My Luck Went Bam or Pow or WTH

It all started out so innocently just a few short days ago when I declared to the world that August 22 was my lucky day. Uh Uh. Nada. Zippo. Zilcho. I didn't win the Mega Millions drawing. JG8D69D I spent the morning having a root canal that cost $1300.00. I got caught in the same speed trap that my friend got caught in; the officer didn't reduce my speed amount (must've read my blog). I was going 82 in a 55 (have Mustang, must go fast). Somehow, I made it to my bed around 1:30 that night and had just dozed off when the rail slat under my bed broke and I went Bam as I hit the floor. (WTH) This, in turn, startled the cat and made every hair on his body go Puff. I then spent the next two hours trying to calm him down while trying to figure out how my bed broke. By this time I was so strung out from the root canal, the speeding ticket, the broken bed and a frazzled feline that I wanted to go put my head in the sand. I reached across the table to get my drink when I noticed a scratch-off lottery ticket that I had purchased a few days earlier. I searched for a coin to scratch it off. I needed to match 2 of the lucky numbers, which coincidentally were 8 & 22. I worked on the first pair of numbers--nothing. Second pair--nothing. Third pair--nothing. I looked at the last set of numbers and wouldn't you know it--an 8 & a 22. I was a winner. Can you believe that? What was my prize? I didn't tell you what the Pow was for either. The Pow is the sound that my car made when I backed into another car at the convenience station where I had gone to cash in my winning lottery ticket. My prize was $300.00, just about what its going to cost to get the other car fixed. And that my friends is why August 22 is no longer my lucky day.

How Fast Was I Going?

One of my friends got pulled over recently on her way to work. It was early, about 6:00 AM, and it was on the interstate that normally has 70 MPH speed limits. She got pulled over by a motorcycle cop at 6 o'clock in the morning in what amounts to a speed trap. As I mentioned the normal speed limit is 70 but she got stopped where the limit drops to 55 for about a mile. Nobody ever slows down there. It is a limited access rural highway and the only things on the road at that time are deer jumping across the highway and sleepy drivers making the 60 mile trek to Atlanta. There should be a law against pulling people over on their way to work. The officer, of course, didn't give her a warning; you gotta pay for those fuel bills somehow. Instead, he wrote the ticket to say that she was going 66 in a 55 mph zone, when, in fact, she was going 80. Yes, she was speeding; I'd like to meet someone, anyone, who doesn't. My point is this and I do have one. If the cop wrote the ticket for a lesser amount to give her a break, isn't that a lie? If he lied about her speed, maybe, she wasn't speeding at all and he made that up as well. It's something to think about.

It's My Lucky Day

Today, August 22, is the luckiest day of the year for me. If something exciting is supposed to happen, it usually happens on this day. I can't remember the specific events (okay, maybe I can, but a girl has to have some secrets) but I do know that it was on this date. I do remember that I got my wisdom teeth pulled on this date in 1989. I know that wasn't lucky but I did get to eat mashed potatoes for every meal for a few days. And luckily, my favorite food is mashed potatoes. I think I am going to try my lucky numbers on the lottery this evening. The problem is that I have to pick five numbers and I only have two: Eight for August and twenty-two for the twenty-second. That means that I will only get two out of five numbers and you don't win anything with just two correct. But, since it is my lucky day, I might get the other three numbers as well. I'm a winner and I didn't even know it. Now, what am I going to do with all that cash?

More Seens From The Porch

The cat and I were sitting out on the porch this morning in a semi-awake mode. I was struggling to keep my eyes open even though I was on my fourth cup of coffee. The cat was snoozing and may or may not have been snoring. (It could have been me) There was a nice breeze blowing; I think the breeze was from the wraparound winds of Tropical Storm Fay. It wasn't raining yet, but it was supposed to. Everyone is complaining about the bee shortage. I know where they are; in fact, they can be seen from my porch. Unfortunately, they are not honey bees; they are yellow jackets or carpenter bees. You might know them as the bees that like to have a sip of your drink while you're outside or they like to show up to your picnics and buzz your food. Luckily, I have never been stung by one, they are just an annoyance. Anyhow, a large number of bees were congregated around my flower pots. There aren't any flowers growing there because I had already killed them. It's just dirt. All of a sudden, a big gust of wind came along and swept the bees up; it looked like a tornado of bees and they were heading straight for the porch. I hollered at the cat, "Run, Junior!" He looked at me, saw my look of panic and bolted for the door and I was right on his tail. We made it inside safely and the bees were swept onto the porch and landed on the screen door. Dozens of them. We were trapped!! Thankfully, the winds changed direction in a few minutes and moved the bees somewhere other than my porch. I'm glad too, I can't stand that much excitement; it makes my tic start twitching. Tornadoes of bees, it's possible, I seen it from my own porch.

Back Room Banter

It was off to another trip to the doctor. A little different this time, I got to go see my eye doctor, who is an ophthalmologist and a really funny guy. He is Harvard-educated (which is a good thing) and always seems to remember what you were talking about from one visit to the next. Unlike most doctor visits these days, my eye doctor handled the entire visit from beginning to end, by himself. He called me to the back office, placed me in an examining room, dilated my eyes and then sent me back to another waiting room to let my eyes grow wide and my pupils dilate. The whole pupil dilating thing is an amazing, if not peculiar feeling. How can two little drops of whatever make your eyes do that? It's like someone has a balloon in your eye and is trying to blow it up, that's how it feels to me anyway. I was sitting by myself for a few minutes just enjoying the quietness of the back room waiting area. Presently, I was joined by a nice looking elderly lady who had just received the same treatment. The following is the conversation that took place: "Hey, nice weather we're having, where you from?" asked the lady. "Yep, the weather is nice. I'm from the next town up north." I replied. "Me too, where do you live?" she questioned. "I live out Main St close to Sellers Ave,” I said. She shrugged her shoulders at me and we continued to sit in silence, each seemingly lost in our own thoughts. "You look familiar to me," she said. "That wasn't your property that they found them marijuana plants on, was it? They said it was on Sellers St." "Excuse me?" "They had an article and a picture in the paper about it; you look like that lady in the paper." "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," I responded. "I think I still have last week's paper in my bag." She dug around in her bag and proceeded to fish out a copy of last week's paper that had the pot bust on the front page. "See, here it is," and she handed me the paper. At that time, the doctor came back out to get me (I was dilated) and gestured me into another examining room. I glanced down at the paper to see if I could find the article. Sure enough, there was a story and an accompanying photo detailing the whole story. I told my doctor about what had happened; he chuckled and said that she was here to get new glasses. It seems she hadn't had a new pair in about 20 years. I can see somewhat how she came to the conclusion that I was the busted pot grower. The marijuana was grown on East Sellers St. I live near West Sellars Ave. on the other end of town. I don't know how she came up with the picture though; the picture was of two beefy, burly looking individuals with full beards. When I was finished with my appointment I had to use the ladies room on the way out. I had opened the door and could hear the lady telling the doctor about my alleged criminal activities. He replied that it wasn't me, it was a picture of two gruff looking men, and that I lived on West Sellars Ave. not East Sellers St. "Oh dear," she said. "I guess I need new glasses after all. But, I still think she looked like that lady in the picture."

Boing Boing Boing...Maybe It Is Only Four Inches

Goodness! The Olympics sure have been exciting haven't they? I was watching the men's gymnastics individual finals this evening when the floor exercises were being televised. I like the high bar the best, but I like to watch the floor exercise just as much because of the short shorts. I'm not a pervert or anything; I just like to look at those great hamstring muscles. I'm not sure why they wear long pants in some events and the short shorts in others. There is a particular move that all of the gymnasts seem to perform. It is where they have done a tumbling pass and have landed in the splits. (Ouch) The gymnast will then force his body into a slow handstand with legs spread wide. It seems that most of the times the camera will draw back or away from any close-ups during this particular move. I think I know why. Something, I can't be sure, smiled at me. I'm not sure if I had blinked wrong or a good luck charm fell out. Maybe, something wasn't tightened properly? Or, perhaps, he had grabbed the wrong uniform? All I know, is I could hear the guys in the truck yelling, "Pull back, Pull back, and cut to Bob Costas." Chubby and the Checkers were still doing the twist after completion of that last somersault. I don't think I was intentionally looking for something that I wasn't supposed to see, or maybe I was. Of course, no one ever admits to looking, but we all do. Has anyone ever told you that your fly was undone? How did they know if they weren't looking? What about the old toilet paper sticking out of your pants? Well, maybe not that one, that's just too dang funny to tell someone about. So, my point is this: I believe I got flashed this evening. I can't remember which athlete it was, because I was in shock. I saw something go boing, boing, boing and I might have liked what I saw. Hey NBC, can you show it again, this time in slow motion? I need to measure something.

Where The Heck Is It?

Did you ever just get disgusted with everything? Have you ever had one of those days that everything you tried to get accomplished just ended up in failure? Have you ever tried to find something around the home or office that you know is somewhere, because you put it there for safekeeping, and then can't find it? Well, that is what happened to me in the past couple of days. I had gone to the doctor a few months back and had received new prescriptions. I had intended to get them refilled but I hadn't yet got around to it. I am getting closer to my follow up appointment and the doctor had strongly suggested that I started taking my new medications as soon as possible. Now, where did I put that little piece of paper? Did I put it with all of my other medical paperwork? Did I put it in the desk? Did I put it in the bookcase? Did I leave it in the car lying on the back seat? Did I leave it in my purse? Did I accidentally put it in the shred pile? Did I leave it on the kitchen table with all of the other junk? Did I throw it away? Mon Dieu!! Where in this house did I put that stupid piece of paper? I tried every trick I could think of to try and remember that day. I walked out of each room and walked back in. I walked outside and came back in the house retracing my steps from that day. Nothing! Nada! Zero! Zilch! Just then my phone rang. It was my mom asking me what I was doing. My reply was that I was looking for that blasted prescription and I had torn the house apart looking for it. My mom just started laughing, kept on laughing and I even think she might have snorted once or twice. She laughed so hard that she was out of breath and gasping for air. "What are you laughing at?" I asked. "You!" she said. "You're always giving me a hard time about being a little forgetful. It stinks getting old doesn't it? I can't remember any of you kids' names half the time, I can't remember where I park the car some days, but I do know where you put that prescription." "Well, where the heck is it?" "We met for lunch that day, don't you remember? You asked me to hold on to it for safekeeping."

Julia Child...A Spy...Who Knew

Today, August 15, 2008, would’ve been Julia Child’s 96th birthday. If you do not know who she was; she was the forerunner of all of the TV chefs that you see today. She was the Emeril of the 1950s and the Rachael Ray of the 60s, 70s, 80s, and the first part of the 90s. She made cooking cool. With an ever present wine glass and a jovial Bon Appetit, Child would send her viewers away with a taste of French cuisine and a love for the finer things in life. It seemed that Julia Child might have also been a spy. According to just released reports from the 1940s, Child worked for the OSS, which was a precursor to the CIA, during World War II. She had tried to enlist in the Navy but was deemed to be too tall. She was 6’2”, which in those days was considered huge for a woman. Still wanting to help out in the war she turned to the OSS, and listed herself incorrectly as 6’, I guess a little white lie never hurt anyone. She started out in the typing pool, but was quickly promoted to work directly with the top officials in the government agency. She supposedly handled many top secret documents and may have worked covertly as well. It seems that Julia Child was much more than a celebrated chef. She helped America when she was needed the most. It was only years later that she began to tempt our senses, delve into our souls, and make the world taste just a bit better, the only way she knew how: Through our stomachs!! So, here’s to you Julia Child. May your wine glass be full and your memory continue to grow. Happy Birthday and Bon Appetit. Cheers!

Silver and Bronze

I've been watching the Olympics a lot and I like to watch the podium ceremonies. You know who the Gold medal winners are; they are the ones on the highest podium and are in between the Silver and Bronze medal winners. I believe that the Silver medal is for second place. I know that the Bronze medal is for third place. Somewhere along the way, I think that that has changed. The next time you watch an award ceremony, look at the athletes to the left and right of the winner. Aren't they the same height? So, if you can't have the Gold, go for the Bronze. According to podium heights, you're just the same as the Silver anyway.

I Won An Award

I was very excited to learn that I had won an award over at Humor-Blogs.com. One of the regulars there who likes to call himself Crotchety Old Man Yells At Cars has a weekly contest that allows visitors to write the caption for an interesting photo. My excitement was short-lived. When I found out what the prize was, I placed an immediate phone call to my therapist, who luckily was back from a much needed vacation, away from me. The award that I received was the wondrous beautifully decorated Grand Zucchini Award. However, I have Lachanophobia, which is an acute fear of vegetables. I also have Chlorophobia, which is an acute fear of the color green. I spent most of the day in therapy. My doctor wanted to know about my Doxophobia, if I had overcome it or not? Doxophobia is a complete and utter fear of receiving praise. Holy Lard, Fat Woman! I replied that I had been working on all of my problems, doing what I could to prevent something that might trigger a relapse. I stay away from everything that is green and I don't like vegetables. I live alone and don't talk to anyone but my cat. No chance of any praise or recognition there. At the conclusion of our session, my doctor looked at me and asked me if I thought I might have kakorrhaphiophobia? What in the world is that? Kakorrhaphiophobia is the fear of failure was his reply. Why would I have that? You won the contest this week, but what about the contest next week? I don't see you being a repeat winner. I'll see you in therapy next week.

Things That Make You Go Oops

I was off to another exciting visit to the grocery store last week. I had made out my list and had gotten the appropriate coupons for this quick trip. It wasn't my monthly visit; you know the one where you have to stock up on paper products, laundry detergent and all of the other boring stuff. I had eaten lunch before my visit which was not unusual. Somewhere along the way I had learned that you weren't supposed to go shopping on an empty stomach. Supposedly, shopping for groceries with a full belly will stop me from buying foods that are bad for me. (Yeah, right) I was cruising right along, I had made it pass the produce aisle, (Remember, the middle-aged fat woman doesn't like salads) when I heard the first rumble. (Uh oh) I was headed down aisle 3 which is where the condiments are located. I knew I needed ketchup, and started searching for my list. Grrrrrrrr! (Oh my Lord!) What was that? I couldn't find my list and I was beginning to sweat just a bit. Roooaaaaarrrr went my stomach. I had started to head up aisle 4, (cereal aisle) I knew I needed a box of cereal because I had a coupon. I began looking through my stack of coupons when I realized that I had picked up the wrong stack. I had picked up the coupons to be used at a later date (Great) (Rumble, grgggle, Burrrrroppp) Obviously, I had a situation developing that needed my immediate attention. I needed to find a restroom, fast! I started rolling the cart up aisle 5 and was headed to the area where I hoped the facilities were located. Along the way, the shopping cart wheel (Which was going thump, thump, thump) got stuck on something and wouldn't roll. (Grrrrrrr) Highly exasperated and sweating profusely, I shook the cart back and forth trying to get the wheel unstuck. I looked up and saw the sign for the restrooms, I was close. With a final shove, it came loose, and almost overturned. (It had gotten stuck on a penny) I grabbed the penny and my purse and headed for the bathroom door. There was a handwritten sign on it which I slowed to read (No merchandise to be taken beyond these doors without a receipt) and pushed my way in. Grgggle, Burrroppp. The first thing that I noticed when I got inside was a urinal. The next thing that I noticed was a man standing in front of the urinal. He looked at me with shock registering on his face and I said "Oops", made an about face and back out the door I went. In my haste to reach the facilities and read the sign, I had walked right into the men's room. Oops!

It's Only Four Inches

Many of you might be thinking that this post is about something else--shame on you, get your mind out of the gutter. I am totally amazed at female gymnasts and how they perform a routine on the balance beam. They do flips backwards, frontwards, sideways. They twirl, they do back handsprings, cartwheels, one girl did two somersaults with three twists backward, with her eyes closed on a piece of elevated wood four inches wide...4 inches wide. I can't even walk a straight line. Do you realize how small four inches is? The female gymnasts should be the highest paid athletes in the world. To be able to do what they can do on something that small, while being elevated is totally amazing. Try it for yourself some time. And when you fall off the curb or whatever else you're balancing on--remember those girls, cause they 've fallen thousands of times, all for one purpose, to win an Olympic medal.

The Longest Yard Sale

As a frequent visitor to many yard sales in my area I jumped at the chance to go to the World's Longest Yard Sale that stretches through five states over a four day period every August. The yard sale winds for 654 miles from West Unity, Ohio to Gadsden, Alabama. And trust me when I say that a lot of people participate in this yearly adventure. If you are looking for a particular item to complete a collection or looking for an unusual gift for someone, then you have found the perfect place. There is only one problem: Where do you start? Since I live relatively close to Alabama, my mom decided that we should head over that way. We started out early (about 9:00) and were on our way. As we left town, it seemed that every other house was having a yard sale. (Hhhmmmm) Houston, I think we have a problem? Mom looked over at me and asked, "Do you want to stop at any of those?" "No! I want to go to Alabama, let's keep going." We kept going, and in the first twenty miles we probably passed over 20 yard sales. (I noticed Mom glancing over at me and frowning as we passed by each one.) We were over 100 miles from the official longest yard sale; I guess everyone wanted to get on the bandwagon. After driving for 1.5 hours we reached a town that was "officially" a part of the 654 mile shopper's paradise, Summerville, Georgia. Mom looked over at me and asked the same question once again. "Don't you want to stop at any of these sales?" Quite unexpectedly, I made a sharp right hand turn into a church parking lot that was crammed full of would be shoppers. I almost threw mom into the backseat and was rewarded with a look that used to send shivers of fear down my spine when I was a child: The over-the-glasses look. When you saw that look, you knew you were in trouble. I was out of the car in a flash and was making my way to a local park that was packed with sellers of all kinds. Mom, who was a little out of breath when she caught me wanted to know why I was in such a hurry. "Trolls," I said. "Oh dear," she replied. "We're never getting out of here." To the uneducated and uninformed, troll collecting is a multi-billion dollar industry worldwide. People have been known to spend their life savings on just the perfect troll. Trolls come in many shapes and sizes, colors and styles, and each collector has his or her own particular reason for collecting them. I have a reason but I keep it to myself. I walked right over to the troll vendor and began to peruse her wares. I looked up one table and down the next. (Nothing) I moved down to the next table and there it sat. Troll perfection!! It was a 1935 green-haired, orange-eyed beauty manufactured by the Alexander Family of southern Ohio. It stood slightly over 12 inches tall and was made of corn husks. It was a gold medal find in an unlikely place. It was the troll that I needed, longed for, and just had to have to complete my collection. Twenty years of collecting was boiling down to the next few minutes. The owner of the troll table sidled over to me and looked to be as old as the troll that I now held in my hand. "I see you're interested in old Tallulah?" she asked. "Not really," I said. (I was getting ready to do some negotiating; I didn't want to give myself away.) "Who you think you're kidding?" she said. "I've been waiting on someone like you for about 10 years since I decided that I was getting too dang old to collect these trolls anymore. I don't have family to pass 'em on to, and I sure as hell don't want the government to get 'em. I know how much the blasted thing is worth, so don't try to wear me down. How much you give me for it?" "Uh?" "I'll tell you what, I like the looks of you, you seem like nice folks, being here with your mom and all, I'll sell Tallulah to ya'll for 1 dollar. That's my final and only offer." As I looked over at mom and asked to borrow a dollar (I had brought only hundreds to purchase the troll) I tried to keep my composure. By this time the old lady was wrapping up my purchase and cackling to herself. I murmured a thanks and was about to walk away when suddenly I turned around and gave that woman the biggest hug I had ever given anybody. As she pulled away from the embrace she gave me one last look and said, "You take care of Tallulah for me." (Yes, ma'am) That's the story of my participation in this year's longest yard sale. We walked around the park and sampled a few food vendors and then were ready to go. I didn't make it to Alabama; in fact, I only made it to one town. And that was fine for me. There's always next year!! (I have a collection of kazoos that I'm working on.)

The Opening Ceremonies...08-08-08

It was very exciting watching the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics on NBC...okay, not very exciting...but kinda exciting. Each Olympic host country tries to outdo the previous host countries in making everything bigger, brighter and better in the quest to have the best Olympics of all time. There were many musical performances, I was surprised and relieved to see that Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers weren't there performing. I did catch one American performer, Sara Brightman. Evidently, she was the first beauty in Beauty and the Beast. I couldn't really understand what she was singing; it must have been in Chinese or something. I do have one question though. When it was time for the Chinese National Anthem to be played, it showed the leader of China and the Chinese people all stand in unison and lift their gazes toward the flag. President Bush was in attendance with his wife Laura. Here's my question: Did the President stand while the Chinese Anthem was being played?

A New Broadway Joe

I guess Green Bay didn't get my letter to Brett. They have just done what the Atlanta Falcons did almost 18 years ago: Trade probably the best player in the franchise's history. I don't know if Brett will be able to handle the circus that surrounds a New York superstar. Hey Madonna, are you going to introduce Brett to Kabbalah? Hey Eli, just when you thought you were the man, in walks a real man. He isn't following in anybody's shadow. I don't know if Brett will like New York. I suppose if he wants to get on a tractor, to remind himself of home, he can head on over to Central Park and mow the grass. I'm not sure if Brett will be a regular on Broadway; however, he will be a lot like the original Broadway. He has the swagger, he has the looks, and most of all, he has the attention of the middle-aged fat woman. I'm off to the Sports Authority to buy my new differently colored green #4 jersey. Go Jets!! Jets! Jets! Jets!

08-08-08...The Olympics Are Coming To NBC

This date is embedded in my brain. NBC officials have been spouting this for the last ten years. On 08-08-08, tune in for the opening ceremonies of the blah blah blah Olympics. Don't get me wrong, I love to watch sports of all kinds. But, what I can't stand is when the Olympics are in a time zone on the other side of the world, the media has already reported the winners of that day's races before I get to watch them in primetime. I already know that Michael Phelps won a gold medal in swimming. (He's supposed to win 8) I know the Redeem Team beat Switzerland 245-24 in the first round of basketball. I know that at least 5 people daily are testing positive for some form of doping and will have to give back their gold medals. I know that Coca Cola and Visa are proud sponsors of this year's Olympic Games. I already know that one East German male athlete will turn out to be a female. (Wait, that was a flashback from the 70's) And, I already know that an Olympic marathon is 26.2 miles and will probably be won by someone from Kenya. I know the Olympics start on August 08, 2008. I'll probably be watching events that I already know the outcome of before it even starts. Tell me something I don't know. Tell me what China is doing to solve the Tibet situation? Tell me what China is doing to control the amount of pollution that they are producing each day? Tell me what China is doing to make its exports safer for American consumers? (In case you haven't looked at a label lately, everything practically comes from China) Tell me what the Communist leadership of China is doing to protect the rights of protesters? (Jailing them) What about Taiwan? Okay NBC, you got my attention about 08-08-08, I have bought into the hype. I'll be watching. How about a report on one of the topics I mentioned? Better hurry though, because once the Olympics have started and you are actually reporting from China, you won't be allowed to say anything at all.

A Letter To Brett Favre

Dear Brett, It's too bad I never got to see you play. You always look like you're having fun. It's also too bad that the Atlanta Falcons traded you away after one year. How dumb was that? If you had stayed in Atlanta I might have gotten a few more opportunities to see you run around the field, jumping excitedly up and down after scoring the game-winning touchdown. Or, how about throwing that snowball at your teammates last year, you made football fun to watch. You are a Green Bay Packer. It pains me to watch ESPN right now. I know it was a hard decision to retire. You broke almost every quarterback record that has been kept. To me, you are the greatest player in football, maybe it is time to let it go and move on? I know you still have the drive, the desire, and the guts to "bring it" every day. Your desire and passion have never been questioned. I don't think I could watch you play for anyone other than the Green Bay Packers. When MJ retired, came back and went to the Wizards, it was sad to watch. It was not the same player that I watched, the one who could actually keep me interested in a NBA game. I turned off the NBA when Michael retired. Maybe you should call Barry Sanders? Nobody could believe it when he retired. The running back was at the top of his game. He made his decision and stuck to it. However, every year the same questions would arise, would Barry come out of retirement? It wasn't Barry who started these rumors; it was the press trying to make something out of nothing. I liked to watch Sanders, but he wasn't my favorite. Number 4, you are my favorite! Please don't play football for anyone other than Green Bay. Go coach the high school team. Join your local softball league--it can be very competitive. And if you are still looking for someone to play catch with on Sundays, the middle-aged fat woman is always available. Sincerely, Your #1 Fan

I'm Not Loving It

It was 98 degrees today. It was hot. I tried to stay indoors for most of the day, but the cat wanted to sit out on the porch. There is no sense arguing because the cat always wins. While we were sitting out on the porch the mail ran. There might be something important in the mailbox so I made the trip up the hill and back down again. Of course, there wasn't anything important, just two advertising fliers soliciting pre-paid funeral plots. As I flung myself into my plastic patio chair I hit the seat and slid right off catching myself before I hit the ground. It was so hot that I had become completely drenched in sweat from walking up the hill to get the mail. I had had enough; I grabbed the cat and went back inside the house. I stuck my head in the freezer to try and cool myself down. In case you're wondering, sticking my head in the freezer is a trick I learned growing up, we didn't have any air conditioning and it could get really hot during the summer. Sticking your head in the freezer cools you off quickly. While having my head in the freezer, I checked to see if I had any ice cream. (I didn't) After all, what's better on a hot day than a bowl of ice cream? My appearance wasn't at its best, so, I decided a trip to McDonald's to go through the drive thru would have to suffice. I love the ice cream cones at this fast food giant. The cone only has 150 calories (not that I am counting) and only costs about a buck, you can't beat that! I grabbed my keys and the cat and hopped in the car. It's about three miles into town, just enough time to blow out the hot air in the car and for the air conditioning to begin to cool things down. The anticipation was beginning to build, I looked over at my cat and he licked his lips. When he goes for a ride in the car he usually ends up with a treat of some kind, and doesn't seem to mind going. It was hot. I was hot. The car was hot. The steering wheel was almost too hot to touch. I got stopped at all of the stop lights going into to town. I had to pull over twice; once for a funeral and the second time for an ambulance. I finally pulled into McDonald's and the drive thru lane was backed up around the building. (I guess everyone thought ice cream was a good idea) Can you say I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream? It's finally my turn at the window, "Welcome to McDonald's, may I take your order?" "It sure is hot, ain't it? I'd like an ice cream cone please," I replied. "Yes ma'am, it is hot. I'm sorry, but our ice cream machine is broken. Would you like something else?" I screamed, the cat screamed, the whole drive thru line was screaming. No ice cream. Ba dup ba dup baaaa, I'm not loving it.

The X Files...I Want To Believe...Not

The X Files...I want to Believe, well, excuse me, I want to throw up! What a disappointment. Of course, this is only the middle-aged fat woman's opinion, but I am glad I went to see this movie at the afternoon matinee. I think I speak for the legion of X File fans everywhere when I say, "I thought this movie was supposed to be about extraterrestrials. I thought that was what I was supposed to believe in." No aliens. No black oily-like substance No smoking man No weird funny science guys Mulder and Scully were in the movie. Skinner made a brief appearance in the last ten minutes. They talked about their relationship and their son for about 30 seconds. And, that's it. Any resemblance to anything closely resembling the television X Files is purely coincidental and unintentional is what the disclaimer should say. I found the plot difficult to follow and the dialogue forced. However, there was an upside to the movie. The chemistry between the actors was very strong. Fox was as good-looking as ever and Dana was breathtaking with her long red hair. That's about it. If you like the X Files, go see it, but don't pay full price.

One Handed Egg Cracking

I've been spending time watching the Food Network. I like to see what the other people are eating. I'll admit it, I like meat and potatoes. I am not a big vegetable eater. Some of the recipes look appetizing in the beginning, but then an ingredient has to be added to give it more flavor, to kick it up a notch, so to speak. No thanks! I'll take mine plain. I like to watch the chefs do fancy knife work in the kitchen. I like to see a cook flip something up and catch it in the pan. I like to cook so one day I decided to have pancakes for breakfast. It was time to try the flip. It didn't work. I had forgotten to spray the bottom of the skillet and I just threw pancake batter all over the stove. Another time I was going to try and julienne potatoes for homemade hash browns. I sliced the tip off my finger and had to have six stitches to sew it back on. Maybe, I should start with something a little more basic. I was flipping channels the other day and happened to land on the Food Channel again. The host was preparing some kind of egg dish. I'm not sure what it was, because I was transfixed on one activity: Egg cracking. Oh my goodness! The recipe called for 10 eggs and the host was breaking them with one hand and carrying on some sort of inane chatter about pickling pimentos for the upcoming winter. Crack! Split and separate! Drop into the bowl. Crack! Split and separate! Drop into the bowl. Crack! Split and separate! Drop into the bowl. I was mesmerized. This was something I could do. I went to the refrigerator to see how many eggs I had. I only had three, but I could start with that. I got down a bowl and reached for the first egg. I was nervous; in fact, the egg slipped right through my hand and went Crack! My cat, which is always around when I am in the kitchen, gave the broken egg a sniff, gave me a look, then turned around and walked away. I cleaned it up and carefully reached for the second egg. Crack! Dang it! Before I knew it, I had cracked the egg with both hands, just as I normally do. This is it; I was down to my last egg. With egg in hand, I went Crack! I split and separated! I dropped into the bowl! Success! I ran to the telephone and called my friend explaining what had just happened. Silence!! One handed egg cracking she said, I've been doing that for years and I can't cook. (Harrumph)