SueWorks

Planning a Party

I love planning parties and I hate planning parties.  People don't RSVP and others don't show up.  It all balances out in the end, and you always, always have too much food. 

I'm planning a party for 1500 people, and it happens in 90 minutes increments and 1.5 miles from the office.  I'm pulling my hair out, in bunches.  Oh, there's no food.

Boy, Does Time Fly

I must be having fun, because time is surely passing quickly.  I don't have cute pictures of even cuter nephews to share, see The Psycho Knitting Bunny.  I have a picture of the guy who kissed my husband's bumper and then proceeded to drive away.  That's not so thrilling.  In case you're wondering, the guy did stop when he saw he was being photographed.

Oh, oh, oh.  We're going on a cruise the last week of April.  Oh my goodness, I'm so looking forward to relaxing, exercising, and eating really good food.  We're on the Diamond Princess.  Do you have any creative ways to get jean-wearing hubbies into tuxedos?  He did wear one once with me.  That may have been the only time he was so attired, I'm pretty sure.  If I get the energy, I'll scan the picture from the event.  He thought he had lost the cummerbund.  It had actually migrated below his tummy.  He really did look pretty good all dressed up.  He doesn't believe it, and he likes to be comfy. 

Men are such babies.  I suppose there is only one in a ten-thousand heterosexual males who can tolerate panty hose, one in one-hundred thousand a panty girdle (granny panties) and one in 10 million a bra.  Heck, I'm pretty much ready to let the panty girdle fall by the wayside.  That is until I pass by a floor-to-ceiling window.  Mirrors lie, window glass is the stuff of truth!  Anderson Windows should market bathroom "vision" windows.  Of course, we'd be too scared to "powder" our noses and various other regions in those windows were in our bathrooms.

I'm not an expert on Judaism, but I think that during mourning some sects cover their mirrors, so as not to be bothered by the mere vanities of mortal life, or something like that.  I've been raised Catholic.  We drink when mourning.  And when happy and when sad.  It's very scary when you think about it.  I don't personally drink, but I know of many others who do.  And of course, the very stereotypical, very Catholic Irish are great "wakers."

All this from cruises and hit and runs.   I hope this evening will be productive.  The cleaning lady comes tomorrow, which means we have to clean up.  And we don't even do a good job.  I think Craig was doing dishes this morning.  I heard the water as I walked to my car to head to work.  Oh goodness, I do hope so.

Last Friday Afternoon

Well it's technically Friday evening.  Today is Good Friday.  And it's good because tomorrow is Saturday.  I'm at work, but I'm leaving soon and I did actually get to my office later in the morning.   As you can read, I'm justifying.  It's a beautiful early Spring day in Southern California.  There is a crispness in the air but a sweater is totally optional during the day.

I wanted to right about people who can't say No.  Then I thought about people who always say No just never use the distinct two letter word.  Now I just want to post something.

This weekend I will focus on saying Yes and make it sound plausible when I actually mean No.  Does that make sense?  Of course, yes it does.

Good night!

It's Monday ...

... which the avid readers will recall is only the second worst day of the week.  This Sunday was actually a very good day.  My mother, sister and I took ourselves to a Native American gambling casino.  I lost, Mom and Boo came home with a little extra.  I never win.  Well I hope it's true, I have heard, "Lucky at cards, unlucky in love."  If you take the converse, then Pumpkin and I will be very, very fortunate for one another. 

As nice as that sounds, I would have thoroughly enjoyed winning the Wheel of Fortune super deluxe, double bonus.  Did you know that you could play $12.80 in nickles on a single push of a button?  That's amazing.  Slots used to be for little old ladies on pensions.  Now anymore!  You need three figures to play nickle slots.  And don't get me started on the quarter machines.

I gamble because I hope that I will win.  Those words sound like the mantra of every gambling addict ever to grace a blackjack table.  I suppose there are people who gamble because it's fun.  I'm not saying I believe them, but ... it's fun because you can win.  If it's fun to throw money down a one-way shoot, I'd like to install these things on every street corner.  Darn, if only I were my own sovereign nation. 

If I were my own nation, I'd have to live in the desert and that wouldn't be a great place for me.  I'd spend all my sovereign nation takings on A/C.  Did you know that the human brain can actual boil?  It's true.  I saw it on the Discovery Channel. 

Me and my unboiled brain will now focus on the near end of the Monday work day.  Oh, Happy Spring!

Miscellaneous

It's Friday.  The best day of the week.  Thursday is nice too, especially with Friday following so very close.  Saturday is good because there is always Sunday.  However Sunday is not so good because Sunday is actually pre-Monday.  Monday, yuck!  Tuesday is just the day after Monday.  Wednesday means you are at bottom of the trough.  So that leaves Friday.  And today is Friday.

There's been lots going on but nothing super exciting.  I didn't write at all about my lack of sewer access over the weekend.  My dear knight in shining 501's fixed it all.  We weren't able to go to the Native Gaming establishments on Sunday as planned, but that was OK.  I didn't lose any money that way.  On Wednesday, Craig spent all day in the ER with his Mom and I spent the whole day with my Mom.  We were cleaning my laundry room and linen closet.  If you know me you'll appreciate just how large a job this was. 

As for Craig's Mom, she got a wake up call.  She needs to lose weight and exercise.  When doctor's give this medical opinion, they should only be able to charge half price.  I could look at half the people in a hospital waiting room and give that same advice and be right half the time.

Yesterday I saved 65% while shopping, and I did not buy one article of black clothing.  I'm very proud of myself.  I'm wondering though, if the store is still willing to sell clothing at only 35% of it's list price, what is the actual value of that clothing?  Makes you think!

Oh, it's raining in LA today.  We could have the second wettest rainy season in LA's recorded history.  And I'm wearing beige pants and mules.

Hope you have a great weekend!

Why I Blame Jenny Craig

In 1991 I was seduced by the Dark Side.  And let me tell you, the Dark Side is very alluring.  It's all dark after all.  It's also insidious.  You're just making a few changes, just trying a few new things and before you know it you've been sucked in, lock, stock and barrel. 

In November 1991, I joined Jenny Craig.  I paid my hard earned dollars, bought their pounds of prepared and pre-packaged foods, and I lost 63 pounds.  I looked good.  I got a better job and a much nicer wardrobe.  I also got an addiction. 

Up until Jenny I did not eat salad dressing.  I ate salad and enjoyed my nice dark greens, carrots and tomatoes, jicama too, and especially spinach, all without the benefit of oil, vinegar or any mayonnaise-based product.  Usually a squirt of fresh lemon juice was all I needed.  Jenny affected my body functions dramatically.  I became aware of the physiological need for fat.  Without fat, the human body is not a happy camper.  Fat gives us the best kind of brain function.  There is also an important role for fat in waste elimination.

Jenny used to sell salad dressing in little plastic one serving packages.  I especially enjoyed honey mustard.  In fact, I still enjoy honey mustard.  In truth, I really enjoy Caesar dressing more than any other dressing.  Did you know that I have the uncanny knack of liking the most expensive item in a store?  If you show me two black pairs of pants. I invariably will chose the higher priced pair.  It just happens.  I like rich fabrics and good cuts, and that means dollars.  So, since I like Caesar dressing so much I am sure it is the most "rich" kind.  Rats!  Now I have to check.  Two tablespoons have 154 calories and 16 grams of fat (4 points per WW.)  A regular Italian dressing has 84 calories and 8 grams of fat (2 WW points.)  See, the richer one!

I blame Jenny Craig for my salad dressing addiction.  I like the taste of greens but I really like the flavor of a nice creamy Caesar dressing atop a plate full of leafy, crunchy greens.  Jenny be darned!  Even light Caesar has 30 calories and one gram of fat and that's one (1), one whole WW point.

The Talkies

I love the movies.  There is nothing better than sitting in a dark theater watching the latest big hit!  Movie popcorn can be a culinary experience with the perfect ratio of canola oil to industrial salt, all popped to crunchy deliciousness.

Like most people who grew up in America in the late 60's and early 70's, I was a drive-in baby.  Quite a Saturday evenings were spent in my PJs watching the big screen from the back of my mother's Datsun.  Mom and Dad in front, with Newberry popcorn and candy. 

So far all that I recounted has been the caloric intake, and I must admit, I remember experiences very closely along with the foods involved.  I'm a foodie.  It's just me.  This fond remembrance of food in no way diminishes the strong memories of the movies.  I saw every Disney movie made before 1975 on a drive-in screen.  The angry witch Maleficent is very scary at 50 feet tall.  One of the last movies I saw at the drive-in was Independence Day.  It's a long story, but you can enjoy a movie with your sun glasses on.  Just in case you were wondering.

The last movie I saw in a conventional theater was Hitch, a charming little flick that is definitely worth the matinee price and maybe even date night dollars.  I'm not quite sure yet, the jury is out.  The next movie I want to see is The Upside of Anger.  The best movie I ever saw a big screen was ... I'm not sure.  The best movie I'd like to see on a big screen is A&E's Pride and Prejudice.  There's a good sized amphitheater where I work.  I have a little fantasy of "renting it out" one night and bringing my popcorn, M&Ms and diet Sierra Mist.  However after four plus hours, my fanny would be majorly sour in the silly little molded seats.

There is a theater a bit far from where I live that actually holds 693 people, which by modern day movie palace standards is gargantuan.  My husband insists he would see more movies if we went to this theater.  It's 20 miles from our house.  I love a good movie, but I'm not one for a long drive.  We have a perfectly lovely little 500-seater about 2 miles away.  Now, you tell me, which is the better choice?

The Safety Pin

The difference between "clothed" and dressed is about 1.25 inches long and made of stainless steel.  It's the safety pin.  Alright, not much of a stretch, the title says it all.  Just think about the garments you own and wear regularly that are held together with a safety pin.

I'm wearing a casual Spring dress.  (Remember I'm in Southern California.  We are in perpetual Spring.  Well, almost.)  With hose and a jacket, it would be business however it is décolleté dress.  And now it's being made demure with 1.25 inches of metal as I mentioned before. 

Yesterday I spied a teeny tiny safety pin holding a seam together on a twerty-something (you know, a late 20's or early 30's girl person).  In my perfectionist way I saw it bathed in flashing neon lights.  I'm sure 80% 90% ok, 99.999% of the world did not see the little gold pin.  But I did.  I'm sure 50% of the people in my world are not seeing my bigger silver pin.  I tried to hide it in the underside of the fabric.  If only I had a piece of two-sided tape.  Rats, it's boxed up with my Christmas stuff at home.

I'm dressed.  All my major parts are covered.  My Marilyn Monroe cl*vage mole is hidden.  But all I see is oddly gathered fabric that lacks the sufficiency to hide 1.25 inches.   Do you know that I'm wearing modest patent leather pumps with a tasteful one and one-quarter inch heel?  I was told that these pumps would never go out of style and could be worn year round without angering the fashion police.  Of course I was told by a woman of 70 and that was 20 years ago.  Sorry, I digress.   It is interesting though that the quarter is so important to the inch.  I'm beginning to think that the pin is part of the larger cosmic meaning of life.  Of course only when it is in the 1.25 inch variety.

Back to the point.  The dressed woman has no safety pins.  I'm convinced that something as plebeian as a safety pin would never be allowed in her home let alone on her person.  The dressed woman has clothes that are tailored to her perfect size whatever figure.  I think there are more dressed size 8 women than size 18 women but size alone is not the factor. 

In 1989 I was a secretary at a real estate company, though I called myself an executive administrative assistant to the senior vice president (another story altogether.)  I had 3 inch heels on all my shoes, I wore suits with coordinating pantyhose, and I worked with the most put together, dressed women.  They were all 60 plus, each spent more on hair care than on health care.  Each women had shoes for each ensemble (and they were ensembles).

And then there was me.  I tried, but it was just too hard.  I had too many safety pins holding me together.  So I finished my degree (I needed one class) and then got a graduate degree and now I'm wearing my dress with my safety pin and all I can think about is, "Are you looking at me in my safety-pinned glory judging my inadequacies as a person and a woman?"

Someone here needs a Valium.

Nylon Revisited

D*mnit to H*ll!  I'm going to be late.  What is new?!?  What's new today is that I have a gigantic run in the only decent pair of pantyhose I own.  There is no good reason that I have to wear these pricey torture devices on my legs and torso.  Fashion be d*mned.  Dress code be damned.  It's the 21st century and women in business still have wear uniforms.  It just might be easier if we all wear matching uniforms like a parochial school.  It seems to work in public schools throughout the US too.  Hey, Einstein wore the same uniform every day. 

As Carrie looked in the mirror, her deepest thought and fear was that she was just so tired of trying to be fashionable and professional when she was just dealing with being fat.  It's just too darned much work. 

She looks at the women she works with.  They are young, trim, and not necessarily more intelligent than Carrie.  In fact a certain one is like a wooden post.  But they are succeeding.  Carrie hates to admit it but she too makes judgments based on physical appearance.  She's her own worst enemy.  The nights she goes to bed without washing her face and moisturizing, she feels bad and it's almost too good to feel that bad.  When she eats an extra cookie at lunch or finishes off all the Girl Scout cookies, she knows she's only hurting herself. 

I could have had soup and the Costco broccoli and carrots I bought last week.  But no, I needed a sugar fix.  Now I have a sugar bloated fat abdomen and a run from my littlest toe to my cr*tch.  And I'm late!  Oh, and I just put on foundation and powder two minutes ago and I'm already shining like the wake of the Exxon Valdez/  Why am I having these thoughts.  I need to get my big old *ss out of the front door!

At that moment, Carrie decided that she was going to feel good about herself no matter what.  She was ignoring the rules today.  Her legs were one of her best features, long, relatively slender with a nice color and tone.  She ripped the hose off.  They fell to the floor in shreds.  She smiled from ear to ear as she reached for the lotion.

One more coat of Eucerin, the best lotion for legs, and I'm heading out.  I will smile, laugh and not look at people's legs today.  Who cares who has hose and who doesn't!  I'm going to just be me.  Maybe the only thing I really need to worrying about wearing is a smile. 

What do you think?!?

*******

So, what do you think?  A little fiction, a lot of fact.  I'm in pants and mules, not hose or socks today.

Damn, Damn, Damn

I have no stick-to-it-iveness.  It's been a week since my last post and I have not thought about writing for days.  I haven't even looked at the site to motivate me.  It totally skipped my mind.  I fear that if I had a child I would forget about her and him.  That would be very bad. 

However, except for writing (which is the thing that I think I want to do to earn my living), I obsess about everything.  I obsess about the stockings I wear.  (I've moved to grocery store brand to save money and I think everyone is looking at my cheap hose.   And I could only bring myself to buy the highest quality store grocery store brand.)  I obsess about the best way to schedule 5 freaking days of training.  (How should I ask people to give me their availability?)  I obsess about my polish bare nails.  (Until Monday evening my finger nails were covered in peeling nude polish and my toes in likewise bedraggled fire engine red.  Now all my nails are bare, filed and beginning to splinter and crack in little ways.  I just took an entire mental vacation obsessing about, examining and feeling my cuticles.)

"What is her damn point?!?" you might ask yourself.  My point is, I can't keep up on anything.  I used to say, A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.  I'll confess, I only quoted Emerson but I truly believe this to be true.

Now I'm wondering if I'm just as flaky as my dear Father contends.  Why can't I finish anything I start?  First, I count myself lucky that I start in the first place, kind of like, "better to have loved and lost ...." 

I actually did finish college, and got a master's degree as well.  I have kept jobs for over three years, albeit a new one each three years (two years is the best time frame, I think.)  I even stayed with one company eight, 8, ocho years!  I have been married for three and a half years, and it looks like four is entirely doable. 

Second, I keep choosing more things to start with the intention of actually finishing them.  I will, I will make something with my own two hands made of cloth or fiber and actually wear it with pride.

Now lastly, I will write in this blog when I am inspired.  That is my goal.  And maybe actually getting out of bed at 3:30 AM is not such a bad thing, especially if I write an interesting blog entry.  I can always toss and turn another night.  And if what is interesting at 3:30 AM isn't so hot at 2:00 PM, there is always "delete."