Happy Sundry Sunday

Weekend adventures in menus, bargain hunting, fashion, and vitamins. Finished book and found some great sayings. Sharing …..

Menus

Each week is more kookadoodledoo than the last so it is necessary for me to cook on Sunday. Here’s what’s on the menu for next week:

  • Portobella mushrooms stuffed with three cheeses and topped with pancetta
  • Collard greens, slightly braised in garlic, lemon olive oil, and chicken stock, topped with prosciutto
  • Chicken fillets, stuffed with pesto cream cheese, then wrapped in turkey bacon
  • Tuna nicoise pasta salad
  • Potato chips, Fritos, Peeps and caffeine (requires no cooking)

Bargain Hunting

Less than $50, including pashmina. Rah!

After donating most of my closet to Goodwill, I was in a bit of a pickle re: upcoming events. But I am a determined lass (long in the tooth for a lass, but determined). Some of bargains above might go with my favorite bargains below:

Maxi colorblock dress, $78, huge scarf/wrap, $6

Needed yet another outfit, so while at work at Cheeky Vintage, I found a severely cool short black top from who knows where. Then I put it with a Chartreuse raw silk tea-length skirt from the closet of a Parisian or it was made in Paris – whatever! It’s smashing! The photo below does not do the skirt color justice – it is outstanding!

Aucon de vos affaires, mes amis

Vitamins

My dad has been having more back issues, bless his bones. Saint ShayShay suggested Pantothenic acid, which is a big fat word for B5. She swears it unclenched her neck and made her dad jump up and dance a jig after a skiing injury. DO NOT PUT ANYTHING IN YOUR MOUTH WITHOUT CONSULTING YOUR DOCTOR. That being said, the best price for B5 was at Whole Foods!?! There’s also a whole thing going on (so late to this party) about taking collagen in the form of gelatin pills; supposedly, this activity provides good hair, strong nails and less rickety joints/joint pain. Gelatin (see Knox Unflavored Gelatin), by definition, is made from the proteins derived from the bones and skin of animals (not a veggie situation). All the info I could find said no animals were killed for gelatin. Jury’s out, as far as I am concerned. I mean, the animals weren’t alive when the proteins were derived. Need to take ADHD vitamin and keep nose out of this.

Rules of Civility

Finished this and have changed my mind. Maybe. After finishingThe Paris Wife, set in the 1920’s, it was hard for me to jump into Rules‘ Manhattan of 1938. Places so different, themes so similar … jazz, art, and lots of booze. Please put more emphasis on first two; these books are very good.

Favorite New Sayings

Last Friday, OneKingsLane.com featured all sorts of art. One section, Typography & Letterpress, caught my eye. Word art. These were my favorites:

“The only zen you find at the top of the mountain is the zen you bring up there.”

“Breathe in the future, Breathe out the past.”

“I do believe there is time for another adventure.”

“Go and wake up your luck.”

Off to shake up my luck. It’s already awake.

Later.

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If It’s Tuesday, I Am Freaky

75 and feeling fine

What freaks you out?

After reading a post about hotels by domermom, I was immediately reminded of things that go ick in the night. Starting with hotels – five-star or no star – hotel rooms freak me out. When I enter one, there are activities I am forced to perform. First, get hanger out of closet and remove bedspread using hanger. Toss anywhere out of view. Not a fan of gizz monsters/leftovers. Unpack socks. Lots of socks. Which come in handy when I need to walk on hotel room floor. There is no way in hell I would put my bare foot down on the carpet. See “leftovers”. Unpack flip-flops – for shower. Flush toilet with foot. I’m freaky that way.

Other Stuff that Gags Me

  • Food troughs, as in all-you-can-eat establishments
  • Sitting in traffic and looking over at the car next to me. The driver is digging for nose gold.
  • My dog trying to cozy up to my minimal chesticles. I didn’t breastfeed my babies; he is freaking me out.
  • Smells: scrambled eggs, wet puppies, ground beef cooking, chicken boiling, cig smoke in cars, b.o., Asiago cheese
  • People scratching their privates in public – get a room
  • Chaos – some people love an environment filled with ringing phones, slamming doors, loud convos – all fine, but not for me
  • Borrowing from Peter to pay Paul (I do this regularly)
  • Intentional disrespect – i.e. ugly scuffle on DWTS last night, Bitches Housewives of Beverly Hills always ganging up on one woman

Enough! Let’s end this on a positive note! Playing Words With Friends the other night, Lady Di used “ergo“; I LOVE that word. Other faves include scathing, magical, lilting, and – when strung together – you have just won 100 billion dollars. Haven’t heard that last one yet. Ergo, I’d best get back to work.

Later.

Just Thinking Kooky Thinks

Hello, hello, hello! Are Mondays ever not maniac? If so, don’t tell me.

My dad had a successful surgery today. Rah! Sitting in the waiting room with my mom gave me much time for thought. Scary, right? I’m thinking …..

  1. Why is Arnold Schwarzenegger such an enormous idiot? I always wondered why Maria Shriver would even speak to him, much less marry him and have some of his children. I bet Mel Gibson and Charlie Sheen are doing the happy dance. And I hope Maria makes out like a bandit in her divorce settlement.
  2. Why do hospitals with enormous cardiac units serve fried everything in their cafeterias? Obviously, to keep the patients coming BUT the medical people were eating that stuff as well. At least they were today. I had no  choice but to select sushi. Used to love it until I read a book where the guy called it “expensive bait”.
  3. One woman in the waiting room called the entire phone book from her small town to report on her mother. Her voice carried. Half the people in the town obviously didn’t know her mother but promised to meet her sometime; the others didn’t know mother had surgery but were mighty glad all went well. TMI.
  4. Took my closet to Pung, my favorite person who happens to own a dry cleaners. Her three-year-old daughter took 12 photos of my right ear with her mother’s cell phone. I have elf ears – no points, but small. Like my nose.  Which reminded me that I LOVE big noses. Not the crooked witch bumpy kind, just a big old schnozz. They are sexy on men. And probably women, too, but I don’t swim in that pool.
  5. When waiting room blabbermouth was quiet, my mother said, “Your middle name is Randal, you know.” Wherever that came from, I don’t know. I just said, “I seem to recall that.” For the last 100 years…..

Stupid Songs I Remembered I Hate While Waiting in the Waiting Room

  • “Baby I’m A-Want You” (I’m thinking that isn’t English)
  • “Never Gonna Give You Up” (stalker song)
  • “Balls to the Wall” ( sounds uncomfortable)
  • “You and Me and a Dog Named Boo” (poor Boo)
  • “Dancing on the Ceiling” (bad trip)
  • “It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp” (do tell)
  • “Pardon Me, I’ve Got to Kill Someone”(pardon me while I run like a scalded dog in the opposite direction)
  • “Tell Laura I Love Her” (tell her yourself; who’s Laura?)
  • “Let Me Tickle Your Fancy” (methinks NOT)

Now I must prepare for a bank presentation I have tomorrow. I’m going to present them with an ultimatum. Show Me the Money or Show Me the Money. The bank is bus stop for the lost and the insane – that’s the staff. Which changes every week, I swear. Have been in there no less than five times to clear up all sorts of mistakes; they NEVER fix them. Because the staff changes each week. After demanding to see the manager of the day, I may quote John Imhoff, who said, “Any organization is like a septic tank; the really big chunks rise to the top.” I will get satisfaction this time, even if I shown my money – and the door. Grrrrrrrrrrr.

I need chocolate.

Later.

When the Clock Goes Crazy…

 

 

*This post is not sad, sorry, or whiney; crazy, yes. Anything else, not so much.*

Truth is stranger than fiction. I don’t know if you have a “clock” thing, but I do. I don’t wear a watch just because. When I do look at a clock – in the car, at home, wherever – nine times out of ten, it reads, “11:11“. I have a clock that belonged to my grandmother; it works, but always stops at the time of her death, no matter what. I just use it as an accessory. Unwound. It has been my experience, when a clock goes crazy, so goes everything else.

Last Friday, I noticed the enormous clock in my kitchen was crazy. Twenty minutes behind, then an hour ahead. I didn’t even think about the clock crazies. It can be good crazy, bad crazy, mixed crazy – but crazy, regardless. Sort of like me. Sharing:

  • My family of origin has been playing hospital tag for the past year. I’d planned on going to the farmer’s market Saturday morning.  Instead, was sitting in the ER. Hollering, “MORE MORPHINE, NURSE HOLLY”, as the patient was in severe pain. She was very accommodating. We are the Loud Family. I noticed there were four people in the room across from ours. And only the nurse was speaking. Being the Nosy Otis I am, I looked in there; everyone in the room was signing. How do you scream, “morphine”, in sign language? Before I pushed my bossy self in “to help”, a patient advocate appeared and all was well. In that room.

 

  • Ok, so Mother’s Day Brunch was not happening. Miss Peach (eldest daughter) and I went to the hospital. Where I got to storm the nurses’ station, with the same request, “MORE MORPHINE, NURSE HOLLIE”. Two nurses, same name … what are the chances? Peach and I left, picked up some food, and came home. Then a crazy beautiful bouquet of flowers are delivered to my door. On Sunday. From Miss Peach. Love. But Miss Peach says they are wrong. They look right to me. Then I get a text from McPaddie’s beau. McPaddie is youngest, texting, calling, emailing me love bombs from the basement of her house where she is trying to finish last project for graduation. Bless her bones. Her beau’s message was also crazy beautiful – to a mother’s eyes. It said, “Happy Mother’s Day. Thank you for McPaddie“. Crazy good. Love my girls. Went to bed at 4 pm.

 

  • Morphine. Cowgirl explained hospital morphine to me; apparently it is diluted somewhat – not pure. So you can ask for it a lot. Good to know.

 

  • Monday was Pro Flowers Day. I called customer service, told them the arrangement wasn’t what Peach ordered; they were lovely and another bouquet was on the way.

 

  • Tuesday was big crazy. Patient to be released from hospital, no diagnosis, but no pain. Rah!? I get to go to see Lien. She makes my hair look amazing – even though it is not amazing as I am growing it out. Last month, I looked like Justin Bieber before he cut his hair. When I got to her salon, she seemed fine. She had to excuse herself, mid-cut, for about 20 minutes. I think she’s preggers. For the first time ever, she phoned in the hair. I left looking like Dan Fogelberg (RIP!). A tall, skinny, white woman does not look good with Justin or Dan hair. That’s ok, she wants to be pregnant and I can wear a baseball cap for three more months (her estimate).

 

  • Am failing mightily at this housekeeping thing. So today I walked into my dry cleaners/wash-n-fold for the first time in two years and handed over the laundry pile. Standing behind the counter is my favorite friend, Pung. She screamed, “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Pung and I have history. We have laughed a lot, we’ve cried together, I love her. Crazy good reunion. She wants to get pregnant, too. What is in the air?

 

  • Ding Dong. Pro Flower delivery. Open that big green box up and … oops, not what Peach ordered. Got back on the phone with customer service (they are so nice). And another bouquet is on the way. If this continues, my house is going to resemble a funeral parlour. Not complaining. I love flowers. So, crazy good because Pro Flowers has excellent customer service. Taking extras to patient’s home. Win-win.

In between, my friend sent me a great piece of writing I love by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. She’s very cool and I feel good when I read her writing. Am also reading essays by Regina Brett and enjoying her writing thoroughly. Am thoroughly pissed off at Angry Birds Rio/Rovio/Apple/Blue Sky Productions/ Chillingo because the promised May update hasn’t appeared. So I guess that makes me an angry bird.

I must go as I am very busy. I must pray for family health, great friends, babies for Lien and Pung, deliver flowers, take the damn clock off the wall, and remember to be thankful for good crazy, healers, calm during storms, good writers, amazing daughters, baseball caps, and anything else I will remember after I push the Publish button.

Favorite quote today: “If I keep a green bough in my heart, the singing bird will come” (Chinese proverb)

Off to mop the kitchen floor. Tomorrow. Maybe. Or not.

Later.

Do Not Text While Drinking Geritol

  

My friend just sent me an email with texting codes for those who are young at heart (read: older). Sharing:

ATD = At The Doctor

BTW = Bring The Wheelchair

BYOT = Bring Your Own Teeth

FWIW = Forgot Where I Was

LMDO = Laughing My Dentures Out

OMSG = Oh My! Sorry, Gas

ROFLACGU = Rolling On The Floor Laughing And Can’t Get Up

IMHAO = Is My Hearing Aid On?

GGPBL = Gotta Go, Pacemaker Battery Low

TTYL = Talk To You Louder

LATER.

Pick Your Nose in Public Day & PDFJ

 

It’s not on my calendar, but it must be Pick Your Nose in Public Day. I ventured out of my cave for a mere hour – everywhere I looked – a nose picker. In the post office, at the pharmacy, in the drive-through line at the bank, in a store. These pickers were elegant older ladies and men in suits. Repulsive. REPULSIVE, people!

Alas, there is no hope for the area where I live. Thirty miles down the road, female church groups are “Pole Dancing for Jesus“. Allegedly, a former exotic dancer teaches the ancient art choreographed to Christian tunes. Eight-inch heels required. I know, I know, every saint has a past and every sinner has a future. BUT I FIND THIS FRIGGING APPALLING. IN. SO. MANY. WAYS. God only knows what’s next.

Am literally all over the map for a while. Unemployed, unencumbered and five great destinations. Go figure. Must be because I’m not a public picker and/or pole dancer. Finally doing some things right!

Later.

Flying Boogers and Bad Medicine: Two Men Behaving Badly

I am not CEO or General Manager of the universe. Shocking, but true. Nevertheless, there is some nasty business that has unfortunately come to my attention and  MUST be addressed. If you are the least bit squeamish, get some ginger ale.

 

Public Nose Pickers, especially Line-Cutting Nose Pickers

Is it “Finger Up Your Nose Month”? If so, I missed the announcement and refuse to participate. Apparently many people opted in. I’ll give you one example. Dig this (no pun intended) … by some miracle, am standing in First Class line at the airport. There’s a line. Am decked out in flight gear – jeans, t-shirt, dark glasses, baseball cap – and standing in line because I follow rules at airports. When we are just about to board the plane, a local “captain of industry” strides right up to the front of the line and inserts himself. Bad behavior. Cutters suck. He’d already settled into his seat when I boarded so I pulled my cap down so he wouldn’t recognize me. As I was settling into my seat, two rows behind and other side of aisle, Mr. $1000 Suit proceeded to down two glasses of wine while picking his nose and flinging the contents into the aisle. Not just once, either. The woman in front of me turned around and said, “Did you see that?” I nodded, replying in a loud voice, “He’s just a gross line-cutting, nose-picking, booger-flinging moron.” And then ducked behind my seat, partially because I’m a chicken but more to avoid his nasal debris.

Saw Mr. Nose Finger again just weeks ago but was able to avoid him due to large crowd. Every time I see him, the only thing I think is:

 

Dr. HickDead

It’s no secret that I detest my GP. Haven’t changed because I only have to see him once every couple of years. Until recently. Had to fast and go into his office for a bloodletting. Have I heard the results yet? No. Have I received a bill for $400+ for the lab work? YES. His nurse called me last week and asked for my phone number. WHAT? Apparently Dr. DoDo called my number – the same number the nurse was speaking to me on – and he said it didn’t work. Methinks he doesn’t work. Woke up this morning to a message he’d left on my cell last night. Late Sunday night. Saying he’d call me back. His casual approach to medicine would indicate to most that I’m 100% perfecto, but no, he’s the sort who would say, “Uh, you’re half-dead but I can only think of one thing at a time so, uh, I’ll look up your stuff in that big book thingee and call you back.” MORON. DOUBLE MORON. Contact your patients when you get their reports and then bill them. Don’t call on Sunday, period. Oh, and by the way, YOU’RE FIRED!

Over both of those losers.

Later.