It's a mystery to me

post inspired by Wendy...

Remember the games you played when you were little?

I do.

Mouse Trap.
Monopoly.
Parcheesi.
Candy land.
Life.
Checkers.

But of all the games I played...MYSTERY DATE was the best.

Now, since I seem to be the oldest person who reads my blog, I'm probably the only one who remembers this game. So, most likely I'll be talking to myself here...but what else is new?!

Mystery Date was the answer to every little girl's dream. Since you couldn't date for real at the age of 10 or 11, the next best thing was pretending to date on a board game. Yikes, that's pathetic.

But then again, there are some advantages to dating someone in a board game. They don't talk back. They can't cheat on you. You can tell them how to dress. They aren't (eh hem) flatulenty expressive. They don't try and hog the remote. They don't leave their clothes on the floor, or the cap off the toothpaste.

Now of course, I was lucky enough to find Mr. Cruisin...a man who is none of those things I just mentioned.

He never talks back can't get a word in edge-wise.
He wouldn't cheat because he knows I wouldn't hesitate to then kill him.
This man dresses like he's just stepped out of the pages of "Car Mechanics Weekly", so no need to tell him how to dress.
Of course he never has any of those nasty bodily functions.
He knows better than to try and pry the remote from my "never cold because I'm always flashing, not so dead" hands.
His clothes neatly make their way to the laundry basket each and every night.
And that toothpaste cap? Well, his breath is made of roses, so no need to even brush.

Thank goodness for Mystery Date...it obviously taught me just how to find my dream man.

WTF

CLUNK!

That's the sound you could hear my last post make.

FLAT!

That's where my last post fell.

SURPRISED!

That's the color I turned when only 2 people responded.

What the hell? WTF?

Am I (and the 2 people who commented) the only one who had an opinion about John Edwards?

As I wrote that last post, I thought:

"Oh yeah, Cruisin-mom, you are brilliant. EVERYONE'S gonna want to comment on this one. This one will kick everyone in the gut, and bring commenters out of the woodwork".

So where are you people? No opinion? Is this subject just a hot potato?

HUH?

I'm a narcissistic scum bag (or is it scumbag)

I rarely use my blog to talk about people in the news, but this story has me hopping mad, yep that's right, I've spent the last hour hopping around my house. Well, not really, but boy, am I pissed.

And why I'm surprised, even I don't know.

John Edwards is an effing scum bag. The lowest of the low.

His wife is diagnosed with cancer, undergoing chemo, devotes herself to his career and his little children are dragged around the country. He repeatedly lies to media and everyone around him...

But sure enough, he CHEATED on his wife.

Oh big surprise...how many others have done the same. FDR, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Clinton.

But this one seems particularly repulsive.

C'mon John...your wife is dying of cancer. She has suffered the death of her son. She has devoted herself to you and your career.

C'mon, I mean, really? Seriously?

All I can say is blech, argh, yuck.

BIG

Some movies can be watched over and over.

For me, "BIG", with Tom Hanks is one of those.

It's too bad he was nominated against Dustin Hoffman that year...had he not been, maybe he would have won.

To be able to access the feelings of a 12 year old boy and act them out in the body of a 30 year old man, is no easy feat. Who else but Tom Hanks could have pulled that off? The charm, the innocence, the honesty of his performance all make it perfect.

An adult longing to return to his youth, I suppose that's not a new plot.

But Big had a twist. It began with a young boy longing to be a grown-up...who soon learns through the eyes of his best friend...that the trappings of adulthood cannot replace the sweet innocence of childhood. (of course that is supposing you had a wonderful childhood).

I guess the movie touched that cord in me. Of course, past the age of 10, life for me was no longer innocent. But I have fond memories of my childhood, nonetheless.

Yesterday was my mother's birthday. I took her to a play and dinner to celebrate, and afterward we took a drive by the house we lived in from the time I was 5 until my father died.

We sat in the car...looking at all the things that remained the same. A little brick walkway that my not-so-skilled father put in himself. A lamppost with the address hanging from it, still stands in the front yard. An awning my parents had specially made for the front window still hangs. And most surprising is the original shingle roof, that is now considered a fire hazard in Los Angeles.

I have driven past the house before, secretly hoping the owners will walk out, and invite me in.

I have dreamed of going into the house, to capture, even if for one moment, what it was like when I felt "whole" as a child.

Maybe what the movie Big does, is remind us not to forget that innocence. Not to forget the child inside. Not to forget what it's like to play, and have a best friend, and a family...

and know that nothing comes before that...

The Beat Goes On

Today is the first day of a new law here in California.

You must talk on your cell phone "hands free" or...

you get nabbed with a nice little fine. Close to a hundred bucks, is my understanding.

Thank goodness for this new law. After all, now we'll be safe.

Because...while that mom in the mini-van is turning around screaming at her kids, and that guy over there is smoking a cigarette while shaving, and that new teenage driver is applying her mascara while gazing into the rear view mirror, and that 50 something business man is downing In and Out on his way to his next meeting, and that salesman is fiddling around with (no, don't go there) a CD...

at least they won't be holding their cell phones!

So, this afternoon, I crawled into my car, put my earphone in my ear, strategically placed a bag of jelly bellies on the seat that I could easily attack, and set out for the ride home.

As I drove down the infamous 101 Ventura Freeway...I happened to look to my left.

And there it was...I thought I had seen it all in my 52 years. But, apparently I hadn't.

The guy next to me was "playing the steering wheel".

Playing the steering wheel you ask? Yep, that's what I said. He had a set of drumsticks and was drumming on the steering wheel.

And keeping a pretty good beat, I might add.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for safety...I even think it's a good idea to enforce this new cell phone law, but hey...

Seriously? Do you really think cell phones are the only problem out there?

I'm just sayin'.

NO...You come on...

LOVE THIS COMMERCIAL

I guess that's why they call it "the Blues"

I don't think there has ever been another set of eyes quite like his.

Is there a woman alive (at least over the age of 40) who doesn't think Paul Newman was the epitome of hunk in his day? And, quite frankly...even beyond his "day".

The latest news, is that Newman is sick with lung cancer. Not sure if it's true, but the most recent pictures of him do not look good.

Not only gorgeous, he has managed to sustain a very long marriage with the beautiful and talented Joanne Woodward, survive the death of a child, has been an avid fan and participant of race car driving, created a natural line of foods, given enormous amounts to charity, and has had one amazing acting career.

Recently, an old interview conducted in his home, was shown on t.v. And on the wall was a sign that read:

EVERYONE BRINGS HAPPINESS HERE...
SOME BY COMING...
SOME BY LEAVING.

Wow...I love that.

What a way to throw your guests off balance and keep them wondering...





which one am I?

Dream a little dream of me

post inspired by Jack

A few nights ago, I had a dream that all of my teeth were falling out.

A few at a time.

Painlessly.

But out they came, slowly but surely.

I don't remember panicking, but I do remember thinking there must be something symbolic about this dream. It seemed this had to be one of those "universal" dreams that many experience.

Kind of like that dream where you float through a room (or am I the only one who has had that dream?).

There are many interpretations for a dream when teeth fall out. It depends on how they fell out, how you were feeling during the dream, and what is going on in your life at the time.

One interpretation is, it represents letting go of something, a changing relationship.

So, I think I know what it means for me. I think it has to do with letting go of my children...

who are no longer children.

This is not for the faint of heart. This is more difficult than giving birth. How do you let go of the piece of your heart that has been forever changed? Is "let go" really the term we must use?

Some say the "tooth" dream is about appearance, fear of getting old and ugly. I don't think that's really it for me. (although, if I end up looking like the gal above, that might bother me a little)

Or is it all a bunch of bunk? Maybe dreams mean nothing.

Hmmmmmmm...

It happened again

Went to two car shows today. It's amazing how there can actually be two car shows in one city, both crowded.

The first was in Johnny Carson Park, across from Burbank Studios, home of the Tonight Show.

While driving there, I wondered out loud to my husband whether or not Jay Leno would be there. He has his own amazing collection of cars, and has been known to show up at these things.

We walked through, perusing the classic cars...no Jay Leno. Oh well.

Off we went to our next destination...Woodley Park for another classic car show.

As we were walking around, we noticed a crowd gathering by one particular car. Of course, being the incredibly nosy person that I am...I insisted we make our way over to see what was going on.

And, lo and behold, there was that familiar silver hair, blue jeans and work shirt.

Jay Leno was was there, drawing a bit of a crowd. No obnoxious paparazzi, no screaming, no fainting.

Just regular folk politely asking Jay to pose for a picture and sign an autograph. And he happily complied.

This was not our first encounter with Jay. A few years, I wrote this about another Sunday with him.

Oh yeah, last night we went out to dinner and watched Steve Perry walk by.

Living in L.A. is cool, no?

Goodbye Sydney...and thanks

originally posted here

Two years ago, I wrote this post. Upon hearing of Sydney Pollack's death, I decided to re-post this, in tribute to a great film maker. Without Sydney, who knows...maybe my first date with Mr. Cruisin' wouldn't have led to the following...


I had just broken up with someone.

Well, that's not true. I had been dating someone, who, after a weekend ski-trip with the boys, came back to tell me he had met someone else. He told me...over the phone. Just as I was about to see a client. Nice.

I already knew Mr. Cruisin, as he was a friend of a relative. We would see eachother at various events, but he had a girlfriend. Although I thought he was cute, and funny...I didn't look at him in that way, you know, potential husband material...because he was, well...taken.

But as fate would have it...one evening right after a$%hole dumped me...I ran into Mr. Cruisin at a local restaurant. He proceeded to tell me that he and the girlfriend had broken up.

Now, you think I would have been jumping up and down ecstatic at this point, right? I mean, come on...nice Jewish boy, cute, funny, good job, tall, good dresser, hair on his head...what more could a girl ask for?

Well, being the "girl" that I was...I was too immersed in a self-pity party. Afterall, someone actually had the nerve to DUMP me! I was unable to see past my own sorrow, to notice that this perfect speciman of a guy was now available.

A few days later, the relative who was friends with Mr. Cruisin, told me that Mr. Cruisin wanted to ask me out. The relative told him not to...HUH? Well, as it turns out, the relative was just being protective, not wanting me to be a rebound, "transitional" person...and possibly get hurt.

Since I was still in a stupor and wallowing in self-pity, I didn't even react to this. I figured, okay, whatever.

Luckily for me, Mr. Cruisin is a self-made man. If you tell him he can't do something...he's all over it.

So, a few days later, to my surprise, I received a message at work...from none other than Mr. Cruisin. I proceeded to return his call, totally unaware that he was about to ask me out.

And sure enough...that's exactly what happened. We were having a fun, polite conversation, when out it popped...the question..."would you like to go out Saturday night?".

My head was spinning...how could I go out with this guy when my relative had just told me it wasn't a good idea to go out with someone who was on the rebound? Not to mention, I was still having a wild time attending my own self-pity party.

What to do?

I pretty much had to go out with the poor guy...I mean, he did just break up with someone...wouldn't it be rude to say no? I had known him for years, afterall, and he was my relative's friend, and I felt kinda sorry for him, having just broken up and all.

So, I said YES. We set up the date and that was that...or so I thought.

When I hung up the phone, a thought occured...

Should I really go out with him on a Saturday night?...afterall, Saturday night was notoriously "date" night. I didn't want to say no, but I didn't want him to think I was really interested in that way, since I had been warned by my relative that I would probably end up hurt.

So this was my quick-thinking plan.

I would call him back, and explain that I couldn't go out Saturday night...something had come up, but I could go out with him Wednesday or Thursday night. He said it would be no problem and we changed the date to Thursday.

It just so happens that following my phone call to Mr. Cruisin, my mother called. I proceeded to tell her about my upcoming date...telling her of the switch from Saturday to Thursday, and the carefully thought out plan behind this decision, when she had this to say to me:

"Cruisin-mom (she always called me that)...don't you deserve to have a date on a Saturday night? You don't have to marry him...just go out on a nice date...there's no harm in that."

Panic quickly set in...my mother (as always, dammit) was right. Why shouldn't I go out on a nice date, with a nice person, who could at the very least, end up being a good friend?

I picked up the phone, and called Mr. Cruisin back. I explained that the plans for Saturday night had been changed and I could go out afterall.

Mind you...this is all happening within a 20 minute time frame at the most.

Let's recap: Mr. Cruisin calls for Saturday night date. I say yes. I rethink, and call back within 5 minutes to change to Thursday night. I talk to mom 5 minutes later. I call Mr. Cruisin back to say Saturday night is good afterall. Cruisin Mom appears to be "nuts" at this point in time.

Thankfully, Mr. Cruisin was still in a bit of his own stupor, having just broken up with his girlfriend...so throughout all of this he was just kind of like "whatever".

By now the guy knows I'm nuts, but decides to show up for the "Saturday night" date anyway.

Since that phone call, (or calls, I should say), I had developed the cold of the century. I was sneezing and coughing... and producing enough mucous to fill Dodger Stadium.

Ah, yes, I was a beautiful, red-nosed sight. And I had to decide what to wear on this okay-I'll go out with you on a Saturday night-but don't want you to get the idea that I'm interested-because you are on the rebound and I don't want to get hurt-date.

I decided to go casual, sweater and cords...nice but nothing fancy (hey, at least I wore something besides my blue jeans).

It was time, and Mr. Cruisin arrived...I opened the door, and there he stood...ADORABLE!!! My heart did that thing it does when you first realize you are actually attracted to someone...I believe it's called "skipping a beat" or "all a flutter" or "tingly all over" or "the need to throw up"...well, you get the idea.

There he stood...wearing a tie!!! I was dressed casual and he was wearing a tie...YIKES!

So of course, being the genteel gal that I was, I immediately blurted out, rather loudly I might add, "You're wearing a tie!!!" ...(Duuuuuh)

You know what that adorable man with hair on his head did? ... he bravely ripped off the tie! He could sense my discomfort (the scream may have tipped him off) . "Wow,...this guy is already getting me", I thought to myself, as I proceeded to blow mucous into a kleenex.

Off we went. We drove into Westwood (the ultimate date destination in those days) for a wonderful dinner and movie. A new movie starring Dustin Hoffman and Bill Murray had just opened (Tootsie) and we stood in line to see it. We talked effortlessly, really getting to know one another, while I proceeded to blow and hoch up buckets of mucous.

How could any man resist that?

Well apparently, this man couldn't. Here we were on a Saturday night, out on a non-date, date, having the time of our lives. The connection was undeniable. The conversation and laughter endless...not to mention the mucous.

He brought me home. We talked (yes, really, that's all) until the wee hours of the morning. At one point, I excused myself to the bathroom. And here is what Mr. Cruisin told me later about that moment:

He spied a mastercard bill sitting on my dining room table (open, so it wasn't like he was going through my mail). It was for a grand total of $32.50. It was at that very moment he knew he could spend his life with me.

Afterall, what woman has a mastercard bill of only $32.50? So, she screams and blows mucous and calls me 3 times within 20 minutes to keep rearranging our date...she has a mastercard bill of only $32.50. He knew then, I was the woman of his dreams. Needless to say, those bills have a few more zeros tacked on them now.

The evening was coming to a close...and he asked me out for a second date.

There was no turning back now. This man, apparently thought I was wonderful...mucous and all.
And I knew, that any man who could take in stride and laugh at endless streams of mucous and being screamed at on a first date, was most likely the man for me.

We danced the first dance at our wedding to...

the theme from Tootsie.

Just a spoonful of sugar...

It was 1964. I was nine.
And I was going to see Mary Poppins.
My entire family was going. Parents, brother, aunt and uncle and cousins.

It was a huge event. I lived in Van Nuys, so we had to drive all the way into the "city" (Los Angeles) to see the movie. It was playing at a beautiful old theatre called The Carthay Circle theatre (it was later demolished, considered obsolete in light of modern multi-plexes).

In those days, you didn't just throw on a pair of jeans and run out the door to see a movie. Oh no. You had to "dress". I remember getting all dolled up, in a dress, patent leather shoes, and a pair of white gloves.

Yep, you heard me right...white gloves.

Movie going was serious business in those days. (Christ, I sound old...oh yeah, I AM)

As I have written about before (in fact, coincidentally, exactly two years ago to the day) all first run movies were shown in the city. So the trek had to be made over the hill if we were to see Mary Poppins.

I can't begin to tell you the anticipation and excitement I can still remember feeling. The whole event was like a dream come true.

Julie Andrews was so beautiful...who wouldn't have wanted her as their nanny. Not that I would have known what a nanny was!

I often wonder if seeing a movie is as exciting for a little girl today. Knowing that you can rent it in a few months if you miss it, and then watch it 50 times over, probably takes the same excitement out of it. But I wouldn't know...being so old and all.

I truly hope that's not the case. I truly hope that the same excitement and heart pounding anticipation is experienced today by little girls going to see a long awaited movie.

It's an experience that I can still feel and smell and taste all these years later.

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