as they say on the east coast...here they are tennis shoes) makes a whole lot more sense than struttin' down the street in your Jimmy Choos, Prada, or Manolo Blahnik's (HA...as if I own a pair of any of those. This is real life, not an episode of Sex and the City).

And these women walk in packs.
And can they talk.
And talk.
And talk.

Maybe I'm jealous of the ladies in "the shoes". After all...they don't have to be skinny. They don't have to be fit. They just have to be willing and raring to go.

And these women bond...each and every day.

I imagine they talk of life and love, of children, and divorce, the latest with Britney, and who got kicked off of Dancing with the Stars, who was diagnosed with cancer this week, and what they'll make for dinner that night, will my husband still love me if I don't lose this weight, will I get that raise, will my children be okay, who will win for president, and do our lives really matter after all.

Women just trying to stay fit, while trying to make a living, and take care of their families, only to wake up and do it all again tomorrow.

And, tomorrow, I'll wake up, drink my coffee, and drive off, to once again witness, but perhaps with a whole new respect...

the ladies in "the shoes".

Look Out Below!

Who woulda thunk that my adorable husband would be the thing to bring me back to blogging on a semi-regular basis.

But, alas, he's done it again.

Here is the back story: My mother, in her haste to get ready for a trip to the east coast, inadvertently threw her keys down the trash chute from the second floor of the building she lives in. Oh yeah, I guess I should mention that she did this accidentally, while throwing a bag of trash away...it's not that she just goes around throwing keys down trash chutes at will.

After receiving the call from my mother, I quickly informed Mr. Cruisin' of dear old mom's mishap.

We were in the middle of dinner when I revealed this information...and my husband couldn't scarf up the food fast enough.

Oh joy, rapture..."let's go dumpster diving!!!"

"Christ", I thought to myself. This man has now totally lost it. When I asked what he was talking about, he replied: "well, it's not as if I haven't done this before".

Now this was an interesting visual. Of course he defended these actions by proceeding to tell me that back in his college days, while working his way through school, there were times that he'd have to dive through the dumpster at work, when something had been accidentally thrown away.

Whew! And I thought he was going to tell me that this was part of his mysterious past in the witness protection program leading to a secret life of hiding in dumpsters.

With flashlight and ladder in tow, we made a bee-line for my mom's condo. We knocked over a few pedestrians on the way...but hey...you can't get between a man and his dumpster.

Upon our arrival, we clandestinely made our way over to the dumpster, which lies behind two big metal doors.

Up the ladder (yes, another f#*%ing ladder) and over he went...into the pile of trash.

With flashlight in hand...he began his search. I stood by as the dutiful wife, ready to puke from the stench.

Suddenly, as Mr. Cruisin was bent and hunched over, there was a strange whooshing sound.
And before you could say "Look out below"...down came a huge, full, bag of trash...

right on his head!

That was it...I was sure his neck had been lopped off, and my prince charming was becoming the headless horseman, right before my very eyes.

He jumped back, I screamed, and all he could say was "shhhhh, they'll hear you".
Oh yeah, this was a good time to be showing discretion and a sense of dignity.

God forbid the alter kockers in my mother's building find out her prince of a son-in-law was actually going through the trash.

Within seconds of Mr. C jumping back (and he did this with his lovely swollen purple ankle)...WHOOSH...down came another bag! And, I might say, with the weight and strength of an anvil that Coyote just pushed over a cliff to land on the Roadrunner.

We might as well have been Elaine and Kramer, straight out of a Seinfeld episode. I laughed so hard, well, let's just say I was no longer clean and pristine.

I spent the rest of the night screaming at him "Look out beeeeeeloooowww".

Well, look at the bright side...Luckily no one decided this would be the ideal time to dump out the cat box.

Oops, he did it again...

No, don't worry, this is not another Britney story.

Well, just a little over a year ago, the following happened:

http://cruisin-mom.blogspot.com/2006/08/toe.html

For those of you who follow the writings of this mostly mundane blog, you'll remember that the amazing Mr. Cruisin' broke a toe while bravely rebuilding our patio cover for the entire summer of '06.

After a year of recovery,(don't worry, unlike his wife, he did not spend a year on his ass watching American Idol and eating icecream)he boldly decided to run some wiring in the ceiling of his office, so his air conditioner might work more efficiently.

As he readied himself to take on the ceiling, tools and ladder in hand, I of course, nagged him about not doing this himself and risking falling off the ladder.

Me: "Mr. Cruisin', you're not the young hunk you once were...perhaps you shouldn't be climbing a ladder all by yourself, you could fall and break something".

Mr. C: "Oh pu-leeeeze...I've been doing this all my life...I don't need help...it's no big deal...what could possibly go wrong?"

ding ding ding...those words are always the kiss of death.

Fast forward an hour or so...

Phone rings:

Mr. C: "What are you...a witch?

Me: "Huh?"

Mr. C: Well, guess what? I was coming back down the ladder, missed the last step, twisted my ankle, and down I went. But don't worry, it's not broken. No big deal...just a bit purple".

So, what's a big-mouth wife to do? I was at a cross roads...should I be a supportive, compassionate wife, or lace into my poor, mis-steppin', old hunk of a man?

Afterall, this scene could've played out so many different ways...a broken hip; a split head; passed out. Hopefully he had clean underwear on, or any underwear on...could you imagine being found by paramedics with dirty underwear?

Luckily, the worst did not happen. A person can survive a sprained ankle...although not easy to get around when your job requires you to be on your feet all day.

But my Mr. Cruisin' never complains...he marches on (so to speak), with nary a gripe.

ME...I'd be wining, complaining, and demanding as much icecream as is humanly possible for one ailing person to eat.

And do you think my husband learned a lesson from all of this?

Of course not...he'll be back up a ladder in no time. Luckily for me...

Purple is my favorite color.

Confessions of an old lady

How do I admit this? Should I admit this?
Okay...I'm going to admit this.

I watched HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL 2.

Okay, my head is hanging low. But, it's true...I watched every last mousketeery, hokey, over-acted moment of the thing.

Why, you ask? Well, I asked myself the same question. Over and over for 2 hours... while I sat glued to the television (well, except for the time I had to get up and refill the ice cream bowl).

What was so appealing to this almost 52 year old, flashingly menopausal woman that allowed me to give up 2 hours on a Friday night to dedicate to this Disney mega hit?

And, I don't have the excuse of young, Zac Efron-dedicated, crazed little girls forcing me to sit and watch with them.

While I watched the movie though, I noticed I had a smile on my face. I noticed that I wanted to sing along. I noticed that the lead girl, Vanessa (I think), is the 2007 version of Annette Funicello (anyone else notice that?). Zac Efron is a dead-ringer for David Cassidy. No wonder hearts are swooning over him.

These kids are such a ridiculous throw-back to a time long forgotten...that you just can't get enough. Sounds ironic? I think that's exactly what makes this so appealing.

The characters are just pure, and clean, and likable...and hey, who DOESN'T want to throw a musical extravaganza? I mean...really.

Who doesn't want to watch the most gorgeous boy and girl fall in love, and almost kiss at least five different times, sing in perfect harmony, and all the while spending their summer raising money to go to college?

The music, the dancing, the clothes, all a reminder of simpler times gone by.

Maybe it was 2 hours away from Lindsay, Paris, and Britney. Maybe it was 2 hours away from the sad realities of war, drunken celebutantes and low-life politics.

I can't say it was 2 hours of the best cinematic entertainment I've ever seen.

But, maybe, once in awhile, it's good for the soul to be transported back to a time filled with innocence, sweetness, the value of friendship, and puppy love.

Still Here

Well, by now, I can't imagine that people even remember me, or think I'm still here.

But, guess what?...I am!

I miss writing, I miss reading, but for personal reasons I have had to basically quit the blogging world.

I miss walking through the memories in my head and heart and sharing them. I miss the comments from readers, that let me know they too had shared similar experiences and feelings.

So now, I watch too much t.v. and eat too much icecream.

I know more about Paris Hilton than I ever imagined wanting to know.

There are too many people trying to throw their hat into the ring of running for president.

Please don't tell anyone that I laughed all the way through "Knocked Up", even though it was a ridiculous premise and kinda raunchy.

I have written and self-published a children's book, accomplishing a dream I've had for 40 years. Some of you, who I communicate with personally, know about it. Due to my unwillingness to break anonymity, I won't be telling you about it...seems sort of ridiculous but that's the way it is for now.

I suppose no one will even be reading this...but the urge to write something was just too great...

All by myself

Holy smokes...I looked at my site meter today and found that I have one, that's right I said ONE, reader a day.

How sad. But of course it's my own fault. I have fallen off the radar.

I no longer write consistently, nor do I read or comment consistently.

I don't want to go completely by the wayside, but unfortunately circumstances have changed, and I'm not able to tend to my blog as I once was.

Even I miss my writing, so I can only assume that my regular, loyal readers do too. So much, in fact, that you just can't even bear to bring yourselves over here to check me out.

That's what would account for my daily average readership of ONE person.

Oh, wait a minute...an average of one means that somedays there are NO readers.

PATHETIC!

I'm not even sure of what to write about. I remember loving to write about my past and intertwining it with my present. I seem to recall that many of you enjoyed those stories too.

So here is a quick one.

When my oldest son was 3, he had two goldfish he named Grape and Fruit (clever, huh?).

Well, Grape was a pleasantly plump guy, while Fruit had black spots on his lovely golden skin (do fish have skin?)

As luck would have it...one dark, grey, somber night...Grape bit the dust.

Being that our son was a sweet little 3 year old who had no experience with death, we had to decide how to properly deal with the situation.

What could we possibly tell our sweet little boy about the fish he had grown to love (after 3 weeks)? I mean, we wouldn't want to tell the truth...that the fish had died, and start explaining the meaning of life, and what happens when someone dies, and that mommy and daddy won't be dying anytime soon, etc. etc.

We did what any good parents would do...we panicked...and quickly drove to the local pet store to buy a new Grape. Unfortunately we could not find one quite as plump, but we knew a 3 year old wouldn't notice.

We snuck the new Grape into the bowl while our little boy slept soundly and unknowingly.

The next morning he woke up, and ran downstairs to see his precious goldfish, as he had done each morning those 3 weeks since he had acquired the fish.

He looked carefully, left and right, looked away, and back again. We held our breath hoping that he wouldn't notice that Grape was not quite the same.

After a few moments of sizing up the situation, my son turned to us and announced "Look mommy, Grape got skinny!".

Whew, it worked...we didn't have to deal with the dreaded subject of death.

Now for the part where I intertwine this story of the past with my present.

I would not have dealt with this the same way today. I would have used it as a wonderful opportunity to explain the cycle of life and death to my son. I would have used real language: death, dying...not "passed" or "gone to sleep". I would have allowed him to express what he loved about Grape, what he would miss about Grape, to say if he felt sad, or scared, or mad that Grape had died. We would have had a funeral service and burial for grape. I would have answered any questions he had about death. I would have told him that we would always hold what we remember about Grape in our hearts, and that we could talk about Grape anytime he wanted to.

Maybe more than one person will read this...maybe not.

I miss blogging. I miss talking to people all over the country and world for that matter.

I miss sharing stories that might touch someone's heart just a little.

I miss your comments, because it reminds me that people just want to connect and make contact and know we're not alone in our thoughts and feelings.

I hope you are all okay.

Thanks for reading.

reality

I couldn't be happier.

American Idol is back.

The Academy Awards are on tomorrow night...the best day of the year.

Britany Spears head slowed down Anna Nicole Smith news for five minutes.

Isn't life wonderful?

I went to a bar mitzvah today. Mr. Cruisin and I had the honor of performing an aliyah (called up to the torah to say a prayer before the young man reads his torah portion).

I have to say we weren't half bad. As we got back in our seats, my husband, being the great observer that he is, menitoned that going up to sing the aliyah is not unlike going before the judges on American Idol.

So, of course,upon returning to our seats, we sat in judgmental bliss over all the other contestants, ooops, I mean friends and family that were called up to say this prayer.

Just like American Idol, some were single contestants and some came forward in groups.

Mr. Cruisin: "hey you, contestant number 1...a bit pitchy, wouldn't you say?" "I'm just not feelin' you dawg, you know what I'm sayin'?"

Me: (elbowing Mr. Cruisin' in the gut) SHHHHH! Don't you know this is a serious religious ceremony...keep it down...besides...he wasn't bad. In fact, he had personality, a spark, he should keep going, and not give up".

Mr. Cruisin: "WHAT?! Are you kidding, (suddenly breaking into an English accent)that was just AWFUL! He should be ashamed, that was completely fuhget-table".

Next up was a group. NO choreography, no harmony, quite pitchy...hopeless.

How did any of these people expect to ever be invited to another audition, I mean, ceremony.

Oh well, all of life seems to have become just one big reality show.

Don't you think?

Gosh, I hope Mr. Cruisin isn't the father of Anna Nicole's baby.

A Cut Above

It's no secret that I love American Idol.

There is something mesmerizing about watching people throw themselves at the mercy of the judges and be voted off one by one.

And since I am a slave to the TV remote...my fingers uncontrollably clicking away (yes, I'm the equivalent of a guy...my husband and I actually arm wrestle for the remote)...I have discovered that A.I. is just part of a trend that has, quite frankly, gotten out of hand:

...the preponderance of shows where people compete, are judged, and then kicked off.

Of course there are shows like Top Model, Top Chef, Project Runway, and Survivor. There is even a show that allows America to pick the 2 stars of a Broadway production of Grease...yikes, a bit risky.

And then, just the other night, while flipping around the dial, we stumbled on a show called the TEASE...a hair styling competition where stylists strut their "haircutting stuff", are judged, and tossed out like an old pair of clippers.

The host of the show is Lisa Rinna, of Melrose Place and Dancing with the Stars (oops, there’s another one I forgot about) fame. Mind you, Lisa has the greatest short haircut in all of show-biz and has earned the right to host this distinguished show.

Mr. Cruisin and I just couldn’t believe how far this whole “compete, get judged and ripped apart, and then tossed out like a baby with bathwater” thing has gone.
What could possibly be next, you ask? Well, start looking for it, cause it’s coming soon.

A CUT ABOVE! America’s Next Top Mohel.

Mohel’s will compete before a panel of three judges: A surly British Rabbi, Joan Rivers, and of course, Paula Abdul. (Paula has agreed to share whatever’s in her Coke cup with the contestant).

Here’s a preview of what the competition will look like…Enjoy!

And to the winner, whoever he may be…Mazel Tov!

my achy breaky heart

I can't come up with anything to write about.

I've been very blah lately.

It just seems that the best thing to do is take a little break, eat some ice cream, and watch American Idol, until I shake the writing blues.

I'm a big fat loser

Well, I notice it's that time again.
It's award season.
Golden Globes, People's Choice, Grammy's, SAG, Oscars are right around the corner.

And, once again, it's time for the JBlog Awards.

And, once again, I notice I'm not nominated. Last year it was understandable. I was even too new to be considered for best new blog.

But this year, I'm shut out again. I can't even be considered for best new blog cause I'm too freakin' old now. Wow, this must be how William Shatner feels.

Perhaps I need publicity. What's a girl to do?

I know, I need to get out of my car at In and Out Burger with no underwear on...that should do it...hey, don't knock it...it worked for Britney.

Perhaps a good fight with the Donald is just what I need. Hey Donald...your comb-over stinks.

Maybe I could pretend to be James Brown's widow, and go on every entertainment show whining my eyes out.

Oh, what's the use...I'm just not destined to be a winner.

See if I ever share the details of my colonoscopy with you people again.

tired

Life is not for the faint of heart.

This past week has not been easy.

Attending two funerals in one week, at two ends of the spectrum, certainly makes one pause and ponder life, time, meaning, and whatever is it all about.

The first funeral was for a 2nd cousin, who lived to be 100 years old. A sweet woman who loved and was loved by her family, who died with all her faculties. She was tired and ready to go.

The second funeral was for a 49 year old friend. A husband, father, athlete, business man, who simply had a massive heart attack in his sleep.

Hundreds of people attended the service. Wives whose hearts were aching with the question "what if I were her?". Husbands whose faces had written all over them, "wow, could that be me?".

Hundreds of people simply stunned with the shocking death of one so vital and young.

How to make sense of it.

I am not a big believer in destiny, or the theory there is a reason for everything. There is no reason a wife and children should experience the death of a husband, father too soon.

I, simply believe, that everyone dies, the time and circumstances different for each of us.

The job for those of us left behind, is to honor the dead, as well as ourselves, by continuing to make the best of our lives.

Sometimes that's just plain hard.

Exhausting.

But I will wake up, start again, and make sure I do the best I can to honor those that go before me...

and honor the life I have been given.

Indulge your sweettooth...you won't be sorry

Thank you all for responding to my blackmail. I must say, it warms the cockles of my heart to know just how intimidated you all are of little ol' me.

So, now that I know this, I shall wield my powers to get you to do just one more thing.

Please take a moment to stop by and read Jaime...better known as Sweettooth over at A Little Indulgence.

I really can't remember how I first came to Jaime's blog. The usual way I suppose. I probably read a comment of hers on someone's post, and followed it back to her blog.

Lo and behold I found a "young" east-coast version of myself! We love the same music, movies, have had similar childhood experiences, it's just that I did it all before her!

I have no problem with the fact that she is waaaay younger than me...no, no, not at all.

Don't worry Jaime, you'll be having colonoscopies, and flashing soon too.

Jaime's posts are open and honest about things going on in the moment. She is insightful and sensitive, and you won't be sorry you stopped by.

Go ahead, indulge your sweet tooth.

okay Jaime, I can expect the check, when?