Where's the party?

New Year’s Eve can be a wild, drunken evening for many people.  I like to call those people "Amateurs."

Been there, done that.  I’m too old for that craziness now.  In reality, I can’t stay up much past 10 pm now a days.  Either way, I don't head to the bar to get drunk on December 31st anymore.

We spent this year with my BFF (Weezy), her hubby J, and their kids: A (8) and “Little” J (6).

Since she lives about one and a half hours from us, we headed there on Friday and spent the weekend with them.

New Year’s Eve started out with a nice dinner (W works hard to feel us very well when we are visiting).

Once we cleaned up the table, the six of us played Barbie Uno and Cat Bingo.

Fun for adults too!

Fun AND educational!

The adults enjoyed a bit of beer and wine while the kids had some soda and iced tea.

Even though we ate a big dinner, we had yummy snacks of mixed nuts and spicy trail mix.  We tried not to get the cards all greasy!!!

We played until 10:30 or so and the kids went to bed.  One of the Uno games lasted for over 45 minutes!  It was a blast.

For the first time in years, we all stayed up until MIDNIGHT!  When the clock struck 12:00, we wished each other a "Happy New Year."  Then we said “goodnight” and it was off to bed.  We can’t take those late nights anymore.

I can’t begin to tell you how much fun we had.  Most important was the fact that we were with great friends who mean the world to us.  While the games were “competitive,” no one was out for blood.  We laughed and laughed and enjoyed every minute.  No sore losers (or sore winners either).

I hope that everyone also had a great New Year’s Eve, celebrating in whatever way you chose.

My wish for 2012 is that you will all have plenty of time to spend with friends and family and enjoy yourselves like we did at W’s house last weekend.  Those times are so very precious.  Don’t forget to tell those people how much they mean to you and how much you love them.

I wouldn’t trade this New Year’s Eve "party" for all the money in the world. 

Happy 1st Birthday!!

I’ve dedicated spent one year writing my blog.  It’s a bloggy birthday!

I started this as a fun project to write about things I’ve seen, things I’ve done, and things I have opinions about.  Maybe even some private snippets of my life (that I think won’t bore people to death!).

I’m not the funniest person on the planet but I hope that I make my readers laugh occasionally often (at a blog like this about a hair weave).  I’m not the smartest person in the world but I hope that my readers may learn something new (like this blog about the evilness of celery).  I’m not the prettiest gal in the world but I hope my readers . . . wait, what does that have to do with my blog?  I just hope that if you’ve stumbled in here, you’ll stay awhile and find some enjoyment from my musings.

I don’t get many comments.  I'm OK with that but I love the ones I do get!!  I try to reply as quickly as I can.  I hope that there are more readers out there that enjoy my blog but, for some reason, don’t want to comment.  That’s OK too; but please, don’t be shy.  I take both compliments and criticism well.  I also like you hear if you’ve had similar thoughts or similar things happen to you.

I can’t say how long I’ll keep blogging.  My goal is to just keep going for as long as I can come up with something to say.  Angry would tell you that I’m never at a loss for something to say so I may be doing this forever.

Happy Birthday to my Blog.  I think I’ll have a beer (or several) to celebrate.

What's a Wazoo?

As I’ve told you before, I had the pleasure of living with my Grandma while I was growing up (here’s how she saved my life, sort of).

She was a Polish woman who cooked like magic and could tell stories that made you laugh so hard you would pee your pants.  She also had some interesting “sayings” and used some different unusual words.

Here are some of the things she’d say:

“That drives me up the wazoo.” – I’m not really sure what the hell a wazoo is but there are a lot of things that drive ME up the wazoo now a days.

“We’re off, like a herd of turtles.” – She always said this when we were getting ready to head to a store or a mall.  It was usually me, my Mom, and her going but sometimes we’d have an Aunt or two tag along for the ride.  I assume she meant that we were a pack of slow moving shoppers.  These are the kind of people that I hate to get stuck behind in the aisles.  We must have been annoying!

“You know what burns my ass?  A fire about this high.” – She’d hold her hand right next to her butt to show where that fire would burn.  I use this all the time.  I guess a lot of things burn my ass.

“Yell-o.” – That was how she answered the telephone.  It sounded like the color but with a hard accent on the “yell” part and a soft “o” sound.  I do not answer my phone that way as I think I’d confuse someone.  Of course, I text way more than I talk on the phone.  Maybe I should try it and see how it goes?

“Whatchamacallit” – This was a much-used word in her vocabulary.  Often several times in one sentence!  She used it for anything she couldn’t remember the name of.  Such as, “You know that whatchamacallit we saw in the store today?  I think it was on sale.”  Or, “I need one of those whatchamacallits that you use to fix glasses.”  This is used by enough other people that Microsoft’s spell check recognizes it.  I don’t tend you use this.  I’d rather say the “real” word which probably has less syllables.

“Dupa” – The Polish word for ass.  If she didn’t like you, she told you that you were a dupa.  In no uncertain terms.  I know a lot of dupas.  I like to call them that (sometimes to their face).  That way, I can say I speak Polish.

I'm reminded of her when I use these words and phrases.  She was a unique woman.  I wonder if she ever though those things would be sort of like a legacy?  Probably not, she was just speaking her mind.

Here's a story. . .

Of a lovely lady, who was bringing up three very lovey girls.

Whoops!  That’s not my story.  Sorry!


Let me tell you about something special in my life.

Twenty-two years ago, in August of 1989, I met a cute guy when I took a part time job at a grocery store.  I was finishing my last semester at college before I was to start student teaching.

I was a cashier and office “gal” and he did everything including bagging, cleaning, stocking, and other grocery store stuff.

This young man and I became friends while chatting on breaks or while he’d bag at my checkout lane.  We'd talk for a long time when he'd walk me to my car after our shifts to make sure I was safe.  We discussed music, movies, cars, our families, and our lives in general.

I started to think that maybe he “liked” me.  You know, boys in school pulling your ponytail “like.”  I decided that I’d ask him if he wanted to see the latest “Nightmare on Elm Street” movie (my treat) and he said yes.  The next day, he offered to buy dinner before the movie.

And true love was born.

We dated for about a year and then discussed marriage.  We shopped and bought an engagement ring.  He worked second shift in those days so I went and picked up my own engagement ring at the jewelry store when it was finished being sized.  He came to my parent’s house that night after work and proposed.  Well, sort of.  .  . I handed him the ring box and he handed it right back to me and said, “Here ya go.”  Why yes, he’s certainly a romantic!!

We wanted to pay for our own wedding so we decided to get married about a year later.  My Mom and I did all the planning since he wasn’t available in the evenings.  He trusted me to get it done in style.

November 2, 1991 arrived and we sealed the deal.


Our 20^th anniversary was spent in Mexico last Wednesday so I didn’t get to blog about my wonderful husband.

He’s not perfect but he’s perfect for me.  We fit together like two peas in a pod.

He is the person I want to be with for a million more years.  He’s the person that takes care of me.  He is my drinking buddy.  He’s the one that always shares with me even if it is the last candy bar in the house.  He is the one that lets me cry about stupid stuff.  He’s the one that holds my hand when we are at the shopping mall.  He is the one that lets me carry on about ANYTHING when I’m happy, or sad, or mad about something.  He’s the one that makes sure I have what I need when I’m sitting on the couch and say something like, “Damn, I’m thirsty.”  He's the one that makes me a kick ass margarita when I say I need one.  He is the one that makes me giggle (and then tells me how he loves to hear me laugh).  He’s the one that comforts me when I have a terrifying nightmare at 2 am due to low blood sugar.

He is the one that I can’t imagine being without.

My life is better because of him.  My life is happier because of him.  My life is funnier because of him.  My life is more complete because of him.

Here's my Angry (in Mexico last week).  My love.  My best friend. 

I love this guy!

Honey, I love you with all my life.  I hope you remember that every time you think of me.  Happy Anniversary!

How did I NOT get killed (or at least sustain an injury)?

When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time with my cousins (remember, I was an only child).  We don’t speak anymore (maybe I’ll blog about that sometime) but back then, we were best friends.  We were together constantly.  All but one was older than me but we all considered ourselves pretty equal.  We played hard.  We probably almost killed ourselves many times and should have been, at the very least, maimed.

One of our favorite games to play was Kill The Guy Football.  We used a sidewalk as one end zone and a tree as the other.  If you somehow got possession of the football, heaven help you.  You ran as fast as you could and hoped to hell no one caught you.  If you were caught, you were subject to whatever they could come up with to remove that football from your hands.  That could include punching, kicking, hair pulling, tripping, elbowing the head or ribs, or knocking the person head over heels.  Often, we used several of those moves at the same time to get the ball.  If you were “lucky” and made it to an end zone that was just as painful.  Try diving face first onto a sidewalk and let me know how that works out for you!

Another favorite was Violence Basketball.  That game was basically the same as Kill The Guy except using a different ball.  This was often an indoor game (in the basement) so you had obstacles to navigate.  It was always a thrill to slam full speed into a washing machine or dryer.  Baskets of laundry were fun though because the clothes would fly all over and confuse your opponents.  You’d run for your life and hope that the “violence” wasn't going to be too painful.  You got caught hurt more often in this game because you had to were supposed to dribble the ball.

We also played Detective.  We’d be Starsky & Hutch, Baretta, Kojak, and occasionally the girls would be Charlie’s Angels (without a Charlie to boss us around).  Now, we were all “good guys” but we’d beat the hell out of each other to solve crimes.  Don’t ask me how that worked.  An arrest consisted of getting knocked to the ground and having someone sit on your back and pretend to put handcuffs on (while wrenching your arms backwards).  You’d hope to get caught on the grass and not on the sidewalk or in the alley.  Then, you were interrogated.  None of that bright light in your face from the detective shows, no way.  You'd get sprayed in the face with the hose or you were subjected to some sort of physical punishment until you confessed (to something).  Often, you’d get the nerve between your shoulder and your neck pinched.  Pinched real hard.

I’m not sure, as I look back now, how we survived.  Without broken bones.  Without concussions.  Without ever having to go to the ER.

We did survive.  And we had a blast doing it!

A sad blog post with a happy ending.

I've been thinking lately about some sad things.


My Mom passed away in February, 1994 from pancreatic cancer.  While I've moved beyond the true "hurt" of that, I miss her a lot (more than a lot).  I think about her all the time and there are many, many things that remind me of her.  I often cry when I hear certain songs or see certain movies or other things that remind me of her.  I see things and often think, "Mom, you would have loved that!"


My Step-Mom passed away this October from breast cancer.  She fought a long, hard battle.  She was brave and did all that she could to survive.  I miss her.  I especially miss her silly giggle and her always positive attitude about everything.  She was the kind of person I could only wish to emulate.


I'm sad for my Dad who lost two very special, very beautiful women.  He's lonely and I wish I could make that go away.


My Sister-in-Law had breast cancer.  She is a survivor!!  What makes me sad about this is that she had to go through surgery, chemo, and radiation when she didn't deserve to.  I understand that life isn't fair but it still sucks big time.


About two weeks ago, I went for my yearly mammogram.  I've been getting them done longer than a lot of women because my family is "loaded" with cancer.  My doctor felt we should start a baseline earlier than most women (well before my 40s). 


A few days after my yearly "squishing," I got a call from the clinic saying that the radiologist had found something "concerning" and wanted me to come back for more images and possibly an ultrasound.  I couldn't get an appointment for two weeks so the waiting game was on. 


I tried to not think about it but it was hard.  I thought of my Sister-in-Law and her successful battle.  I thought about my Step-Mom and her unsuccessful battle.  I thought about my Mom and wished she was here so I could cry on her shoulder.


My follow-up appointment was yesterday.  I got squished big time in that machine.  Lots and lots of pictures.  Then the tech asked me to come back for more after the radiologist had reviewed the first set.  I have to admit; when she called me back I thought, "This must be bad."


The radiologist came to see me and said that everything was fine.  She explained that in a mammogram, the images are 3D not one dimensional like an x-ray.  I know that but what I didn't know (which she explained) is that you can get something called "bounce back" in the image.  This can come from veins, fat or muscle.  It shows up like a "spot" on the image.  The original spot from two weeks ago wasn't there and there were some others that were more obvious (images were taken from many different angles this time).


My drive to the clinic was hard.  I was sick to my stomach and a little scared.  My drive home was happy and I felt elated.  I thought of all the people who drive home with the word cancer in their diagnosis.  I hope that for all of them, success is the path their lives will take.


It was a bag of mixed emotions for me recently but the ending was happy.  I'm so glad I can say that.