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Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

26 Jul

blog image DD munchkins

From the Diary of Dorothy Gale

Rules to live by:

Always wear fabulous shoes.

All you really need are a few good friends.

And a trendy bag.  (New for Fall 2013!  Baskets!  Oh my!)

And fresh flowers.

And a hot air balloon ride.

And a theme song.

But that’s all.  Except maybe a crystal ball.  And dewy lighting.

And a nap.

Beware of falling houses- who knew?

Gingham is not for everyone.  PS: neither is sepia.

Oompah loompah doompah dee do.  What does that even mean?

I think that Glinda might be a big phony.  No one is that nice all the time.

Dance like a scarecrow because you’re only young and flammable once.

I do believe in spooks.

Apparently, munchkins are also a tasty, deep-fried confection.  Again- who knew?

I do believe in spooks.

Great names for bands:

“Flying Monkeys”

“The Lollipop Guild”

“No Heart”

All We Own, We Owe Her“- although some people won’t get it.

Sing when you can.  As often as possible.

I do, I do, I do believe in spooks.

There’s no place like home.

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A Recipe for the Blues

24 Jun

tanqueray-gin-290x290

To one woman, lady, baby, girl, babygirl, corazón, or loverman add

another woman, lady, baby, girl, babygirl, corazón, and/or loverman.

(For a spicier version definitely add another woman.)

Sprinkle liberally with action verbs like:

drinkin’, cheatin’, lyin’;

leavin’, stayin’, cryin’ or

workin’, beggin’ and dyin’.

Introduce a level of complexity by adding an activity such as:

“aggravating”

“mistreating” or

“getting your ham bones boiled.”

Add optional ingredients to further customize your recipe.   The following have resulted in successful outcomes: peaches, pork chops, wine, whiskey and Tangueray.

When your mix is complete, place it on a mode of transportation-preferably a train.  But not just any train- the  midnight train is best.  You may substitute a morning train or the more generic “night” train but avoid scooters, Smart cars and Rollerblades as results cannot be guaranteed.  In a pinch, you may also utilize an old pick up.  Or walk.  With no shoes on your feet.

Ride the train to: Georgia, Chicago, Kansas City, Memphis, St. Louis, New Orleans or “The Crossroads” where, upon arrival, you will regain your mojo and take it back to the bridge.

Garnish liberally with an “oo-ee”, “uh-huh,” “boom boom boom boom” or “alright” and top off with a question or two such as: “can I get?” or “do you feel?”

Blend until smooth.

Serves one.

Look Ma, No Cavities!

20 Feb

blog image bitten oreo

The following life events forced me to threaten the dental hygienist:

#1: I was early.

#2: She was late.

That’s all.  But on the rare occasion when #1 does happen, my entire c’est la vie philosophy collapses and I focus, instead, on time wasted waiting at the dentist’s office.  Let’s see, twice a year @ 10 minutes per visit… well, that’s time I could happily squander thinking about joining a gym, snacking while trying to figure out what to eat or looking for my keys.  So I’m sure you understand my ire.

And so, after waiting a total of 25 minutes without being seen, it was time to pull out the big gun.  Just one.

After inquiring about the delay, I simply told reception that I would be “over there, eating Oreos while I wait.”

I got a cleaning and X-rays right away without ever having to remove the lid from my coffee or unwrap the tuna sub.

Six months from now, I’m packing Double Stuff.

Signed: “Fresh Air and Sarcasm’s” Mother

5 Jul

(Names have not been changed.  You wanted to be a vice principal, you’re going to BE vice principal.)

Dear Vice Principal Klenk:

This week’s “Fresh Air and Sarcasm” is absent due to clement weather, pleasant breezes and a laissez-faire attitude that Jean-Baptiste Colbert would be proud to call his own.

See you next Wednesday.

(Make hand gesture of choice here.)

Summer Sausage

27 Jun

In preparation for the 108 sun salutations that my Ashtanga yoga class does every solstice, I decided to paint the house.  Not the entire house- just the trim.

I figured that if I could deal with sweat trickling down my face, 95 degree temperatures and 80% humidity while on a ladder, I could perform 108 sun salutations with the greatest of ease.

What I hadn’t figured on was the wasps and their insatiable hunger for Exterior Hi-Gloss White.  (The paint.  Though my skin is pretty pasty and it does develop a sheen when I sweat.  Also, I was outside.)

Three stings to the hand later, my entire left arm looked like Soppressata and hurt like, I don’t know, maybe sausage being made?  Anyway, by the time I drove to the gas station/mini mart/pizza+sub shop* and realized that I was not having a throat-closing/life-threatening allergic reaction, I really craved a Mounds bar instead of Benadryl.

And while a chocolate-and-coconut flavored antihistamine would have been ideal, all this Ashtanga practice has taught me that I can’t have everything: if my Down Dog feels good, my Up Dog flows like cement.  I had to choose between a Mounds bar or Benadryl.  Hello, I went with Peter and Paul.  I love those guys.

*Don’t eat gas station egg salad.  Ever.  No matter how “fresh” they say it is.

As for the sun, the salutations, the painting and the wasps?

Well, another great lesson that yoga teaches is gratitude.

And maybe I’ll never be a yogi, perhaps I’ll never move beyond scorpion pose but I will say this: no wasp, no chocolate; no chocolate, no happy; no happy, no paint.

No paint, no sunburn.

What a scam yoga is.

My First Ma’am

2 Oct

My first ma’am was actually a “Hey Lady!” but deep inside, I knew it was a ma’am.  I just happened to be in the ocean at the time.

I was surfing.  Okay, perhaps “surfing” isn’t precisely what I was doing but I had a board and I was in the water and I was squinting.  Squinting is a big part of “surfing” as is looking off toward a distant horizon like you’re an oceanic Marlboro Man waiting to harness the waves.

A quick note: waves cannot be harnessed and waves do not wait.  Waves are what make surfing so hard.  If not for the waves, I would be an excellent surfer.

When the scrawny kid next to me yelled “Hey Lady!  Are you gonna take this one or what?” he couldn’t have meant me.  I was not “Hey Lady!” material.  I was Brian Wilson’s surfer girl, just another dude straddling my board, staying upright and contemplating what to have for lunch.

Mostly I was thinking about lunch: how the salt air would enhance the flavors of the Brie and pear baguette I packed and how milk chocolate eliminates any lingering taste of ocean.  And how an ice-cold Corona would hit the spot later, with dinner, and that maybe I would make a Mexican main course but shake things up a little by beginning with an Antipasto.

Let’s face it: when the little turd whizzed past me on his board and hollered “come on Lady!” I was not totally surprised.  How many waves had passed while I was building tacos in my mind?  (Sounds like some bad AM radio- “Tacos in my Mind?”  “Picante Woman?”)  A soul surfer would have caught that wave and ridden it all the way in.

Instead I got ma’amed.  On the ocean where “Hey Lady!” is the maritime equivalent of ma’am and real surfers eat PB&J mixed with sand for lunch and dinner is what happens between waves.

If imported cheese, cold beer and hot tamales makes me a Lady, so be it.  Most of my friends got their ma’ams while on line at the bank, or in the big box store, and not while hanging ten.

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