What do winking, johnnies, and fancy underpants have in common?

A typical trip to the doctor that's what.
Friday morning I had my bi-annual skin check at the dermatologist.  Ahh, the joys of fair skin and freckles.  As I sat waiting in my pink paper Johnny I really started thinking about how silly they are.  They are really there to preserve some sort of modesty and comfort, but let's be real.  The doctor is about to do a skin exam.  Which involves looking at my entire body.  Nude.  The jig is up.  As I look at the stupid plastic belt that is there for..what?  To define my waist while I wait? I start to think..what if I just waited in my underwear.  Would that be weird?  Yes.  It would be I decided.  Of course every move you make you end up ripping some part, and it's wide open in the back and itchy.  It is the most ridiculous thing. 

The next part is my own ridiculous thing.  As I turn around so he can scan my back from top to feet I start to really reconsider my underwear choice.  I didn't think about them at all when I put them on. I was getting dressed for work.  Of course when you go to the doctor you should have at least presentable underwear.  That goes without saying.. but, as he moves the waistband to check around them, I wonder if a lacy thong was the right choice.  It seems like a little much for a doctors appointment.  Then I started wondering what the nurse practicioner who had to stay in the room during my exam was thinking.  Was she judging my underwear choice..?  I had to wonder.  I think there should be doctor approved underwear.  Something that says, I wear nice tidy underwear but doesn't give away all your fancy-ness under your pants.  I will think harder about this next doctors visit.

The third section is this.  I am a winker.  I don't know when it happend, but I have started winking at people.  My fantastic doctor informed me that he would be retiring from dermatology by the end of the year to persue his public speaking.  He is an amazing doctor, and a very spiritual person.  We have never talked about it but, you can feel it after your exam when you dress and go back into his office.  You see his passions and personality because he makes his office a refection of him. He is no stale doc.  To sit in his office is to know him.  We chatted briefly about is future endeavors and he refers me to my new doctor.  I tell him it was a pleasure being his patient and wish him luck.  He does the same...and tells me to enjoy the beautiful day. 
This is where I thank him and without even stopping to think give him a smile cock my head to the side and give him a wink. 
WHY whould I wink at my 60 something year old doctor?? Why would I wink at anyone???  And I do it all the time.  Now he has seen my fancy underpants and I'm winking at him.  Fantastic.

Losing my temper and finding my inner handy-wo-man.

Saturday afternoon I had to run to the grocery store.  As I payed for my purchase I watched my 16-ish year old cashier and same aged bagger basically care less about being there.   Totally normal.  They barely looked at me as they scanned my groceries and bagged them.  So, I gave them pretty much the same courtesy.
I laughed to myself as my cashier waited for my debit card to go through and took out his cell phone and was doing the super secret texting move where you hold it down by your thigh so your boss doesn't catch you.  It was a little odd as I watched him do this, he looked up and me and looked directly in my eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time.  The look was a little bit searching if I was going to get him in trouble and a little bit 'lady if you tell on me I'm going to do something really violent..like egg your car and toilet paper your lawn'.
Then the boys started arguing about gum chewing, my bagger was..well bagged for chewing gum and my cashier was really intent on tattling on him (while he was still texting in front of me) and they were just silly.
I thought back to a simpler time at work and for a moment wishing I was back to doing dumb things and just worrying about what was going on with my friends on one of the last nights of summer.  They were a little obnoxious, but I decided adorable. I wanted to be them just a little.
Fast forward ten minutes to me walking in my kitchen with my over loaded plastic bags.
In an instant my view of those boys carefree attitude changed.  It changed as one of my bags handles completely let go, smashing an entire glass bottle of olive oil on my foot and all over my kitchen floor.  Like, a sea of olive oil everywhere including all over my produce he had packed with it.

Example of Bottle of Olive Oil. Object in image is larger than it appears, especially when it is on your floor.

For 30 seconds I stood there saying really mature and helpful to my situation things like 'WHAT THE FUCK???' and 'Are you FUCKING KIDDING me???' also, 'Fuck MY LIFE.', peppered with 'are you FUCKING SERIOUS????!!!'.  You now know my go to word when I am at a loss for them.  I wish I could say something more classy like 'Oh, this is unfortunate' or 'This is certainly an undesirable moment'.  I'm working on that.  Dropping the F-bomb in these situations sometimes makes me feel like I am about to save the world.
It is also this moment that I hear a whole lot of water coming from our bathroom.  I grab a towel, throw it on the mess in the kitchen to corral it and go in (to the bathroom).  Yeah.  Something is wrong there too. The toilet is continuously running with some serious force.  I jiggle the handle..I heard that somewhere and nothing happens. I will deal with this later.  I am going back to the supermarket.
I triple bag the broken glass, the broken bag, and all of the olive oil I can scoop up into this bag.  I am in rare form.  I don't often go back to stores, but I know my afternoon is going to be spent trying to get oil off my kitchen floor, and olive oil is not cheap.

My beach towel, paper towel initial clean up.  Notice the sheen of oil to the left.  The damage extended WELL beyond this picture.  

I walk in and take note of the names of the boys who waited on me and walked over to the customer service desk.
'Hi, can I help you?'  (sixteen with purple hair)
'yeah...um, my bags were overpacked and this was a bottle of olive oil, until the bag broke on my kitchen floor and on my foot.'
(eyes really wide as she looks in my bag) 'Ohhh...I'm sorry, you can grab another one'
'Thank you, I will.  I would like to speak to your manager as well'.
Shortly Steve comes over.
'Hi, how are you I'm Steve.'
'Steve, I'm Alison how are you?' Shake his hand.
'I'm good, what's going on?'
'Well...(grab the back) my bags were overpacked...' (you know the rest)
'Ohh, man.  That is awful, I am so sorry about this'
'Me too, I normally don't do this but, it's not just the olive oil on my floor and groceries.  It was...'
'That the kids weren't paying attention?' he offers..
'yes.  My cashier was texting while ringing me up, and my bagger was arguing about the gum he was chewing.  They are just kids, and I didn't even care until my day started to really stink when my back broke all over me and my floor...so...now I care that they weren't paying attention.'
I gave their names..and felt like such an old bitch.  But, seriously, have you EVER tried to get oil off of..well ANYTHING?  If you have you know why I did this.
I ended up leaving with new oil and a $10 gift card to the supermarket for my aggravation.  Bonus.  Totally worth being the old biddy with the olive oil issue.
So, back to my own personal oil crisis and my toilet.
I just want to say I was pretty proud of myself.  I dug right into the toilet tank, googled how to fix a toilet and was able to asses that the toilet is in fact broken.  I figured out how to stop the water from running and how to get it to run to flush the toilet.  I also figured out that I cannot fix it without buying a whole new ball/lever thingy...so I did need to call my landlord, who understandably isn't that confident in my plumbing skills.  He'll see what's up when he gets here.. I'm also pretty confident I could fix it with some duct tape but, I'm cashing in my chips for  the weekend.  On the upside, my floor is really well moisturized.

Digging into the tank.

Thought for a Friday.

I don't have much today so, I leave you with this on a Friday.
I'm thinking the worst job ever for a 'Hoarder', would be a trash collector.  I'm not saying they couldn't do it.  But, man.  If you had the compulsion to save everything and collect junk how could you stop yourself from just loading up your own car instead of the garbage truck?  I bet that would be a challenge.

Pit-stops on the journey to normal.

The trip down memory lane when you are single.  We've all done it, you know it well.  It's the moment you have at some point after a break up where you find yourself reaching out to people from your past.  You know.  Just to say 'hey'. To your last big break-up, your last booty call, that guy or girl who gave you her e-mail at the bar 5 years ago that you can't remember what they looked like..or what their real name is but you are pretty sure they have blue eyes and their name begins with a 'C' because their e-mail is BigCblueeye964. I know what you are doing and why.
In the days, weeks, months after breaking up your brain is wired to find a place of normalcy in all your scattered-ness.  I don't know if that is scientific, but I'm pretty sure it is a real phenomenon.
I discovered this need a couple weeks after my break-up.  It's the part where you really question if you did the right thing.  I remember being with friends and needing to go outside to kind of break down for a second.  I didn't need sympathy or pity.  I just needed to cry.  I stood up and tried to slip out the back door and my friend's husband cornered me.  He grabbed me and gave me a really great hug.  The kind that makes you want to run because you know you are going to lose it.  I will never forget that moment and what he said.  'You made the right choice.  You know that right?  You are having a hard time because you want to go back to feeling normal.  But, that doesn't make it right, you are going to be OK'.

Sometimes on your way to normal, as I was saying you reach out to your past.  They, after all might feel normal or at the very least make you feel a piece of yourself again.  You know what you are doing.  You are throwing the single back out there.  You're trying to get your groove back.  Your mojo.
'Oh..yeah, I'm good..you know, work, laundry, gym, hanging out with my friends, canceling my wedding' (it doesn't need to be that extreme but, you see where I am going).
And you just wait for what comes back.  No good really ever comes of this. Especially when you are on the receiving end.
I just got this e-mail and call myself.  A guy I used to date.  We'll call him Toyota.  We'll call him that because, that's what he sells.
Toyota and I had recently connected again on Facebook, and I was happy to see he was in a relationship and seemed happy.  Then I got the e-mail.
'When are you going to come see me?'
..What??...
'Um, how's your girlfriend'
'We broke up'.
Yup.  That's what I thought.
Then, it was the phone call.  'So, when are you coming down to Myrtle Beach to see me?'  (Where he moved to recently)
'Umm..I'm not?'
'Why not?'
'Toyota, I know what your doing!   You are taking the trip down memory lane.  It seems like a great idea for me to come down there and get your mind off of things, but let me tell you it is a recipe for disaster.  I've done this before.  After my last big break-up, I hoped on a bus to NYC to see a guy I went to college with.  Instead of staying with friends I thought it was an awesome idea to spend a week at this guys house.  The only problem was..when I got there, I realized I wasn't attracted to him AT ALL.  Now, I had to sleep in his bed and think of creative ways to get out of kissing him all weekend.  Thanks but NO THANKS.  I can make bad decisions right in the comfort of my own zip code without the $300 plane ticket, thank you very much!'  I did, in fact, say this to him.
Now I am currently counseling him on how to get over his girl friend, or get her back.  True story.  I'm great at sorting out other peoples lives.  I'm going to start charging a co-pay.

You can't make THIS Sh*& up.

**Names and faces have been changed to protect the innocent.  And I did receive clearance to keep this up...**

If you are the avid reader of my blog that I expect you to be...or at least check in from time to time you may have read about the first night I really felt single again:  The New hand-shake?
What I didn't mention is that night, I actually met a nice guy on my way to the bathroom after the 'ass-man' assault.  It was the end of the night, and we chatted and got along really well.  It was nice to talk to someone normal who started conversations with something like 'Hi, you sounded great singing up there, my name is so and so'.  Refreshing.
He wanted to make plans to go out, but I just was not ready and I told him so.  Just the same we exchanged numbers and called it a night.
Naturally his next step was friending me on Facebook.  He sent me a text and let me know he had checked out this blog, and I thought that was really nice.  Whether he was interested or not in what I had to say in this forum, it didn't matter.  He did his homework.  That scores you points.  He was a little upset that the 'assman' made my blog and as he said 'the nice guy' did not.  I told him sometimes it's a good thing not to make the blog, did he really want to be the 'assman'?  Of course not.
I have to say the guy was persistent so a couple of weeks  ago when he made me laugh out loud in line for coffee while reading my e-mail on my phone I said 'What the hell.  I am single.  This is what you do.  You go out on dates.'   Dinner last Thursday was set up halfway between where we each lived.  I was a little put off with a couple of comments about my 'nice feet' via e-mail.  I don't really need to know your fetishes right off the bat.  Let me find out in some other creepy way like normal women do.  Can we get through the date before you tell me why I should run?  Apparently not.  Fasten your seat belts.
So, we are eating dinner--the only table in the restaurant.  He has me laughing pretty good so my cackle is in full effect.  At least we are having fun.  Then he starts to talk about this blog.  Now.  I just want to say, I don't have many boundaries in conversations.  I can take pretty much whatever is put out there and not be put off.  Go ahead throw it at me.  However, this guy...gambled and lost.
I realize it is mostly my fault.  I wrote this blog back in December:  Get back in the saddle or get off the pot.  It is about my first day at a new job, and also..a bit about bathroom etiquette at work.  I think it is funny because, well... it's in writing and you can laugh at the privacy of your own computer about going to the bathroom at work and not tell anyone else about it.
I would just like to say...just because I said it on here does not make it OK to talk about your work pooping habits on a first date over dinner.  It just doesn't.  But, I wrote it...so I have to go with the conversation.  From there on it is a like a train wreck.  The conversation keeps going and neither of us can seem to jump off the train.  Suddenly, my Shrimp Scampi was not so appitizing.
Add to this the fact that he told me 'feet are equal to boobs', guessed my shoe size, thought it was then an invitation to also guess my bra size and you can see why I already know this isn't going anywhere.
Now I know he has a foot fetish (as told by his e-mail) and he keeps talking about how not a big deal it is....then why are we still talking about it?
My next favorite question was:  What are you?
Um...In what way?
Heritage.
His guesses were:  Pacific Islander, Eskimo, Native American, and Asian.  All of which are fine things to be.  More than fine. I wish I could say I was any of those things.  If you know me in person..you know why this is the silliest thing you may have ever heard. I laughed out loud. Hard.   I wish I had a better answer than:  Mostly Irish and Swedish.
He then told me 'someone must have jumped in your gene pool and stirred things up a bit.  He never would have guessed that.  (Really?  The casper white skin and freckles don't give anything away?)
He assured me this was a complement.  I will take his word for it.  He was upfront about the foot fetish after all.
The next day, he emailed about what a nice time he had.  He would like to do it again.
Then, at about 1:30 that afternoon, I got the text.  'I just pooped at work'.  There was more to the text but after that statement it is irrelevant.  If you ever go on a date and then feel the need to text the woman at any point in the message 'I just pooped at work'..and it was your first date, rest assured it was your last.
No matter how nice you are, you can't come back from the poop text.  Even with me.

'That's my aunt.'

I'm not cool.  Trust me on this one.  If you know me, you already know this.  If you read this blog, you probably suspect this.  I can name a few incidents at lightening speed from this week ALONE that will back me up on this.  I'm OK with it, I'm human.  None of us are really that cool...well, that's what I tell myself when I really pull something fantastic.
However, there are moments when I get a glimpse of 'kinda awesome.'
Last weekend I was on my way to one of the 800 or so children's birthday parties on my calendar this year.   As you may know I am an only child, but for someone who is an only child there sure are a lot of kids who call me 'Auntie Ali'...and one family who calls me 'Allah', which comes from my friend's daughter trying and not quite getting my name years ago.  It stuck.  In some cultures, I'm God according to Maddy and Bella.  Yeah.
You know how they have those frames or clocks with spots for pictures that you put school pictures of kids in every year and see how they grow?  I could fill more than one of those with pictures of me holding babies in hospitals.  If you put it in a flip book I'm sure you could watch me age right before your eyes..or at least see a whole lot of different hair styles.
Anyways.  I'm on the phone with my friend Paul, probably running late as usual.  I felt a little sassy in my sundress and yellow scarf.  Sunglasses on, wrapping up a call on my cell, gift in hand.  I am walking up their street.  Julia yells 'auntie Ali!! Auntie Ali!!' and jumps in my arms.  I love this greeting.  I give her a hug and she runs off back to her friend Brynn.
Later on my best friend Connie (her mom) comes up to me and says--I have to tell you the cutest thing that happened.  When you were coming up the driveway Julia looked at Brynn, cocked her head at you and said 'that's my aunt'.
She said it in a tone that was all, yeah-  that super awesome person right there.  She's with me.  Jealous?
Connie and I laugh, and I wonder out loud how long I'm going to seem so awesome to Julia.  Connie told me probably until I'm a mom and have kids of my own.  I guess that's when I'll lose my charm.
Then Connie has a revelation-- 'you know, I think she was so excited to introduce you to Brynn because she just recently met her aunt...and she has a REALLY cool aunt.  She's in Cirque Du Soleil'.

Seriously?  That aunt is swinging from the ceiling on silk ropes or walking on her hands backwards with her legs in a pretzel behind her head.  I sell air and teach dance.  I don't even have BLOOD relation.  I'm screwed.  And, I'm brought right back down to earth.  Just don't tell Julia...she doesn't know yet.

My mouth might be full..but, I'm still talkin'

So, I mentioned the other day that I picked up a new hobby.  I am a professional at biting off more than I can chew.  3 Jobs?  Sure!  8 kids birthday parties in a day, grocery shop, do laundry and go to the gym?  NO problem.
It's always the same.  I take on too much, go go go, am happy, get grumpy.  Eventually burn out if I don't take some time for myself.
Starting in a few weeks in addition to my regular job I will start teaching 4 (I think..) dance classes on Saturday mornings in a town about 40 minutes away.  It's not just the 6 hour commitment (with driving) but, a commitment weekly to prep for the class.  I am excited though, because I love it.
A few weeks ago my friend Danny asked if I would help him put together a 'one man show'.  My thesis in college was my one woman show (because I was super smart and majored in theatre) so, this is right up my ally.  I told him I would be happy to help..and also asked if maybe I could jump into a couple of the dance classes he teaches in Cambridge.  Perfect timing!  I will start taking dance again and be teaching so I have more to offer the kids.
Did I mention that my roomate and I are up most weekdays at 5am and at the gym?  I'm not showing off, I'm just painting a picture for you.
Gym, regular job, 4 dance classes to teach, take dance class, help a friend with a show, social life. (If you run into me and I look like death...remember this blog and tell me to take a nap please.)
Naturally, I decided I need a hobby.
So, I'm helping my mom with a yard sale two weeks ago, and she is selling a keyboard my grandfather gave her one year for Christmas because she doesn't play it.
I picked up the keyboard Saturday.  I thought, I am sick of just jammin' out in my car and in the shower and cleaning the house.  I need a party trick.  I'm going to play the keyboard.
So, I bought 'Piano for Dummies' and had that excitement that everyone does when they are really into a new hobby.
I can read music a very little bit.  Very little.  This is all new territory.  Finally after a couple of days of playing around and learning some stuff from the book I said screw it.  I am finding a song that sounds kinda easy on my I-Pod and I'm going to figure it out.  Patience has never been one of my strengths.
I find the perfect song.  'Love Song' by Sarah Bareilles.
Oddly enough I figured enough out enough to be able to sing along.  By figure out I mean, only the right hand, and maybe it's just the chords.  OK.  Part of the chords.  Finally I got to a point where I decided I was going to jam out with my one handed, half assed playing.
And I got caught.  Singing is either really public or really private for me. I want to do it in front of a whole lot of people or all by myself.  I don't sing for one person.  I don't sing for two.  I won't sing for my mom and I won't sing for you.  I won't sing in a shoe.  Sorry.  I had a Dr. Seuss Moment.
Anyways, I was super into it and Siobhan caught me.  I felt like..I felt like my mom just walked in on me and my high school boyfriend making out or something.  I was so embarrassed that she felt like she had to apologize to me!
Oh roomate.
We are in the honeymoon phase for sure.  Tonight she told me 'I love when you talk and tell me stories'.
Famous last words.  Mainly because I don't let her get any other words in..

Gaga...what are you trying to say?

Johanna was nice enough to comment on last Friday's song spoiler and reminded me of a double song screw up.
My ex was singing along with Lady Gaga's 'Poker Face' and was saying 'tell me lies, tell me lies, no you can't tell me lies Poker Face'.
I in turn laughed at him and said NO silly it's:  'Can't read minds, Can't read minds, no you can't read my poker face'.
I retold this story to Johanna who laughed in MY face and said.  Um. No.  It's 'Can't read my, can't read my....' well, you get the picture.  I stand corrected.
This morning in the car I was re-telling this story to my roomate.   I told her there was another Lady Gaga lyric I make up, and I still don't know what it is.  It's in 'Bad Romance'.
I swear she says 'I want your psycho, your vertical stick.  Want you tomorrow when your baby is sick'.  I was certain this was wrong.  So, I looked it up.  Every lyric site is different!  What the hell is she saying?
I am confident that she is saying 'I want your psycho, your vertical stick.'  I'm pretty sure I know what she is getting at here.  Also, in another song she wants to take a 'ride on your disco stick'.  Gaga likes the stick.  But, some sites seem to think it might be 'Vertigo Schtick'...I'm pretty sure they are wrong, that just sounds like a dizzy comedian.  Most websites agree with me here.  
The next line however, no one can figure out.  Here are our options:

1.  Want you tomorrow when your baby is sick (my version)
2.  Want you in my rear window, baby your sick (most popular version, but I really think that is wrong)
3.  Want you in my room when your baby is sick
(all this baby is sick is just weird...why would you want someone when their baby is sick...they are probably contagious too.  Just sayin')

I tend to think the last part is 'baby it's sick'...but, what do I know?  Clearly.  If anyone knows the real lyrics..I really need to know now.  And, as Siobhan points out, 'it's funny that everyone is all about her..but no one knows what the 'F' she's saying?'  Her words.  Not mine.  Or maybe I didn't hear her correctly...hmm.

A lady never reveals her age.

Yesterday I started a new hobby (more on this later).  It lead me to a plaza in my hometown to Borders to grab a book.  On my way past one of the stores, I noticed they were having a sale on jeans.  This happens to be a store that is probably best left for teenagers in general.  However, their jeans fit me great.  I always have good luck, and I never thought it was a big deal to buy my jeans there.
I went in, grabbed three different styles in my size and headed to the dressing room.  As I waited the buzzer went off alerting the sales associates that I was in need of a room.  I see a young girl walk to the dressing room (presumably to help me).   She barely looked at me and went about clearing the table of clothes that people weren't taking.  I figured she was looking for the key to the dressing room.  Then she went to leave.

Me:  'Um, excuse me--could you let me into a room?'
Girl: 'Oh!  I'm so sorry!  I thought you must be waiting for someone!'

Interpretation:  You look too old to shop here.  I'm surprised you are in here buying jeans lady, Ann Taylor Loft is next door, you must be confused.
I smiled, tried on my jeans, and left with 2 out of 3 pairs. 2 outta 3 ain't bad--this is denim success.  I headed to the register.
I am met my another sales associate, a nice guy- a little older than the dressing room attendant.
Him:  'Buying some denim today'
Me:  'Looks like it!'
Him: 'they're on sale, a good time to do it'
Me:  'mm hmm..'
Him:  'Have you worn this style before?'
Me:  ' yup, I have a pair at home that I love'
Him:  'yeah, the adults really love this style.  The high schoolers and younger kids really like the skinny jeans'
Me:  'Yeah.'

I was basically told by two people I was too old to shop there.  Of course I'm not going to stop, I only go in there for jeans.  However, this does not make my transition into my 30's any better....am I REALLY pegged as too old to shop in a store??

Today I was with my friend and her two year old son on the playground.  He was obsessed with the big twirly slide.  Because her son barrels through the playground, but can't really climb that high yet, she was positioned on the ground to direct him around the play area to me, where I would lift him up and help him to the top of the slide.  This also meant that I was the lone adult paying attention to the 6-8 year olds who were bullying and playing rough at the top.  I was like air traffic control.  A detail cop.  I was getting it done, and trying to avoid my friends' son getting hurt.
One brazen little 7-ish year old in a bathing suit and sneakers pushed past both of us and insisted on hanging off the side of the slide.  My friend's son tried to get on the slide.
Me:  Nicholas, wait your turn, let that little girl go first
Girl:  I'M NOT LITTLE.
Me:  Nicholas, wait for that BIG girl to go before you (that's all I needed to say to become her new best friend, she then showed me all of her fancy playground tricks)

I guess we are all on a struggle with our age.  Just when people start treating us like adults..suddenly we feel too old.  I realized the day before I was the girl in the swim-suit and sneakers.  Well.  Minus the bathing suit and sneakers, that look really doesn't work for me.  But, with all the attitude.  I wanted to stamp my feet and look someone in the eye and say I'M  NOT TOO OLD FOR YOUR JEANS!
Of course, I just paid for my purchase and carried on with my day.  I'm a lady.  I'm a lady in my young girl jeans.  I'm going to own it.

I'm about to ruin a song for you. You're welcome.

What's one thing I love more than music?  When people screw up the lyrics to a song.  I love when I hear someone singing along and something totally different comes out of their mouth.


Some of my favorites:


When I was about 3 or 4 Hall and Oat's song 'Man Eater' was huge.  I loved this song.  However, I actually thought the words were 'Dance Meter'.  I had this total mental image in my head of a parking meter in a club and people having to pay to dance. Now, at that age I had never been in a club, so I don't know how I had that image, but I can still imagine it.  My parents loved this one.  
I also thought Madonna's 'Like a Virgin' was 'Like a Version'.  A version of what you ask?  No idea, but again my parents loved to make me sing this for company.  Charming.  


My friend Debbie thought during the song 'How Will I know?' by Whitney Houston that instead of saying 'I'm asking you 'cause you know about these things' that it was actually 'I'm asking you 'cause you know about Beastley'.  
I capitalize 'Beastley' because Debbie thought perhaps that 'Beastley' was the nickname of Whitney's boyfriend..and her friend she was asking knew all about 'Beastley'.  Apparently Debbie knew what was up with Bobby Brown before her time.  She (Whitney) should have run.


My friends Stephanie and Johanna also thought that Alanis Morrisette's song 'You Oughta know'  talked about 'the cross-eyed bear' as in a cross-eyed teddy bear.  Not 'The cross I bear that you gave to me, you, you, you oughta know'.  You know it really wouldn't have been fair to remind Alanis of the cross eyed bear.  She must have loved that thing.


Here is the part where I ruin a newer song for you.  Now, I KNOW what the real words are, but for some sick, sick reason I cannot stop thinking that my lyrics somehow fit better. 
Michael Buble.  'Just Haven't Met You Yet'.  
The words are:  'And I know that we could be so amazing, and being in your life is gonna change me'
I can't help but hear:  'And I know that we could be so amazing, and peeing in your eye is gonna change me'.
I  know, you think I am sick and crazy right now but,  next time that song comes on (don't worry, it WILL come on)  you will not be able to stop singing those words.  Just try it once.  If you can't get it-give me a call I'll sing it out for you.  I've already ruined this song for numerous people.  And if your into peeing is someone's eye, well these lyrics might just be exciting for you.
Your welcome.

Vacation-brain and yummy feet.

Al, you've been doing so good keeping up on your blogging!  What the hell happened this week?
Well:
1.  Comcast happened
2.  VACATION happened.  (Yes, I was yelling 'Vacation' right there, I needed it)

My plan was a really great blog on Sunday night for those of you who just can't get enough.  However, for the 800th time this month.  I couldn't get on the internet.  I knew all day Sunday at some point I had to bite the bullet and call, but I couldn't imagine sitting on the phone for an hour with another person who 'was going to try really hard to help me'.  I don't want anyone else 'trying really hard'...I want them to just FIX IT.
Long story short, the guy on the phone Sunday night could hear me on the border of crying with aggravation when he told me it sounded like the person who set up our Cable/Internet/phone set it up wrong...because he called it quits after 10 minutes and told me he would send someone out.  Perfect.  So..no blog.  However, 'Ron' from Comcast showed up this evening to help Siobhan and I out.  We sat down and pretty much played 10,000 questions with him while he worked. We know a lot about Ron.  He is 24 and going to Saco with his girlfriend and friends tomorrow. We know he failed the vision portion of his police exam and is waiting for Lasik. Then he will try again.   His girl wants to get married, him not so much.   I was convinced we had sufficiently scared him with our CIA style grilling until he gave us his personal number incase we had any other problems.  Ron knows what's up.  Siobhan and I are kind of awesome.  OK.  He pitied us, that is a more reasonable explanation.  But, it is always key to have someone at Comcast on your team.
Anyways, on Sunday I had a really great idea for a blog...and a couple of good ideas that I wasn't sure I wanted to use.

Then I went on a mini-vacation..and, forgot.  Yup.  Forgot.  My brain will (hopefully) be back to join us tomorrow.  My family is pretty much an episode of 'Modern Family' on most days, so I have a lot material, but I am going to choose to not think that hard right now.  Tomorrow is for thinking.  But, I will leave  you with this.  I have mosquito bites ONLY on the bottom of my feet.  Both feet.  I challenge you to tell me something more aggravating than waking up all night to itchy soles of your feet.  I have not a one mosquito bite anywhere else on my body.  Apparently I have delicious feet.  Thanks mosquitos.