4/29/07

FIND THE JOY

Dear Linda: What can I say? It's a Saturday night and hubby is snoring away. So, I decided to check in with 'Living with Linda', as I haven't had the time lately. YOU ARE F-ing BRILLIANT. Just turn this blog into a book and you're rich! However, money will not make you happy, as you are ALREADY the happiest person I have ever known. You get joy from the simplest things (the white flats) and perceive your life to be utterly fascinating (which indeed it is, because you love to learn). You can sleep when you want (I cannot), you can eat what you want ( I cannot) and you have someone who grocery shops for you (I most certainly cannot!). I don't ever get manicures (I can do it myself), I haven't had a housekeeper in years and my kid can be a real pain in the a$$. Maybe that's why I get Ativan on a monthly basis, NOT yearly! YOU ARE BLESSED! You are living proof that women that ROCK! Love, Sue ....one happy chick who lives in the most beautiful place on earth, with the most beautiful people on earth. It's almost ten and I'm not tired, my neck hurts, my knee hurts and there's nothing good on TV! Now, teach me how to find joy in THAT!

As you can see, Sue is not only one of THE most foxy ladies you'll ever meet, but is also THE MOST DISCERNING WOMAN, EVER. Jesus... just LOOK at how she raved about my blog! Now HERE'S a friend with remarkable insight.
While in high school, it was Sue who implanted the idea that she and Claudia should go on a European Tour. My parents then figured... Well, wait a minute. Why not throw Linda into the mix, too? Boom. The 3 of us flew to New York and then off to Europe for a two month stint on THE MOST FABULOUS TRIP OF OUR LIVES. Can you imagine? 17 years old, no parents, and traveling with hob nobs the likes of the Revlon daughter, for example. Were Paris Hilton on our tour, trust me, we'd have been right there behind her, finagling our way into the hottest clubs on earth.
For now, however, I've decided to actually TAKE ON Sue's challenge. In that vein, I'll attempt to show HOW to find joy, regardless of the complaints she mentioned in her email. Besides, Sue should only KNOW what a fake I can be, pretending life is a huge bowl of cherries; when in reality, there are pee-lenty of rotty pits in my life. Believe me.
Anyway... kindly read on for: MY VIEW RE: HOW TO FIND JOY FOR SUE
First of all, always go on the premise that life sucks the big one, thereby forcing you to CONSTANTLY consider jumping off the nearest cliff. That way, absolutely ANYthing that isn't sucky in life, is by immediate definition, A JOY.
Case in point: Sue's hubby is snoring. But... at least she HAS a hubby. And, one who has loved her for over 30 years! Besides, the fact that Kirk is snoring proves he (a hunk, I might add) is still breathing. See? No need to dial 911. Bingo. A Joy, if ever there was one.
Next: Yes, Sue is complaining there's nothing good on TV. Well, to me, that's a given. NONE of us can find something decent to watch BUT... I'll just damn well bet that when something good DOES come on, she's watching it on a NIFTY, HUGE, WIDE SCREEN TV, parked real cozy like in her stunning new Colorado home. MAJOR JOY, my friend. Me? I also can't find anything worthy to watch, BUT it's never any big deal since MY tv is so damn tiny, I can't even decipher the channel banner telling me what the hell station I'm viewing!
Lastly, yes, Sue's neck and knees hurt but HAVE YOU SEEN HER BODY?? Oh my God... it's fabulous!! Long legs, small waist, great breast surgery, long thick hair, looks like she's 35, etc. etc. I mean, come ON. You can't have EVERYthing. Besides, look at me. My body aches too, BUT, S^#*... TAKE A LOOK AT IT. Talk about a double whamo. Bottom line: Sue can REVEL in joy, knowing she doesn't have to sport MY body all around town! Actually, now that I think about it, that's more than mere joy for her. That's a gift from heaven. Trust me... were Sue to have been blessed with my figure, she'd have jumped off the cliff WAY before we ever went to Europe.
So... there you have it. Reasons for Sue to great feel joy. Besides, Sue apparently has no CLUE just how filled with joy I'd be, raking in tons of money from published blogs. Money not make me HAPPY?? Are you kidding me?? THAT sort of joy would almost make me consider spreading the Mother Teresa kind of happiness all OVER the friggin' world! Except, unlike Mama T, I'd be calling the fancy shmancy Ritz Carlton home. Not some secluded convent out in the desert.

4/21/07

STATE OF LIMBO

I myself think of only one thing when thinking about the limbo: actually DOING the limbo. As in: scrunching way down, trying to move your body under the stick, preferably with some excellent Bahamian music blaring in the background, all the while making sure your body never touches the rod. SUGGESTION: Chubby Checker's Limbo Rock was a great song to which one could "go unda limbo stick".

The Vatican on the other hand, has a whole different view. THAT limbo refers to the state of an unbaptized child for instance, who remains in said state should they have died without ever having first been baptized. Now THERE'S a concept that throws me for a loop. What the hell religion would advocate precious little newborns having been born in Original Sin? Besides, for all we know, the people who actually proCREATED the child, were maybe themSELVES, involved in some mighty heated sin for a brief, happy half hour, let's say. Regardless... the unbaptized child can go neither to heaven nor to hell. Rather, he/she is to remain in a state of limbo.

WHAT? GIVE ME A BREAK, HERE. First of all, the infant can't possibly be responsible for this particular shall we say: sins of their fathers. And/or mothers. Thus, to my way of thinking, what's with this whole idea of coming into the world born in sin? Way outta line, if you ask me. Secondly, if ANYone's entitled to go to a Garden of Eden way up in the heavenly beyond, surely it's an infant child.

Of course, no one ever has ASKED my opinion, so granted, mine makes absolutely no difference whatsoever to anyone on the face of the planet. But... LOTS of people have asked the Vatican. And NOW, after centuries and centuries, guess what? NO MORE LIMBO FOR BABIES. Apparently the Pope has re-thought all this and decided to forgo the living in limbo bit. Thank God.

Now, I am sure many folks won't be too happy with my thoughts on Catholicism so to those who adore this religion, I respectfully offer my apologies for this blog. Believe me... I remember well every Friday in my public schools days whereby fish was the only entree on the menu. Uh... that's changed now, too, hasn't it? And, frankly, I've yet to know any Catholic female who doesn't practice some form of birth control, but so be it. And, don't even get me started on teen aged boys who I am SURE fell madly in love with masturbation lickety split. Aren't those sins, too? EEKS. EVERYone's going to hell, I guess.

Except those in Limbo, of course. Now... I'm happy to say... THOSE people have gotten a free pass right smack up to Heaven. As for those who SHOULD go to hell, by the way, I actually have a personal list from here to clear across town of those who might qualify. In fact, I've often REQUESTED they go. As in: F you. Drop dead. Eat s*%@. And... go to hell.

4/20/07

Otorhinolaryngology

Can YOU spell this word? Can you even proNOUCE this word? Have any idea what it MEANS? Well, your local ENT doctor will know. But, I sure didn't. Which is why I was STUNNED tonight when I attended a Dinner/Adult Spelling Bee fundraiser for the Literacy Council here in town. The team I was supporting DID spell it correctly and it was at that point I decided I might not attend next year. WHAT THE HELL KIND OF WORDS ARE THESE, ANYWAY?

Actually, I was able to spell the practice round just fine... Grievance, Reactant, Plutonion, Cacophony, Abysmal, and Rambunctiously. After that, I was in Dumb Ass Heaven. The only word that MAYBE I might have figured out was: Acetaminophen. Although they should have just said: Tylenol. THAT I'd have gotten in a flash. All the other words were strictly for Albert Einstein, NASA hard core scientific specialists and etymologists of the highest degree ALL ROLLED INTO ONE.

Regardless, I had a great time tonight. Especially when they called out the numbers for the Door Prize. GUESS WHO WON A $25 GIFT CERTIFICATE?? Bingo. ME!! Kinda like the gift certificates I won last summer in a gift basket, totaling about $400. Also kinda like the photography portrait I won a few summers ago at a Brandeis University Women's Luncheon. Somehow God loves raining great gifts down upon me.

The other part of the evening I loved was when a photographer came up to me and said: Hi. I'm from the TIMES-NEWS and I took a shot of you when you were cheering. Can I have the correct spelling of you name in case we use it tomorrow's edition? UH... SURE YOU CAN! I LOVE being famous!! I didn't have to take even one half breath before I was spitting out L-I-N-D-A etc. etc.

Can you just IMAGINE how early I'll be up in the morning to see if, in fact, I'm pictured?? I may even have to be sitting on my doorstep, bright and early, eagerly awaiting the 5:00 a.m delivery! Believe me... if I'm in the newspaper, I'll DEFINITELY be tap dancing all over the place. Spelled: D-E-L-I-G-H-T-E-D.

ORDER OF EVENTS

1.) Meet friends for Sunday brunch; HUGE hailstones pelt roof of restaurant.
2.) Come home; happily listen to Faith Hill's BREATHE on computer.
3.) Unhappily freak when boom! Computer dies.
4.) Realize ALL power has vanished from the city.
5.) Quickly consider buying a gun to shoot myself.
6.) Take a shower, while hot water is still an option.
7.) Watch 60-70 mph winds swirling all around outdoors.
8.) Say to self: Toto, I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.
9.) Head to freezer to grab and Oreo.
10.) Plug in land line telephone. (I know this drill by heart, now)
11.) Gather materials for work next day.
12.) Begin to F-ing freeze to death as temps begin falling.
13.) Take 1/2 Ativan (I know this drill by heart, now)
14.) Decide to sleep at Susan's so I won't die alone.
15.) Do yoga session to calm myself. (doesn't really work)
16.) Wake up frozen to death; dress for work in semi darkness.
17.) Go to school; continue to freeze to death; early dismissal.
18.) Come home, build fire, for inadequate heat.
19.) Bring in plants and flying items from front porch.
20.) Grab phone book to find local gun shop listings.
21.) Realize fire's heat is for
s*@%.
22.) Shower with whatever minimal hot water is left.
23.) Eat every single bit of crapola I can possibly find.
24.) Freeze to death; screw doing yoga for the day.
25.) Listen to evening news on portable TV.
26.) Immediately proceed to break TV's antenna.
27.) Swear like a sailor; wished gun shop were still open.
28.) Head to Susan's once again; sleep on floor in front of fire.
29.) Use flashlight 3x to find bathroom.
30.) Wake up early; YIPPEE! Schools are closed.
31.) Begin 3rd day of no power.
32.) Come home to find land line phone not operating.
33.) Really pissed now, that it's too early to call gun shop.
34.) Freeze to death.
35.) Spend 1 hour on cell phone with BellSouth; told they'll be out in 5 days.
36.) Alert painter kitchen will have to be painted sans power.
37.) Decide to meet friends for lunch; had no real meal in DAYS.
38.) Build new inadequate fire; cell phone dying from no charging.
39.) Shooting myself takes back seat to dealing with anxiety attack.
40.) House looks like disaster area; missed Sopranos AND it's rerun.
41.) Quickly becoming a raving lunatic.
42.) READY FOR NUT HOUSE; get call that my Dad has fallen; congested heart failure.
43.) Head to hospital.
44.) Power FINALLY restored. Don't ask.

4/15/07

WASTED

I swear to God.... today is a MAJOR day in my life. And no... I am NOT actually wasted. Instead, I'm apparently WAISTED. As in: for the first time in YEARS, I noticed I ACTUALLY HAVE A WAIST LINE. Or, at least, the beginnings of one.

Whoa. When the hell did THAT happen?? All I can say is... 1.) this has taken me COMPLETELY by surprise and 2.) it borders on nothing less than miraculous. The surprise occurred earlier today when I was dressing. I was putting on my skirt, and when doing so, I just innocently and nonchalantly happened to glance up in the mirror. OH MY GOD... THERE IT WAS. I saw it there in the reflection... an actual real, live waist line! Have you any idea how long I've gone withOUT one? How long it's been since I've SEEN one? Never in my wildest imagination did I ever expect to see THAT again. Especially at this age.

Now, I don't want to get carried away, for indeed, I'm in no way even close to a REAL figure. But regardless, at least you can now tell that I'm a woman. As I've often mentioned... heretofore, I've always identified more with my father's physique as opposed to my mother's figure. Well, no more, my friend. And, my mirror proves it! MIRROR, MIRROR, ON THE WALL; WHO'S THAT WAISTED? LIKE THEM ALL? Such were the words I muttered to myself as I stood there, simply astounded.

Now... if only I can get my sagging breasts to turn back the years.
Or, get my tummy tucked. Or my face lifted. Or my inner thighs done. HELLO? EXTREME MAKEOVERS? OH, HI, THIS IS LINDA. I'M THINKING I COULD BE YOUR ALL TIME FAVORITE CANDIDATE...

4/12/07

IN THE KNOW

The other day I took an online test geared specifically to fifth graders. It covered a WIDE variety of subjects and I am sure you could pass this test with flying colors. Uh... I couldn't. I probably rated a C- at best. There must have been about 10 questions. I think I got 6 correct. EEEKS. I'm a flunkie??

Apparently so. And, it's kinda amazing, given I'm pretty damn smart. Well, for a 4th grader, at least. Turns out 5th grade would be the big challenge. Anyway, today, I opted for another test... a vocabulary quiz, this time. One geared for 11th graders, maybe.

YIPPEE. I passed. With flying colors, too! Thank God. If I flunked this one also, I'd freak. Again, there were 10 questions... I missed one. Which gives me a score of 90. In public school, I'd get only a B. But in private school, where I'm thinking the scoring is based a tad differently, I'd maybe get an A. Which only means... I'm headed to high priced private schools, if ever I need to enroll somewhere.

I remember how stunned I was when my son took Calculus in high school and college. What the F IS Calculus, anyway?? Who uses it? Why? Who'd ever WANT to? To this day, I have no clue what this course is about other than it's one I'LL NEVER BE TAKING. I handled Algebra I and II perfectly fine. Geometry killed me. I don't even remember whether or not I ever took Trig, but if I did, I'm sure I hated it. Languages? Bingo. I'm a champ. Math? WAY outta my league.

Which is why I entered today's vocabulary quiz with shaky confidence. I was PRAYING I'd pass, even as I clicked the Start icon. If I couldn't pass THIS test, I'd almost have to give up my teaching license for good. And now that I think of it, I guess I'll not report my grade results to my principal. I sort of like fooling some of the people some of the time.

So... the Bottom Line, as I see it? Congratulations to all passing students in fifth grade and beyond! They all deserve medals. Oh sure... I can bust their ass in Spelling, Reading, Writing, Language, Computing, etc. Even the three Florida Real Estate exams, I aced right off the bat. But, Math or Science? Or fifth grade common knowledge tests? Trust me... I'm SO doomed.

4/10/07

ONGOING MYSTERY

Whenever I do my laundry, I live in a constant state of being stupefied. And, there is no one else to blame but me, since I'm the only one washing my clothing. I'm way too particular about my clothes to let just ANYone do it; I simply would NEVER trust another to handle my wardrobe.
Apparently, I alone, have it all down pat as to what's to be washed, at what temperature, which spin speed to use, how long items can remain in the dryer, and exactly how things should then be hung on the hangers. I'm pretty particular about the hangers I use, too. Wire hangers were thrown out YEARS ago and slacks can ONLY be hung on the huge tubular kind. Shirts on the other hand, can only be hung on the skinny, skinny velvet covered hangers. Trust me... laundering my clothes is a whole program system onto itself.

Thus, someone else can do the dusting, the cleaning, the windows and floors. But I'm doing the laundry. What really gets me about doing it however, is the fact that EVERY damn time, a crazy ass mystery occurs. The mystery centers around the single sheet of fabric softener that I toss into the dryer along with the freshly washed clothes. I KNOW each load gets the sheet of softener... what I don't know is: WHERE THE HELL IS IT AFTER I REMOVE THE CLOTHES. I swear... this softening sheet goes SOMEwhere. I just don't know WHERE.

Indeed, I TRY finding the sheet. Mainly because I ALWAYS use it to collect the lint left in the lint collector. The problem is: the sheet is SOMEwhere... I just can never find it. I don't care how many times I search the removed clothing, looking to see where softening sheet is hiding... it's almost never, ever to be found. It's like a F-ing game that the dryer likes to play with me. OKAY, ON YOUR MARK, GET SET, GO! FIND THE SOFTENER SHEET!


I pile all the clothes I remove, right atop the dryer. I pick up each article, hoping it'll be easy to spot. Care to guess how many times I go through this ritual? And almost NEVER do I find the softener sheet. I just can't figure it out. It's crazy.
I purposely lift each item with care, so hoping I'll come across it. The odds of my finding it are consistently about 100 to 1. Until, that is, when I sit down in front of the TV set and begin folding the clothes. Then BOOM!, OUT OF NO WHERE, the sheet suddenly reappears! DAMN! Why can't I ever find it from the get go?? It simply baffles me each and every time. And... it pisses me off. Mainly because I really HAVE already carefully searched it out only to meet with failure; until I'm deep into the folding phase, anyway. Which is way too late, given I'm no longer standing in front of the lint container.
Bottom Line: No WONDER reading mysteries was never my forte. Who the hell can ever solve it? If I can't find a crappy little piece of fabric softener, there is NO way I figure out zillions of clues to some major high crime murder scene. Which is just as well. I hate seeing dead people.


4/7/07

ODE TO LAURA

I love Laura for a million reasons. Spend a couple of hours with her and it'll be the best two hours of your day. She's hilarious. She's way happening, especially in a world that left me behind in the dust some 20+ years ago. And... she's one of my most loyal readers.

So loyal in fact, that I got this email from her late last night:

Dear Linda,
It is with great sadness that I write this email. I have been a loyal blog reader of yours and now I must register my first complaint. As much as I enjoy all of your entries, the lamp fire being one of my all time favorites, I may have to remove "Living as Linda" from the top of my favorite places list. Your last entry entitled "House of Plenty" albeit hilarious, was written over five, that's FIVE days ago. For someone like myself who is a big loser, you simply must post more often. Please advise me when the next posting will take place as I am boycotting your blog until there is a new one posted.
Thank you so much for your time and consideration.
Your biggest fan,
Laura


CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?? I'M ON A MANDATED SCHEDULE?? Who the hell KNEW? Granted, when I read the first two lines of the email, my heart started pounding, thinking I must have written something really, really horrible. Finally, by the time I got the gist of what Laura was saying, my heart calmed down quite a bit, and then I just had to laugh. But not for long. Within seconds I got an instant message stating: YOU WRITING RIGHT NOW? Whoa... I'd been online mere moments and BOOM. I'm getting it from all fronts. Now HERE'S a reader who has the Blog Jones BADLY. Which of course, is just the way I like my readers to be.

Thus... in honor of Laura, I'm offering this ode. Also in her honor, I'm moving her to first place on my A++ List of Women Who Know a Good Thing When They See It. I love you, Laura.

AN ODE TO LAURA
Here is woman I wished you could know,
Wherever she is, you'd sure want to go.
She's been in my life for 40 years +...
I may even have taught her... how to properly cuss.
The words that I didn't, she learned on her own,
A more happening young woman, I seldom have known.

She once was so ticked as we traveled by car,
IS IT MY FAULT MY STOMACH'S A PROBLEM... WHEREVER WE ARE?
When my days weren't so spiffy, I'd go spend the night
Wherever she took me, I found sheer delight.

Laura is beautiful and Laura is funny...
We both can bemoan, how we want Lottery money.
Although she is there, and I am now here...
I simply can tell you she fills me with cheer.

Lastly, I thank her for my very first sight,
Of an adult like gift, she got one birthday night.
Though her gift was a "gag"... last laugh was on me...
For gagging on it... I could easily see.

So... Keep reading my blog, my Sweet Laura Dear...
I'll keep adding my posts, thus you shan't live in fear.
If I take some time off, then maybe assume,
I am getting a life... and for all we know... getting some, too.

4/1/07

HOUSE OF PLENTY

See this picture? It definitely makes me wonder whether or not I'm nuts. Like, is it an okay thing for me to be housing this much food?? EEEKS. I can't believe it... apparently at any given moment, I could easily host a dinner party for 10 without EVER going to the grocery store. Where I never go, anyway.

But, Pat does. She's my housekeeper and every Wednesday I give her my list of things to buy. I include only those items which I either like to keep as staples, or items I know I'll be needing for a special reason. Note, by the way, that yes, I consider Double Stuffed Oreos a staple; but also note the 2 containers of cottage cheese and 4 containers of yogurt. THOSE staples are part of my meals during school days. Throw in a Granny Smith apple and a Diet Coke and boom. I'm fed for the work day. Well, at least part of it, anyway; every once in a while I get this major urge to run to the cafeteria and buy one their HUGE Nutty Butty ice cream cones.

In the meantime, I have a great set up with Pat. I give her my credit card (why not accumulate flight miles?) and my shopping list and off she goes, doing the job I so detest. Turns out this week, about a zillion items were on Special. Thus, I got at least 5 cell phone calls from Pat, telling me about the special pricings, wanting to know if I wanted to be an educated consumer. Ground beef was on sale; Ruffles with Ridges were on sale. Fritos, too, were on sale. The list goes on and on. Next thing I know, Pat comes back home with BAGS AND BAGS AND BAGS of food. Talk about enough to feed an army!

Before I allowed any of the new items to be placed in the refrigerator and/or freezer however, I first asked Pat to wash and clean it. And then to please organize it. And, then of course, restock it. I could see I needed to start from Step One. And, since my mother always taught me to begin every kitchen project with a clean slate, we began with a clean refrigerator.

When all was said and done, I was so damn struck with the amount of contents for one small, baby sized house. Like, how many people am I feeding here, anyway? Well, yeah, I took advantage of some great savings, but I also now have enough food for all my neighbors within sight range of every one of my kitchen windows and doors. COME ON OVER, FOLKS. NO NEED TO RUN TO THE STORE. WHY, YOU CAN SHOP RIGHT HERE, FROM MY VERY OWN REFRIGERATOR, INSTEAD!

And...get this. What you don't see are the bottom drawers filled to the limits with apples, grapefruits, oranges, cheese, salad fixings, etc. Which kinda scares me since, I don't even want to beGIN to address what's housed in the pantry. Bottom line:

For any immigrant just arriving in America, wanting to know if our streets are in fact, paved with gold, all I can say is: COME OVER TO THE HOUSE OF PLENTY. They'll have their answer lickey split.

QUARTER OF A CENTURY

Yippee. Yesterday was my son's birthday. Note that I selected his date of arrival for 3/31 and not 4/1. Just what I wanted... a kid born on April Fool's Day.

He turned 25, and as I do each birthday, I quizzed him on the details of his birth. How much did you weigh? What time were you born? Who was the first to hold you? Who was your baby nurse? At what age did you begin to walk? Etc. Etc. And naturally, I like ending the quiz with: Oh, and... how much PAIN you think I endured for your ceasarian delivery? I kinda like throwing in that last question just for good measure.

Which is why when I called him to extend my love and birthday wishes, I began the conversation by simply stating: Oh, by the way... it's not about YOU. Instead, it's all about ME!

How's that for a Mother's Love? But, knowing me as he does, and knowing I adore the ground he walks upon, my son merely laughed and quickly caught on, agreeing how right I was, given I was the one who actually GAVE BIRTH! Yes... my kid is now 25 and elegible for lower car insurance rates. But also, I HAVE NOW BEEN A MOTHER FOR A QUARTER OF A CENTURY!

Now THAT'S an accomplishment. Especially, since beginning with the day my son first began to speak, he MUCH preferred calling all the shots regarding how his life as a minor was/was not going to be run. Have any idea how much energy I've expended these past 25 years correcting his false expectations? Trust me... A LOT. On the other hand, he's caused me almost no heart ache. Thus... bonus points for my kid.

It was when he turned 21 that I eased up a bit on the reins. It was when he graduated from college that I gave up the reins altogether. Now, all I have to do is, sit back, watch how my son rewards me with the life he'll choose to live while I gloat with pride. Well, unless he makes some stupid ass decision that completely F's up all my hard, dedicated work.

In which case, I'll naturally still be his mother. Just a pretty ticked off one. Yet, if the next 25 years are anything like the past 25, well... I'll be a blessed mother, indeed. Happy Birthday to my son. And of course... Happy Birth Day to ME.