Olive Juice

When I was in high school choir and we couldn't remember the words to a song, we'd sing "watermelon, rutabaga." And when we wanted to express our feelings but didn't want to say "I love you," we'd say "Olive Juice."  In both instances, you were present in the moment without the commitment; you just kinda skirted by.

I love olives and cooking with olive oil. But every time I flip the meat or veggies in the pan, the oil splatters all over my clothes. I have dots on most of my outfits, and I can't figure out how to remove them.

I think love is like that sometimes. It can stain your heart, but it also adds flavor and is a permanent part of the fabric of your life (copyright Cotton).

I am thinking about that kind of love today after a week with my in-laws. Every two years, my mother-in-law pays for her three children and their families to go on vacation together. These reunions are important to me and my husband because it's the only time we see his brother's family, and it was the first time we met his youngest child, who is already 1. It was also the first time we met his sister's youngest child, who was born in March - but the good news is that this newest baby and his family are moving down the street from us this summer, so all the cousins (my two and their two) will now grow up together.

Each day during our vacation, my husband and I took 5 of the 7 kids out on adventures - alligators, lighthouses, surfing, etc., while the babies stayed home and did baby things, like nap and poop.  Each little one - our own kids and our niece and nephews - is so unique and precious.  It was lovely to spend the time with them, and sad to see them go, especially the ones we know we won't see for another 2 years.

We love those kids - they leave their mark on us.  We would do anything for them.  I hope their parents know that.  I don't know if they see that while they were on private excursions or handling an unexpected cross-state move, that we had the distinct honor of making memories with their children.  And while we don't need a reward to spend time with our nieces and nephews, I don't know if their parents realize how much those sweet babies mean to us and how much love we pour into them. 

I grew up with 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th cousins, and we took it for granted that we would see each other every year at my great-grandma's birthday party in Branford, Florida.  She died when she was 100 1/2, and with her died those annual gatherings, and as it follows, those relationships.  I still love all of those people - but it's Olive Juice now - just a memory of when we mattered to each other because we were splattered together in the family pan.

I don't want my nieces and nephews to have a distant memory of me, to have vague recollections of the time we found a crab shell on the beach or the moment we overcame our fear of heights in the lighthouse together.  I want them to always know how much their uncle and I love and cherish them.  And we will keep letting them know, and letting their parents know, that family matters and that they are loved.

Until next time, keep crowin' and tell someone today how special they are.

Booter and Awl

Some things just work.  You don't know why and you don't ask how, but they do.  Like booter and awl.

My friend Amy and I were in Vegas last weekend.  We started the trip on the airplane, where we endured the malodorous emissions of a gang of baseball-capped fellas who expounded on how much ass they were going to get in between posing for Facebook photos.  I hate flying and she hates coach, so we helped each other through while constructing gas masks with our emergency exit cards.

Once in Vegas, we joined the mile-long line of tourists at the taxi cab stand.  It was like being in a herd of cows, all moving towards the barn, and if you slowed your pace, you were lost.  Such was the fate of an elderly woman in a wheelchair.  The young girl pushing her fell behind, her family kept moving, and finally, the girl got fed up and left grandma on the sidewalk.  We stepped around her, because hey, it's survival of the fittest in Vegas.  It took the family a few minutes to realize what had happened, and then they attempted a search-and-rescue against the current.  We didn't see them again until later in the trip, and I'm happy to report that Granny made it out OK.

I don't travel much, but Amy does.  So she knows all the tricks, like how to finagle room upgrades or get a Brazilian bikini wax on the fly.  The hotel she picked was beautiful - The Palazzo - and we had an amazing view of the city.  We hit the ground running, touring the property, which included open-air opera singing and indoor gondola rides in the neighboring Venetian, having a fabulous lunch and my first glass of Prosecco, side-by-side manicures, shopping at Louis Vuitton with security guards radioing our movements back and forth to each other, and then nap time.  We discovered the best place to have a Cosmo is at The Bellagio, at a restaurant called Olives.  We sat at the bar and charmed a corn-fed Wisconsin bartender named Zach. 

And here is what Amy I do best. We hashed out our lives, with the conversation developing into a comedic dialogue that would make Joan Rivers blush with the shame of inadequacy. We came up with catch phrases, code words, and lots of colorful language to illustrate the absurdities we must endure and the characters in our stories. We have different styles, different subplots, but we work together in perfect harmony.  Like booter and awl.

The rest of the trip in Vegas was one highlight after another.  Delicious food in unique restaurants, including at the top of a fake Eiffel Tower. Unforgettable theatrical moments, such as the water show at the Bellagio (a la Ocean's Eleven), the mind-boggling Beatles Cirque du Soleil, and the artistic stylings of the Chippendales -- don't judge -- they dance AND tell a story about cowboys, firemen, and the loneliness of vampires.  We experienced walking the Strip at night, encountering both the glamor and the seediness of Vegas in one square mile.  We were approached to go into private clubs, review flyers about naked women, and one man even told Amy he had picked up her scent at the craps table. 

The gambling was not my forte. I lost 20 dollars in 20 seconds at the slots, so when I tried it again the next day, I cashed out at $2. The cashier looked at me with disdain - Vegas isn't for cowards. But, I think I walked away a little braver and more street-savvy.

It was a bucket-list trip, and we had a marvelous time.  Even though we only see each other once a year, we never lose our mojo, the booter and awl.

 

Until next time, keep crowin', and always bet on black!

Las Fricking Vegas

There are few things worth getting up early in the morning for: childbirth, Christmas and .... VEGAS BABY!!!!!!!!!

Yes, tomorrow I am going to Vegas with my dear friend.  My husband is scared and my bank account is empty.  But it's VEGAS OR BUST!!!   My friend and I are treating this trip as a trial run for our Amazing Race application - or SNL audition.

Here are a few reasons that I am going to Vegas:



Nasty sink/house, accented with dog hair tumbleweeds on the floor.



A home office that looks like a robbery just occurred - I can't explain the teddy bear in the corner.





A backyard that rivals the Gobi, except has more dog poo and fewer trees.



A closet that looks like the bottom of a clothes-drive bin in the Sears parking lot. And just as an FYI, the Raggedy Ann sheet was draped there so the air conditioner guy wouldn't see how messy I am.








In addition, I was born in 1972, which means I am almost 40.  I absolutely hate my birthday, and dread the day every year.  So, to celebrate early in a far-away, magical place is more than alright with me.

Until next time, keep crowin' and I can't wait to tell you all about it!!

You Want a Piece of Meat?

This has been one of those weeks where everything happens at once - end of the school year events and meetings, work presentations and projects due, deadlines for volunteer jobs - boom, boom, boom.  Plus, I started a new show so it's time to learn lines and pencil in rehearsals.

So, it's daily e-mails and 100's of phone calls and running from place to place.  "When will you finish this?" "Can you bring a fruit tray?"  "How dare your organization not nominate my second cousin for an award?" 

Each one slowly chips away at you.  In my mind I kept hearing a running line from origins unknown ..."You wanna a piece of me?"  That's an empowering phrase, but it also makes me smile, because when my son was little he thought it was, "You want a piece of meat?"  Both apply when you feel like a human buffet.

There was a moment during all this chaos that I hit the wall and made a U-turn.  It was during the middle school conference for my daughter's speech services.  I sat at the table with my daughter's homeroom teacher, the guidance counselor, and the speech therapist.

Here's how it went:

Speech Therapist walks in.  I stand up and extend my hand.
ST:  "I have a cold."
I retract my hand.
Guidance Counselor then smiles really big.

GC:  "Thank you so much for coming today. We are going to get started now and work together to make sure your daughter gets what she needs."
ST:  "Has no one - a pediatrician, orthodontist, or teacher - EVER noticed this issue? I find it hard to believe that NO ONE has noticed this before."
Me:  "My daughter has had speech services before for other issues, but this particular problem hasn't been addressed."
GC:  "Well, we're here now and we're just going to move forward."  Bigger smile.

Homeroom Teacher then shares her observations.
ST:  "I really can't believe that your orthodontist has NEVER noticed or mentioned this.  It is really obvious."
Me:  "It hasn't come up."
GC:  Smile starting to crack. "So let's talk about our plan for your daughter and decide how we are all going to move forward."

Speech Therapist then outlines our summer homework. "You have to do these exercises every day.  It won't work unless you do them every day.  It has to be every day."

Me:  "I. got. it. No. problem."
GC:  "So, let's just everyone sign these meeting minutes and then we'll call your daughter in to show her the exercises.  Where did she get that beautiful hair?"
ST:  "Have you never noticed this at ALL? Have you never SEEN this issue while she's talking or eating?"

And here is where we come to the fork in the road.  You know, the part in the movie where you can choose an alternate ending, depending on your mood and sense of adventure. 

We'll start with the alternate ending for this scene:

ST:  "Have you never noticed this at ALL? Have you never SEEN this issue while she's talking or eating?"
Me:  "I'll be honest with you, I'm usually drunk.  I sobered up just for this meeting, but the minute I walk out of here, I'm headed to Houlihan's.  I didn't even realize the kid was in middle school until the elementary school called me to pick her up because she didn't go there anymore.  Plus I work nights at the club so if I do make it home during the day, I am probably sleeping it off in my car."
ST:  " ........ " (stunned silence.)

Here is the actual ending of the scene:

ST:  "Have you never noticed this at ALL? Have you never SEEN this issue while she's talking or eating?"
Me:  "The structure of my daughter's mouth is from my husband's side of the family, and they have a similar way of talking and speech, so, it's not something I ever noticed as ..."
ST:  "Oh sure, blame it on your husband."

At that point Guidance Counselor quickly wrapped up the meeting and hightailed it out of there.

While I didn't get the satisfaction of shocking Speech Therapist into silence, I do at least have the pride of knowing I took the high road.  But the high road is a lonely, unfun place, and I probably won't take it again unless they have wine kiosks every half mile.  The tide is turning and now I DARE anyone to try and take a piece of meat from me.

Until next time, keep crowin'!

Karma Chameleon

Bugs are a real issue in my life.  Both the insect and human kind.  For instance, I had a lovely theatre friend contact me tonight while I was napping on the deck, and we were texting back and forth, and it was such a great "catch-up" and I was wishing him well, and then ....

A big ass black bug flew directly into my mouth and down my throat.

I didn't have time to hock a lugey or heave it back up.  It set a course for my gizzards and didn't stop until it got there.  I was freaked.

I know that there are a certain amount of bug legs and feet that we consume in canned foods and restaurant meals, but to have that type of direct contact was unnerving.

And it's not even my biggest bug problem.  I have some type of moth/fly thing in my pantry that won't go away, no matter how many times I Dust-Bust them.  Also, tonight, while I was lying in bed, a love bug was zooming around my head like the Red Baron.  Where the hell did a love bug come from?!  I thought they only conducted suicide missions on highways.

I have to wonder if it's all related.  Are the bugs angry because they lost their trees?  I think so.

The trees are gone-ish.  Two were cut down to the bone, and one was just shaved.  It all began about 8:00 a.m. on Monday, when I received this cryptic message:

So, let's break it down.  First of all, I don't speak this language.  Second of all, it was 8:00 a.m., so even if I did speak tree people, I certainly did not have all my faculties about me at that moment.  I hit save and decided my husband could handle it later.

But that was not to be.  At 10:00 a.m., I was sitting at my computer in my pajamas (no upper chest support-wear, if you catch my drift), when my dogs started howling.  Before I knew it, there was a crew of Swamp People-inspired men in my backyard, smoking cigarettes and yelling about trunks and shovelling my dogs' poo.  Hiding under my desk, I grabbed the phone and called my husband's office:

Gina: "PES, can I help you?"
Me: "Hi Gina, it's Alison.  Can I speak to Travis?"
Gina: "He's not in his office, can he call you back?"
Me: "Yes, but it's important."
Gina: "Well, since I only hear from you about once a year, I would assume so."

Gina just gave me the burn!  But she didn't realize there was a homicide occurring in my back yard, so I let it slide.

My husband did come home, and told the men that it wasn't good practice to start chopping stuff down without knocking on the door and letting the lady of the house know.  So, they were extra careful after that, even chasing me down the cul-de-sac in their little bullfrogdozerthingey to make sure I wasn't leaving without paying the bill.

This is the carcass of the tree that was murdered.  













And this is the tree that my husband "saved" but castrated for me.

Karma isn't going to let this one go.  I think the bug ingestion was just the tip of the iceberg.  I don't know what is going to happen next, but I suspect it will involve my hair and katydids. 

Until next time, keep crowin' and start giving out good karma!

Oh No He Didn't .....

I know I'm about to be duped.  I don't even think my husband is trying very hard to hide it.  He's about to do something that he KNOWS I don't like. And I know he reads my blog, so here it is honey ....

I KNOW YOU ARE GOING TO CUT DOWN MY FAVORITE TREES THIS WEEKEND.

Yes, while I am dog sitting downtown, I know that you are keeping a secret - that you have already hired Daniel's Tree Service to cut down the Bradford Pears by the deck.  Your son told me.  So let me tell you a little something about Daniel. He employs CHILDREN at the job site.  I can't take photos of it because they're minors, but there are two 2nd graders, rather solidly built, in the neighbor's yard using the leaf blower and driving the truck.  I'm pretty sure we still have child labor laws in this country.  So, that's on you, and I'm not bailing you out of jail for it.

Innocent trees awaiting execution

There is nothing wrong with those trees.  They provide shade and homes for the woodland creatures and a much needed buffer between us and our neighbor's bathroom window - I only need to see one moon at night. I don't care if they are damaging the roof or may fall on the house soon. They make me happy when I am sitting on the deck taking my naps.

I suppose you want me to take the high road, and admit that I am wrong about the trees. Well, that's not going to happen.  I already took the high road at Kroger when I let the old lady have the last bunch of unripe bananas.  She knew I saw them first, but gave me the "it's Senior Wednesday" look and so I had to silently withdraw my hand in defeat.

By the way, it's MOTHER'S DAY weekend!  That means I get my way on everything. Otherwise, it doesn't count.  It's the weekend when I receive heart-felt messages of thanks for being at home with the kids while earning a paycheck, for occasionally vacuuming and preparing edible meals, for reminding you of your mother's birthday, for keeping my idiosyncrasies to a dull roar, and for making sure the house and its occupants are humming at a healthy buzz.

Better to ask forgiveness than permission, huh?  Not all secrets are bad? Well, fine - two can play at that game. Because I may or may not have gotten a speeding ticket this week. So, go ahead and cut down those trees. We'll just move on and I will forgive you. 

Until next time, keep crowin' .... and did I mention I love you? :)

Caca-Doodle-Doo

I've been thinking about Bullsh!t alot lately  (I'm not spelling it out so I won't get censored).  There are so many different kinds, it just depends on the context. Here are the top ten types of Bullsh!t that I came up with:

1.  The stuff that comes out of a bull.

2.  DVR'ing a new movie you've been dying to see, but when you go back to watch it, it's Matt Dillon in "Tex" from 1972.

3. Philosophical ramblings - there is actually a book called "On Bullsh!t" by Harry G. Frankfurt, and I have actually given it to someone as a passive aggressive hint-gift.

4. When salespeople exclaim "You don't look 40 AT ALL!

5. A card game, often accompanied with jello shots.

6. The words that come out of your mouth when you can't think of anything else to say in conversations with people you get stuck standing with at parties because your wingman snuck away.

7. Most fashion magazine covers. 

8. I had something else written here, but I accidentally forwarded the link to my blog to the person I wrote this one about, so I had to change it.  So, this is a bullsh!t post WITHIN a Bullsh!t post.

9. People who post things like this on Pinterest with the caption, "I made this last night for the family dinner - so easy and healthy!!  And now my 6-month-old can speak French!"

10. Getting fired in a busy ladies' room.  Can't wait to tell you about that one.

Identifying sources of Bullsh!t is important, because it is always better to nip things in the bud.  Like, if you know someone who says one thing but then does another, then you can have much more efficient conversations:

Source: "Hey Alison! Did you..."
Me: "Bullsh!t."
Source: "What? I just ...." 
Me: "Bullsh!t.  Don't even play."
Source: "But ..."
Me: "I'm onto your tricky ways. Run away Bullsh!tter!"

How satisfying that would be.  Unless you discover they were trying to tell you your skirt was tucked in your underwear.  It's a tough call sometimes.  Just keep practicing.

So, until next time, keep crowin' and watch out for the caca-doodle doo!