“In a Relationship” to “It’s Complicated”

It dawned on me today that it’s been a long while since I’ve gone from “in a relationship” to “it’s complicated.” Time for a Facebook update.

Maybe you know what I’m talking about–the frustrating hours and time spent communicating  talking with someone only to realize that he or she just doesn’t get it (apparently, they never will).

Could be that your personal investment in the one sided relationship fling and the cold awareness that the other person doesn’t care as strongly about you as you do for him (or her) becomes your final wake-up call.

Whatever the deciding factor is that tips your relationship to “it’s complicated” and a looming break-up, know that you’re not alone. There are hundreds of thousands of us who know what you’re going through with Comcast and we’re here for you.

“W” is for Wedgie!

According to my darling nephew, the letter “w” is for wedgie. No watermelon, wiggles or Wednesday–just wedgies. There is no designated time for “w’s” to occur. They may happen unannounced on any day of the week and wherever young exuberant boys are present. This is not to say that my niece–and other girls–do not participate in giving “w’s.” They just lack the bountiful zeal their male counterparts express when giving them. I don’t have to worry, though. The little munchkins don’t scare me. I just have to watch my back a little more :-).

Love or luv?


I have a penchant for love letters written during a certain time period (long ago).  I thought it would be fun to compare a letter from the past written by a famous poet  to what allegedly could be considered a modern-day expression of luv by some (strong emphasis on allegedly).




Example 1:

August 1, 1810

Oh My William! It is not in my power to tell thee how I have been affected by this dearest of all letters – it was so unexpected – so new a thing to see the breathing of thy inmost heart upon paper that I was quite overpowered, & now that I sit down to answer thee in the loneliness & depth of that love which unites us & which cannot be felt but by ourselves, I am so agitated & my eyes are so bedimmed that I scarcely know how to proceed…

Written by Mary Wordsworth to her husband William Wordsworth. William, of course, is a well known English Poet. (http://www.theromantic.com/LoveLetters/wordsworth.htm)





Example 2:

April 3, 2011

baby ur so hott ur 1 hot mess an i saw ur photo and im so sh&* faced rght now but u r so hott i had to txt u ur so sexy an im in luv so we shld hook up cum on an chat wats ur live messenger im crissogansta@hotmail.com i rlly want 2 c u so im me, k  this is so nt a booty txt ur way more thn tht i jus wanna talk an tell u how hot u r im @ the comp waitn 4 u 2 im me k ur turnin me on so hit me up

Tech Voodoo

So here’s the thing . . . these past two weeks have involved (what could be perceived as) a voodoo-type tech curse.  My newish phone suffered an early death, my computer’s LCD screen was stabbed by a pointy, metal object (rendering it nearly useless), and, today, while in the midst of progress, my mini-voice recorder decided it was time to hit the grave.  Nice.  Not.  I have said before, no techie here.  Just for fun, I googled “voodoo dolls” and I discovered that, for the inexpensive fee of just $600 bucks, I can pay for the voodoo curse to be lifted.  Unfortunately, I’m short on cash.  Being Catholic, however, has some nice perks like free blessed salts, candles, water, and, of course, novenas.   Let the sprinkling of holy water from the Jordan river begin and (since there is no saint of broken things), I’m asking Job to put in a good word for me to the big guy upstairs.

B.S. Meter

Meter reader guy:  “I inspected your service line and nothing’s been tampered with.”

Me:   “Thank God, I was worried for a minute.”

Meter reader guy:  “I went ahead with the maintenance and you should be good to go.”

Me:  “What do I owe you?”

Meter reader guy:  “Nothing.  Says here you’ve paid in full.”

Me:  “Awesome!”

I am happy to announce (no, not that, what the heck were you thinking?) that my B.S. meter is fully operational.  It is so sensitive that it picks up the slightest B.S. kilowatt.  Then the small hand moves.  Fortunately, I am not charged for B.S. read.  I’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble.  However, I am developing a portable, handheld system that may be purchased for a reasonable price for those of you whose meters are not working properly.  I have many people to thank for my highly, specialized meter but I will reserve my accolades for another time and place (the B.S. Oscars 2011).  In the mean time, you know who you are.  I do, however, have my speech worked out.

Me (accepting my award):  “Thank-you.  I am so honored.  I would like to thank my family and friends for supporting me during times of high stress  B.S.  Next, I thank those red hands for spinning out of control and saving me from unnecessary naivety. I will treasure you always.  For those of you who have fine tuned my meter because of the spoonfuls truckloads of B.S. you have dumped my way, my future appreciates it (bowing)!”

There’s fear and darkness all around you . . . .

Confession–I watch Dog the Bounty Hunter (frequently, when I’m up late, not writing, and can’t sleep). I can’t help myself. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s filmed in Hawaii (dreamy, someday vacay spot), Leland’s tatts are cool, Dog is just awesome, Beth rocks dragon nails and pink handcuffs, Duane Lee II is hot, it’s a family business or I get to vicariously track wanted criminals (I took a lot of criminology classes back in the day). 

What I know is, I like it regardless of what others think. I don’t really care if my family members snicker when they walk in my room and it’s on (yet, I find the need to confess).

Many times, I hit sleep on the remote and fall into a deep slumber as Dog and his crew are screaming at a guy to get on the ground or during the prayer, the cuffing, the good-byes, the last cigarette, the bottle of water, the talk or the drive to turn in the captured fugitive.

Hmmm–clearly a dork. I must go now. Dog is on. The sleep button is counting down, I’m tired (exhausted really), and I have a lot of work to do tomorrow (plus, hockey play off game #2). Aloha!

Tech Support!!!

I am a former, tech inept person. Not that I’m now a self-proclaimed tech guru (but I’ve come a long way, baby). Social media has helped but hasn’t been the grand master.

A switch was flicked firing neurons and igniting that part of my brain formerly rendered grayish and squishy. I’m not saying you’d want to call me for IT help (only my mom who is more tech inept than me does that), but at least I can perform some basic trouble shooting.

Just yesterday, I moved my desktop to another location. While the Internet is not up and running (yet), I properly connected the wires, most of the speakers and the keyboard works! Yay! I know–but for me it’s quite exciting.

Short story longer, my brother, David, has received (in the past) numerous calls involving “it’s off-line again” or “how do I scan and upload” and much, much more. Poor guy. Since he works three jobs+ and is an amazing dad, composer, professor and musician, I’ve tried to cut back on my calls.

However, I still can’t scan and upload my photos without them ending up as pdf files, I think something’s wrong with my router and wth? I must defrag my disk! In the meantime, I’ll keep trying. Here’s hoping my “skills” may be properly utilized. If not, my bro might start answering the phone like he did in the past, “Tech support!”

Suave, Four-Legged Children

I’m from a soflo city which, in recent years (about the last 20 or so) has become somewhat of a suave place to live.  Part of the suaveness includes numerous Starbucks (thank God) and a posh mall that, when I was a child, had a toy store and a Taco Viva (yes, for a seven-year old kid, it was thrilling). Now there is a plethora of stores I do not know the names of (excluding Juicy because that’s just sheer fun to pronounce). But I digress.

I am an allergy queen.  I will not bore you with the details but the only pets I am aware of that will not aggravate my asthma or allergies are reptiles (yep, turtles, snakes, lizards etc.). Fish are safe, too, but not an option.  Years of living with lone Betas that required their own little containers (because the pretty males would kill one another if put in the same tank), certain water, special fish food, who managed to persist way beyond the normal goldfish life span (one of them survived five years even after accidentally ending up in the disposal), no way, no how.  You get the drift.

Back to my original point.  People here like dogs.  A lot.  They love them actually.  Many people act like the dogs are their children.  Some of the dogs ARE children.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love dogs.  Have always loved dogs.  Will always love dogs.  I was fortunate enough to have two of the dear creatures growing up (they were a girl’s best friend).  But, they were DOGS.  They did not sit at the dinner table, have their own laptops, and sport designer clothing.  In my city, though, a phenomenon exists.  I’d call it a trend but it’s bigger than that.  More like a revolution.  A doggie revolution.  Not only do dogs have their own park, they now travel (many of them complete with doggie seat belts and sunglasses) to such places as the aforementioned posh mall.  And high-end restaurants.  And Whole Foods.  And Starbucks.  The owners of large dogs showcase their “children” by diamond studded leashes.  The “children” flaunt pink leather collars with engraved, sterling dog tags.

Look, a working dog helping someone to live a normal life (or as close to a normal life as possible), fabulous.  Police canines who fight crime, sniff out drugs, and help to protect my community, awesome.  Childhood pets like Buster, Max, and Molly, who are home chilling where they should be, wonderful.  I’m not referencing these fantastic animals.

I’m speaking about Fifi, Diego, and Persia whose doggie doo I step in when I come out of Starbucks.  Who I spot scouring The Mall perched in their comfy, cushiony STROLLERS!  Where else in the world, with the exception of Beverly Hills, can you walk through The Mall and see a pair of dachshunds side by side in their pink, double wide STROLLER?  I know, I know.  I grew up here.  I am a native and I swear it wasn’t like this twenty-five years ago.  I find myself irritated enough to consider showing up with an adopted “child” in a stroller, too.  Only my “child” would be roughly twelve feet long, have brown blotches up and down its back, and would curl up nicely in its STROLLER.  Of course, when it would get hungry, I’d be sure to drop into the nearest pet store to pick up a few rats or rabbits. At least my “child,” couldn’t send someone into anaphylactic shock.  A heart attack, maybe, but no Zyrtec necessary.  Please, people, leave your “children” home, safe and sound.  Those of us who are allergic, thank-you.

Humor Me Monday

Wow! A post on Monday the intended day!  Fabulous!

  • My niece and nephew were spending the night over the weekend.  My nephew wanted to sleep in my son’s room (my children were time-sharing with their dad) and my niece was thrilled to sleep in my daughter’s room.  They both ran into the bedrooms.  Nothing but silence from my daughter’s room as my niece headed straight to the dollhouse.  Suddenly, I heard “booooooooooo” streaming from my son’s room.  I walked in and my nephew was lying on his back on the floor staring at my son’s bulletin board.  I glanced over and saw the large, signed poster of the Florida Panther’s ice dancers (with their exposed abs, short shorts, and laser whitened teeth).  “Do you want me to take that down for you?” I asked.  The kid is only 7 yrs. old!  “Yes!”  he replied with another long “booooooo.”  I promptly removed the push pins and placed it out of sight.  The sweet innocence and wit of little ones!