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?

I heart Letterman

If you've been following this blog for a while, you know I LOVE David Letterman.

Yep, that's me, and Dave. See a resemblance?

Now, I've noticed lately, that my comments are waaaay down. Perhaps I have lost my magic; perhaps it's preoccupation with the holidays; perhaps I'm not as important as I would like to believe I am.

So, until I see more comments here, I really don't see a reason to grace you with my wit and wisdom.

Instead I shall provide you with this link.

I hope you enjoy it. If you do, please comment.

If I receive enough comments, then perhaps I shall reward you with a posting.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=FD-K8P-7rTI

One year ago today I had this to say...

Perhaps some would call this cheating. Some may call it sheer laziness. I call it..."hey, this wasn't bad writing for the beginning of my blog, and since many of you were not readers yet, you missed it...therefore, I feel compelled to share it with you, so that those of you who did not read it the first time, will have a chance to learn a little bit more about me".

Whew, that was exhausting.

I want to say just one word to you. Just one word. Are you listening? PLASTICS!

When I was a little girl, we would often visit my grandparents in the Fairfax district of Los Angeles. They were Russian immigrants who came here by way of Canada to New York and finally to lovely Los Angeles. In those days, L. A. was filled with dreams of Hollywood, orange groves, blue skies, and year round sunshine. They lived in several places before I was born, but the place I remember was their apartment near Fairfax.

What I remember most about their apartment was... PLASTIC! Every sofa, every chair, was dressed with a specially sized covering of clear PLASTIC. Now, as if that weren't enough...even the carpets were shielded with plastic runners.

My formative years were spent trying to figure out why. What would lead these two little Russian immigrants to such strange behavior?

Was it for comfort? I don't think so...considering that trying to pry yourself off the couch without leaving the skin from the back of your legs was no easy feat...I don't think it was for comfort.

Was it for cleanliness? Perhaps...I suppose there's alot to be said for being able to hose down your furniture at the end of each day.

Was it for status? Maybe...The 60's was a time for PLASTICS, as was so aptly pointed out in the movie "The Graduate".

Was it for protection? Could be...we know the '80's was all about "protection"...maybe they were just ahead of their time.

Whatever the reason, I do know this...that plastic covered furniture is a memory I now hold close. My grandparents lived a hard life. They left their home to come to a land of great promise...promises that were in many ways fulfilled. But they had to live through the death of their only son. And I can't remember a day where I felt their anger, resentment, or the unending pain that I now know they must have felt.

My grandfather lived to the age of 93, writing love letters to my grandmother 'til the day he died. Not a visit would go by, where he didn't tell me the latest joke. And, although my grandmother complained that she hadn't slept in 50 years, she lived to the age of 89, dying only a year and a half after my grandfather.

Maybe, in the end, the reason for the PLASTIC was this...Preservation.

It preserved the furniture that to them meant they had "made it"...they had achieved the American dream. And within that dream they preserved a marriage, a family, a life together for 63 years. I'm grateful for those memories and the model of a long lasting marriage made of ups, downs, hard work, humor, love, and loyalty.

Maybe that guy's advice in "The Graduate" wasn't so far off the mark after all.

(post inspired by Danny Miller)

technology meets hair

(this is my 100th post...who knew when I began 1 year ago, that I'd have 100 things to say. Thanks to those of you who stop by here, and truly make it fun for me to write).

I have great hair. No, really, just ask anyone who knows me...they'll tell you:

"Cruisin has great hair".

The main reason my husband married me was because I had great hair. (he tries to tell me it was for my superior intellect, but I know better).

Now, I can't take credit for this...my father had great hair, and my father's mother had great hair. (and by great, I mean...lot's of it). It's simple genetics, and that is that.

Through the years, I've had people ask me where I get my haircut...no big whoop.

But last week I think I experienced the ultimate in the age of technology.

Upon having just had my hair cut (and colored...gotta keep the gray at bay), I decided to do a little shopping at a local Mervyn's. I was wandering around the store, with my usual dazed and confused look, when suddenly I was approached by a woman around my age.

Not unlike many strangers have stated to me in the past, this woman wanted me to know what a great haircut I had.

She then proceeded to ask me where and who cuts it. She vigilantly took down the information. She wanted my name, so she'd be able to tell my hairdresser whose hair she'd like hers to look like.

But she started to think (aloud, mind you, as if I'd really care), that perhaps she didn't want to insult her own hairdresser, by leaving and trying someone new, and having to explain to her own hairdresser why she had opted to go somewhere else.

So, she and her friend decided that it was best to snap a picture of me so she could show her own hairdresser how to cut her hair.

Out came the camera-phone.

What could I say? I mean, this was my shining moment...the moment I could truly help another human being.

After all, if I could help this woman's self esteem by simply showing her the way to better hair...why, I would have accomplished a mitzvah, a good deed. And during the holiday season...this is the time to give of oneself, no?

I had no choice but to agree to her request. She took a picture of me from the front. Then she asked me to turn around, so she could represent my backside as well. And, let' s not forget about the side view.

So there you have it. Who knew that my greatest assest, my hair, would someday enrich the life of just one woman. And if this woman feels better about herself when she receives her new haircut, who knows what she will go on to achieve...a "pay it forward" moment, if you will.

Now, if this heartwarming story about a little camera phone doesn't explain the far reaching effects of technology on the human condition...well, then I don't know what will.

And, in that moment, I knew I could return to my shopping, with the knowledge that I had behaved in the true spirit of the holiday season.

Ramblings (or, how not to end up like Brad and Jen)

Well, I just picked myself up off the floor where I was eating handfuls of jelly bellies.

Sounds weird, you say? Well, let me explain.

Our annual Hanukah party is this Saturday night. You can read about last year's party here. A staple of the party is a big jar of jelly bellies from Costco. I bought that jar today, and of course had to hide it from the vultures, I mean my family, so there would be at least a few left for the party.

Well, the problem with hiding things from others, is this: you know where you hid it!

Now, if you have followed this blog for awhile, you know of my unnatural love for jelly belly's.

So, about an hour after hiding them, I remembered and thought to myself: "Eureka, I have jelly bellies in the house"!!! So, what's a girl to do? What else...find those little buggers and start shoveling them in.

It just so happens I hid them in a lower cabinet in the laundry room. So, I bent down to grab them, open the jar, and lo and behold I fell right on my a*#.

And there I sat. With the jar. I opened the jar. I ate. Lot's and lot's of jelly bellies. Ummm, good.

I thought to myself, well, this is certainly "blogworthy". Actually, it was "pull out the video camera, she's sitting alone on the floor shoveling j.b.'s into her mouth as fast as she can" worthy.

That was rambling number one.

Here's rambling number two.

Last week while attending my work's holiday lunch, a 30 year old volunteer for the center I work for, asked if I had a boyfriend.

See, apparently she thought I was a widow, and that I should be fixed up with somebody.
After contemplating how to answer for a moment or two, I thought that perhaps I should tell the truth...that I had been happily married for 21 years. But I asked her if she knew any men around the age of 50 to fix up with my friend.

Her reply:

Oh, I don't know anyone THAT old!
I immediately asked, "jeeeeeeez...how old was this guy you wanted to fix me up with"?
She said, "well I'm 30...so, someone around that age".

Now may I say, this was getting more intriguing by the minute. I mean...Mr. Cruisin probably wouldn't notice that I was out on a date with a much younger man. He'd probably be asleep on the couch, or repairing bushings, or refurbishing the entire house or something.

So, why not go out on a date with a much younger man? I could be out and back before Mr. Cruisin finished napping.

But then I thought about Brad and Jen...afterall, he just went out to make a little movie, and we all know what happened there.

Goodness knows, that's not what I want...no one could make me laugh like Mr. Cruisin.

But hey, a girl can fantasize for a moment right? Afterall, how often does a flashing 51 year old get asked to be fixed up with someone in their 30's?

Hmmmm?...tell me...I'm waiting...............

(happy hanukah everyone)

Mr. Cruisin: walkin the red carpet

I started this blog back in June '05 so I could comment on others.

It was not until Dec. 12, that I actually started to regulary write here.

So, as I approach my one year anniversary of writing on a regular basis, I have been re-reading the things I wrote last year at this time.

As I read through my past posts, I am quite impressed. I didn't know I had it in me to be so funny at times, so thoughtful and esoteric at times, and just plain ridiculous at times. (not to mention quite modest, don't you think?)

I reported this to Mr. Cruisin...letting him know that I was quite impressed with some of my writings...referring of course to some of my more moving, thought-provoking pieces.

And here is what he said...

"Gee, my favorites are the ones about me".

and he said this quite seriously ( yeah...enough about me, let's talk about me)

Mind you, my husband is a simple, unassuming guy. He isn't flashy and hangs onto possessions for a very long time (lucky for me, he likes things that are old, yet in fairly good working condition).

So, it's rather adorable that he would come up with such a statement. (you can imagine how much he is loving the fact that I am referring to him as adorable).

And it's true, he has been my greatest muse. He let's me make fun of him and gush about him. How cute is that? (can you see his eyes rolling right about now?).

I think that he secretly (well, I guess with a statement like: "Gee, my favorites are the ones about me", maybe it's not so secret) likes being the focus of a great deal of my writings.

And what's not to like if you really think about it. Afterall, I've:

• compared him to Paul McCartney (in a good way, that is)
  
• referred to him as my "knight in shining armor"
  
• sung his praises when it comes to fixing my sagging bushing
  
• bragged about him taking on our rotting patio cover
• provoked sympathy from readers when he broke his toe.

Come to think of it...he gets more attention around here than I do. Why, he was even dubbed with a nickname: Mr. Cruisin!

But, am I jealous? NO WAY! Afterall, this being the season of giving, I am in touch with my inner "giver". Tis better to give than receive, right?

So, if I can make this poor old guy feel like a star...why not. In fact, I think that I get the largest response of comments when I write a Mr. Cruisin post. And, I don't think asking me to roll out a red carpet, and flash my new digital camera at him when he comes home each night is asking too much, do you?

Who knew when I started to post "for real" last year, that my husband would become a star here just one short year later.

So, let's hear it for Mr. Cruisin...my muse, my man.

(we'll see how many frickin comments come in because this is a Mr. Cruisin post...Ba-Humbug)

(oops, did I just say that out loud?)

Brain on the loose

Have you ever wondered how one event changes the course of your life?

Last year, I asked this question on my blog.

I did not get one response.

Was this too threatening a question? Too thought-provoking? Too intimidating? Too esoteric? Or just plain stupid?

Now, at the time, I had only posted 4 times...I was a blogger "newbie", if you will. But I thought it was a pretty good question (if I do say so myself).

Of course, for me that answer has always been obvious: the death of my father at age 10 had to be the most life changing event of my life. But...I wonder if there were others.

And, is it events that change our lives...or is it our reactions to events that change our lives?

For example: Two people can be driving along and suddenly hit a flurry of traffic. One person may succumb to this situation with anger and bitterness. While another may blast a Frank Sinatra CD, enjoying the extra time spent in the car singing her lungs out (that would be no one I know persoanally).

The event changes both of these lives (they will arrive late to their destination, thereby setting off a chain of other events, etc). But it's really the reaction to the event that impacts our personality, our health, and our relationships with others.

Is this all too confusing? Perhaps...but it's food for thought. Probably only food for my thoughts.

So, there you have it...a glimpse into my mind. Now you know what's running around loose in there.

If you care to comment this year...be my guest. If not...I'll know not to ask this question again next year.

How I spent my Thanksgiving vacation

You may have noticed (or NOT) that I have been suspiciously quiet these last five days on the blogosphere.

Perhaps you have been enjoying my absence :)

But, guess what...I'm baaaack!

I left for the east coast last Friday, returning to L.A. today. I surprised my brother and sister-in-law for her 5oth birthday. They had no idea I was coming. Even my mother, who left five days earlier from L.A., had no idea I was coming. Only my, niece, who I recruited as my chauffeur, was privvy to this great caper of mine.

I haven't seen my big brother for 2 years...my sis-in-law for 3 1/2.

When I learned they were having a birthday party, I immediately decided that I wouldn't be attending. Afterall, it was Thanksgiving weekend, the busiest travel weekend of the year.

But about a week prior, something inside of me clicked. I remember hearing stories throughout my childhood, about people who found the money and time to attend funerals across the country, but wouldn't go while the person was alive. I didn't want to end up being one of those people. I wanted to be there with them to celebrate, and not wait until tragedy struck.

I really wanted to be there.

So, I figured out a way to go and not miss Thanksgiving with my husband and kids. And...to avoid the nightmare of travelling.

My thought was, that by Friday, everyone would have reached their destination for Thanksgiving, so the travel would be light. I would return Tuesday, after everyone had made there way home from the holiday weekend.

And boy was I right. The plane was only 85% full on Friday, allowing me to have a full row of seats to myself! And today...zipped right through security, little crowds, and our flight was smooth sailing.

I had a wonderful weekend. I am so grateful for the relationship I have with my brother and sister-in-law, nieces and nephew...even living 3000 miles away from eachother.

I even played a new game...Scattegories...almost as much fun as eating icecream.

I did the right thing this weekend. I filled myself with a wonderful, loving, Thanksgiving dinner with my husband, children and extended family. And then spent the weekend filling myself with memories and love.

So that's why I've been missing from the blogosphere the last five days.

...just in case you were wondering.

The sentence finisher

One of my favorite t.v. shows of all time was Seinfeld.

He managed to take the mundane moments of life and turn them into an hysterical 1/2 hour show that we couldn't wait to view every Thursday night for years.

One of the watermarks of a Seinfeld episode, was his ability to make an everyday behavior bigger than life.

One episode that clearly stands out is that of the "close talker", played by actor Judge Reinhold.
(pictured above in Fast Times at Ridgemont High)

You know this person... the one that invades your space, your personal invisible boundary, moving right smack into your face while talking to you.

The other day, my husband noticed something about a friend of ours, that I had not been aware of.

He finishes your sentences...he's a sentence finisher!

I couldn't help but laugh hysterically, thinking, this is one episode Seinfeld missed!

This is the person who, while you're talking, is busy thinking up the best ending to your sentences or sometimes, your entire story. Before you can spit the words out of your mouth...they have already judged and executed the remainder of your story.

Now, if you're a brand new couple, this behavior is quite adorable. "Oh, don't you just love Susie and Joe together...they're so in tune with one another that they finish eachother's sentences".
"How romantic, how cute, how adorable, how endearing...they complete eachother".

Of course, cut to that same couple 20 years later, and Susie is reaming Joe for constantly cutting her off, never letting her finish a sentence, or get a word in edge-wise, and for doubting that she has a valuable thought in her head.

Joe is screaming at Susie for being a blustering loud mouthed bitch, who never shuts up unless she has a bowl of icecream in front of her.

(no, no, despite what you may be thinking, I'm not talking about me and Mr. Cruisin...he knows to keep his mouth shut when I'm talking).

Now, if you're not a couple, and just two people talking...it's a little more difficult to lambast the person for cutting you off. I mean, afterall, that lambasting should really be reserved for those closest to us...wives, husbands, children, parents...you know, the people we love and care about the most.

Never waist a good reaming on someone you don't really care about intimately and passionately.

So what to do when confronted with this kind of person? I say, why not have fun with it.

And here's how...

See how many sentences or stories you can start, and have that person finish. You know, kind of like mad libs or a sentence completion game. Become a sentence-finisher enabler!

Keep score in your head. How many sentences were they able to complete? How many entire stories of yours did they already know the ending to?

And why not just keep increasing the stakes as you go along...start telling about your bathroom habits; relay a story about your sexual escapades with your husband...

and see where the sentence finisher takes you!

Yahoo...what fun!

So, the next time you find a sentence finisher's behavior annoying, it's time to look in the mirror, girlfriend (sorry if you're a guy...what's the guy equivalent to girlfriend?) and ask yourself...

How have I let this person down? How have I not enabled them in becoming the most proficient sentence-finisher they could be?

Perhaps you have been unwilling to share, openly and honestly. What's a little sexual escapades story among friends...

And bathroom habits? ...why, crap, I've already shared the intimate details of my colonoscopy with you...

Perhaps we can do a "sentence finishing" test run right here...go ahead, fill in the blanks.

Okay, here goes...

last night Mr. Cruisin and I.........

another day

How observant are you?

Yeah...YOU!

C'mon, look around...notice anything different? Look up...keep going...your getting warmer...yep...that's it...my ramblings are now from a "51" year old wife and mom.

Yesterday, I turned another page in the book of Cruisin-mom.

51

Funny, it smarts just a little more than 50. Don't get me wrong...I'm not unhappy to be here. In fact, I love my 50's. It's just so damned weird to say...

"I'm in my 50's".

How can it be? "And yet, everything around me and about me, tells me I am in my 50's:

I flash.
I have grey hair (well, under the brown dye).
People in their 40's call me "ma'am".
The kid at the movie theatre offers me a senior ticket.
I don't sleep at night.
I remember with great clarity, the Beatles visit to Ed Sullivan.
I voted just a "little" Republican (but mostly Democrat) in the last election. (HORRORS)
I prefer to go out to dinner at 5:00 rather than 8:00.
People are talking to me about their bowel movements.

It all points to the "50's".

But it's okay, because I'm not alone. The planet is lousy with baby boomers. And we happened to see one of them last night doing a one-woman show.

Carrie Fisher (princess Leia), just turned 50. She is performing a brilliant one woman show at the Geffen theatre in Westwood, CA. called Wishful Drinking.

We arrived at the theatre about 45 minutes before show time, and thank goodness we did. What a people watching lalapalooza it was. We even saw Carrie Fisher enter the theatre right through the front doors, as they have no artist entrance at the Geffen.

Rob Reiner (Meathead to those of you old enough to remember All in the Family), was in the lobby waiting too...he did, afterall, direct Carrie in my favorite movie When Harry Met Sally.

Her show covered her life, from her birth into Hollywood royalty (Debbie Reynold's and Eddie Fisher...or as she put it for the younger people..."the Brad and Jen of this era, with Angelina Jolie being their Elizabeth Taylor")...through her pivotal role in Star Wars, her marriage to Paul Simon, her boughts with drug abuse, rehab, mental illness, the gay father of her child...right on up to the present.

She was funny, engaging, heartwarming, and who knew she could belt out a tune?

And...Mr. Cruisin managed to once again...LISTEN!

I mentioned that I'd love a digital camera for my bday, and what did he do? He surprised me with the Canon powershot and a printer to boot!

Now, although this camera seems to have every possible function known to man...
don't expect any pics of me.

For some odd reason, they left off the "make the 51 year old broad look 25 again" function...so...

NO PICS FOR YOU!!!