Ice Cream Man

Tonight I heard the siren song of the Ice Cream Man. I watched some kids playing outside. They heard the music and stopped dead in their tracks. It was as if they were trying to remember what that music meant. It’s only mid-May...way too early for the mobile frozen dessert pusher to be invading the neighborhood. Today was sunny and the warmest day of the year so far. By Seattle standards, summer has arrived. When my kids were in elementary school, the Ice Cream Man used to park his little truck outside the school and wait for afternoon dismissal. I always felt this was cheating. Parents were at the mercy of this unscrupulous dude. It ticked me off, so of course I dug in my heals and refused to buy my kids anything. Such a meanie! When I was a kid, we were rarely successful in pestering my mom for frozen treasures from the Ice Cream Man. Our home always had at least two kinds of ice cream, plus a couple different types of cookies. We really didn’t need to buy treats out on the street. But surely, they MUST have tasted exquisitely better. Thinking back on how much strife these guys have caused, I realized Karma has already gotten a piece of them. Can you imagine a worse job than driving around, trapped in a little truck that is repeatedly playing the greatest hits from the 1890’s? It must be hell...a well-deserved hell. Oh boo hoo...

Things That Make Me Giggle

I spent the day just hanging with my bad self. While I relaxed, my brain was still churning away. For some reason, it came up with a short list of things that make me giggle. Here they are, in no particular order:

- Motorcycles with sidecars. You usually only see these in war movies, being ridden by evil Nazis. I actually drove behind one the other day. It cracked me up, even though I don’t know why.

- Sexy scenes in novels. I avoid romance novels, or “bodice rippers”. Terms such as “throbbing manhood” and “trembling thighs” make me snicker. 

- Turtleneck dickies. OK, the term “dickies” alone makes me titter (as does the word “titter”). Am I in 4th grade or what??? I’m convinced they were invented for people who are too damn lazy to shove their arms through sleeves. Years ago I was in Fred Meyer's with my kids, looking to buy a present for my niece. We walked past some turtleneck dickies. When I suggested we get her a dickie, my son was horrified. He thought I wanted to buy her a tiny penis.

- Fanny packs. When these arrived on the fashion scene, I thought they were neat. Go figure. I also had a crush on Liberace when I was 3, also inexplicable. I have never seen anyone beautiful, or cool sporting a fanny pack. Apparently, you have to be overweight, middle-aged or older, and be wearing dark socks and sandals to pull off the fanny pack look. No hotties need apply. 

- Dancing “The Pony”. This was my signature dance in high school. Maybe I should be more embarrassed than amused. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. I just might trot out the old moves, and demonstrate them for my kids. They have to appease me, due to it being my special day and all. Hee hee. I can amuse myself, and horrify them all at once. It’s a win-win situation (at least for me).

Marco... Polo...

President Obama held a fund raiser in Seattle today at 3:00pm. The contribution required for attendance was out of my price range, so I didn’t attend. Around the time the event started, I was driving home from work. At some point, my car made a weird noise - BRRRRUMMPPP BRRRRUMMPPP BRRRRUMMPPP. I pulled into the parking lot of the Marco Polo Motel to investigate, and found I had a flat rear tire. Sigh. After AAA came and changed my tire, I headed off to the tire store. My new tire installation would take a couple hours, so I walked to a coffee shop for the wait. When I returned to the tire store, I still had about a half hour to wait. The TV was turned to CNN, so I watched it with two knuckles shoved up my nostrils (to block the bad tire smell). The news dude reported that the President was landing in Los Angeles for a fund raiser dinner at George Clooney’s house. WTF??? While my car was having tire issues, President Obama came and went and arrived in Los Angeles??? How is that possible? Were Dorothy’s ruby slippers involved? That must have been a magical 3 1/2 hours. I guess it’s good I didn’t have the $40K required for the Clooney dinner, because the whole tire thing would have messed it up for me. Plus, my wardrobe is kind of lacking. OK, “lacking” is putting it mildly. There is a pervasive theme of dumpy housewife/lumberjack throughout my closet. Pretty sad. But damn... dinner with the President AND George Clooney... at his house. If I’d had enough warning I might have been able to rob a bank, gotten a wardrobe whisperer and had a makeover. I assume an invitation would have been required as well, but since this is all a fantasy anyway, I choose to ignore that part. Oh well, I got a new tire. The bad tire smell is gone from my nose. And I can say I’ve been to a flea bag motel on Aurora Ave. Marco... Polo...

Are You Pulling My Leg?

After four weeks of medical leave, I went back to work yesterday. In the afternoon, I walked my dogs. By the time I got home, I was experiencing so much pain in my upper thigh I couldn’t bend over to take off their leashes. So, today I made a trip to my rheumtologist’s office. It turns out I have somehow pulled my groin. I wasn’t sure girls even had groins. I think mine should at least have a chick-friendly name, such as “groinetta” or “groingina”. If I could, I would paint it pink and sew a ruffle or two on it. But, back to reality, how could I possibly pull my groin when I’ve been housebound for four weeks? I always thought such an injury required participation in a contact sport like football, or perhaps pole vaulting. The only contact I’ve had is my butt with the couch cushions. Just imagine what damage I could do if I actually got more exercise than walking my dogs. If I could jog, would one of my feet fall off? My unicycle is hanging idle in the garage. I was hoping one day to master it. Now, I’m a little frightened of what might happen. Trying to ride a unicycle is really difficult. My current lack of physical luck makes me think I could get impaled on the bike seat, or perhaps swallow my crash helmet. Hey, it could happen. So, it appears my next project is to rest my groin. I’m not sure how much more rest it could get, since I was unaware of its existence until now. I wonder if a movie would be too strenuous for it. Maybe a spa, or mud treatment might appease it. One thing for sure, though. Chillaxing on the couch is out, as that is how this whole thing started.

The Glue That Binds Me

The incisions from my laparoscopic surgery were glued back together. How cool is that? I have other scars where stitches were used. They are unattractive, and you can actually see the marks made from the needle. Over the last few weeks, as I’ve watched the surgical glue peel off, I’ve been reminded of my Catholic school glue encounters (I know, what in my life doesn’t remind me of Catholic school?). In elementary school we used to spread a thin layer of Elmer’s glue on our hands, let it dry, and then peel it off like a layer of skin. As with all things in elementary school, it was gross and excellent at the same time. One day I was blowing on some wet glue spread on the palm of my hand. My teacher caught me, and accused me of sniffing glue. I had no idea why anyone would sniff glue, when blowing on it worked much better for the drying process. Duh! Nuns always thought the worst of you, and were suspicious of anything fun. In eighth grade we got an honest-to-god new text book. It had a new book smell, something I was obviously unacquainted with (because it wasn’t 30 years old like all the other text books). Even though it was a social studies or history book (what’s the diff?), I was eager to receive it. I would open it up, shove my nose in as far as it would go, and sniff deeply. It was glorious, until I got yelled at for smelling my book. Nuns were masters at making sure no one was having a good time. I wonder what they would think about my glued-together incisions. Must be sinful, because I have really enjoyed them!

Beauty or Beast?

Climbing back on  my soap box... I don’t understand some current “beauty” techniques. A New Jersey woman, Patricia Krentcil, has been accused of child endangerment for taking her 5 year-old daughter in a tanning booth with her. Upon seeing a photo of this uber-tanned person, I was prompted to visit my 68-color Crayola box. As I figured, her skin color matched the Burnt Sienna Crayon. Not a good look. Kind of orange, and much darker than a clay pot. Why would anyone think this was pretty, and wassup with people in New Jersey and tanning booths? Does the whole state have a serious vitamin D deficiency??? I would expect it maybe from sun-deprived Seattlites, except we like things more on the natural side. Ms. Krentcil denies her daughter was near the tanning booth. Her awesome quote sums it up - “Never in my life would I endanger my child by putting her in a tanning booth. I’m not dumb.”  I beg to differ. If you do that to your skin, you are a big, dumbass nimrod. She admits she wouldn’t endanger her daughter, so she knows tanning is not safe. Likes to live on the edge, or just plain stupid? My vote is the latter. The other fake beauty trend that I don’t get is lip augmentation. I have a theory where this originated - the porn industry. Nobody else would think big, fat lips were a must for a beautiful face. I wonder if aging celebrities think inner-tube sized lips divert attention from wrinkles and crow’s feet. Seriously, you are not fooling anyone. You are just prompting the rest of us to race to Google for a contrast and compare session with the former you. Cheek and chin implants, and Botox injections belong in a horror movie, not real life. I’m reminded of an old margarine commercial where an angry woman says “It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature!”. This stuff is fairly new. Who knows what will become of these faces in twenty years? It won’t be pretty. 

My Staycation

I found out yesterday that my medical leave was used up sometime last Thursday. If I want to get paid (and I do), I need to use vacation time through the end of this week. Wish I would have known I’ve been on vacation for almost a week. I immediately changed my thinking from surgery convalescence to Party! The first thing I did was to move to the middle cushion of the couch. It was poofier than the corner one I had resided on for the last few weeks. I gained a totally new perspective on life by moving a foot east (not really, but I lead a rich fantasy life). I’m prohibited from driving until I’m totally off my pain meds, so I have to get creative to believe I’m vacationing while stranded at home. Today, I went spelunking in New Mexico. OK, I was really navigating piles of dirty clothes in the laundry room. I formed them into stalagmites to aid in the illusion. At least in my version of caving, there are no bats to scare me. Just dirty clothes. Tomorrow I plan on visiting Paris, where I will be painting on the banks of the Seine River. In the real world? Back in the laundry room. This time I will be painting my art picture frames. There is actually water nearby, though... a utility sink. A little smaller than the Seine, but maybe smells better (I have no clue if the real Seine has a smell). That leaves Friday. Hmmmm. I suppose I could go outside, sit my chair in the sun, and be transported to Cabo. Except it’s supposed to rain (hello... I live in Seattle). How about herding sheep in New Zealand? Not very vacationy but it’s a faraway place. I wonder if it’s possible to get my dogs to bleat like sheep. The far cushion of the couch is looking pretty interesting. Oh yeah, I got this staycation thing all figured out.