Eclectic Thoughts

I've got a ton on my mind so let me apologize for the incoherent rambling before you read on...

I hold grudges. This is admittedly one of my worst flaws. And let me tell you, it's bad. The people who know me best may not even realize I am this way because I'm not always vocal about it. But I NEVER forget when someone has wronged me. And I'm wondering about this now because I'm realizing that holding grudges stresses me out. My life would be so much easier if I'd just forget about the time when...

Thinking about grudges brings me to forgiveness. If I continuously hold grudges do I truly ever forgive anyone? Or myself, for that matter. Honestly, very rarely. I really have to find a way to work through all of this.

I went bowling and ended up hurting my finger. A bowling injury? Who gets those? Whatever. The cool part...a couple of nights later I was at the local watering hole with some friends and I told one of them about my injury. He said, "Give me your hand." I obeyed. He rubbed my finger for 30 seconds or so (while I carried on a conversation with someone else) and asked if it was any better. Amazingly enough, the pain was gone! When I asked what he did the reply was, "I prayed for your finger to stop hurting." Ahh...the power of prayer even works in a bar. More so, I was touched. Deeply. (just for the record, I was not drunk.)

Window salesmen are shitty. They are all liars. Except for the one who shows up last and gives the best price, of course. He's great.

My Lacie dog has some funky skin disorder. I bathed her tonight in the "special" shampoo that has to marinate on her skin for 10 minutes. Keeping a 100+ pound dog in a bathtub for 10 minutes is not easy.

When I want to sit down and blog my mind is empty and I have nothing to write about. When I've got a million other things that I should be doing, I sit down at the computer and this strange power takes over me and I can just go on and on and on...

Today was supposed to be the beginning of the the little league baseball season. Opening day, the big hurrah! It rained. The fields were too wet. All games were cancelled. My point? Baseball season is already too long and here we are, on the first day, already extending the season. It's going to be a long summer.

I had to go to a baby shower today. We all know how I feel about "showers" of any type. But somehow I got recruited for the job of writing down who bought what gift. Really, I didn't mind. I would do anything for _______. Well, at least I didn't mind until the mother-in-law of the mommy-to-be decided to be super-grandma and it literally took her about 30 minutes to open super-grandma's gifts. Why didn't she just save some of that shit for after the baby was born? (I am happy to report that there were no games.)

Barack Obama disappointed me during Thursday's debates. He did a fine job of NOT answering the questions. I'm considering supporting the crazy guy from Alaska. I liked him, he had no problem whatsoever speaking his mind.

It's probably time that I stop. I need to finish wiping dog hair off of the bathroom walls before the effects of the wine set in.

Back In The Day

Everyday I receive an inspirational quote that also comes with a "today in history" fact. I found today's trip back in time interesting and worth sharing. It said:

"...today is the birthday of the License Plate (1901)?
New York became the first state to require license plates on
cars. The first plates cost $1.00. It's gone up just a bit
since then."

I had to purchase plates last month and the going rate was $65. The renewal sticker that we must get each birthday is about $53, I think. I know that this varies from state to state. I'm curious to know what it costs elsewhere for those of you who don't live in Ohio.

The other day my son was eating a box of $.25 candy (Cherry Bombs) that my husband and I used to pay 5 cents for when we were his age. I also remember when it cost only a quarter to enjoy a fun filled day at the local pool. Last summer the price was $2.00. When I graduated from high school, the price of gas was just under one dollar per gallon and everyone was saying how high that was. A pack of cigarettes were $1.80 and I swore that if they ever went over 2 bucks I'd quit. Now here we are at over $4.00 a pack and I'm still buying...

In the comments...take a trip down memory lane. How have the prices of your favorite activities, foods or vices changed over the years?

What's For Dinner?

The weekend was BEAUTIFUL! Sunny and warm. We turned off the furnace and opened all the windows. Lovely, just lovely. I woke up on Sunday morning feeling motivated to get outside and clean up the yard. I picked up sticks, pulled weeds, laid mulch, trimmed the shrubbery, scrubbed the outside table and chairs and played with the dogs. All in all I had a pretty productive day. To say I was exhausted would be an understatement. However, we must eat. Now mind you, Jason was asleep the whole time, while I'm slaving away, since he worked the night before. When he wakes up, I ask him would he like steaks on the grill for dinner. He says that sounds great. So off I go to the local Convenient store.

Upon arrival, I realize that everyone else in town must have had the same brilliant idea (a steak cookout) because my only purchasing option was New York Strip Steaks. This is fine by me, I happen to love a good strip steak. However, I know this is a potential problem for the husband as he's a t-bone or fillet lover. But what is a girl to do? The selection was limited. I choose the best looking from the bunch and head home.

When I return to the house, Jason is outside prepping the motorcycle for a ride. He informs me that he's going to pay his aunt a visit and asks when dinner will be ready so he can be back in time. Then comes the conversation I prepared myself for during the 3 minute drive home:

Jason: What kind of steaks did you buy?
Me: Strip steaks.
Jason: (rolls his eyes)
Me: That's all they had.
Jason: I didn't say anything.
Me: You didn't have to, you rolled your eyes.
Jason: It's just that strip steaks don't grill up nicely because they're not that thick. Fillets would have been better.
Me: The steaks are plenty thick enough and they'll be fine.
(Jason makes his way to the refrigerator and pulls out the package of steaks.)
Jason: Where's the meat? This isn't enough?
Me: There is more than enough for the two of us. You always tell me that I don't make enough meat and then you retract your statement after you've eaten by saying how full you are. Stop thinking you always have to eat like a pig.
Jason: This isn't enough.
ME: (I'm angry now) Well, go over to Aunt Francine's house and eat. Maybe she made steak that is the right cut and thickness and cooked properly. I'm going to make this for MYSELF. And it's going to be good!! I'm serious, Jason, I'm not cooking you a steak!


Before he left for his aunt's house, he asked me again when dinner would be ready. In a not very polite way, full of expletives, I promised him that I would not be providing him with dinner in any way, shape or form. I reminded him that what I chose to prepare was not high enough on the "Jason's meat standard list" and he better find some dinner somewhere else. Period.

He left. I cooked MY steak in my favorite Calphalon pan, INSIDE, because now I've been sucked dry of any remaining energy and don't want to wait for the grill to heat up or have to be bothered with running in and out while it cooks.

Dinner was scrumptious. The steak was juicy and cooked to perfection, medium rare. I enjoyed it thoroughly along with a baked potato smothered with butter, sour cream and cheddar cheese. I also prepared myself a nice crisp salad. I ate my dinner, ALONE. And just for the record, I did not finish the steak. I'd eaten about half of it when my belly said it was time to stop. Apparently, the steak WAS big enough.

After dinner, I decided to take a hot bath laced with baby oil to soak my aching muscles and quench my sun dried skin. I've got it all planned out. I can stay in the tub for about 30 minutes and when I'm finished it'll be time to cuddle up in bed to watch the Sopranos before nodding off for the night.

The bath was refreshing for my muscles but relaxing for my mind. I laid down, willing my eyes to stay open just a bit longer so I can catch up with the happenings of Tony and the gang. I never even heard the opening theme song. But somewhere along the way of my blissful dreams, Jason came home. He woke me up asking, "Where's my steak?" I gave him a groggy response of, "Still marinating in the fridge." He said, "You really didn't make me any dinner? I can't believe this!!" I rolled back over, anxious to return to dream-land, thinking...did he really think I wasn't serious? I thought I made myself clear when I told him to eat while he was out. I vaguely remember hearing him in the kitchen cooking the steak he didn't want. This morning, upon further investigation, my suspicion was confirmed when I found the refrigerator void of the supposedly unwanted, not good enough for Jason, steak.

Maybe next time he won't be so damn critical of my choices. Or maybe he'll volunteer to cook dinner (Jason is an excellent cook) to ensure the food is to his liking. Hopefully, he'll just keep his pie-hole shut and be grateful that I even cook. Damn it!

BLAH!

Just finished paying all the bills. Depressing. I hate watching the balance in the checkbook plummet. (But I'm sure I can still manage those cute shoes I saw yesterday).


My mom gave me a copy of Martha Stewart's Homekeeping Handbook (I love Martha) but so far all I've learned is that I don't clean my house enough.



Today I received my highly anticipated sexy black leather jacket that beautifully rounds out my motorcycle attire.
But guess what? It doesn't fit & I'm going to have to send it back. I had to squeeeeeze my boobs into a very awkward position to zip the damn thing as though breathing was optional. I knew I should have ordered the other one. So now I'm faced with paying for the return shipping costs and restocking fees. I'm so disappointed. I could keep the jacket and go on a crash diet in the hopes of shrinking my breasts. Or maybe I could look into a reduction surgery. Or maybe I should just exchange it for the next size up and hope the extra room needed in the chest area will take some length off the sleeves. How and the hell am I supposed to know which size to opt for when obviously the sizing chart measurements can't be trusted? Oh the joys of online shopping!!!


My tulips are not going to make it. Not because of all the crappy weather we've had but because a certain Lacie Dog likes to lie all over them when she sun bathes and that damn Scooter eats the would-be blooms. Would anyone like to adopt a dog? I'm willing to part with Scooter, immediately! He comes with a lovely cage and I'd also be willing to feed him for a year. Furthermore, he's a wonderful running buddy/security guard. The only stipulation, no returns and no exchanges. Sorry.

Obviously I could use some cheering up. Feel free to tell a feel-good story in the comments.

Mission Accomplished

Yesterday's class was challenging, full of slow curving maneuvers and making quick stops. Then end result, I passed the class with only having 5 points deducted from my riding skills evaluation test. And let me just brag a minute here...Jason passed as well. But he also had 5 points deducted on the same portion of the test as myself. Given the fact that he's been riding for years, I feel pretty damn good knowing I did equally as well!


One down-side of yesterday's class...it was freakin' cold, raining and the winds were bone chilling! Down-side #2...I crashed, hard! While practicing making a quick stop coming out of a curve, I failed to straighten out the handlebars and flew right off that damn motorcycle! It happened so fast I didn't even realize I'd wrecked until I was laying on the ground. However, my instructor told the class, "If you're going to crash, crash like Nina!" I went down, rolled away from the bike without hitting my head and jumped right up yelling, "I'm okay!!" as I gave the onlooking riders in my group a big smile and a thumbs up! I was even told that I did it all with grace :)


Anyway, I'm fine and have no major injuries. I've got some nice bruises from my beautiful shoulder rolls and my leg was throbbing last night after I'd rested for a while and the pain had time to set in. But all in all, I'm glad it happened. My biggest fear was falling off the bike because I just knew I'd kill myself. I'm happy to report that I survived. They say everyone crashes at some point in their motorcycle riding adventures. Hopefully, I got mine out of the way and I'm grateful it didn't involve being on an open road with traffic.


The next step is finding the motorcycle right for me. Although I did well in the class (minus the wreck) I'm smart enough to know that I need tons more practice. I won't be heading out to the city streets anytime soon. I will continue to practice in secluded areas until my confidence levels have raised dramatically. But I still want to ride Jason's Hayabusa...someday!

Update

I'm on my way to day 2 of the motorcycle class. Yesterday was a blast...I didn't fall off the bike, drop the clutch (at least not while in motion) or run into any fellow motorcyclists (although I did have one close, very close, call). All in all it was a success. I've learned that my biggest obstacle is myself, go figure.

Today it will be colder and wet. Definitely not optimum riding conditions. I'm just hoping the $10 rain suit, that will most likely melt if it comes in contact with a hot pipe, will not be necessary.

So I'm off...and in the words of my husband, "HELL YEAH I RIDE BIKES!"

A Good Read

OH OH OH!!!!! Eric Jerome Dickey has a new book out!!! I believe that I've mentioned before that I like to read smut. And boy is he smutty! I'm so excited, I haven't even read it yet and I'm recommending it to all. I know, I know, that's not legal. But I can honestly say that I've never been disappointed by this author. He really is a wonderful writer. My favorite title by him is Milk in My Coffee. How about I recommend that first...enjoy!

Shear Genuis?

Tonight I was sucked into to another reality tv show, Shear Genius on Bravo. Bad. Awful. Heinous. Ghastly. That about sums is up. One of tonight's themes, hair art. Maybe I just don't possess the predisposition for hair love. I'm still trying to figure it all out. In any case, Bravo has stooped to a new low. I'm a huge fan of Project Runway (even though it seems like the winners never produce the promised fab designs after they win) and I eventually got into Top Design. Loved Jonathan Adler's cheesy "See ya later decorator!" farewell line. But this hair cutting show, wow! Since when is styling hair a competition? Does anyone really ever come out on top if the end result is a head full of feather boas? Or a treasure chest balanced on one's crown? I do remember when America's Next Top Model had a crazy hair episode:

The Top Models are not nearly as dreadful as the Shear Genius girl. Agreed?
Perhaps I prefer the Top Models because the focus was more on the modeling or maybe because I knew it would be different next time. Nevertheless, I'm praying the urge to feed my reality tv huger will not be victorious to the battle of the shears. It will be a huge waste of time and brain cells. Although one of the perks is a contest in which one lucky(?) viewer of the show, along with a friend of course, will win a $5000 hair cut from one of the stylists. But given the premiere episode theme, that could be dangerous. I suppose I'll just need to wait until June for the return of Heidi, Micheal and Nina to Auf "real" designers on Project Runway. Until then, I'm forced to boycott Bravo.

Awe hell, who am I kidding? I'll most likely succumb to the "shear" pressure and tune in next Wednesday confident that it has to be better this time. In the meantime, I'll look for a 12-step program for reality tv addicts.

Help Wanted

My husband decided the other day that he wanted to read my blog posts. He sat down to the computer and started from the beginning. Every once in a while I'd hear a giggle and he'd call me in to ask a question. When he was finished the conversation went:

Me: Well, what do you think?
Jay: You have a lot of typos.
Me: I TRY to look for mistakes when I'm finished typing.
Jay: Hey look...Tera and Rey have typos too.
Me: Would you like to be my editor?
Jay: No.
Me: What should I do? Nobody is perfect, you know.
Jay: You should all go back to college.

I'm here today to acknowledge my shortcomings. I'm sure that there are readers out there, much like myself, who pick up on other people's writing errors rather quickly. (I also have a nasty habit of correcting a speaker's grammar in my head as they're talking.) But for some reason I'm just not accomplished at editing my own work, I never have been. So, forgive me if you're reading my posts and you stumble upon the occasional mishap. I do my best. What I can't quite grasp is how I always managed to excel in English courses throughout high school and college. Funny how those things work out, huh?

Just a little side thought before I end...knowing that an English teacher reads my blog does make me a bit neurotic during my editing process but apparently, according to my husband, I need to try harder.

Why is it that we always want to please the educators, no matter how old we get? :)

Just Visiting?

Last night I watched The Good Shepherd. If you haven't seen the movie...in a nut shell, it is about the birth of the CIA. It follows the life of Edward Wilson, one of the first ever CIA officials, and portrays his love of the US and all he's willing to do to protect his country.

Although I did not particularly like this movie (very long and disconnected), I did find parts to be interesting. One particular scene really got the wheels spinning in my head. Edward Wilson, the white CIA agent, is talking with Joseph Palmi, an Italian mobster. Wilson is trying to get Palmi to help the U.S. bring down Castro. The lines below may not be correct word for word but they are pretty close:


Joseph Palmi: ... we Italians, we got our families, and we got the church, the Irish they have the homeland, jews their tradition; even the niggers, they got their music. What about you people, Mr. Wilson, what do you have?
Edward Wilson: The United States of America, and the rest of you are just visiting.


Keep in mind that this movie is taking place over approximately 30 years beginning right around 1920. Knowing the latter, the dialogue seems appropriate. But why does it seem to resonate so loudly in my head?

I thought maybe I was being over-analytical and super sensitive to keep thinking about these lines all day until my husband repeated the lines and said, "You know, what they said in that movie, that was f#*ked up!" And all I could say was, "Yeah, it was." I'm not offended by the stereotypes. Wilson's response is what I can't get out of my head.

I'd like to believe that our country is not run solely by white males. I'd like to believe that the number of minorities involved in our government is a sign of the times. But if I allow myself a moment to step back and TRY to be objective, I have to wonder if I'm being naive. I can't help but to deliberate over some of the questions surrounding today's presidential hopefuls. Will America vote for a woman? Is America ready for a black president? Sadly, I think the answer to both of those questions is NO. If and when the time comes for America to decide between a woman or a black man to be her leader, will the true reason for failure be due to qualifications or likability? Or will it be because there is a conglomerate of people so powerful in this county, in this world, who are able to keep minorities one step behind at all times?

Is everyone else really "just visiting"?

Still In Mourning

Given that Easter Sunday is just around the corner I've realized that I'm saturated with conflicting emotions.
First of all, Easter is usually associated with Jesus, over crowded churches, cute fuzzy bunnies, family gatherings, baskets full of candy...the list goes on and on. But for me, this year, Easter has taken on a whole new meaning. This Sunday is the return of...

Aaahhhh, Sunday night HBO. I've missed it dearly and the anticipation of the return of Tony and Carmela is building daily. See, Sunday night HBO is a tradition among my circle of friends. Especially when we're talking premiere night. This is a social event that includes planning. Food prep. Invites. I need to spend the day preparing a nice Italian dinner, picking out the wine and shining the stemware. I can't be bothered with the family dinners and jumping from house to house because you're "supposed" to visit everyone on a holiday. I refuse to allow myself to become exhausted listening to family bickering. I will not take the chance that by the time 9:00pm rolls around I'll be too tired to keep my eyes open, unable to fully engross myself in the happenings of America's favorite mob family. And for those who are not fans of the show, this is no regular premiere. This is the first episode of the series finale. The beginning of the end! Therefore, I don't dare use the DVR and chance seeing a spoiler clip on the morning news. I must experience it all as it happens, with a glass of wine and a plate of lasagna made with the marinara sauce from The Sopranos Family Cookbook. (anyone interested in the recipe let me know)


And so, as I prepare myself for the return of my favorite tv night, I realize that I'm still in mourning. As much as I love Sunday night HBO, it used to be sooo much better when Sex and the City was part of the line-up. God how I miss the foursome of Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda! Meeting at a friend's house to partake in the lives of the New York City women as they discussed men, sex, clothes and shoes. Oh, let us not forget the designer bags. All the essentials of a woman's life! But I just can't let go. I find myself, every few months or so, having a party for one as I curl up in front of the tv and watch all my favorite episodes on DVD. I crack myself up every time I see Carrie fall on the runway...



I still cry each time I watch Aiden leave for the final time. I love when Carrie looks through the shop window and sees the pair of Chrisian Louboutin heels with the pink chiffon cascade and says, "Hello Lover!" Or how about when she goes into the Vogue accessories closet and finds the Mary Jane patent leather Manolo Blahniks she believed to be an urban shoe myth!?!

I love, love, love Sex and the City. I truly believe there is a least a small piece of Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte or Miranda in every woman.

My point, and I do believe I still have one, is that when the show ended I was devastated. Sunday nights were never the same. Though I do not presume the end of the Sopranos to have such a lasting effect on my life, nonetheless, I'm sad. The end of an era is approaching fast. What else is there to look foward to? I'm going to need to find a new Sunday night tradition. Please, drop any suggestions in the comment box.

If there is anyone else out there with a favorite Sex and the City memory, do share. We can mourn together. Because it is true what they say...It's not tv. It's HBO.

Coming Soon

Warning to all Northeastern Ohio Drivers: Nina is learning to ride a motorcycle!

Next week, the hubby and I are attending a motorcycle safety riding course consisting of 1 day in the classroom and 2 days on a riding course. Upon successful completion, we will both be licensed riders. I've NEVER driven a motorycycle. Not even a small dirtbike. I did ride a 4-wheeler once when I was about 12 years old but I'm guessing that doesn't qualify as having any experience. Supposedly, this class is often full of first time riders who are just as clueless as myself when it comes to operating a motorcycle. I've been told, by previous graduates, that the novice riders gennerally are the students who excell the most. Maybe I'm at an advantage? Hopefully, we'll see.

Jason, my husband, is an experienced rider and is taking the class to get the motorcycle endorsement on his drivers license. Apparently, the test given by the BMV is extremely difficult to pass (he's failed the test 4 or 5 times, each time a different section) and this is the route lots of bikers take to get their licenses. I, on the other hand, am doing this because...I'm nuts?!?! Jason says I'm going to love it. Tells me that I'll enjoy riding more because I'll be in control. He also tells me, quite often, that I'm a bad passenger, I move too much. He's constantly reminding me to lean when he leans. He tells me I'm going to kill us both one day if I don't hold still. Yet, I should learn to ride because there is no other rush like it in the world of driving. Hmm?

Given the splendid weather (that is fading fast) we've had the past few days, I've found myself begging Jason to take me to a secluded area to let me ride his bike. He tells me absolutely not, but he'll take me to the garage so I can study the parts and familiarize myself with the location of the breaks, clutch etc. What fun is that?! I feel that I need to ride at least once before I get to this class and have to be graded on my performance, but what do I know?!? The truth is, he will most likely never allow me to ride his coveted Suzuki Hayabusa. It's a MANLY bike and I need something smaller. It has too much power, I wouldn't know what to do with all that speed. He likes to remind me of Ben Rothlinsberger's Hayabusa accident and tells me that under no circumstances am I to get brave and attempt to take his motorcycle out. Even after I learn on a smaller, less powerful, girly bike.

The class is approaching quickly and my anxiety level continues to soar. I am, however, excited about the cute black riding gloves with the hot pink trim I recently purchased! I'm secretly praying they have magical powers that will keep my hands steady when it's time to pull down on the throttle.

So...everyone please, say a little prayer that I do not kill myself during this riding course. And let it be known, my ultimate goal is to tame the Hayabusa beast and prove my husband wrong!