The Best Laid Plans...

It seems I am just a big old slacker these days. I blog about being late and what not, and then I neglect to write anything for three days. Good lord man, get it together. I won't give any excuses, other than to say that life gets in the way sometimes. Yes, I know it's cliche. Shoot me. Occasionally a cliche is the only way you can get your point across.

Think about it. It's not like we have all this extra time just lying around for us to chew the fat. And though I'm not quite long in the tooth, the way time is passing I'll soon have one foot on a banana peel and the other in the grave. I could berate myself (this really chaps my hide) about not being able to write in this blog every day for a month as I had planned. But since you can't put the toothpaste back in the tube it really doesn't matter at this point. It hasn't been like shooting fish in a barrel, but on the whole I'm pretty pleased with the entries I've made. I've managed to keep from sounding like I'm a few fries short of a happy meal or one taco short of a combination plate (yes, I'm still hungry after lunch). God willing and the creek don't rise, this little exercise will have served it's original purpose and I will continue to blog on a semi-regular basis.

Now, if anyone needs me, I'll be trying to come up with my next topic before it starts working my last good nerve.

Better Late Than...Pregnant!!!

Sorry, I couldn't resist. That quote is from one of my favorite TV shows, "The Golden Girls". I am well aware of the fact that I missed the last two days. Which is rather unsettling, considering the fact that I had a topic all picked out on Friday. I just got carried away doing a bunch of other things and nothing at all and never got around to it. So I suppose that it's appropriate that I want to talk about being on time, and some people's inability to do so.

Growing up, my dad always had the clocks in the house set 5 minutes fast, a concept that I will never understand. I mean, we all knew the clocks were fast. It wasn't like it was some huge secret and our household was 5 minutes ahead of the rest of the world. But I will tell you one thing. We were never late for anything. And to this day, one of my biggest pet peeves is people being late for things.

I understand that living in Atlanta it doesn't matter where you go, you are going to run into traffic. It's a fact that we live with every day. I just don't understand why people don't take that into account when going places. It would be nice if we could all just zap ourselves from one place to the next to avoid it, but that's not happening. I can't wait until there's an app for that!

Sure, being a few minutes late to meet a friend for dinner or such is no biggie. It happens. And the best laid plans of being early can go awry in just trying to find a parking place. But there are certain things that you should never be late for. The Theater, for example. I recently saw a show at the Fabulous Fox Theater (I love being able to say that without sounding too gay since that's what it is actually called). Now, the curtain was held 15 minutes, which is another pet peeve of mine. To me, that's just setting the wrong precedent. A show is supposed to start at the advertised time. It's printed right on the tickets. Even so, there were people STILL arriving after the show started 15 minutes late. And par for the course, these people always take their time getting to their seats, which are inevitably smack dab in the middle of the orchestra. Rude! I think tickets should say 'No Late Seating'. Miss a couple of shows because you had to go through 5 outfits before finding the correct one and I bet you'll think twice about trying to coordinate something with that jacket with the pink faux fox collar. It's ugly anyway. Maybe God was trying to tell you something.

And just the other day, I was at work, where an audition was being held for a popular TV show. The audition notice clearly stated that registration would end at a certain time and that late comers would not be allowed in. So why were there fools who clearly do not understand the English language still showing up a full 30 minutes after registration had closed? And then having the nerve to throw attitude when I told them they were too late. Really? What part of the whole no late comers allowed in part did you not understand? And no, calling your agent won't do a damn thing. Unless you just got off tour with Janet Jackson I don't want to hear it.

There are all kinds of 'time' out there that people keep. CPT, GPT, and EPT are not acceptable (well maybe the last one, since if you are that kind of late you have other things to worry about). And if you don't know what those are then you need to be schooled.

Now if anyone needs me, I'll be synchronizing all the clocks in my apartment. If I set them all three minutes fast and head out now, maybe I can get there before I leave.

What's in a Word?

I've recently discovered that crazy comes in all shapes and sizes. The good, the bad, and the downright ugly. So I thought it might be nice if we actually defined crazy today. I know I can apply just about every one of these definitions to things going on in my life these days. Can you?

Crazy

krey-zee] adjective, -zi·er, -zi·est, noun, plural -zies.

–adjective

1. mentally deranged; demented; insane.

2. senseless; impractical; totally unsound: a crazy scheme.

3. Informal. intensely enthusiastic; passionately excited: crazy about baseball.

4. Informal. very enamored or infatuated (usually followed by about ): He was crazy about her.

5. Informal. intensely anxious or eager; impatient: I'm crazy to try those new skis.

6. Informal. unusual; bizarre; singular: She always wears a crazy hat.

7. Slang. wonderful; excellent; perfect: That's crazy, man, crazy.

8. likely to break or fall to pieces.

9. weak, infirm, or sickly.

10. having an unusual, unexpected, or random quality, behavior, result, pattern, etc.: a crazy reel that spins in either direction.

–noun

11. Slang. an unpredictable, nonconforming person; oddball: a house full of crazies who wear weird clothes and come in at all hours.

12. the crazies, Slang . a sense of extreme unease, nervousness, or panic; extreme jitters: The crew was starting to get the crazies from being cooped up below decks for so long.

—Idiom

13. like crazy,

a. Slang. with great enthusiasm or energy; to an extreme: We shopped like crazy and bought all our Christmas gifts in one afternoon.

b. with great speed or recklessness: He drives like crazy once he's out on the highway.

Say It In A Song

Just a few country song titles that sum up my life in the past few weeks. I'll leave the interpretation up to you.

Hello World (Lady Antebellum)

Mama, He's Crazy (The Judds)

Pretty Good At Drinking Beer (Billy Currington)

Amazed (Lonestar)

Felt Good On My Lips (Tim McGraw)

I'm a Lucky Man (Montgomery Gentry)

People are Strange...

I will NEVER understand the way some people think. And I'm sick of trying. It's time to work on me.

The end.

Pardon Me, Miss Manners

I'd like to know when people stopped using manners and having common courtesy became a thing of the past. Seriously, if you don't believe me, go see a show somewhere. You'd be amazed at the lack of manners that people have today. And what's worse, they are passing it on to their children. It's even to the point now that in the program for a lot of shows these days they provide you with "Golden Rules". Most of which seem patently obvious to me, but clearly must not be known by most other patrons, otherwise they wouldn't be put in writing. Oddly enough, I found the same set of rules need to be applied to federal courthouses. So let's discuss...

1. Go Easy with the atomizer; many people are allergic to perfume and cologne. - There is nothing worse than sitting next to someone who has bathed in some overbearing perfume. Strong enough to make you sick to your stomach. Oh wait, there is. Someone who hasn't bathed at all. Of which there were at least two this morning. Count your blessings.

2. If you bring a child, make sure etiquette is part of the experience. Children love learning new things. - While I wholeheartedly support educating the youth of today on politeness and all that, teaching them while AT the theater is not the answer. Make sure Sally Sue knows to say "excuse me" before trying to crawl over someone's knees and stomp their new shoes. Or risk having your child educated in a four-letter sort of way.

3. Unwrap all candies and cough drops before the curtain goes up or the concert begins. - Take a note, Granny. With all the noise you are making, that butterscotch candy better have oxygen in it.

4. Make sure all cell phones, beepers, and watch alarms are OFF. And don't jangle the bangles. - Now everyone knows to turn their electronic devices off at the theater or movies. They make an announcement about it. They do the same thing in a courtroom. Except they take it one step further. Let that 'Dat's Just My Baby Daddy' ringtone go off while court is in session and they confiscate your phone. Trust me on this on. I saw it in action today. Judge Allen does NOT play.

5. The overture is part of the performance. Please cease all talking at this point. - Once the show has begun, shut your trap. And when the Judge is speaking, it would behoove you to do the same. That gavel came down so loudly I thought it was a gunshot. No one uttered a word afterwards though.

6. Note to lovebirds: When you lean your heads together, you block the view of the person behind you. - It's Valentine's Day, so I should just leave this one alone. But can I just say, I did not need to see you and T-Bird lock lips and part with a string of saliva betwixt the two of you. If I had been the bailiff I would have done more than roll me eyes. That's gotta be some sort of grounds for contempt.

7. Thou shalt not talk, or hum, or sing along, or beat time with a body part. - Ok, ok, I may be just a skosh bit guilty of doing this when I see a show. It's natural to want to sing along, right? Except when you have on headphones and start repeating Trick Daddy verses. In a court room. Where there are armed officers of the law.

8. Force yourself to wait for a pause or intermission before rifling through a purse, back pack, or shopping bag. - Now, I've never seen many shopping bags at the theater (other than people who have purchased merchandise from the show they are attending). But they seem to be THE bag of choice to complete your court appearance ensemble. Bloomies, A&F, and Dillards were all in full effect today.

9. Yes, the parking lot gets busy and public transportation is tricky, but leaving while the show is in progress is discourteous. - Ooh I hate when people do that. And they usually end up missing the best part of the show. And while I don't recommend just hanging in the courtroom once your case is done, I can certainly understand the desire to stick around and see what foolishness unfolds. It's like a bad accident that you can't help but watch.

10. Honor the old standby: do unto others as you would have them do to you. - Please and thank you. Decency goes a long way. And so does following instructions. Hearing a Judge say "Please, everyone. Do not make me repeat myself" has an air of "Do it again and you'll be spending a few nights in the slammer". That's all I am saying.

Now if anyone needs me, I'll be outside waiting to hold the door open for a lady. It's not too late for me to get into heaven, you know.

Break A Leg!

Just saw the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater at the Fox. Awesomeness everywhere. I see them just about every time the come to Atlanta, and each time I see something different in their dancers. They've added several new people in the last couple of years; it's always great to see fresh young talent. And bodies, don't forget the hot, sweaty, muscular bodies. But I digress.

They had a Q&A after the show with the rehearsal director and two of the dancers. A few people asked the requisite questions about where they were from, when did they join Ailey, etc. A couple of questions were answered about the pieces that we saw performed today. Then someone received the stupid award for the day. "Is dancing hard?" Really? Matthew Rushing did a good job of comparing dancers to athletes and explaining the physicality of being a dancer. Me personally, I would have just given that person some serious side-eye and asked who had another question. Years of training, bruised bodies,pulled muscles, tired minds, and you ask if it's hard. Granted, the question did come from someone of a far less advanced age than myself. But still. If your teen thinks dancing is 'easy', it might be time to enroll them somewhere other than Dolly Dinkle's School of Dance.

Now if anyone needs me, I'll be trying to get my leg as high as some of those guys kicked. Pray I don't blow a hammy...

What Did You Say?

Anyone who has used a computer or sent a text message has seen them. Abbreviations of words, condensed into internet slang. It's become the jargon of the teen movement these days, and eerily enough, of several of my peers. You know what I'm talking about, the terms that were created as a way of saving keystrokes at the computer. Most of us are guilty of using them in some form, whether it be on the computer or in a text message. Which is where they belong. Not in face to face conversation. The other day I actually heard someone say LOL out loud, as if laughing at the comment would have rendered him speechless. Really? SMH. No names will be called, but I think perhaps this person has been spending too much time in front of a computer monitor and not enough RT interaction with the human race. BTW, I've seen this same person send a text message without even looking at the phone. And while I envy his mad texting skills, I can't help but think that he needs to step AFK and get some help.

Now, if anyone needs me, I'm going to watch a movie that will hopefully have me ROFL. But first I need to get a snack. BRB.

You Are What You Eat

According to the USDA food pyramid, someone of my advanced aged should be consuming 3 cups of vegetables a day. 1 cup of raw (grody) or cooked (blech) vegetables or vegetable juice (gag), or 2 cups of raw leafy greens (read: salad) can be considered as 1 cup from the vegetable group. While I certainly understand the nutritional value of having a well rounded diet, the thought of eating vegetables on a daily basis makes me want to blow chunks. I love them to Reese's Pieces, but I'm placing the blame for this one on my parents. Growing up, they always made sure we had veggies on an almost daily basis. And depending on the vegetable, the battle would begin.

I was good with eating corn, green beans, and salad. But on the days where we had broccoli, asparagus, cabbage, or (god forbid) okra, you would have thought they were trying to get me to eat freshly dug up dirt. I would push them around the plate to give the appearance of having eaten a little, hoping to fool my parents into thinking I'd gotten at least an inkling of nutrition. Of course that never worked. Inevitably I would hear the words that I am sure every mother has uttered to their child. "You are not getting up from the table until you have cleaned your plate." Rats, foiled again. Which meant that I would sit there alone at the table, my sisters having managed to scarf down their daily intake of icky stuff and run off to greener pastures, far far away from the land of the Jolly Green Giant. On many an occasion, I sat there for more than an hour, trying to telepathically will my mother into releasing me from my self-imposed prison. I would try holding my nose while I chewed, covering them in any kind of sauce I could find in the fridge, chugging lemonade to cleanse my palate after every bite. Eventually I would manage to eat enough to satisfy mom, and would leave the table praying that I didn't regurgitate the mound of soggy, mushy food (I'm showing my age here, but this was before everyone got on the steamed veggie locomotive). I learned the hard way that if that happened, I would have to return to my seat at the table and start the battle all over again.

Well, I'm all grown up now (but still quite the kid) and, truth be told, if I never had to eat certain vegetables again I'd be as pleased as punch. Don't get me wrong, when served them, I will eat them. I know they are good for me, full of nutrients and what not. But hey, I take a daily multivitamin. Giving me all my daily recommended allowances of vitamins A through Z, right? So I say boo-yah to you, Mr. J.G. Giant.

Now if anyone needs me, I'm going to go grab a burger and fries. And a side salad, just to make mom and dad feel good.

Hot Topics!

I don't care what anyone says, I love me some Wendy Williams. She is a hoot and a half. The perfect combination of gossip monger, journalist, comedian, and fashion police. Sure she may look like a drag queen half the time, but who cares? Where else can you learn about eating disorders, who slapped who on 'Desperate Housewives', what not to wear to your next party, and when La Lohan is going to be indicted, all in the same 20 minutes? And lordy she can dig dirt out of anyone. Just yesterday she interviewed Nene Leakes from the show 'Real Housewives of Atlanta' (if Sheree had been the guest there would have been two drag queens on stage). She was trying to get Nene to dish on Star Jones, who she is on the new season of 'Celebrity Apprentice' with. Now my girl Nene was trying to keep it classy by just saying that Star was 'special'. Wendy just kept digging and digging until Nene blurted out 'I wouldn't spit on Star Jones if she was on fire.' At which point I howled at the TV. Only Wendy could get someone to say that. And while I am not usually a fan of incorrect grammatical structure, I do have to giggle every time Wendy calls it 'The Twitter'. I can only hope to be 'a friend of the show' one day.

Now if anyone needs me, I'll be combing out this wig. How you doin?

Time Flies When You're Having Fun

I swear this is the longest day....ever. I woke up feeling fine. Did some work at home for an upcoming project, taught myself some new tech skills, and was feeling all around like it would be a productive day. Came in to work and got settled in. Then all of the sudden I hit the proverbial wall. I have been sitting here at my desk for the past two hours, barely able to keep my eyes open. Maybe it's the onset of a narcoleptic snap or extended food coma from lunch, but this is getting ridiculous. There's even loud music playing in one of the studios. My eyelids feel like they have barbells attached to them, and if I yawn one more time my face will start to look like that famous painting 'The Scream' by Edvard Munch. Now you know I fancy myself having a slight bit of ESP (really, I'm just coocoo for cocoa puffs) and had the aforethought to bring in an energy drink with me today. Good thing, otherwise I might not make it through the rest of the day.

Now if anyone needs me, I'll be doing hammer curls with my eyelids and trying to fight off a disco nap...

Buzzwords and Social Media

We tweet. We FaceBook each other. We check in on 4square so that stalkers can know where we are and burglars can know where we aren't. And somewhere, everything we do online is being tracked and followed. I have recently found this to be evident on Twitter to the degree that I now wonder if Big Brother really is out there, carefully scrutinizing every post I make. Looking for keywords with which to sucker me in. I recently posted a tweet about going home and having a glass of wine. Not two minutes later I got a friend request from a wine company. Now all my friends know I am a fan of liquid entertainment, but really? I said I was going home to have a glass or three of wine. That does not mean that I want to join Jim-bob's Wine-of-the Month Club. This morning I posted something (directed @ at friend) about using a treadmill in the workout room. Now all of the sudden I've gotten friend requests from two gyms and a 'spa' whose disclaimer of being a workout facility questionable at best. Scary. Yet intriguing.

I usually try to tweet about things that are going on around me. Things that effect me directly in my day to day shenanigans. Or if my life proves to be too boring that day, I'll provide some commentary on current events, celebrity gossip, the latest evangelist to be caught with his pants down (literally and figuratively). But now I feel like I should just throw our random things, just to see who picks up on them and all of the sudden wants to follow me. And since most of these would likely prove to be spammers, I could up my follower count without having to really acknowledge them. These folks are definitely not #ff worthy.

Now if anyone needs me, I'm going to go tweet about male menopause and having a heavy flow day and see who sends me a friend request.

Silence is Golden

This is day 6 of my month of daily blogging. Not sure whether or not it's because I've been on the go all weekend or if I really am suffering from a lack of thought today, but I have nothing to say. Sure I could talk about the Superbowl or the commercials. Or perhaps I could write a lengthy discourse on the perils of being kicked in the face (learned this one the hard way this weekend). Bishop Eddie Long is involved in another scandal, Jennifer Anniston and Adam Sandler are co-starring in a new movie, and a cow washed ashore on a Seattle beach, bringing new meaning to the term Surf & Turf. All perfectly good fodder for comical observations. And yet I find myself at a loss for what to say about any of it. Hrmmm.

Now if anyone needs me, I'll be doing my best impersonation of a mime doing absolutely nothing.

It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To

So who knew that bowling was the IN thing this year? We had a break between performances this afternoon and decided to go bowling (after dinner and a few adult beverages, of course). Much to our astonishment, at 6:15pm the place was packed. Apparently it is THE place to have a birthday party if you are 12 years old. Every lane has bumpers on it, and there are tables full of sliders and fries all over the place. The place is the Chuck E Cheese of the new generation.

Don't get me wrong. I love to bowl. Not that I am any good. I'm usually happy just to break 100. But bowling, for me, usually involves lots of beer. Hell, I'd do a funnel if they had one there. That's how serious I am about my bowling. I just can't get into it with a couple hundred little Mileys & Biebers running around. When I bowl (and drink) I curse like a sailor. I can only imagine the looks I'd get from some of these parents if I dropped the f-bomb because I got a gutter ball. Or if I happened to comment on the hottie in tight jeans a few lanes over. I'm not sure whether or not to bust out in a rousing chorus of some teeny bopper song or throw back a few beers and put on a show (as a few people in our party did, but that's another story).

Now, if anyone needs me, I'll be asking that man who painted on his jeans. I mean, who doesn't love a man who knows how handle big....balls?

Once Upon a Midnight Dreary...

Ok ok...so it's not midnight yet. It's just 6pm. But this day has been grody. To the max, even. Makes me want to do absolutely nothing. Which is pretty much what I've accomplished today. I slept in for the first time in ages (yes, I got up to feed the heathens, but promptly crawled back into bed). And by slept in, I mean laid in bed for a couple of extra hours and listened to the rain. Along with lots of other noises, some discernible, some not.

I'm beginning to think my apartment might have a lost soul trapped here. Having two cats, I am used to hearing the click, click, clicking of their nails on the floor as they wander around. Or do that crazy cat thing where they chase ghosts or some other unseen being at lightning speed throughout the apartment. This morning both of my children zoomed sporadically around the place for over an hour. One minute they would be sitting still, the next the would bolt out of the bedroom at mach 1 and do laps around the furniture before returning to the bed. Sit still for two minutes and then take off again. If I weren't aware of what was going on, I would expect to come into the living room and see books floating in the air and window treatments opening and closing themselves. The oddest part to me is that just as suddenly as it started, it ended. As if they had performed an exorcism and the beast had been removed. Leaving me lying in the bed with two sleeping masses of fur, while I huddled under the comforter wondering if I dared to to leave the room, for fear that might actually see Casper or one of his not so friendly friends.

Now if anyone needs me, I'll be looking up Jennifer love Hewatt's number. The Ghost Whisperer seems more reliable than the Ghost Busters. I'm just saying...

Creatures of Habit

Many of you know I have two cats. My little babies. And by little, I mean 17 (Blue) and 20-something (Jack; he'd kill me if I told you his real weight) pounds. True to what I've always heard said about cats, they are definitely creatures of habit. They each have their 'spot' on the couch, sleep on the same part of the bed each night, groom themselves at certain times of day, etc. I have no need for an alarm clock, due to the fact that, if I am not already awake, at precisely 8am the two of them sit on either side of my face and proceed to meow incessantly until I get up. As if to say "We are hungry. We know you hear us. Don't make us get physical with you.". Imagine a cat the size of a small child 'pouncing' you in the chest. Now that's a wake up call.

So anyway, after starting my day this morning by feeding the previously mentioned heathens (I say that with the utmost love, really), I went about my routine. And as I stood there in the bathroom, freshly showered and moisturized from head to toe, I had the realization that in this aspect I am not that much different from the kitty cats. Just about everyday I do the same thing. Get up, walk into the living room, turn on the local news program, feed the cats. Scoop out the cat box, go potty myself, then shower. Towel off, moisturize, apply deodorant, brush my teeth. Get dressed, check email, pack my bag for the day and head out. It was quite startling when I realized that this routine doesn't vary at all. Same thing, same order, day in and day out. I could probably do it blindfolded, although cleaning the cat box might be questionable.

I wonder what would happen if I decided to change it up one day. Of course some of these things are non-negotiable. If I don't feed the cats within a few minutes of getting out of bed there would be a rather unpleasant uprising. And moisturizing before showering just doesn't work (trust me, it's happened before on a morning after I've had a little too much to drink the night before). But everything else in my 'routine' is fair game. I could be a rebel and brush my teeth before I shower. Or feed the cats before I turn on the morning news. Or pack my bag then check my email then shower. Oh the possibilities...

Now if anyone needs me, I'm going to go walk in a circle three times before I sit down.

What is Really Going On?

So there are those folks who swear that next year, 2012, it's all going to come to an end. Not sure if it's gonna be a big bang (who doesn't love a big bang?) or more like someone just turning out the lights. One moment we are all carrying about our business, the next...poof, we are gone.

Now I am not usually one to get caught up in the hysteria of stuff like this. I mean really, when Y2K hit I was blitzed out of my head in the French Quarter. Do you think I stopped for a minute to think 'Oh shit, this might be it.'? Nope. I just kept on dancing and drinking whatever libation was in my hand and twirled into the new year. But this time around there is just too much weird stuff happening. Flocks of birds flying along their merry way one minute, then dropping from the sky the next. Schools of fish swimming upstream so they can do the nasty (otherwise known as spawning) suddenly going belly up. Now it appears that the Egyptians are going to beat themselves into non-existence. And the half of America is having the worst blizzard they have experienced in a decade. All signs are pointing towards a cataclysmic end to life as we know it. So I'm going to need all of you to get your life right, just in case, if you know what I mean.

Now if anyone needs me, I'll be following the man around with that 'The End Is Near' sign, speaking in tongues and looking all crazy. If it's gonna happen, at least I'm going to have a good time.

Oh The Weather Outside Is Frightful...

So the weather here has been absolutely insane lately. A few weeks back we got the big snow/ice storm that had the whole city shut down for three days, and some parts of it for longer. People were stranded at home, at work, just about everywhere. I personally was stuck at home, battling a bad bout of bronchitis (ooh, alliteration!). This was not the extended vacation I have been dreaming about. Stuck at home, hacking a lung up, alternating between chills and sweating to death. Sounds lovely doesn't it? Then this past weekend we almost hit 70 degrees, and now it's wet, rainy, and chilly out again all this week. Someone pissed off Mama Nature, and I'd sure like to know who so I could give them a swift donkey kick.

Now if anyone needs me, I'll be outside doing a good weather dance. That's if I can find a sarong, some jumping beans, and a kumquat to set on fire.