I'm Alright

Your name please

A few years ago, I wrote about our blue and gold macaw here. It's funny, I wrote it at a time when I was getting 20 to 30 comments on a post, and yet this particular story only pulled 3 comments.

I couldn't understand why at the time...and I didn't dare tell my bird for fear she would either fall into a deep depression, or take it out on me and attack.

So when I came across this story the other day, I couldn't help but think, WOW, now that's an impressive bird.

(AP) When Yosuke the parrot flew out of his cage and got lost, he did exactly what he had been taught - recite his name and address to a stranger willing to help. Police rescued the African grey parrot two weeks ago from a neighbor's roof in the city of Nagareyama, near Tokyo. After spending a night at the station, he was transferred to a nearby veterinary hospital while police searched for clues, local policeman Shinjiro Uemura said. He kept mum with the cops, but began chatting after a few days with the vet. "I'm Mr. Yosuke Nakamura," the bird told the veterinarian, according to Uemura. The parrot also provided his full home address, down to the street number, and even entertained the hospital staff by singing songs. "We checked the address, and what do you know, a Nakamura family really lived there. So we told them we've found Yosuke," Uemura said. The Nakamura family told police they had been teaching the bird its name and address for about two years. But Yosuke apparently wasn't keen on opening up to police officials. "I tried to be friendly and talked to him, but he completely ignored me," Uemura said.
Now, my bird?...she can say her first name.

But when I read that the bird said: ""I'm Mr. Yosuke Nakamura," well, that just did me in...

I have been laughing for 2 days straight.

(okay, so I don't have much of a life...American Idol and Dancing with the Stars have both ended this week...I'm in a deep funk, so give a girl a break).

And then, I couldn't help but imagine if this bird had been Jewish...

"I'm Hymie Goldberg, I come from the Bronx and I love to eat bagels with a little shmear. Now...get me home".

Wow, I'm really sumthin'

Wendy tagged me last week...

I'm finally answering it.

The rules: to write a 6 word memoir...

If anyone else would like to do so, consider yourself tagged.

Here goes:

loyal,

empathetic,

understated,

imperfect,

funny,

woman

Wow, I sound pretty fantastic, almost perfect...don't you think?

Next assignment: to write the real one.

Hey Big Boy

When I was a little girl, the place to get a burger, and I mean the ONLY place to get a burger, was Bob's Big Boy.

We'd head on over to Van Nuys Blvd. for the great "combo" plate. A burger, fries, and salad with the best blue cheese dressing ever.

And those milkshakes?...woah!

Years later, when I was old enough to drive, my friends and I would "cruise" down Van Nuys Blvd. right by the Bob's Big Boy, and all the way down to Mike's Pizza. (the best rolls imaginable).

We'd stand in the parking lot, teenagers gathered to talk and flirt, really quite innocent.

Last night, Mr. Cruisin came home from work and said: "Let's head over to Bob's Big Boy in Toluca Lake". Although the one on Van Nuys Blvd. has since been knocked over and turned into a car agency, the T.L. Big Boy remains...declared an historical landmark...alive and kicking.

Friday nights are "classic car night". Lot's of gray-haired baby boomers gather to strut their very old cars, oops, I mean very classic cars for all to see. The parking lot was filled to the brim.

By the way, if you're looking to meet a man?...this is the place to be. If you can tolerate the smell of exhaust and gas fumes that is. (isn't' that always the case with men? sorry, couldn't help myself)

A small price to pay to see people enjoying the California car culture. Boy do we love our cars.

But there is something refreshingly simple and heartwarming about seeing families out on a warm Friday night, enjoying a burger and the beautiful lines of a classic Cadillac or Camaro.

It was so crowded, you could barely move between the cars and the people. Every table was taken, some eating, some observing.

For a moment, it was like stepping back in time. Thoughts of carhops running around taking orders from teens pretending, even if for one evening, that they were totally in charge of their lives.

I couldn't help but laugh when I looked over to the far side of this historical landmark...

only to spy a Starbucks.

Old
and
new
colliding.

OFF

Well, that's it for Adam Carolla...even my votes couldn't save him.

But, he went out with class, hilarity, and on a uni-cycle.

Yep, you heard me right...

ballroom dancing on a uni-cycle.

And here is what he said at the end, referring to his dancing partner Julianne Hough:
“I lost 20 pounds of fat and gained 105 pounds of angel,”

Coincidentally, that's just what Mr. Cruisin said to me the day we got married.

Oh yeah, that's me...the "angel".

"You are the example of everything that's wrong with t.v. today"

Those are the words my son uttered (with shame and distain, I might add) to me last week...

...after making the announcement that I called in my votes to Dancing with the Stars...not once, not twice, but 12 times. (did I just say that out loud?)

I couldn't help it. I felt compelled. This is the first time I've ever done anything like this.

Really...

I swear.

No, REALLY...I'm not that kind of girl.

But I was possessed. I had to vote. I didn't think I could live with myself had my favorite been voted off, and I didn't even vote.

It's no secret I love American Idol. But this season of Dancing with the Stars has captured my heart (and my funny bone). Yeah, that's right, MY HEART.

I love Adam Carolla. He's hysterical. He grew up in the San Fernando Valley. He grew up very close to where I did, but even closer to where Mr. Cruisin did.

His haunts were Mr. Cruisin's haunts as a kid. In fact, he is practically my husband's clone, if my husband was Italian, had his own radio show, was on Dancing with the Stars, had a new movie out, was best buddies with Jimmy Kimmel and Dr. Drew Pinsky, and about 13 years younger.

Okay, so maybe not his clone. But Carolla cracks me up.
Mr. Cruisin cracks me up.

Daily life is not always easy. Laughter pulls us through, don't you think?

So, this season of Dancing with the Stars is providing me with the best medicine...dancing, laughter, and the chance to unwind on my couch without having to think.

And thanks to Adam Carolla...I have done the unthinkable...

I VOTED on a reality show.

(did I just say that out loud?)

Jumping the shark

The term jumping the shark alludes to a specific scene in a 1977 episode of the TV series Happy Days when the popular character Arthur "Fonzie" Fonzarelli literally jumps over a shark while water skiing. The scene was so preposterous that many believed it to be an ill-conceived attempt at reviving the declining ratings of the flagging show. Since then, the phrase has become a colloquialism used by U.S. TV critics and fans to denote the point at which the characters or plot of a TV series veer into a ridiculous, out-of-the-ordinary storyline. Such a show is typically deemed to have passed its peak. Once a show has "jumped the shark" fans sense a noticeable decline in quality or feel the show has undergone too many changes to retain its original charm. "Wikipedia"
Post inspired by Neil

I love this term. What a perfect way to describe what's happened to much of television.

All of reality t.v. has jumped the shark (except, of course, American Idol)

So, I'll leave it at this...because I'm too lazy to figure it out myself...

which of your favorite shows, past or present, jumped the shark? and why?

"You look just like a friend of mine"

Awhile ago, I wrote this post about being told twice in my life that I look like Carrie Fisher.

I suppose if pushed, we could all come up with someone, at least one person, that we resemble.

But for me, it has been quite odd lately. Over the last several months, I have been stopped, no less than twice a week, by someone who just has to let me know I look exactly like someone they know.

People have actually confused me, albeit for a moment, with their friends. "Oh my gosh, you look just like my brother's ex-wife's sister-in-law".

Last week, the guy making sandwiches at Bristol Farm's Market, was positive I was his regular customer that comes in weekly...I have never set foot in that market before.

Just tonight, while paying for Big Hunk candy bars (for my "big hunk" of a husband on Valentine's day...yep, I'm a real sport), a lady in line looked at me and said, "wow, I thought you were my friend, who lives across town...I was wondering what you were doing all the way over here!!!!". And she laughed hysterically. (I'm so glad I could provide her with Valentine's day entertainment.)

This has really got me thinking...

What is it about my face that actually has people stopping me several times a week to say that I look just like someone they know?

I must be the most ordinary looking person on earth, who just looks like...EVERYONE.

Or, perhaps, I have a comforting, friendly face, that doesn't intimidate people, so they think I'm their friend.

Christ, maybe I'm so ugly that people tell me I look like their friend, hoping I won't feel too badly when I have to go home and look at myself in the mirror.

Maybe I'm one of those X-Men characters, Morph-ine...I morph into people's friends, right before their eyes.

Whatever the reason, it has been a very strange phenomenon...

I love trivia, maybe you do too

Apparently, only Val has a great sense of humor, and understood that my last post was a JOKE people...even my husband didn't get it...OY...

So, moving right along...

Who are the writers of the following songs?:

UH, uh, UH, oh no you don't...do not Google :)

1.Daydream Believer sung by the Monkees

2.The First Cut is the Deepest (Rod Stewart and Cheryl Crow did covers)

3.Smile (though your heart is aching)sung by Nat King Cole

4.Red Rubber Ball sung by the Cyrkle

I've been lookin' for love in all the wrong places

Lonely Wives Dating Network: Married Women Looking to Meet New People (sexually explicit)

So there you have it.

This is what I found in my "spam" mail today.

And it's about time.

I've been waiting for something like this. It's so inviting, so to the point, so discreet, and so tempting, don't you think?

How long have married women been ignored? How long have we waited to be acknowledged as a viable group just waiting to expand our circles? Apparently...long enough.

Once you're over 50, and married for well over 20 years...life can become a little, shall we say, stale. So why not spice it up. And that is just what I've been wanting to do.

How many reality shows can one person watch? How much ice cream can one woman eat? (I've already been through all 31 flavors) And so, after searching my soul for the answers to these questions, this "spam" mail came just in the nick of time.

I can sit on my laptop (while watching t.v. and eating ice cream, mind you) with my husband right next to me...and he'll never even know that my while my fingers are quickly typing away...I am in actuality, having the time of my life.

This could be the answer I've been looking for. After all, what could be better...

I don't have to put on make-up or do my hair. I can sit in my grubby sweats. I can spill ice cream all over myself. I don't even have to give up American Idol.

Does life get any better than this? I DON'T THINK SO!!!

So, hopefully, before the weekend's over, I will have increased my...

"circle of friends "

*wink wink*

You're pathetic DAWG

Call me pathetic, call me what you will.

But...

I can hardly contain my excitement. Tomorrow is the start of American Idol.

Again.

I love this show. I watch it from beginning to end.

Why, you ask?

Well, maybe it's the simplicity of it. Maybe it's that I'm jealous and wish I could sing. Maybe it's the fun of watching Paula Abdul, or Randy say DAWG just one more time, or hearing Simon give it to someone.

Maybe it's that I can lay on my couch and not think.

My line of work touches and breaks my heart just a little each and every day. (I will not mention what that is, but trust me, it's true...and I am honored and privileged to do what I do).

So, to lay on my couch at night, and be entertained, and laugh, and follow along with the triumphs and losses of people just trying to live out a dream, hey, why not.

Some say, American Idol is the easy way out. I don't agree. Because if you should make it all the way to the end, and win, you still have to prove yourself viable. In fact, many who have not made it to the end, have faired even better.

So, I'm off to Trader Joes so I can stock up on food for tomorrow night.

I'll be grabbing a big bowl of ice cream, laying on the couch, cheering the contestants on.

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".