I know. I know. If you’re a subscriber to my website, and you really should be, despite this notification, you have already received 5,000 email notifications about new blog posts which are, in reality, old posts. I should not be allowed to operate heavy machinery without supervision.
Thanks, Mom, for letting me know what a dork I am, and laughing about the fact that I said The Chicago Blackhawks Convention begins today and runs through July 17th OF LAST YEAR!
All I wanted to do was edit several blog posts, thinking I would “refresh” them. I did not expect the little Mail Chimp who lives inside my computer to spit a bunch of emails at you.
The good news is that the next post you’ll be notified about will be freshly written. The only problem is that it’s about the Chicago Blackhawks … AGAIN! So, I’m sorry for all the confusion. If you’re confused, imagine how I feel right now!
Thank you for taking this journey with me, and allowing me to learn from my mistakes, knowing I’ll probably make the same ones again in the near future.
When I shop at Target, I often hear an announcement letting the clerks know that a customer needs assistance in one of the aisles. When I hear, “Help is needed in the diaper (or whatever) aisle. Who is responding?” I swear, I have to do everything in my power to restrain myself from shouting, “I am! I am!”
I feel really bad when I decide to delete an app from my iPhone. All the apps start shaking as my finger slowly hovers over them, getting closer and closer. It seems like the one I’m about to tap wants to scream, “No! Not me! Delete that Starbucks chick! She’s not as nice as she looks! Or, how about The Instagram? You don’t even know how to use it!”
I feel kind of guilty, but I know it’s ok because the apps aren’t, in reality, being deleted; they’re going up to hang out in the groovy, puffy cloud I decked out for them. Plus, they’re not up there all alone, because all of the other apps I’ve deleted are up there, too!
I’d like to believe that all of my deleted apps are having a great time playing shuffleboard, volleyball, or reading a good book. And, when I pluck a few apps to re-download, the space thins out making it “partly cloudy,” so the remaining apps can sunbathe, if they’d like.
My method for cleaning out my purse is to dump its contents onto the quilt on our bed. I purposely bought a quilt with a colorful, complicated pattern in order to hide dog hair, and muddy paw prints. The drawback is that I don’t always see everything I’ve left behind after putting things back in my purse. As we were getting ready to leave the house one night, Richard discovered a Bobby pin, a AA battery, and a paper clip on the bed. He looked at me and asked, “Who are you, MacGyver?”
Somehow, Richard and I began talking about the games we played when we were growing up. I loved KerPlunk, and still do. Richard said, “Yeah, you really are a KerPlunk kind of person.” I took that as a compliment.
Richard told me he and his friends often played The Game of Life. He said, “The pink pegs represented our wives, so we’d always dump them in the river. We’d try to avoid having children, so, if we accidentally had them, we’d dump them in the river, too.” He saw the look of horror on my face and said, “I’m just not whimsical.”
Whenever we go out to dinner and Richard orders a steak, he always asks for plain horseradish on the side. At Belows, our waiter, Leo, warned him that the restaurant’s horseradish is so hot, they refer to it as “No Joke Horseradish.” Personally, I prefer horseradish with a sense of humor.
I like Rap Music, and I cannot lie, but what’s with those giant parkas? While watching Rappers singing and busting-some-moves under the hot stage lights on TV shows, such as SNL, Istart sweating.
Richard’s title for a Country & Western song:
“You Can’t See my Tears When I Text you.”
When you’re driving in your car, and a song comes on the radio that you used to listen to over, and over again on your groovy stereo in your rad bedroom, don’t you remember exactly where it skipped? And, don’t you expect it to skip every time you hear it? Just me? Oh. Ok.
While we were in Vegas, Richard went to the hotel gym at 6:00 AM. At 7:30 AM, he called to tell me he’d lost his key to our room, apologized for waking me up, and asked me to let him in when he knocked on the door.
This man hardly ever loses anything, or screws up in any way. He lives by credos, such as,”Being on time is being five minutes early.”
So, when he does something out of character like that, I cannot begin to tell you how happy it makes me. A feeling of profound joy inhabits my entire body, sometimes causing me to burst into unrestrained interpretive dance. First, I danced around the room in my underwear. Then I danced in front the windows in our hotel room in my underwear. We were on the 27th floor, so, hopefully no one saw me, but hey! It was Vegas!
The Cosmopolitan Hotel in Las Vegas really is, “the right amount of wrong.”
The hotel houses The Wicked Spoon, the best buffet on The Strip, in our opinion.
News tickers scroll around both inside, and outside the hotel, offering clever, eye-catching definitions of either real, or made-up words and phrases. The news ticker that scrolls around the dessert area of The Wicked Spoon served up the following:
A vegetarian who sometimes eats meat or fish.
Buttering the Phone:
A prank a Head Chef plays on a new, less experienced Chef. He or she butters the earpiece of the kitchen phone, and then asks someone to call the kitchen. When it rings, the Head Chef asks the new Chef to answer the phone.
Bacon Stretcher: A fictitious contraption the Chef asks the newbie to find because the restaurant is running low on bacon.
My favorite phrase and definition must have been thought up by someone with a brilliant imagination and sense of humor. As we walked around The Strip, I saw it scrolling around on the ticker outside The Cosmopolitan. I watched the ticker scroll through several times, to be sure I copied it correctly, so I could save it in my iPhone’s Notes.
Here it is!
Stilletus Wobbleus: the difficulty women have while walking in high heels after being over-served.
Thank you, Ladies and Gentlemen! Leslie has left the building!
Photo courtesies: iPhone: apple.com, Chris Brown and Tyga: www.rap-up.com, Country & Western Clothing: Libby’s Country and Western Wear, The Red Shoe, and The Wicked Spoon: www.bunchesofjoy.com
Throughout history, the females in my family have had a genetic predisposition for shopping. They were also blessed with strong constitutions allowing them to stand for hours examining their reflections, looking for perfection. And then they’d go out to lunch.
The love of shopping and going out to lunch skipped a generation. With few exceptions, I don’t enjoy either. But my daughter Veronica does, so, don’t worry Mom! There’s hope.
My method of shopping is launching and flinging items I need, (and some things just because they’re shiny) into my cart, whipping out my Target REDcard, going home and taking a much-needed nap.
Eventually I return what doesn’t look good, keep what does, and, almost always keep the shiny objects.
Last Saturday Richard asked me to accompany him to Macy’s because he needed a few man-things. Here’s where I make an exception: if it means spending time together, I’ll do it. Am I great, or what?
As soon as we walked into the store, I came to an immediate stop in my super-cute, glow-in-the-dark Asics. My eyes glazed over and I felt “that hippy vibe” I sometimes get. Richard knows that look. He’s seen it many times, and knew it meant one of three things: a Free People sale, an Eileen Fisher sale, or an immediate need to find the closest ladies’ room.
The vibe was strong that day, my friends. I knew I was in the vicinity of a Free People sale because I became a combination of a truffle-sniffing pig and a drooling, German Short-haired Pointer closing in on a pheasant. It’s a gift. It’s not pretty, but it’s a gift.
Yes, I know I went with Richard to spend time with him, but as he saw the drool begin its slow descent from my mouth to the floor, he said he’d be fine on his own and would come find me when he was finished.
Being the gentleman he is, he handed me a tissue doused in Purell so I could wipe away the drool and look presentable as I ascended the escalator.
As the escalator arrived at the second floor, I almost squealed with joy. There they were: racks and racks of flouncy, feminine, ”Leslie-style” Free People clothing….all on sale!
I didn’t waste time. I went from rack to rack shoving items into the crook of my right elbow for an hour straight. After a while the items became heavy and my arm was stuck in a permanent bicep-curl, but I wasn’t going to let a little pain deter me from my mission.
Without dropping a single item, I even army-crawled my way beneath racks of Calvin Klein plus-sized jeans in search of “misfiled” Free People merchandise. Hey, I’m a professional.This wasn’t my first time. I know what people do.
I’m not accusing anyone of anything, but honey, if you think you can hide a garment from me so you can come back tomorrow with the coupon you left on the kitchen counter this morning, you obviously have no idea with whom you are dealing.
Not a single salesperson was roaming the floor to stop me from bringing more than six items into the dressing room. Score!
After lugging 100 pounds of clothes into the fitting room, nearly tearing my right tricep muscle, I only fell in love with two tops. I hung everything else up on a rack in the fitting room area because, as my mother always told me, “Clean up after yourself when you go shopping because one of the salespeople might be one of my friends.”
If the mood strikes, and I can use my right arm again soon, I might go back to look around again.
Or, I’ll just go to Target and launch and fling things into my cart using my left arm, which I can do because I’m semi-ambidextrous, a nice perk while my right arm heals.
I never really had a good reason to explain why I don’t like shopping, but now I do: it can be dangerous.
My sister, Beth, keeps telling me I have to add her to my posts, so here you go, Beth:
Beth is the prettier one. Beth is the prettier one…
I think one of the benefits of blogging is finding other blogs I like to read. The blogging community is full of really nice, interesting people, and amazing writers.
We also like to introduce each other to our readers by asking bloggers we admire to be Guest Bloggers. This comes in handy when we’ve “gone fishin’,” and want to keep our blogs updated with interesting material.
For a list and descriptions of some of my favorite blogs, please read my blog “Hopefully New and Improved From an Hour Ago! It’s Fro-back Friday! The Saturday Edition!”
Please follow, “like,” and comment on blogs I share, if you don’t mind, while I take a break (here and there) to go on a quest to find my “funny” again.
Beth is the creator and curator of “I didn’t have my glasses on…A trip through life with fingers crossed and eternal optimism.”
If you know me, you’ll totally understand why I just had to share Unhappy Feet!