How to have a happy birthday!

I thought I’d spread the love and impart some of my birthday wisdom because you all of us 21 year olds think we KNOW everything!

1. Go ahead and lick the end of the charger cord. I watched my son look at the end of my computer charging cord, think for a second, then decide to lick it. Hmmmmm, I guess I’ll try anything once, quite a few I’ll never do again, but I can atleast SAY I did it.

2. I look much better with clothes on. Working twice as hard to maintain what I got is fun, but sighing and simply accepting the call from National Geographic for their Amazon women photo shoot rather than fighting it. Walking around naked though does have it’s own freeing ability!

3. As long as they don’t see you eat it, it doesn’t have any calories. I’m not really sure what happened to all that birthday cake. Gotta go for a run.

4. Body glide and KY – we all need a little help sometimes, don’t be afraid to ask for it. Like both, you’ll be really happy you did!

5. Be a good example – be honest, open and trustworthy – except for the secret stash of weed, I mean chocolate!

6. Just keep moving! Be one with it! Headwind? 90 degree heat? 100% humidity? -14 degrees, don’t focus on the negative and be surprised at how pleasant a task becomes!

7. Dance after you’ve had a few drinks – you look so much better in your own mind! The same is true with Karaoke.

8. It aint about you anyway. When you take the focus off yourself and onto others, the fun REALLY begins!

9. Love hard – you never know how long you got!

10. Not liking the course? Then change direction! Change is good, it keeps things fresh, just ask my butt and elbows after two months of learning how to snowboard! Learning something new=PRICELESS!!

Time flies whether you are having fun or not, so make the most of what you got. Fine tune the machine and enjoy what you have – makes those Facebook pictures and youTube videos that much better!

Where did my smartphone find the word, "Cunni...."

My best friend and I are two pretty well educated broads, we’ve been hanging out together so long we can almost read each other’s mind. This comes in very handy when our smart phones decide to dumb us down a little bit. It started with the conversation about where to have dinner. There’s a great feature on phones where you can talk into the speaker and it will write the text for you. This is wonderful when you are trying to finish a text and the light turns green and some jerk behind you don’t have the patience and is blaring his horn! Doesn’t he realize we’re not supposed to text and drive. Back to this wonderful feature. So, we’re thinking of some place to eat…..

“Where are you thinking about eating?” Is what I tell the speaker to type.

Free panties is what pops up on the screen. After the second try, it types what I want it to type. (how did it come up with free panties from that? Did it know that the dog has eaten all but two pairs of my underwear?)

She replies, “I’m not sure what are you in the mood for?”

“I want seafood but don’t know where it’s fresh,” is what I want to say.

I win seafood I don’t know if there’s 1 thing. I’m fresh. Is what the phone comes up with, why yes I am feeling fresh when all that’s left if my sock drawer is two pairs of thongs (darn dog!)

She replies, we could try the Full Moon or we could go downtown. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone to the Full Moon.”

It’s been a while since I’ve been to the phone,” my phone thinks that I simply obsess about it all the time, I guess.

I’m thinking that seafood sounds good, now I want to convince her to come downtown. “When was the last time you had seafood?” I say into my phone.

Tiny cc comes out. What the heck? I try again. Secret my phone spits out. I wonder if there is someone down at Verizon that sits typing up these text messages laughing as he send crap on a creek for come pick me up.

There’s a rash of people thinking that everyone’s an alcoholic out there every 5 seconds from the text messages that fly across “smart” phones these days. There’s two great features, this speak to text that seems to really like the word “cunniligus” for almost everything you say into the speak. Why that word? Why can’t it be “cantelope” I still think there’s a pervert over there at Verizon intercepting what we speak in there and replying with “free panties” or “scope the dork.” Then there’s the SWIPE feature, that’s supposed to make it easy for you to swipe your fingers across the phone and it will make the word for you. Here’s a nice example of a text I received using the swipe feature, “Jen said she would take nous nut they would have mote fun ay home til they go” and “Places ate center that weekend. Hsu maybe you and Jeff could meet us and stay on boat Sunday noghy.”

Luckily for us, we can pretty much read each other’s minds (there is a rumor around town about the two women with three kids seen together all the time) and without the air of the speak to text feature on our phones, we’re able to schedule a lunch together at the seafood place downtown. It only took both of us pulling over by the side of the road somewhere to get our fingers out and let them do the walking. Or it’s a conspiracy theory to get us to finally hit the call button on our phones and actually talk to each other like human beings! What do you think?

The Gods Must Be Crazy

It was a day when I knew the Gods were not smiling down upon me. I wanted to go for a short bike run, get the kinks out of the legs, make sure the bike likes Ocean City burn off the Lobster Stuffed Mushrooms from the night before. I should have known better when this morning when I went for my biking shorts and found a surprise instead. My sweet little puppy decided that she didn’t want me biking so she ate the padding from inside my expensive Pearl Izumi bicycle pants. She sat there innocently looking at me, “Why do you want to go out there anyway?”
So I decided to see if I could salvage the pants and try them out on my ride. But the Gods were not done with me yet. Moving into the halfway mark and getting ready to cross a bridge, the bike felt funny, that’s when I noticed the flat. Curse you Gods! I thought as I stopped by the side of the road next to a busy highway. I’d been to Clemmons Bicycle for the tire changing class, I had a pouch that was supposed to contain all the pieces, so this was my first attempt at changing a flat tire. I prayed to the gods for help.

Opening the kit, I spilled the contents on the roadside. Hmmm, 20 dollars where did that come from? My sweet husband stashing that in there for my rainy day? I could call a cab? I thought of waiting that hour after a ride for him to pick me up and silently cursed not knowing of the bucks in there. I take off my bicycle helmet and reach for my McGyver Hat (if anyone does not know who McGuyver is, go and read your history books – specifically ancient totally lame TV shows) In front of me sat all the pieces to change a tire. Briefly I thought, I could lay the bike sideways and with those CO2 cannisters and one match and two pieces of wire turn it into a rocket ship and blast myself back home. But out of the fantasy and into the present. I had to start by getting the tire off the rim, luckily there’s tools for that job and after one broken fingernail and several curse words, the tire was off and inner tube thrown to the side. When I put the new on one, I stood there for a minute thinking, this is bigger than the rim, did I buy the wrong innertube? (all my cyclist friends can laugh at this point and send a nice big DUH my way) After contemplating the inner tube, I pulled out my phone thinking about calling a cab. Damn, no service. Wait I can send text messages, let me update my Facebook status because I’m sure everyone cares about where I am!)

Back to the tire, my thought process was that I was going to live with the inner tube I have, hoping that inflating it will make it stay in the tire long enough to get me back 10 miles. I put the tub on the rim, put the tire around the tube then come to the CO2 cannisters used to fill it with air. I have two and as I fool with the hookup I hear a PFFFFT and SSSSSSS and curse the gods again as the air in the canister did not go in the tire but floated up to the heavens as an offering to them. Looking at the second canister, I am reminded of McGuyver again – trying to make his smoke alarm battery defribulator work with two pieces of braces wire and a piece of aluminum foil. “We don’t have enough Power Robert, we’ll have to give it one more shot and hope that it works) I screw in the canister and with a silent prayer (I am sorry for cursing you, what I really meant to say was I love you. Can you make this canister work?) I hit the button on the inflator and smile as I hear the air go into the tires. The tire feels good, I’m stoked that I was able to do this myself and just to play with me some more, the clouds open up and theres a sprinkle of rain as I start my ride back.

A guy n a beach bike rides up behind me and says, “Sweet ride.” If I were 20 years young I’d think he was looking at my ass (which is sweet) but being the athlete I knew he meant my bike. Maybe that was the sign that the gods wanted me to ride. I come home to the dog chewing on my brand new running shoes, could this be a sign?

Hey Dads - RELAX! It's Father's Day!

What makes a great dad? That’s a hard question to answer, it differs completely person to person. Just like Mother’s Day we honestly don’t need a holiday to remind us how great our parents are, what they do for us on a daily basis is reminder enough. My advice to Dads this weekend? RELAX!

Dads, you don’t have to be perfect – that’s what Moms are for – they help clean up the mess, really? (just kidding) Best memory of my Dad? That he wasn’t perfect and there are many stories to prove that! I can see him standing in the garage holding a hair dryer to a frozen pipe because forgot to leave the heat on and his teenage daughter had a date planned and couldn’t take a shower (talk about drama), I remember long drives to Florida with my father wearing the same pair of shorts, my sisters yelling, “Dad’s getting up, hold your nose!” There were a few times we were dancing outside at a beach bar and heaven knows (really, heaven does know) that NEITHER of us are perfect, but after a pina colada we felt we could bust a move. There’s the man standing at the door when my date came to pick me up – not saying a word the entire time. The beached whale trying to body surf the waves in Ocean City, the Umpire getting death threats from parents at our softball games, to the handyman that thought he really could paint the inside of toilets. A screw to hang a picture, fishing line to a screw in the ceiling to keep the Christmas Tree up, Dad wasn’t perfect but always was thinking of a Plan B.

Everything we did was NEVER perfect or EVER went according to plan, so rather than worry about what was going wrong – we simply laughed it off and moved on with Plan B. He was roasting some meat on the charcoal grill, my Mom said, “Buddy, you think that’s done?” I remember watching him open the lid to the grill, a big fireball flying up into the sky with a little black brick in the middle of the grill. He looked at the brick, shut the lid and said, “Maybe just a few more minutes.” Guess what? We ate watermelon, corn on the cob, potato salad for dinner – probably the only time my father ever went vegetarian. Best part of dinner, laughing and coming up with some very interesting culinary names for the meat – “le Brick de Noir” or “Teeth Crusher” or “BOB-Black Overcooked Brick.”
By learning how to RELAX, my Dad was comfortable in his own skin. By admitting mistakes, moving on and forward, he was the person people enjoyed hanging out with – no pretense, a little burned food, many good stories! He wasn’t perfect but he was exactly what I needed growing up – someone to remind me to relax, and enjoy the moment!

So Dads – RELAX, enjoy the moment because that’s the most important part of Father’s Day, being with your family and creating those funny stories of tomorrow. Any good stories of your Dad’s imperfections?

Are you tubby or chubby or simply Jonah the whale?

There’s no better way to get to know a city than running a race through it. Want to do it cheaply, then simply plan a run along a route that travels the city. Today I ran through the streets of Ocean City and got to know the city in a whole new light. This city really appreciates the types of people visiting their fair city, it’s pretty evident in all the local businesses.

Are you hungry? Then they’ve got the goods for you! You can eat at some very nice all you can eat places called, Belly Busters, Chubbys, Tubbys, and Jonah the Whale. “Hey Earle, let’s do an all you can eat tonight, what’s the right one? I’m hungry. Chubby’s, now that’s the name of a place that will serve us well.” Of course if you are more part of the exclusive crowd, you can go with the ones that are code named, like the restaurant called, PGN – personally, I think this is code for “piggin” and they won’t let me in to find out. Just one glimpse of the clientele and I could find out if this is the “PGN” type. Not only will they fill your belly with all kinds of ribs, mac and cheese, and burgers for the “exclusive” conneusour, there’s the House of Chipped Beef with a wonderful sign on the front offers, “All you can eat chipped beef.” There was a line outside of the restaurant this morning, must be pretty good chipped beef.

If you’re not into the all you can eat, personally I don’t think I get my money’s worth on that one, you can then go to the fine dining establishments I passed on my way this morning. You can always stop at Hooters, which had a nice sign on the front that said, Special today – Fish Sandwiches, or you can go what I think is the more creatively named restaurant – Big Peckers. Get your mind out of the gutter, this is a chicken establishment – not choking but fried or grilled, whatever your choice. Who’s going to venture a guess at how many T-shirts they sell out of that restaurant. Finally there’s the wonderful Brass Ball Saloon, with another very apprapoe sign on their board, “We have crabs.” Would you need Brass Balls if you had crabs, that is the question you can answer with a visit to this restaurant.

If you are thinking of dieting, the clothing stores in Ocean City make you feel much better about your body. There’s the Coconuts Salon, selling just bathing suits to fit those just ripened to been on the tree way to long coconuts. If you don’t have the perfect body, you can always stop at 2 Dye 4 which has that great T-shirt of the perfect body to cover up what you got! Or you could always simply wear the Big Peckers T-shirt and call it a day.

If you get into trouble in Ocean City, there’s ABBA Bail Bonds for those that got carried away from the karaoke machine. The Anchor Bail Bonds for those trying to get out of town, and the 24/7 bail bonds for those that can’t see to tell the difference between night and day. Get into trouble with a middle aged man with a shotgun? You can always stop at Fidelity Bank and take out a loan to pay off the debt to her family or society.

Either way, there’s plenty for everyone here in Ocean City, we’re lucky it’s named appropriately because how would you know where to go? Any good business names you’ve seen in your travels?

Summer salt, sun and surprises!

It's morning and of course there’s only two people actually up and moving this early – me and the dog! After what felt like an eternity driving yesterday, it was nice to finally hit the beach. The Northern beaches that is. Ocean City reminds me of my grandmother, stuck a little back in time, showing a little worse for the wear but something you still love to come back to. It’s so much more crowded than the beaches of North Carolina we visit, and so much colder! Sure, the condo smells a little like feet, and I feel the urge to immediately go out to get pillows and Febreez, it's still a place I love.

The dog gave me that, “You’ve got to be kidding me” look when I was up at the crack of the dog and hauling her down to the “dog walk.” This is the only grassy area of the condominiums where a dog can relieve themselves and not get an electric shock from the building’s landscaper – just kidding. The dog walk is a fenced in square of brown grass with a very smelly trash can to the side of it. She is mad that I woke her then the look of joy at the Encyclopedia Britannica of dog smells in the area as she reads her doggy morning paper. I take her to the beach and she’s jumping because of the sand, then hiding between my feet at the roaring sound of the ocean. What a new and exciting experience for the puppy.

Me? I’m thinking, I signed up to swim in the ocean on Sunday so I decide to touch my toe to the water. Holy SHIT! This is freezing, haven’t we had a heat wave? The dog is next to me and touches the water then walks back to roll in the sand with a “you’re nuts, there’s no way I’m swimming in that.” She takes one lick and spits it out.

First day of summer vacation and it’s about being a kid again, walking around the complex remembering when I spent summers here, laughing about that weekly “falling in love” at the beach, only to say our “goodbyes” when the tourists had to leave on the Saturday morning. It’s about ocean sunrises from the back porch and bay sunsets from the front porch. It’s about my boys spending 5 dollars on the “claw” to try and win me the Ipod in there and coming back with just a (5 dollar) piece of candy. It’s about the first words out of their mouth not, “Wow look at the ocean” or “Thanks Mom for driving us here” but “When can we go to Candy Kitchen.” Ocean City, with Thrasher’s French Fries, Candy Kitchen, Dolle’s Popcorn and crabs by the bushel. Right now I’m not going to think about it being me SIGNING UP to freeze my ass off this weekend in a fitness challenge while my boys watch and laugh.

They’re sleeping, dreaming about spending a mortgage payment on the Claw while I plot and plan the day. Think I can keep them out of Candy Kitchen until past lunchtime?

Dollars to Sand Dollars!

Horray, Hoorah, we’ll start the day,
Without the stress of the school bus our way.
We’ll trade in that stinky lunch box,
To barefeet or shoes that don’t require socks.
The pencils they’ll sit tucked away,
As we’ll talk about ocean spray.
No more lunch money, we’ll holler.
Time for spending a few sand dollars.
Not backpacks but fishing poles in our hands.
No more playground just some soft warm sand.
Our Mom? A nice long sigh.
As to 1st and 4th grade we wave good bye.
A beautiful sunny day our feet hit the floor,
“Mom? Mom? Mom? We're bored."

Sausage casing or short and sassy, that is the question!

I’m not sure what I detest more – dress shopping or bathing suit shopping
A special occasion looms over my head like the albatross that followed me home on my last run in 90 degree heat. I put it off as long as I possibly could, telling myself I didn’t need to buy a dress, I could just wear something that I already had, when plans changed and I HAD to buy a dress, i started the pilgrimage to the mecca of finding something that actually fit, that I liked, and wasn’t that expensive. Oh, dress fairy take me away!

I figure if I’m looking for a dress, then the best place to head is the mall – another thing I haven’t done in over 3 years. I’m amazed at how different it looks, where did all these young girls come from – shouldn’t they be in school. I’m looking for pink, so as I travel the different stores I encounter all types of tiny girls looking at the same dresses I’m looking at.

“Man, the smallest size they have here is a 1---that’s not going to work,” little girl smacking her gum says to her friend busy texting someone else.
“OK Ginger, try on the 1 sometimes things are cut small,” texter replies back. bitch is all I can think.

I look at the 4 in my hand and go back to try it on, when it feels like a sausage casing on my skin, I leave everything there in the dressing room and leave. The next store, the clerk takes one look at me and doesn’t even bother to come and see if she can help me. I leave before I find out if it’s either the money issues, or all the dresses are really too young or they only carry the pencil sizes! At another store, the clerk tries to steer me to a Moo Moo looking caftans that would make me look like a big pink balloon – no, thank you very much.

I wonder if I’ve moved out of the cute dress to the smart dress – have I become JCPenny? Do they have real sizes where a 4 really feels like a 4? I travel to another place that carries a lot of pink and am amazed that when the sales person asks what I want, she says, “oh, you’re a size 0 here.” It’s all in the perception, isn’t it? I puff up in pride, the last time I was a 0 was probably high school, I could shop here all the time saying, “Oh, the smallest size they have is a 2,” while some other women looks at me with a frown. I know EXACTLY what she's thinking.

Then I wonder, how short the skirt? What’s appropriate – of course my butt hanging out is out, but should I go knee, or mid-thigh or as most doctors like to say “at my age” should I go DOWN? I want be fun so I pull a few that are all different lengths and sizes because it’s obvious size doesn’t matter when it comes to dresses. The sausage casings last a few seconds on, the one’s I’m hanging out of hit the floor, the ones I can’t even get up are tossed on the bench. I find one that I like, “hey this looks pretty good,” but the 200 price tag has that put VERY CAREFULLY back on the hanger. There’s even one I can’t understand which strap goes where until I’m tied up in a knot it in praying I don’t have to call the salesperson for a pair of scissors

After several attempts at liking ones that too expensive I settle on two REASONABLY priced dresses, I need another opinion. I take a picture of each one and text my husband asking which he liked, he is the one stuck looking at it. After sending the messages, I realize I’ve done what Rep Weiner has done, become a wiener sending pictures of myself over the internet, albeit that I did have clothes on. When there’s no response, I figure I’ll go with the one I like, just short enough to make me feel sassy but grown up enough to not make me look like a tramp. I walk out the door vowing to go on a diet and never have to shop for a dress again. Maybe I can hire a personal shopper put a pillow around her middle and let her go and try on the dresses for me.

My internet pictures don’t come to haunt me, my dress sits in the closet when I realize that I have another problem. What shoes am I going to wear with it?

A Mother's Morning!

Mother's are up early not to get the house together but to enjoy that 15 minutes of quiet with a HOT cup of coffee before the day begins. This morning was no different, except that I didn't get that 15 minutes.

My boys are lucky I love them, the dog, well, that's she's cute. I come downstairs to a nice pile of poo with the dog following me. She passes it like it's nothing simply looking back at me like, "lady it stinks in here, can you clean that up?"

The boys who are supposed to be sleeping are up early and explain that we need to leave the door open to let the fresh air in and give Shawnee a place to go. So the door goes open as they discuss things like, "should mommy make french toast? eggs? bacon?" I'm thinking captain crunch or pop tarts.

All hell breaks loose when a bird flies in through the open door, all while the illustrious dog is sitting there standing guard. i go to get a broom, the boys start screaming, "don't kill the bird!" Honestly, like i'd kill a bird. "IT'S POOPED! LOOK! IT'S POOPED!" I'm thinking now about killing the bird. It doesn't help that the dog is jumping on me barking, probably trying to save the bird too, (it understands when you gotta go you gotta go)while i'm trying to coax it back out the door.

Once the bird is safely outside again, and the door shut, I'm counting the minutes to the bus. (what! 45 minutes? It's only....) My youngest decides that he's taking a live moth to school, they are learning about moths, right? We chase a few moths (the door was open for a while) and get one in a cup. The oldest informs the youngest that he's touched the moth, therefore the moth cannot fly, so he's KILLED a moth. The drama of the bird is moved to the drama of how he could save the moth, what he could possibly do, why oh why did he kill the moth followed by, "But can i still take it to school?"

After French Toast and brushed teeth, and arguments on what to put in the lunch box, "No, honey Fruit Rollups, and nerds do not constitute lunch, let's add a few carrots and maybe a Pediasure?" They are waiting for the bus. The bus driver asks what's in the cup as the youngest boards, looks at me with with my hair standing on end (no live animals on the bus) and says, "Give it to me, I'll hold it until we get to school."

Wow, coffee's burnt, workout already in, and two kids off to school. What will I do when school's out?

Bubble Girl

It usually ends with the shit hitting the fan.

Many of my friends already know, many will find out eventually, some may never know but I’m the bubble girl. I’ve got this bubble around my mind that doesn’t process any information remotely looking like drama. John Travolta in the Bubble Boy could not let any type of disease into his world, I’ve decided that I cannot allow any type of drama. Most times it works out very well except for the usual cases.

Take Jena and Eilieen, two good friends both friends of mine whose names have been changed to protect the innocent. They got into a fight the other day because Eilieen overheard from Sara that Jena thought Eileen was “full of herself.” What exactly does “full of herself” mean? Beats me, but it sure did make Eileen mad, so she goes and starts getting her revenge, she starts saying that it’s obvious that Jena got some botox, and that Jena won’t admit it. Here’s where it’s advantageous to be Bubble Girl. I never heard that Eileen was “full of herself” and I’m not even sure what that means. If they told me how much they hated each other it was probably over margaritas where my mind was blissfully into, “gee, this tastes good---oh, why are they yelling at each other? Oh well, lookee here there’s another one.” Someone tries to pull me into the mess with the botox statement. What is botox and how can you tell if someone’s botoxing, is that even a word? I see both ladies on a regular basis, unaware that a feud the size of the Hatfield and McCoys is going on, not noticing that my friends are either at “Jenaville” or deciding to stay with “Eileenville” – I’m in the bubble and the bubble is Switzerland. They start pushing each other over who started the whole thing and who’s going to order the next Long Island Iced Tea. My other friend, Betty who enjoys being right in the thick of things plays Oprah for a little while until both women with tears in their eyes, hug and tell each other that they love each other. My wonderful friends then say, “We’re sorry to drag you into this.” I simply nod, not sure what they are talking about but ready to accept that wonderful makeup Margarita they’ve ordered.

I can be at a concert, totally unaware that someone next to me is trying to sell illegal drugs to everyone including me. My bubble sees a very nice man that is talking with me about the concert, what? What is that? Oh, I’m watching the concert, no I’m not interested in brownies – don’t you know they make you fat? Have you met this really nice man on my other side? He said that he’d like to get past me and take a good look at those brownies. My friends say, “Why didn’t you move away as the cop was arresting the guy?” I’m bubble girl, “What? Why would he be arresting him? You can’t sell food at a concert?”

Another concert not staying in my bubble got me in trouble. There I am, just like everyone else, enjoying the Hammond B3 organ and mandolin when my girlfriend says, “Did you notice that girl checking you out?” “Me? Why?” I look over and as if she’d gotten some type of clue she’s at my side, talking about the concert. What a nice girl, she’s explaining all about the different instruments, pointing out the lighting. My friends come with a sigh and steer me in a totally different direction, leaving my new friend looking awfully mad. Back to the bubble.

Which brings me back to my apologies to my friends, I am the bubble girl. It takes candid conversation with me if you want to get your point across. I don’t do nuances, I don’t do half truths, and I definitely don’t do drama. There’s no waiting for me to catch onto something because odds are that I never will catch, my mind is so far into the clouds that it will take a nuclear fallout for me to stop and think, “gee is something wrong?”

The good news is that there isn’t any family drama, because I’m unaware of any drama going on. There isn’t fights between friends because I’m not aware I’ve pissed someone off, they usually stew about it waiting for some type of rise out of me and when they don’t get it they soon forget about it and move on their own merry way. There’s no watercooler talk because I don’t work in an office, maybe a little Facebook chat talk but it’s about nothing and usually there isn’t anyone involved.

My bubble is full of sunshine, and unrotten fruit, dresses that still fit, and eyes that don’t need glasses. It constantly plays upbeat, jazzy music, and smells like honeysuckle – because you know what, if you step outside of it and let your mind focus on gossip, bad news or feelings then things like that can take you over. So, I for one will stay in my bubble, listen when the listening is good and stay out of the way of drama. How about you?