A Hunting We Shall Go…

A Hunting We Shall Go…

Skydiving, an African safari and camping were the last three things on my bucket list. Glancing at my dwindling savings account, it was clear that camping would be the only viable option this year. It was past the time to heed the siren’s call, experience the great outdoors, sleep under the stars, and roast marshmallows over a roaring fire.

This was an imperfect plan…

I needed help with my brain child because I didn’t know zilch about camping. My son-in-law, on the other hand, is a West Texas cowboy who knows all about the great outdoors. He would be the perfect foil.

My family had just polished off Easter dinner, and everyone was in a good mood. I made sure my son-in-law had two helpings of coconut cake; he was primed for the slaughter.

“I’ve decided to fulfill one of the last things on my bucket list, a camping adventure. Who wants to go with me?”

Troy, my grandson, piped up. “Gram and I need to go camping! Dad, please, please.”

Did I mention how much I love that kid?

My son-in-law, Dusty, shook his head and sighed. “Your grandmother would hate camping.”

George, my oldest grandson, chimed in that his dad did have camping gear in the garage that was just sitting there. My hero!

“Mom, where do you want to go on this camping trip?” Dusty asked.

I had to think about that for a minute or two. “Let’s go where there are tall pine trees and beautiful mountain streams. And the weather can’t be cold or too hot. Clean bathrooms like Buc-ee’s are a must and hot showers would be glorious.”

My son-in-law sighed deeply. “You’re talking about the Holiday Inn in Boulder, Colorado.”

After much whining on my part, my plan had legs. My nephew Matt, an avid outdoorsman, would be joining us for the camping extravaganza. Our destination would be four hours away at some random campground near Tyler, Texas. For two amazing days, we would breathe in the outdoors and commune with Mother Nature. I couldn’t wait to cross camping off my list.

Matt and I arrived at Dusty’s as the sun was peeking through the clouds. The boys loaded up the truck with all kinds of manly stuff like fishing gear and tents. Dusty looked at all my luggage and tossed me one scruffy backpack.

“Everything you want to take needs to fit into this one backpack.”

We were off to a very rough start. Our wagon train had gone twenty miles when I spied a Starbucks and insisted we stop.

“Nope,” yelled the four stooges.

I must have been delusional to go on a trip without another woman in sight. I was outnumbered, but I hadn’t surrendered, not quite yet. We finally arrived at a remote campground, and there wasn’t one tall pine tree or a rippling stream in sight.

“OK, everyone, grab a bag, and start setting up the tent,” Dusty barked out.

“Honey, I need to find a restroom; it’s a real emergency. Just point me in the direction where the bathrooms are,” I yelled.

“Mom, see that bush over there? That’s your new bathroom for the next two days.” It was a toss-up whether to laugh or cry.

“Did you bring any toilet paper, Dusty?”

He held up a leaf and grinned.

Two hours later, the tent was finally up. It was hotter than blue blazes, and a swarm of mosquitos decided I was a tasty meal. The men went fishing, and I tagged along because there was nothing to do at the stupid campground. As soon as they started fishing, it became too quiet.

“Hey guys, let’s play twenty questions,” I suggested, hoping to break the monotony.

All the guys said in unison, “Shush.”

Fishing is the singular most boring sport in the world, just in case you didn’t know.

We returned to our campsite, and the boys were starving. Suddenly, everyone looked at me. My new assignment was chief cook and bottle washer. I was popular once again! The boys got the campfire roaring, and the T-bone steaks came out of the cooler.

Grabbing a black cast-iron skillet, I attempted to cook the steaks. After a severe case of smoke inhalation, one scorched eyebrow, and a big blister on my arm, the steaks were ready.

No one warned me about the inherent dangers of camping….. To find out what happens next on the most extraordinary adventure, look for my book on Amazon:  When You Can’t Remember Shiitake  Coming Soon!


The Last Word

One of the worst things about me is that I must have the last word on any given subject.  Please, please, please, don’t send me an avalanche of comments because I can just hear you now. “Oh no, the worst thing about you is your lousy temper, and your stellar driving skills.”  Please don’t remind  me that I hate to  admit when I am  a wrong,  and  you find my  infamous “right” dance so obnoxious.  Okay, I get it.  I am a very flawed individual.   Today is no exception because I simply must have the last word on a few things that have been percolating in my brain. As always, let’s start from the beginning…..

My story began last February on a cold chilly afternoon.  I had a case of the winter doldrums.  I decided to write something funny about dieting on Facebook.  Several of you posted that I made you laugh, and I was pleasantly surprised. The next day, I wrote a little more and then a little more. Someone suggested a blog and with a lot of help from friends, this blog was launched on March 1st with “Bathing Suit Shopping 101.”  Today, there are more than 40 stories under my belt and a larger readership that I ever dreamed possible.  I am as surprised and astounded as anyone could possibly be.  As for you, Gentle Reader,  look for that little voice inside you that nudges you to paint that picture, write that poem, snap that photograph, open that Cupcake shop, and dance your dance. If you are willing to take one small step in the direction of something that is nipping at your heels, the universe will always oblige. And yes, this is me talking, not Oprah, thank you very much.

I have so enjoyed your feedback about the stories that I have written. I have male and female readers coast to coast and some who live in Canada and Europe. I have readers that are Jewish, Catholic, Protestant and one Scientologist. Stop it silly, it’s not Tom Cruise. What I have discovered is that we are all in this life together and what divides us is nothing compared to what bonds us together. We love our kids, and we all want a better life for them. We adore our pets, and they are bonafide members of our families complete with Halloween costumes.  We know diets don’t work, and we hate bathing suit shopping. We are never satisfied with our hair or clothes. We all know there is someone who will act like an ass at the family reunion, and someone always cries at a wedding. We can bad mouth our mother, but don’t you dare say a word about our sainted mom.  Men and women will never understand each other, but we pursue them with a vengeance and marry them anyway.  We hate cheaters, liars, and people who think they are better than we are. We love our grandkids with a passion, and we delight in spoiling them rotten. We can’t resist showing their pictures to strangers on the street as if they had never seen a child. We can’t get enough of real life love stories like William and Kate. We hate income tax, root canals, pap smears and prostrate exams.  We love a good garage sale, a Hersey Bar and a funny movie. Our girlfriends are our “rock” and losing our mother is something we never ever get over. We love America’s game, baseball, and we do a fanny plant for the Super Bowl.  We are so proud of our men and women in the armed forces and their families.  We pray for their safe return. We abhor terrorism of any kind.  We love a hero and apple pie. You see, we are all in this life together in this grand country called the good ole USA.  Please don’t let the media divide us. As John Lennon said,” Let’s Come Together, Right Now”. If your candidate lost the election, I am sorry. I hope the Democratic Party will work harder than ever the next four years, and maybe you will win next time. If your candidate won, I am happy for you, and I pray that Trump really can make America great again.  We all have to live together and be kind to one another starting today because we can’t afford to wait another four years. Amen, end of sermon.

I have a new idea percolating in my brain. I am going to try to get a book of funny short stories published. I know this will take a Herculean effort on my part so something had to give, and it’s my blog so this is my last story.  If I succeed, you will be the first to know and the book will be dedicated to YOU Gentle Readers who made it all possible. Your kindness and encouragement have made all the difference.  Thank you, thank you, and thank you again for reading my stories and sharing them with others. I hope each of you has a blessed Christmas and a terrific 2017.

With a grateful heart,


P.S. There is always something to laugh about; you just have to look for it.


How to Train Your Trainer -Part Two

picture-of-a-trainerTyler and I walked into the workout room. All the machines looked ominous, and everyone was grunting and groaning. Had I walked into Dante’s Inferno? “Let’s warm you up first. Jump on the treadmill and walk a mile at a brisk pace,” Tyler said with great cheer.  He is so naïve, isn’t he? He doesn’t understand that I don’t do “brisk” anymore. Suddenly, Tyler started acting crazy. He pushed up the speed to 3.5 miles an hour.  All of a sudden, I felt my feet flying and my I was hanging on for dear life. “Tyler, turn this damn thing off right now, and I mean it.”  After I could finally breathe again, I asked Tyler how far I had run because my waist did feel smaller. “I think it was .2 miles. You might do better on the elliptical machines. You can hold on, and all you have to do is put your feet on the pedals and PUSH.” This sounded like a much better option for me, and I was pleased to see that Tyler was finally getting with the program. The elliptical looked futuristic and scary. Tyler hoisted me up on the machine and yelled for me to push the pedals. “Push harder, harder, harder” Tyler yelled. “Tyler, this is ridiculous. You get me off this contraption right now.” Tyler was beginning to look exasperated, and he said we needed to talk. Now talk, I can do.  Tyler showed me different exercises; squats, lunges, and the leg extension machines. He asked me if I wanted to try any of them. No, nein, nyet, nope and no way Jose, was my response.

All hope was not lost. I thought I saw an exercise machine that I could master. On this machine, there were people sitting down (now we are talking) and watching tv while pedaling a bike. “Tyler, let’s try that machine with the tv.”  “That’s called a recumbent exercise bike.  I want you to concentrate on pedaling and maintain a certain speed.”  I sat down all by myself which should have impressed the crap out of Tyler. “Tyler, show me how to get the Food Network on this machine.” “I want you to concentrate on pedaling not the Food Network” said Tyler with quite a bit of irritation in his voice. I started pedaling and watching the Food Network.  “Beat Bobby Flay” was on and it was very intense as this chef from Brooklyn was trying to take my Bobby down. The more exciting it got, the less I pedaled. Finally, I felt a sharp tap on my shoulder. “Lady, can I use the machine if you are just going to sit there?”  Well excuse me!  I guess I forgot to pedal………

I found Tyler slumped in a corner. “Well, our hour is almost over. Let’s walk around the track to cool down.” I didn’t tell Tyler that I didn’t need to cool down. I wondered if he was coming down with the flu. As Tyler and I strolled around the track, I just had to ask him my burning question. “Tyler, I know you don’t know for sure, but how much weight do you think I lost today?”  Tyler at first just gave me a blank stare. “How does 3 pounds sound to you?” I couldn’t hide my disappointment, I was really hoping for 5 pounds.

I found out all about Tyler and his new girlfriend Amber during our stroll. Tyler told me that half the time when he asked Amber out, she said she was too busy with studying.  When they did go out she was always on her phone either texting or tweeting. Tyler wanted to know what he could do to make her like him. “Tyler, think about it this way. You are like the substitute teacher just filling in until her dream man teacher shows up. Always remember this Tyler, it’s 100 times better to be the Dumper that the Dumpee…… Move on.”  “ You are so right, and it’s funny I never thought of it like that. Thank you and you know, I really can’t charge you for today cause we didn’t do anything. So today is totally on me if you promise not to come back.” I was right about Tyler all long, he was adorable. “Tyler I am going to tell every last one of my friends about you” … I could still hear Tyler screaming, NOOOOOO as I walked out the front door…..

Thanks for reading my blog once again and thank you for sharing it with friends. 18 shopping days left until Christmas…I’m just saying…………..

How to Train Your Trainer…

picture-of-a-trainerFriday, I was sitting at my kitchen table finishing off breakfast with my last Hershey Kiss that I had hoarded from my Trick or Treat stash. Even though the chocolate tasted divine, I was feeling totally disgusted with myself. I simply had to do something about my weight and get back in some sort of fighting shape.  I did a quick self-evaluation; my thighs applauded when I stood up, my love handles needed a good fitting bra, my tummy looked like I was expecting, and my arms looked like they were waving to a crowd.   Don’t get me wrong, Gentle Readers, it’s not like I haven’t tried.  I  have tried a thousand diets;  the Paleo diet, the Rice diet, the Cabbage soup diet, the Mediterranean diet, the Atkins diet, Weight Watchers and of course, Jenny Craig. Jenny Craig and I are now such personal friends that we even exchange Christmas cards.  When diets didn’t work, I tried Jazzercise, Yoga, Pilates, and a disastrous Spin class. I needed some inspiration which surprisingly happened that evening.

I was glued to the television watching “America’s Biggest Loser.” I watched with fascination at how the contestants were literally transformed overnight with the help of a good trainer. Why hadn’t I thought of a trainer before? Of course, I wouldn’t pick anyone like Jillian. She is far too mean, extremely strict, and she yells all the time. I wanted a sweet trainer who could make magic happened without a lot of work and no sweat.  Maybe, what I really wanted was a magician. I made an appointment the next morning at my gym.

The next day I crawled out of my warm bed wanting to do ANYTHING but go to the gym. I had two cups of coffee, a hot shower and I quickly got dressed. Luckily, my son works for a sporting good company and sends me the latest and greatest in athletic wear so at least I looked the part which should count for something. I arrived at the appointed hour looking like a total jock and feeling really good about myself.  I was finally taking control. I had a long conversation with Ed, the manager, about his three trainers.  “Ed, I need someone who likes working with older adults, and they can get really fast results, like before Christmas.” Ed told me how funny that was (I certainly wasn’t trying to be funny), and he had three trainers that I might like; Jim, Nancy and Tyler. I ruled Nancy out right off the bat because she looked like a no nonsense kind of girl and that would never ever work out  for me.  Jim wouldn’t work either because he scared me.  He looked just like the Incredible Hulk with all those muscles bulging out everywhere.  And then there was Tyler…..young, handsome and sweet looking, perfect for little ole me. Ed got on the loudspeaker, “Tyler, to the front desk.” Up walked Tyler with a big grin on his face and he shook my hand. I already loved this kid that is until sweet cheeks said he charged $80 an hour!! I nearly fainted and found the nearest chair to collapse in. Okay self (I love to talk to myself, don’t you?) I know it’s a lot of money, but you are worth it. This will be my Christmas present to myself. I signed on the dotted line, and I tried to envision how slim and fit I would look Christmas Day.

Tyler: The first thing we need to do is find out what medical conditions you have.

Me: Tyler is this part of my $80 dollars because that question will take all day for me to answer? I have bad knees, a wonky back, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, low thyroid, and osteoporosis; do you want me to continue?

Tyler:  Um, um, I think I understand you aren’t in the best of shape. Moving right along, we need to weigh you, take your measurements, and see how much body fat you have.

Me: Tyler, we are going to have to skip that part and move right along to getting me into a size 8 by Christmas.

Tyler:  Well, this isn’t the way it’s done. We need a starting point so we can see how much progress you are making each week.

There was so much wrong with that statement, where do I begin? First, there wasn’t going to be “weeks” involved because I would be lucky to afford three sessions.  I already knew what my starting point was, I looked B-A-D and I don’t mean badass. I had to assume the mother pose which frightens everyone.  With my hands on my hips and fire in my eyes, I said, “Tyler, we are skipping that part and moving on down the highway.” Tyler looked like a big old deflated balloon.

Join me tomorrow with my adventures with Tyler. Thank you for reading my blog and sharing my stories. We all need  to laugh more ……  Stayed tuned tomorrow…..



The Uninvited Guest- Part Two

Finally, I waved the white flag. I announced that I was going to bed. It was only 9 p.m.  Fred stopped me at the pass, and said he needed a few things before he and Harriet could retire for the evening.  Did I have a fan because they can’t sleep without one? Did I have allergy free pillows because Harriet has awful allergies especially in this god forsaken state of Texas? Did I have a tv for their room because Fred simply can’t sleep without CNN blasting in his ear? Did I have a noise machine to drown out noise from the street? No, no, no, and again no, was my answer to all the above.  I headed to my sanctuary, called my bedroom, and threw the pink Candies in the trash can.

The next morning, I woke up thinking I must be having a bad dream. What was that noise and smell coming from my living room? It was only 6:30 a.m. and still dark outside. Did I have an intruder in my home? Blurry eyed, I staggered into the living room. I found Harriet on her yoga mat doing the “down dog” pose while burning incense with new age music blasting from   her I-phone.   I just couldn’t deal with Harriet right now without some caffeine in my body.  I walked into my kitchen with CNN booming on the television.  There stood Fred in his pajamas, and I was almost blinded by the sight.  Fred barked, “We have been up for over an hour waiting for you. We have been looking for your decaffeinated coffee.”  “Fred, I don’t drink decaffeinated coffee and that’s why you can’t find any.  You early birds can hike to Starbucks if you like. It’s about a mile down the road, but I am going back to bed.”

Now I was feeling guilty, damn it!! They walked out the door looking a little stunned. As Dr. Laura would say, I needed a new attitude.   I got up at 7:30, poured myself a cup of real coffee, took a shower and brushed myself off.  I only had to make it until 3:00 o’clock.  My uninvited guest came back home covered in sweat with several mosquito bites. Fred started barking as soon as he walked in the front door.  “This is ridiculous to have 80 degree weather in November. Where we live it’s already cold, and all the leaves are turning. How can you stand it here?”  My annoyance had returned with a vengeance. I needed to take the higher road for once in my life.

“Hey, I have been to Paris several times, and I thought I could give you some suggestions and tips that might be helpful. Then we can go out to a new vegetarian restaurant that just opened in Grapevine. After lunch, we should go directly to DFW airport. With security being so tight on international flights, you want to be there at least 3 ½ hours ahead of time.”  “Our travel agent told us we only had to be there 2 hours ahead of time,” barked Fred. “ It’s better to be safe than sorry, ” I snapped back.

“Okay, let’s talk about Paris and all the things I think you should do while you are there,” I said trying to find some common ground. “I like to stay on the Left Bank because it feels like the real Paris to me. Of course, you must go to the Louvre and take a boat trip down the Seine at twilight. My favorite Parisian bistro is………” Fred interrupted me in mid-sentence. He proceeded to tell me all the research he had done on Paris, and he was a disciple of the author Rick Steve`. Rick’s information was the latest and greatest intel on this fabulous city, and he was only following his advice. “Fred at least let me help you if you and Harriet get lost in Paris. Just memorize this sentence or write it down.  Je deteste les grenouilles francais.”  Fred ordered Harriet to get a pen and copy the phrase down. Finally, Fred was listening to me. Unfortunately for Fred, the sentence means, I hate French Frogs.  The French are simply going to adore Harriet and Fred. I had to get out of the house and away from them for just a little while.  I told the uninvited guest that I had a quick errand to run. I ran to Safeway and did all my Thanksgiving shopping. I called Fred and told him I had gotten tied up and maybe they should start packing. When I got home, I asked Fred to help me unload $300 dollars’ worth of groceries.  Was it my fault that Fred’s travel clothes were all sweaty by the time we finished? “Oh darn, we aren’t going to have time for that vegetarian lunch after all. Don’t you worry there are plenty of restaurants in the airport. We need to head right to the airport.”

We drove up to terminal D and I parked the car. I wanted to make sure that they didn’t miss their flight.  As we walked into the terminal, I just happened to look up at the departure board.  OMG, their flight was delayed 4 hours!! I quickly evoked the spirit of   David Copperfield and POOF…. I vanished.  I did hear background noise that sounded like Fred screaming, “Where did she go?”………

Thanks for reading my blog and sharing it with friends. Gird your loins, Christmas is coming ………



The Uninvited Guest…Part One

The week of Thanksgiving seems a lot like football to me. The center snaps the ball and the game is on!!  It’s shopping, wrapping, cooking, dish washing, cleaning,  decorating, Christmas card writing, tree trimming,  school Christmas plays, church festivities, parties to attend, and  holiday cookies to bake. So I hope, Gentle Reader, you can understand how my world turned upside down when I got Harriet’s email on the Friday before Thanksgiving!!  Harriet and her husband Fred (distant cousins who I had never met) would have an overnight layover in Dallas before their trip to Paris. Harriet asked if they could stay with me just for one tiny weeny night.  I sat at my computer fuming.  If you have enough money to go to Paris for Thanksgiving, I think you can afford a hotel room.  I had my master list of things I had to get done that weekend.  If I didn’t complete my list, Thanksgiving week would be INSANE.  I emailed Harriet and Fred and said that they could come while gritting my teeth the entire time. I could hear my mother’s voice ringing in my ears,   “family is everything, be nice.”

Harriet and Fred’s plane was   one hour late. This was an omen of things to come.  They had one lost suitcase that we had to fight with American Airlines to track it down. By the time we arrived back at my house, I mentally started counting down the hours until they left. Twenty three hours, but who is counting?  When we pulled up in my driveway, Fred asked me how much I had paid for my home.  I can do verbal jousting with the best of them, so I took a deep breath and said, “too much.”  Don’t you just hate rude people, Gentle Readers?  I offered my uninvited guest a glass of red wine.  Fred proceeded to give me a lecture on wine from California and the Northwest. “It’s  the best in the world,” Fred proclaimed.  I told Fred that Tuscan Super Red Chianti was superior in my humble opinion.  Fred yelled out, “let’s just fact check that Missy.”  Fred whipped out his I-phone like Wyatt Earp whipped out his gun.  He proceeded to quote “Wine Spectator” like this magazine was the gospel of St. John. I noticed that Fred kept doing this gyration in the air with his fingers when he wanted to make a point “Fred, what are you doing with your hands?” “Oh, I use air quotes when I want to emphasis a point.”  I was just dying to show Fred my own “air quotes” that only require my middle finger and there is no confusion in the message.

Harriet could tell that I was getting annoyed so she tried to cajole me with a hostess gift. “We brought you something, and we want you to open your gift and put them on right now.”  To my horror, I found a neon pink pair of “Candies” (they are cheap plastic shoes.)  My feet started yelling at me.  “Don’t even think about putting those hard plastic shoes on us. Drop them now and put back on your comfortable shoes.”  Before I could squeak out a weak thank you, Harriet explained that she is Vice President of her local PETA chapter, and it just hurts her heart to see people wear leather shoes because just think of those poor suffering cows.  Oh, for pity sakes, I put the pink contraptions on my feet and tried to walk as little as possible. I just wish I still had my old, “Where’s the Beef” t-shirt.  Because we were having such a rollicking good time at this point, Fred decided to add to the merriment by getting on his soap box about LED lighting, recycling, organic vegetables,  composting  making your own cleaning products and the virtues of Bernie Sanders. Was it possible that I was a POW in my own home? If Fred said another word, I would gladly water board myself.

Thirty minutes later, Fred had finally calmed down. I had 3 glasses of wine and one tiny Xanax and announced that dinner was ready. I had prepared my favorite:   Texas chili with all the trimmings, homemade cheesy jalapeno cornbread and chocolate cake. Harriet and Fred exchanged a weird look. “Oh dear, I guess we forgot to mention that we have a few food restrictions. We are vegans, gluten intolerant, and we have peanut allergies. We never do diary and we are totally sugar free.”  I couldn’t stop myself…… I really couldn’t.   “Fred sounds like you and Harriet need to go to a hospital more than you need to go to Paris.” I so enjoyed my Texas chili while my guest dined on a wilted head of lettuce, one soggy cucumber, and a tomato past its prime. Bon Appetit everyone!!

Stay tuned tomorrow as my adventure with Harriet and Fred continues….Thanks for reading my blog and I hope everyone had a great Turkey Day…….

To Sir Paul with Love… Part Two

sir-paulIf there is anything worse than having to pee when you are in the nosebleed section of a stadium, I don’t know what it could possibly be. I slowly traversed a thousand stairs with my legs tightly squeezed together looking somewhat like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.  Finally, I was on the mezzanine when I spied hundreds of women talking a mile a minute.  Momentarily, I forgot my bladder issues because this needed a real investigation. “Hey, what’s going on, did someone get hurt?” “No, this is the line for the ladies restroom.” Why it is called a “restroom,” I will never know. I mean really, who would want to rest in that place?  I had to think fast. How could I get pass the throng of women because I desperately needed to pee. I am way too old to use the pregnancy excuse, and I am not handicapped or sick.  Now this was a dilemma for sure. Inspiration was my friend. “Look everyone, it’s Paul McCartney!!!” Jackie Joyner would have been so proud of how quickly I sprinted past everyone, and locked myself inside a stall.

Ah, I felt so much better, and I decided to stroll around before returning to my seat. My throat felt itchy, but I didn’t dare buy another Coke. There were vendors selling Paul McCartney hats, visors, CD’s, and t-shirts. Oh, I wanted one so bad I could taste it. T-shirts were $60, posters $35, hats $30, CD’s $25, and hand bands $15. I strolled back to my seat with my head band on feeling pretty sassy.  I tried real hard to ignore the fact that my grand total thus far was $371. Beans and rice next month for sure.

Suddenly the lights dimmed, and the crowd quieted down. Sir Paul rose like the Phoenix standing on the stage in all his magnificent glory. The band began to play, and I began to swoon. My sweetheart began singing, “I Wanna Hold Your Hand.” Ah, sweet memories of me being sixteen and wanting to hold more than Paul’s hand.  The crowd was on their feet cheering and fist pumping; Paul had to calm us down. He grabbed his guitar and began singing, “Let it Be.”   In case you don’t know, Gentle Readers, this song is about his mother. Anytime a man gets sentimental about his mom, of course, I start weeping.  He sang all the songs I love; “Lady Madonna”, “Hey Jude”, and he ended the show with the “Long and Winding Road.” Everyone held up lights, and we all sang along with him. I felt so close to Paul and all the other millions of people in the room. What a night!!  I was in heaven, and this was worth every single penny I had spent.

I was one of the last people to leave the stadium. I wanted this night to go on forever and ever. When I was mistaken for the cleaning crew, I knew it was time to go home. I slowly found my way out of the building and started looking for my car. You know I can never remember where I parked. Suddenly, I heard someone shouting at me. “Wait up Luv. It’s me Paul. I saw you tonight and I had to say hello.” (I must have died in a car crash, and this is the first person to greet me on my way to heaven.) Now was finally my chance to say what was in my heart for all those years. “Paul, I have loved you with a passion since I was 16, and I love every single song that you have ever written. You are brilliant.” (This is how I act when I am playing hard to get.) Paul winked at me and gave me his adorable smile.  “Luv, let me sing you a little song.”

Baby, I’m amazed at the way you love me all the time And maybe I’m afraid of the way I leave you Maybe I’m amazed at the way you pulled me out of time You hung me on the line

Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you Baby, I’m a man, maybe I’m a lonely man Who’s in the middle of something That he doesn’t really understand

After that fabulous serenade, I was going in for the kiss that I had been waiting 50 years for. When our lips were almost touching, I suddenly heard this screeching noise in my ear. The alarm was going off. ……Reality bites the big one…….

Thanks so much for following my stories. If you know of someone who needs a little cheering up today, please share my blog. I will not be blogging next week as I have to get ready for Thanksgiving. I’m cooking this year which should be a story in itself.



To Sir Paul with Love…….

Have you ever had a dream that seemed so real that you can’t decide if you are asleep or awake? That’s what happened to me the other night. I had been watching the news (which is always a mistake before going to bed), and I tossed and turned for hours. I counted sheep, thought happy thoughts, prayed, and finally started humming some of my favorite Beatle songs.  Before you know it, I had the best dream playing out in my head, and it went something like this……..

I was sitting at my kitchen table, and I saw in the paper that Paul McCartney was coming to the American Airlines Center for a concert. I have loved Sir Paul since I was 16, and he was on the Ed Sullivan show. I have watched him marry three different women, but I never, ever  lost hope. I’m awesome that way.  So my excitement was at a fevered pitch.  For once, I didn’t care how much the ticket cost.  I was going… end of story.  I gave Ticket Master my overused credit card and $300 later; I had my ticket in my sweaty palm.  If I was going to meet my long lost love Sir Paul, I was going to look my very best. I had to say goodbye to Ben and Jerry and adios to Oreos. I even hide the remote control and tried walking. With my Spanx on, Dr. Shultz in my shoes, and my push up bra, I was going for the mother lode. My date with destiny had at long last arrived.

I fueled up my old Camry and headed out to the American Airlines Center. Just call me the lucky one because I had the pleasure of driving at rush hour. Cars rushed past me like Dallas was suddenly being evacuated. Some friendly drivers even offered me the one finger salute. Frazzled, I drove up to the gate with my white knuckles still gripping the steering wheel. The guard at the gate barked, “forty dollars to park.” I handed Mr. Wonderful four dollars (even in my dreams my hearing is lousy). “Forty dollars, or move it “he growled. I handed him some plastic and prayed that he, of all people, wouldn’t steal my identity.

Once inside the hallowed halls of American Airlines Center, I realized I had made a ghastly mistake. I had forgotten to eat before I left home. I get dizzy when I go more than two hours without eating. I calculated that I had already spent $340, and I had to be careful with my money.  I fought my way to the concession stand pushing others out of the way.  They call it a “concession” stand for a reason. You have to concede all value of money and every lick of common sense you have ever had. I had to decide quickly as the throngs were pushing their elbows into my back. By mortgaging my home and offering to sell body parts (my parts don’t fetch much these days), I purchased a small Coke and one hot dog.  “That’s sixteen dollars,” yelled the concession genius. I grabbed my plastic once again and hoped my card wouldn’t be declined.

Juggling my million dollars snacks, I finally found my seat up in the nose bleed section. This had to be an egregious error. After I paying three hundred dollars for a seat, I should be getting a lap dance from Paul McCartney (please don’t tell Blake I said that).  I finally found an usher and explained to him that I was terribly lost and looking for my seat.  I patiently told him that my seat must be a floor seat. “Lady, you are in the right section, please take your seat.  Floor seats start at $800.” He stated that fact like it was perfectly normal for a sane person to pay $800 for a seat. This would be my last concert asleep or awake.   I finally found my seat, and I took a bite out of my hot dog which was now ice cold. The American Airlines Center had beaten me into submission. I didn’t have the strength to go back to the concession stand. I just guzzled my Coke down, and I was just starting to relax. Suddenly, I just had to PEE, like right now……YIKES

More tomorrow as we continue on with my date with Sir Paul. Thank you once again for following my daily dilemmas. Please leave me a message. I would love to hear from you. Stay tuned tomorrow.

Never say, I Love You…on the First Date

Gentle readers, can you just imagine what it is like to be abruptly thrown into the dating world at the age of 45? Terrifying describes it pretty accurately. The dating world that I had left behind 26 years ago was on a distant planet that no longer existed. My old world had law and order.   Men/Boys actually called and asked you out for a specific date and time. They knocked on your door, met your parents and promised to have you home before midnight. They dressed nicely, and they wore belts with their pants. There wasn’t a butt crack in sight. Your date planned out the evening in advance, and they actually took you somewhere. Men/Boys didn’t talk like sailors on a liberty pass, and F bombs weren’t dropped with every other word.  Sex consisted of making out in the back seat of the car.   Sounds like shades of “American Graffiti,”  doesn’t it?  That’s the planet I left behind in the 1966.  Fast forward twenty-five years later, and I found myself on a  strange planet where I  didn’t  speak the  language, understand the customs, and I  certainly don’t comprehend the rules. Here are just a few of my  encounters with the aliens.

Rick Rules- My dear friend, Sandy,  set me up with a handsome single guy who happened to be a customer in her flower shop. Sounds wonderful, right?  I hated blinded dates (and there is a reason why they call them “blind”), but I begrudgingly agreed to meet Rick at a local watering hole. Rick walked up with a total swag, and I immediately disliked him. He couldn’t wait to tell me that he was an airline pilot for Southwest Airlines. I guess I was supposed to do cart wheels in the air and be terribly impressed with his pilot status because he certainly was.  Before we ordered drinks, Rick told me about something he had created to say time and money. It was called, “Ricks Rules.”  Can you be aghast and fascinated at the same time? I certainly was. Rick explained to me that I was a problem; I was “zip code” challenged. Since I didn’t live in his zip code, if he picked me up for a date he was spending the night, no questions asked. Rick’s second rule was that he wasn’t paying for all of our dates. If I was lucky enough to go out with him again, I could pay for half of our dates.  Rick had just started on his third rule when I cut him off at the pass. “Rick you are nothing more than a glorified taxi driver, and you can take your rules and stick them where the sun don’t shine.” Luckily, that was the last time I saw Rick.  Lesson learned:  Some men think women should be grateful to even be invited out, and they think they are doing you a big ole favor. (No offense Gentle Readers if you have a pilot in the family. I just had to take the shot.)

David and Del Frisco’s- I had met David casually, and I thought he was just ‘okay’ because he had a very arrogant air about himself and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.  All my friends pleaded and begged me to go out with him. You know the lecture.  “You are being too picky. You should go out with a man at least three times before you decide.”  My gut told me to say no, but I reluctantly agreed to the date.  That afternoon the phone gave an ominous ring.  It was David.  He said that he wanted to take me to Del Frisco’s (this is a very ritzy steakhouse in Dallas) for dinner.   “Great, why don’t I meet you at Del Frisco’s at seven?” Suddenly, the phone went radio silence. I could tell David was really fuming. “No, I am coming to pick you up, and I will take you home or we aren’t going.”  I had lived on my new planet long enough to be able to translate this bizarre statement.   Here’s what he really meant; he wasn’t going to spend his money on a steak dinner if I wasn’t going to have sex with him. “David, we definitely aren’t going to dinner, and I have never needed a steak that bad.  You see, I can go to Del Frisco’s every night of the week if I choose and without you.”  Lesson Learned; you are worth more than a steak dinner, a vacation or a piece of jewelry. Are you getting the idea of how my brave new word was going? And then along came The Heartbreak Kid who took all my newly earned common sense, and threw it out the proverbial window……

The Heartbreak Kid- I was so disgusted with men and their bad behavior that I was waving the white flag. Then the heartbreak kid came roaring up in his white sports car.  He literally took my  breathe away.  He was funny, articulate, intelligent, and handsome. He had a smoking hot body, and the bluest eyes I had ever seen. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. We worked together so we knew each other quite well before our first official date. On that date, my body and mind were abducted by alien forces because I no longer had control of what I was saying. Before I knew it, I said “I love you.” Yes, he looked like a deer in front of headlights. All my friends and family were aghast at my outrageous behavior, and they simply didn’t know how to correct my grave error. Everyone said to tell him that either I was drunk, heavily medicated or maybe it was just a bad joke. No one had to worry because on the second date, I did it AGAIN. I know…. I should have been handcuffed and thrown in a mental institution for the criminally insane. But when a man is dying of thirst and finds a watering hole, anything can and will happen. Lesson Learned: Never, ever, under any circumstances, say I love you on the first date, promise?

Thanks so much for reading my blog and sharing it with others. I love your messages so keep them coming……See you next week.


The Birthday Club

picture-of-birthday-cakeThis week is my birthday, and I will party if I want too!! There are 71 candles on my cake, and I am proud of each one of those hard earned candles. I stopped lying about my age years ago, and I am thrilled to have made it this far in life.   Each grey hair and every single wrinkle is a memory of my life in my rear view mirror. Do you remember your memorable birthdays Gentle Readers?

Do you remember when you just couldn’t wait to turn 13?   You counted the days down until you were an official teenager and could subscribe to Teen Magazine.  No sooner had you turned 13, when   you began dreaming about being sixteen in three short years.   A “Sweet Sixteen” party was planned, gangly boys were invited, and one even asked you to dance.  You could now apply for your driver’s license and freedom loomed straight ahead. It was two short years until you turned 18. WOW, this meant you could vote, and you probably had your first serious boyfriend. Maybe you were making plans for college or getting your first real job.  Three short years later, you are finally 21 and a full grown woman!!    You can go into any bar with a real ID and order a Cosmopolitan. Aren’t you a big girl now?  This is the last birthday where you just can’t wait to get older…….

The next big birthday is a decade later. At thirty, you are probably married or newly engaged. Your birthday just seems to slip by you. You are too busy with life to notice, and you still look like you are twenty.  A decade later, it’s your 40th birthday. Your husband thinks it hilarious to have an “Over the Hill” surprise party for you.  You aren’t laughing. A decade later, times spins by and you are fifty. No one has a party, they no better than to poke the bear.  You have a quite dinner with friends and call it a day.  Another decade goes rushing by, and suddenly you are sixty. You now have a new name, Grandma. No, sixty is not sexy, it’s not the new 40, and you are starting to look like your mother. YIKES!!  You begin to get old lady gifts like candy, soap, and stationary. …………..

Last year, I turned 70. I decided that this decade birthday was going to be a game changer.  I would celebrate my birthday the entire month of November and not just on the 12th.  I partied all month long like a rock star, but I did have to take a break for Thanksgiving Day and Black Friday. No one can compete with that, not even little ole me. My brilliant birthday idea is catching on like wild fire.  My sister was the first person who embraced the idea. Her birthday is in October, and we rip and roar all month long. We end her birthday extravaganza on the 31st by eating truckloads of Halloween candy. Feeling somewhat guilty, we do a wine cleanse and yes, the next morning it’s my birthday month. It starts all over again.  I think you need more details to implement this grandiose idea.

It’s not like I am sooo popular and the phone is ringing off the hook with birthday invites.  See I am clever; I instigate my own damn parties. I call old and new friends alike, and I suggest that we catch up and go out. It can be brunch, lunch, happy hour, dinner, movies, or wine tasting. I casually mention that it just happens to be my birthday month, and I am dying to celebrate. I mean what can they say after I say that? “No, I am not interested in you or your birthday and get lost.” Of course not, they go along with the master plan and celebrate with me. Some are well trained now and start calling in October for me to save a date so we can celebrate. It’s fabulous REALLY……

There are somethings in life you just can’t change no matter how hard you try. Age is one of them. No one has been able to turn back the hands of time, not even the most gifted plastic surgeon. I see all the  women in Dallas who have fillers in their cheeks, duck lips and their skin is pulled so tight they look like the Joker.  If it wasn’t so sad, it would be funny.   So embrace your age and don’t try to hide it. Ladies, join the birthday club and start reminding EVERYONE when your birthday month is so we can all celebrate the wonderfulness of YOU…


Thanks for reading my blog, and starting making plans to celebrate your birthday. Stay tuned tomorrow for, “Never Say “I Love You” on the First Date