Touched A Nerve

Here's an amusing response from Tony, my dear friend who had the misfortune of not being carded the night I was.
Hi Kelly,
Did a little more math on the subject during this period of time I call The Glory Days (from 4/13 your birthday - 8/30 my birthday)...
As I'm sure you are painfully aware, our age is separated by a staggering 12,096,000 seconds. I'm exhausted just from typing that number.
As you also may know, light travels at a speed of 186,000 miles per second, meaning
if you were to start shining a beam of light, it would go that distance in 1 second.
Doing the math of combining the two facts above, that beam of light you starting shining that traveled a mere 186,000 miles in 1 second would travel 2,249,856,000,000 miles between the date of your birth and that of mine. That's 2 TRILLION + miles. Wow. That's one tired beam of light. For perspective on THAT number, if you were to spend $1 per SECOND every second of every day, it would take you 26,040,000 days to spend that much money. That's over 71,342 YEARS. That's even older than you! But I digress. Back to that beam of light traveling that loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong distance....
To put that distance in perspective, the average distance from earth to Pluto (the mass formerly known as the 9th planet back when you were a kid) is 3,700,000,000 miles. If you were able to board that beam of light for travel to Pluto, you would be able to go to Pluto from earth AND BACK more than 608 times. Nearly unfathomable.
So let's redirect that beam of light from your warm, hospitable home to our church, a short 4.88 miles distance. That little beam of light could go back and forth between your home and our church an incredible 461,036,065,573 times.
But hey, at least you got carded :-)
Have a great weekend, Kelly! See ya soon. And remember, while our age difference may seem significant now, when you're 167, I'll STILL be younger than you :-)
Tony "Spring Chicken"
Ouch! I think Tony's just being a bit sensitive because:
A.)I was cast in a drama as his younger sister.
B.)Again- I GOT CARDED!!
But he clearly is more math-brilliant than I.
Bygones, Buddy!

Victuals And Violins

Everything tastes better in the city. Especially when it’s prepared by a Professional Culinary Expert. I was reminded of that last evening, as I ventured to Chicago to meet Super Hubs for an evening out. What should have been a 1 hour drive into the city took 2 hours because of sucky Chicago traffic. But I was actually okay with that. It was just Me in the car. Just Me, Me and…….Me. (All my favorite people.) And my CDs. No whiney-hineys in the backseat begging for French fries and throwing crayons around. So the long drive was peaceful and pleasant.

I picked Super Hubs up from his place of employment, and we found parking in a garage that charges more per hour than my chiropractor. Then we went to we went to Rhapsody, a contemporary restaurant that serves elegant cuisine; and that is attached to the center where we would attend The Symphony. It was a bit too cool to eat out on the patio, so S.H. and I headed into the main dining room. Just as the maitre d’ seated me at the table, I completely mortified myself by knocking over a wine glass with my elbow. It fell to the floor and shattered, thus making my presence known to the entire establishment the first 30 seconds of my arrival. (Good Lord, how old am I, three??) You can dress me up but you shouldn’t take me out……

Despite my embarrassment, I enjoyed King Salmon with shitake mushrooms, and a basil and white bean cassoulet. It was fantabulous, especially with a dry Pinot Grigio. Of course….I then dribbled cassoulet on myself, thus staining my white t-shirt just in time for The Symphony. Thankfully S.H. and I have been married long enough that my warranty has run out, and he can no longer trade me in for a wife who can sit at a table without breaking crystal and dine without cassoulet spillage.

We enjoyed The Symphony with its classical music of Debussy, and Stravinksy’s masterpiece, “The Rite of Spring.” I love classical music played beautifully. It was soul-soothing and utterly relaxing. And after my long day, longer drive and two glasses of wine……I got the sleepies and nodded off on the shoulder of my date. (But it was okay with him. Isn’t love grand??)

Beaming Matron

Despite the pink-tinged fog of Aging Denial I’ve floated in since getting carded recently, I do realize that I am getting old…ish. It has been glaringly apparent to me this past week, as The Teens each participated in some Performing Arts.

Butterfly danced Hip Hop and jazz in an Orchesis show at her High School. And she did really well……hopping. And bouncing. Which is characteristic of Hip Hop. She and her two dance partners performed with well-coordinated precision. Super Hubs and I were impressed. But the music! It was a mix of Hip Hop and Rap. And I just don’t get why it’s called “music.” The loudness….the lyrics (are they in fact lyrics?)! They were spoken so fast I spaced out for a moment and thought I was at an auction, and feared when I scratched my nose that I had just bought an antique horse plow or something.
Butterfly did great and I was proud. But I felt old. Proud and old. I don’t understand the music, or the dance. If I tried to perform Hip Hop, I’m certain my lower back would spasm from all the bendy moves. OMG aging sucks!

Then Rock Star played electric guitar in his church youth rock band. His performance included a lot of squinting, and I wasn’t certain if it was from the spotlights or the fact that he’d forgotten to put in his contacts that morning. But even with his impaired vision, Rock Star was terrific. And again, I felt proud and old. Proud because my son played in a rock band. And old…… because my son played in a rock band.

I think I need to go back to that particular restaurant and get carded again. Just for Old Time Sake. (Pun intended. Wasn’t it clever??)

May I See Some ID?

I got carded! Oh praise The Good Lord In Heaven; I actually was carded!! WOHOO!!!

I was ordering dinner with some friends at a restaurant and asked for a glass of wine. And the waitress carded me! It was not one of those places where they mandatorily card everyone who has a pulse for liability reasons. I know this because my friend also ordered a glass of wine……..and he was not carded. (Do not worry Tony, I won't say your name in blogosphere and publicly humiliate you. Please note that I just referred to you as “my friend.” Your identity is safe with me, buddy.)

I’ll re-emphasize the point of my post: My friend (Tony) did not get carded, yet I did. And he is actually 4 months younger than me (which he quite rudely reminds me about every time I see him). So apparently, I look younger than 21, and he looks older.

My friend (Tony): Appears older than 21. Probably much older.
Me: Appears to be 20. Or 19. Or 18.

At least to this particular waitress. And maybe she’s got thick cataracts, or possibly it was the dim lighting in the place and the fact that my head was slightly tilted. Or perhaps my Age-Defying makeup was fabulous that evening. I don’t know. Please allow me my little teeny victory moment, when I was carded and my friend (Tony) was not. IT MADE MY WEEK!! (Currently doin' a Victory Dance.)

For one evening, I believed I looked a youthful 20 again. At least to a certain waitress, God bless her forever.
Mmmmmm. It's those little triumphs in life that are so sweetly gratifying.

Just Charge It, Please.

Taking The Teens clothes shopping is an interesting study in sociology.

Rock Star will ask for an article of clothing only when he is one shred away from looking like a Flintstone. Last year, he informed me on the first day of our beach vacation as we were driving to the ocean, that he didn’t have a swim suit. “Why didn’t you pack a suit??” I asked in frustration. “Because none of them fit anymore.” “Then why didn’t you tell me before we left Chicago??” “Because you didn’t ask.” So, instead of working on my tan, I spent the better part of that particular morning running him around to the resort boutiques to find appropriate water-wear.

He did the same thing with winter boots when I asked him to shovel the snow one morning this past February. He had neglected to inform me at winter’s beginning that he didn’t own boots; he’d thrown them out last year because one had a big hole in the heel; and so he’d been borrowing his father’s. And trying to find winter boots in February in Chicago is like prospecting for Peeps in July.

Butterfly manages her wardrobe with the careful precision of a micro physicist, knowing on a daily basis the exact inventory and condition of all her apparel from lingerie through Formal Wear. And she is always aware of her needs. She “needs” always! Her philosophy is, “You can never have too many_____.”(Fill in the blank with any type of clothing article. I mean it. Any type.)

Today I bounced The Teens out of bed at the unholy Saturday hour of 9am to get a jump-start at the mall. Rock Star, who worships his older sister’s fashion sense and refuses to buy any clothes without her stamp of approval, purchased some new shorts after carefully weighing all the pros and cons. He felt he only needed two pairs, and refused to buy more. When he was finished, he wanted to wait in the car. Butterfly's very countenance began to radiate as soon as she entered Abercrombie & Fitch. She pranced around like a calf let out to pasture, maniacally grabbed random handfuls of clothes, and became quite distressed when I informed her of the budget. And as for me; I admit to purchasing a coupl’a cute and stylish things from the clearance rack.

It was loads of fun shopping with them. Any day I get to spend watching The Teens do something cooperatively together is a good day.

Happy Birthday, Super Hubs!

Forty-five years ago today, a baby boy was born in Brooklyn, New York. He was a quiet, intelligent child; the oldest of four. He excelled in school and earned a degree from Notre Dame University without effort. He relocated to Chicago, where he married a goddess of a woman;-) and fathered three children.

He is highly respected in his field of secondary education and is well-beloved by his family and many friends. He is passionate about his God, his toy trains and has a deep deference for history. He writes articles for publication in trade magazines.

He is without a doubt the kindest man on the planet, and I love him muchly!! May you be blessed with many more years, Super Hubs!

I Love Your Products, But........

I am, under most circumstances, a very nice and moral person. I’ve never appeared on “Girls Behaving Badly,” and I don’t kick dogs. (Unless you count the time that I booted our cockapoo in the rear when he ate up a batch of cupcakes I had just made and then puked on the couch. But it wasn’t even a hard kick.) There are occasional times, however, when I am driven to murderous fantasies in soap stores……

I intended to run in and out of Bath & Body Works, lickety-split. A friend had given me a gift card for my birthday last month, and I wanted to quickly buy a candle, and then hurry back to pick up Little Squirt from his Art Class. The Art Teacher frowns on parents that are tardy to collect their youngsters, especially a particular 5-year-old (mine) who occasionally needs to be disciplined for rambunctious behavior at said Art Class.

As I entered Bath & Body Works, I was greeted by a very blond employee who flashed a 1,000 watt smile and greeted me in a saccharine voice, “Good morning, Ma’am! And how are we today??” I considered telling her about my queasy bowel, but instead I grunted “Fine” and hurried to quickly complete my mission. “Can I help you find anything??” Ms. Employee asked in an all-too cheery voice. “No, I’m good,” I said curtly, and continued looking at candles.

Ms. Employee would not take “NO” for an answer. She was persistent in her quest to make a big sale. She followed me around the store, grilling me on the candle type I was looking for, making suggestions, and then giving me a sermonette on “wick” safety. She proceeded to show me many other products in the store, discussed the upcoming early summer sale, and the holiday sales, and the newest and latest body products, and her personal favorite gift ideas. Inwardly I was seething from her suffocating presence which was greatly distracting to my candle-sniffing. She would not leave me alone! Finally, when she intrusively “spritzed” me with Cherry Blossom without my permission (which would interfere badly with the Lauren Style I was already wearing), I glared at her, and said through clenched teeth, “Please. Give. Me. Space. To. Buy. This. Honeysuckle. Candle. I. Need. To. Go.” She reeled back with a look of dismay, then scurried off toward another unsuspecting customer. Feeling slightly guilty for being so abrupt, I paid for my candle and left.

But here's the point of my Rag Fest: Please, Store Employees, I realize it’s a slow economy and you are trying to make a sale, but JUST BACK OFF! HONOR APPROPRIATE AND CONSIDERATE BOUNDARIES!! Especially if the customer says she wants no help, gives you no eye contact and has a touch of a virus that makes her insides feel like an impending Mt. Helens eruption! Be aware that customers do not always have time to meander slowly and hear about your latest “Poison Hemlock” fragrance. Your products may be lovely, but Jeez!!

(Just needed to vent. Ahhhh. I'm feeling better already! And now I will drink peppermint tea and lie on the couch with a Sue Grafton read.)