Re-post: My Love-Hate Relationship with the Holidays

Does anyone here notice what's going on? Really. The stress level of everyone around you? Including you.

Don't deny it.

You know I'm right.

In general, it's due to "that time of year": The Holidays. And of course, it has plainly been a couple of tension-filled years. For some of us more than others, of course. There are still those lucky/ignorant/naive persons who say "What recession?” So now, those of us who live in the true atmosphere of what is actually going on in the world today are feeling it from all sides: Work, home, kids, spouse, bills, holidays, family issues, the news... I could go on but I'd like to post this sometime today.

Life is hard! I think the best defense against holiday stress piling up onto our shoulders is to unwind by engaging in a little meditation.

Now, I know this is going to be a huge challenge for all of us. Join me. Let's start by taking a deep breath, slowly. Now exhale. Good job. Now say and repeat several times:

·         I will enjoy the holidays.

·         I will take joy in my children and my in-laws.

·         I will smile while I eat the turkey log and cranberry sauce that is still in the shape of a can.

·         I will take the kids sledding when they ask.

·         And make them hot cocoa when they ask.

·         And drive them to the mall when they ask.

·         I will hang the Christmas lights on the prickly Christmas tree without swearing when I find out that only half of the strand works.

·         I will say Merry Christmas with a twinkle in my eye to the lady who just cut in front of me in the 20-yard long line at the warehouse club.

·         I will drink my eggnog (not spiked) on Christmas Eve while waiting for the kids to fall asleep before I do.

·         I will giggle to myself when I slip and twist my back on the narrowly shoveled sidewalk because I have told the kids every year to shovel it all the way to the sides of the sidewalk.

·         I will enjoy the fresh air when I go out bundled up at 5:00 a.m. to snow-blow the driveway so I can go to work while the kids sleep in because it’s a snow day.

·         I will wish my neighbors peace as they all sleep in on said snow day.

·         I will be delighted when I spend hours and hours wrapping on Christmas Eve and then just a few hours later watch all the pretty paper burn in the fire pit outside after the presents have been ripped open.

·         I will take lots of photos so that ten years from now we can all reminisce together about how merry we all were because we can't remember how cranky the kids really were.

·         I will fix all of the broken ornaments this year instead of leaving them on the kitchen window sill to be glued the following August.

·         I will write my Christmas Cards early and not quit halfway through when my hot cocoa mug is empty.

·         I will keep my chin up and not whine when the kids don't want to watch the same old Christmas movies with me.

·         Or listen to the same old Christmas music with me.

·         Or help me stamp the Christmas cards.

·         I promise to myself and to everyone around me that I will honestly put forth the effort to thoroughly and completely enjoy the Holidays, no matter how hard it may seem; no matter how much I want to lock myself in the bathroom; and even if I am in the ditch watching macho arrogant boorish men busy folks drive by me in their pretentious plow-trucks rushing home to their families, I promise to enjoy the holidays.

If you make this your secret holiday mantra and say it several times a day (I believe that the shopping lines and while driving are the best times to recite) I know you will make it through. Remember, we are all in this together.

Say it with me: We will enjoy the holidays!!

Revisiting Christmas

Many years ago, or so it seems, I was a SAHM (stay-at-home-mom). I had everything under control, taken care of, in its' place.

Now?

Not so much.

I am striving hard this year to get it together; to not let the outside stresses interfere with my Christmas spirit. It's a day by day (sometimes hour by hour) struggle to maintain that spirit. It's hard. I used to have it together - completely organized: Christmas cookies and goodies for everyone; I was the first to send out Christmas cards everyone Christmas season - and I sent them to everyone I knew. Presents were bought and wrapped. Gift wrap and ornaments were color coordinated. Our house was always the gayest on the street.  (Sorry folks. I just realized I used the "g" word, but I am hoping you are all mature enough to understand my true meaning.)

In an effort to stay merry and bright this Christmas I have lugged out my handy-dandy 3-drawer cart of Christmas cards, Christmas stationery, Christmas stamps and ink-pads, Christmas stickers, etc. I will not be mailing out very many cards again this year. I'm sure most of the cards I put together this year will be hand delivered. My sincerest apologies to those who used to receive cards from my family and no longer do. I have faith that you all understand the circumstances, and to know that I love you all very much!

Also in my 3-drawer cart, I have found some clippings and saved left-over stories, poems and games that I would stick in each year's cards. I would like to share some of those with you as I believe that they are in some ways timeless, in some ways meaningful, and hopefully, in some ways light-hearted and funny.

So here goes.... Enjoy!

Santa's Secret Wish

by Betty Werth

On Christmas Eve, a young boy with light in his eyes

Looked deep into Santa's, to Santa's surprise,

And said as he nestled on Santa's broad knee,

"I want your secret. Tell it to me."

He leaned up and whispered in Santa's good ear,

"How do you do it, year after year?

"I want to know how, as you travel about,

Giving gifts here and there, you never run out.

How is it, dear Santa, that in your pack of toys

You have plenty for all of the world's girls and boys?

Stays so full, never empties, as you make your way

From rooftop to rooftop, to homes large and small,

From nation to nation, reaching them all?"

And Santa smiled kindly and said to the boy,

"Don't ask me hard questions. Don't you want a toy?"

But the child shook his head, and Santa could see

That he needed the answer. "Now listen to me,"

He told the small boy with the light in his eyes,

"My secret will make you sadder, and wise.

"The truth is that my sack is magic. Inside

It holds millions of toys for my Christmas Eve ride.

But although I do visit each girl and each boy

I don't always leave them a gaily wrapped toy.

Some homes are hungry, some homes are sad,

Some homes are desperate, some homes are bad.

Some homes are broken, and children there grieve.

Those homes I visit, but what should I leave?

"My sleigh is filled with the happiest stuff,

But for homes where despair lives, toys aren't enough.

So I tiptoe in, kiss each girl and boy,

And pray with them that they'll be given the joy

Of the spirit of Christmas, the spirit that lives

In the heart of the dear child who gets not, but gives.

"If only God hears me and answers my prayer,

When I visit next year, what I will find there

Are homes filled with peace, and with giving, and love

And boys and girls gifted with light from above.

It's a very hard task, my smart little brother,

To give toys to some, and to give prayers to others.

But the prayers are the best gifts, the best gifts indeed,

For God has a way of meeting each need.

"That's part of the answer. The rest, my dear youth,

Is that my sack is magic. And that is the truth.

In my sack I carry on Christmas Eve day

More love than a Santa could e'er give away.

The sack never empties of love, or of joys

'Cause inside it are prayers, and hopes. Not just toys.

The more that I give, the fuller it seems,

Because giving is my way of fulfilling dreams.

"And do you know something? You've got a sack, too.

It's as magic as mine, and it's inside of you.

It never gets empty, it's full from the start.

It's the center of lights, and of love. It's your heart.

And if on this Christmas you want to help me,

Don't be so concerned with the gifts 'neath your tree.

Open that sack called your heart, and share

Your joy, your friendship, your wealth, your care."

The light in the small boy's eyes was glowing.

"Thanks for the secret. I've got to be going."

"Wait, little boy," said Santa. "Don't go.

Will you share? Will you help? Will you use what you know?"

And just for a moment the small boy stood still,

Touched his heart with his small hand and whispered,

"I will."



A Big Helping of Manners & a Side of Common Courtesy, Please

Faithful Ladies and Gentlemen of Blogland, Twitterland and Facebookland:

I have been carefully scouring my past posts in hopes of re-gifting some of my previous attempts at entertainment for you. Also, I'm feeling a little guilty that I have not updated for a couple of weeks and as the evening hours zip by I am finding it increasingly difficult to sit erect in front of my computer. Even though currently we have no snow just yet (which is for sure bizarre this time of year), everything else pretty much remains the same. I hope you the best of luck in your holiday shopping endeavors!

Enjoy!:

Hold on to your seats ‘cause I am riled up! (I promise to try my best to keep this clean.)

Let’s recap what we already know:

ü  It’s the Christmas season.

ü  It’s cold, wet and snowy outside.

ü  The stores are busier than normal.

ü  Gas prices (as well as the price of everything else) are on the rise again.

ü  We are all working longer and harder trying to make a buck.

So why do I absolutely loathe (and that’s putting it mildly) going to the store? Or anywhere public for that matter?

I stopped to get some groceries tonight after work and I went in totally prepared for the busier than usual, cramped to the gills, buggy-eyed people. It was actually kind of eerie at first. It seemed quiet when I first walked in and got my cart, took off my gloves and got out my list.  I walked deeper into the zombie’s lair, oops, I mean I walked into the store and passed a few customers who seemed zombie-fied; expressionless faces and round, unblinking eyes. They must have been power-shopping all day. I don’t know why people do that to themselves, especially the grandma’s. Please spread the word to the grandma’s: The grandkids do not need anything else!

Weaving through the aisle’s soon became an exasperating chore. I felt myself slipping into the underworld of zombies. I couldn’t let that happen; I would need all of my concentration to stay on task and get everything on my list.

One thing was for sure. I was slowly losing my patience. Whatever happened to common courtesy anyways? People were stopping to look at items leaving their cart in the middle of the aisle. And I am pretty sure it’s a known fact that stores design their layouts so only two and a half carts can fit down an aisle. Now tell me, who drives half a cart? A couple was standing in front of the soup sale display. I was standing back waiting for them to pick out their ‘ten for ten’ cans of soup and some older lady just walks right up and starts picking out her soup. First, does it really take both of them to pick out the soup? And second, who does that lady think she is? I have stuff to do too, but I was waiting patiently.

And the men in the store! What happened to chivalry? **Men are simply not gallant anymore! They don’t hold the door open. They don’t let ladies (and I’m using that term loosely, maybe I should just say females) go first. They’re always cutting in front of me with their carts. Picture this: So here I am, grocery shopping for my family of six, pushing around my 400-pound cart with a screwy wheel that makes the cart veer left; and then here’s this bozo pushing his cart with Twinkies in it because he’s more than likely single (gee, I wonder why), and the dope completely cuts me off, because apparently he didn’t take any math classes in school or he would realize that the weight of my cart going “X” speed would take “Y” distance to come to a stop and how nearly I just came to running his a$$ over with my 400-pound cart!

** I must say, right now, that there are still a few gracious men in the world today. I do come across them infrequently, but they are indeed out there. To you, my gallant sirs: Thank you and God Bless You!

Now where was I? How can a major grocery store run out of Romaine? Argh!

I finally got through the store. (And by the way, I found an end-cap with the same soup sale, so I did get my soup.) Up at the checkout lanes, I found one with a cashier that didn’t look too mean, or young and inexperienced. She wasn’t that bad, except that they all seem to think that a generic, unfeeling “Have a nice day” is a good enough replacement for “Thank you”. It’s not good enough. Would it kill you to put some feeling into it? If I were to answer back with a smile on my face “Stick a fork in your eye.” Do you think they would notice? I’m guessing not.

In the lane next to me was a little old lady trying to put her groceries in the cart. The cashier had packed them so they were heavy. And then…. (gasp!)… the little old lady asked for another bag. How dare she! Well, that was the attitude the cashier had anyways. The cashier very begrudgingly put a few items in another bag and then proceeded to start checking out the next person in line. The poor little old lady, who stood a full 4 foot 6 inches tall, was still trying to put her bags in her cart and put her pocketbook back in her purse. Now that’s the kind of bad manners that’s just inexcusable. There really is no reason on this earth to not take another 45 seconds to help the poor lady with her bags, and then maybe really go out of the way to wish the lady a Merry Christmas! The next customer in line, I’m sure would wait patiently if they saw this nice cashier sincerely helping this little old lady.

Remember a few years ago, when the idea of Pay It Forward was a really big deal. I think we should bring it back. I think that the policemen and women should hand out discount coupons for a gas fill-up or free turkeys or some such, when they spot people doing good deeds. How cool would that be?

To “wrap” this blog up, let me say that I am a forgiving person, especially during the Christmas season; but if you cut me off in the grocery store, there is no guarantee that I will be able to stop my cart in time before running you over. So beware, and mind your manners!

Crazy? v. Valid?

How many of you have wondered if you're crazy? Wondered if you're not seeing things as others see things? Wondered if you exist on another plane or dimension and what you deem as normal, rational thinking is deemed as completely off-base by those that live in the parallel dimension?

Case in point: Teenage Daughter v. Mom

Now in this case we have the defendant: Mom. She works hard to bring home a paycheck to pay for the roof over everyone's head, and all of the households bills. These include, but are not limited to: gas, electricity, cable, phone, Internet, cell phones, car payment, insurance, mortgage. She also manages to get all of the kids money for lunch at school, sports, and the occasional gift.

Mom also works very hard to be diligent about the household chores: laundry, dishes, sweeping, mopping, etc. She tries to instill in her children the value and worth of being helpful, honest, caring and generous.

Mom is typically a pretty selfless person. She uses her vehicle to drive all of the children to doctor appointments, friends' houses, school/volunteer events, shopping, etc. And Mom, almost always manages to make it to see her children perform/play in a concert/game.

What Mom works the hardest at, however, is teaching her children respect. This is a constant up-hill battle. In a theoretically perfect family grouping you have the dual-parent partnership and the children. (Keep in mind that for this exercise gender and age of child does not matter.) Parent assigns age-appropriate duty/chore/task to be performed by child. Child carries out said duty/chore/task. Chore done. Parent happy. Child rewarded.

However, folks, in this particular case, we have the Plaintiff: Teenage Daughter (TD). TD has decided to illiterate to Mom her opinion. That being that Mom is crazy. This comment was made to Mom's face after TD was asked to do some chores, to pull her share of the weight, in the household. TD, as proven time and time again, wants something in return, possibly a meeting with the boyfriend (bf) who is irrelevant to this case. TD was off to a great start with the aforementioned chores, but was distracted with several texts, skype and facebook messages/updates. TD has become side-tracked from her duties, as she seemingly always does. Chores do not get finished. Mom is told by TD that TD promises to complete said chores upon return from spending time with bf.

As Mom, sadly, has heard this promise before, she does not believe TD and tells her "No." The calm tete-a-tete quickly graduates to a heated argument. Mom shouts in close proximity to TD's face to be certain she is heard: "Do you think I enjoy having days like this? Do you think I like being angry? Don't you think that I would much rather have a calm and happy household? You're xx years old and you live here rent free and you eat food here for free and you get driven around for free. I don't know. Maybe I'm just crazy. But I really don't think that I'm supposed to battle it out with you every day! Oh, I can see your face. You're sitting there waiting for Mom to get tired of yelling and send you off to your room so you can collect yourself and then Mom will get over it and we can do it all again in another hour. I'm not doing this because I'm grumpy."

After more of this one-sided conversation, TD was asked by Mom to make some sort of statement, put forth some kind of feedback. TD eventually replied that she simply figured that Mom was crazy. To this reply, Mom informed TD that her cellphone service (paid by Mom) would be turned off in a matter of minutes, and that she (TD) would not be allowed to go anywhere to be with her friends or to have her friends over to their home for the remainder of the holiday weekend.

TD proceeded to her room and Mom proceeded to log on to site of families cellphone service and suspend TD's line.

A few simple clicks and the deed was done.

A few simple hours in her room and TD was ready to submit herself to completing the lowly household chores she was assigned that morning, with regularly interjected pleas of "Can you turn my phone on now?"

Ladies and gentlemen, let me say to you that this scenario occurs many times a day. And not just to this particular family. It happens worldwide.

The issue here is that poor, distraught and stressed-out Mom has heard this kind of sentiment from her children every time they try to challenge her on carrying out their assigned duties. Mom wrings her hands. Mom wrinkles her brow. Mom plays with her hair as a habit of high-anxiety. And she wonders.... Poor Mom wonders.... "Am I really crazy? It's got to be easier than this? But how? I can't just let these things go without punishment. If I do the entire ball of yarn will come unraveled.Then what? Would I ever get my family back?"

So I stand here before you today, making this plea on behalf of Mom. Ask yourselves: What are we here for today? What is our job? Our job as parents is to make certain that our children grow up to be respectful and respected individuals. We need to ensure that these developing characters know what's expected of them, as well as what's in store for them if they do not meet those expectations. Our job today is to stand behind Mom. Find her not crazy. Recognize her as the adored and appreciated individual that she strives to be. Honor her role as care-giver, disciplinarian, boo-boo kisser, grocery-getter, laundress, self-reinventer. Everything Mom has done in the last 19 years has been for the sake of her children. Mom has made conscious decisions, decisions so easily made that they seemed unconscious. Decisions to have children rather than dogs. Decisions to put their needs before her own. Decisions to put their dreams and desires before her own.

In closing, I'm going to divulge to you a secret. Mom, here before you, take a good look at her, the silver hairs at her temples, the crows-feet and laugh-lines that map her life on her face; take a good look, for before you today is every mom. And every mom world-wide has been deemed by our spawn as senile. It's time to unite and make very clear to the plaintiff, TD, that we will not stand for the crassness, we will not condone the blasphemy, the vulgarity of the simple words spoken to every mom, simple words that cause such suffering. Suffering for Mom who questions her once-certain motives, but also suffering for TD, who doesn't realize that her "simple comments" have just made another tear, another cut into the exquisitely fine fabric of the Mom/TD relationship, possibly never to be mended again. Thank you. Defense rests.

I know I'm not crazy, but dang it! I guess it's true: when you hear something enough times, you really start to question the validity of what you're doing. "Is what I'm pushing valid enough to go this far?"

You'd better believe it!

Round 2 anybody?

The Flip Side

So it's that time again. Time to update the old blog. So many things to write vent about. But not quite sure what to choose first.

Maybe I could delight you for ten minutes with my woe-is-me attitude. Or maybe you'd like to read more about my financial difficulties, my own personal economic decline, my "project skinny", if you will. Maybe I'll whine a little more about how there just aren't enough hours in the day to accomplish all of my tasks, lists, goals, chores, to-do's, etc.

Yeah. I don't quite understand where I went wrong. I don't know what need wasn't met when I was a kid growing up, or why I just can't be happy - content with how things are.

Now this discontentedness applies to just about everything. From simple things like how my living room or bedroom are arranged to the current shower curtain that is hanging in my bathroom. (And, I'm sure you've noticed how many times I've changed my blog around.) I'm not a psychologist, so I really can't delve into the nitty-gritty of why I do this. But wouldn't that be a fascinating topic.

I've always been this way. Once I reached an age where I found that I could place things in my room where I wanted them, I suppose I felt a sense of being an adult. But on the flip side, figured that by re-arranging my room, organizing my closet by color, changing up my posters, I felt a sense of renewal with every change.

I still do. I feel like I'm starting over. Like I've set a goal and not only met it, but conquered it. Squashed it. Killed it! And that victorious feeling will last for several days - or until the newly arranged bedroom gets messed up. Then it's kind of like major downer!

You know, there's cleaning the bathroom, and then there's cleaning the bathroom. Which, when I've taken the time to clean the bathroom, it feels awesome. I feel like I've walked into a nice hotel bathroom, complete with fresh, fluffy towels, shiny, sparkly clean mirror and q-tip jar. The cotton balls have been replenished and the toothbrush cup has been restored to it's original brushed silver finish. The shower walls shine and the shower curtain no longer needs to be pulled over a certain way because you've taken the time to duct-tape up the holes so it hangs evenly again.

And then - What the @%^#^^& is that? Why, of course, it's the (like a bad movie) predictable blob of toothpaste! And the stubble in the sink, and the dribble running down the mirror, and the toilet paper has been torn off not on the perforation, and the wet towel has been left on the floor and the boxers are in the corner....

At this point I begin seeing red, and the usual door-slamming ritual ensues (amongst other - yes, I'll admit - childish tantrum fillers.

Then, there it goes. That awesome feeling of renewal and accomplishment has flown out the window and here we are again. Back in the house that's seemingly falling apart at the seems. It's not really. It's just that feeling, you know, of back at square one, walking through the labyrinth in every room, the piles of homework, bills, dirty dishes...

Well, maybe if I just rearrange my office I'll feel better. You think?

Wish me luck!

Something Old, Something New

No worries. No weddings here.

But try this on for size...

Hi. My name is Ruby, and I am a quitter.

I quit many things, undertakings, if you will, that I begin on a whim, a crazy idea. Or some things I do begin with a more serious nature. I will give myself that. But I quit a lot of things. And for many reasons.

I suppose that all of my reasons really stem from one: I become disgruntled.

I admit that, as well as being a quitter, I do tend to get bored with monotony. And typically when I make an attempt at an idea that I have come up with, I tend to be disappointed with the length of time that the project takes, or lack of talent I am able to apply to the project, or the meager end result slash payoff of the project.

I have tried my hand at many things. And these things get off to a good start. And these things may even go along for quite awhile as planned. Then somewhere towards the middle to the end of the project, things start falling apart. Again for many reasons...

*I don't have the right equipment/tools.
*Someone I know has discouraged me.
*I can foresee that the route I am taking will not give me the desired result.
*I tried to rush the project.
*I made the mistake of thinking "How hard can it be?", then that old slap in the face from reality.
*I think of another project that I would like to start and don't want to wait to finish the one that's already in progress.

What makes me do this? I suppose it's probably a mind-set that I developed as a child, that was never attended to and therefore, has led me, as an adult to be a quitter.

Technically, I suppose I'm not really a quitter. It's true... I begin a lot of projects. All with the best of intentions. Then, for one of the reasons listed above, I move on. Simply laying aside, putting away "temporarily", the project at hand.

I have much proof of this. I have boxes of yarn for my crocheting and knitting projects, file drawers full of photos, notes, etc for my genealogy projects, drawers of special ingredients for lotions, creams and soaps, smaller boxes with beads and wires for jewelry making, tubs of old, worn clothing to eventually make rag rugs and/or a quilting project.

This list goes on.

And on.

But to put a positive spin on this, I suppose I could say that I'm a beginner. I am creative, as  I have lots of ideas. And I tend to be enthusiastic and optimistic enough to forge my way through a new project, that is, until another brilliant idea pops into my head.

If only I could finish what I start....

But would finishing a project really benefit me? Make me feel good? Well, that would depend on the reason I started the project in the first place.

If I finished the knitting and crocheting: I would have a plethora of items to give as Christmas gifts (or to sell online).

If I finished updating the genealogy project I started many moons ago: I could self-publish and sell the updated edition to the family line it pertains to.

If I finished making the rag rug: I would have a rag rug that matches my master bathroom.

If I finished the jewelry making: I would again have a good amount of items to give as gifts (or sell online).

If I finished....

If I finished...

If I finished up my post: I could take my shower and go to bed.

NEWS FLASH: Your Mother has Feelings

I really don't understand what my children think.

Or do they think?

What makes Mom tick?
What are her dreams and desires?
What are her favorite things to do?
What are her favorite places to go?
What are her favorite foods to eat or beverages to drink?

I'm certain they would fail this test.

See, the problem is that my children don't think. They don't see that I'm not just a "mom": the person who gets the groceries, does the laundry... I won't bore you with the long list of mom-jobs as I'm certain you all know what they are. I'm the unseen entity that just simply gets stuff done... for the entire family. The automaton, if you will.

I feel I also need to mention that I have a full-time job.

I want to make clear to my reader that, if need be, I'm quite certain that my family could survive if I were to step out of the mix (for maybe a short-ish vacation). They are self-sufficient enough to make themselves a meal (although not square), and they have been known to actually do the occasional load of laundry; however, they have all been asked to refrain from throwing my clothing in with theirs.

My gripe today is that nobody in my household sees me as a person. A person with feelings. More specifically, a female person. It's so foreign to them that I shave, wear jewelry, like to do my hair and make-up.

Nope.

To them, it is simply, "C'mon mom, you look fine. Let's go." Regardless of where we are going, I look "fine". I'm sure they are not really seeing me. Seeing me for what I would like to fix or cover-up or match. This is about as close as I've ever gotten to a compliment in my own house.

Some of you may be thinking that I'm some needy, pathetic person whining about the life of motherhood that I have enlisted in.

Well, to you who say that, I say: I'm not that type of person. I'm a woman, who would occasionally like to hear that my hair looks nice, that the color of my shirt looks good on me, etc. What is wrong with that. I'm not complaining about being a mother, just the way that "mother" is being defined nowadays. We mothers are all still females, complete with feelings and emotions.

I feel that I should not have to ask for a compliment. Such as: What do you think about my new earrings?

The responses I may or may not get include (but are not limited to):

     a) No response, maybe a shrugging of the shoulders.
     b) A wrinkled up nose, as if to say: No, I don't really like it.
     c) "I think you're too old to pull it off."
     d) All of the above.

I hate asking.

I cannot believe I've raised children who can know every detail about everyone they've ever gone to school with, but yet they know nothing about the woman who birthed them into this world.

If I have a taste of wine or some other alcohol beverage, they imply with their words and/or body language that I must have a drinking problem. If you were to ask them, I'm certain they would say that I would need rehab.

And, "Oh my gosh! Mom smokes? How disgusting!" No dears. See, a long time ago your mother used to smoke. Now, maybe, maybe twice a year (maybe!) I may relax on the back deck and have a clove cigar. I really don't think this act warrants asking for your forgiveness. And it certainly doesn't require a stay in a detox facility.

Though, a week or two in a quiet place without the insulting and inquisitive implications from those humans of the lesser-aged variety, who just happen to be my off-spring, might be just what I do need.

But you know, Mom's weird for wanting that.

Hmmm. I wonder if the nurses will compliment my lovely gown?

Happy Anniversary To Me!

Congratulate me! My first blog anniversary has actually come and gone. I really didn't think I would ever be able to say that. But here I am. October 2011. My first blog post went live on Sunday, October 10, 2010. So here it is, just over a year later, and I'm still blogging.

Some good, some bad. Some serious, some funny. I suppose mostly it's just been me venting about something perturbing in my day, or in my life.

I've always been honest in my writer's voice, and I will strive to maintain that honesty with you. You deserve that. I find that (one) honesty is usually the best policy and (two) because I feel so comfortable in front of you, feel like I'm one of you, like we're all in this together, I can completely let my hair down. I do hope you feel the same. I feel like we've built a trusting relationship: I write, you read - and we don't let each other down. Right?

When I began this endeavor, it was a long shot. It was me being naively optimistic. I had been thinking for quite some time about writing. This thought process being sparked by my oldest daughter. For some reason I can't remember now, we had been going through some of my old college papers. She read some of my short stories and, well, since she was highly wrapped up in the Twilight books and movies, was completely pumped (and I think she actually believed what she said) and told me then that I should write a story; I could be the next Stephanie Meyer. I think that's aiming a little high. But I guess we'll see what happens.

Then, a little over a year ago, I came across a magazine in the grocery store checkout line. The front page littered with captions, one of which pertained to the subject of things you could do that could help you earn some extra cash. Times being what they are, and having 4 kids to feed, I picked up the magazine and purchased it, setting aside some special time in the evening to delve into that particular article.

Needless to say, this article (I wish I could site the actual magazine, article title and author for you, but alas, I do believe it has been recycled) got me to thinking. Why not? What's stopping me? I have a lot on my mind, a lot to vent about. And I'm so thrilled that you've volunteered to listen (aka read).

The article gave names of free hosting sites, names of books and resources that would aid in the construction. I was hooked. I was in the library frequently. First checking out the mentioned resources for blogging, then moving on when I noticed the topics of what was side by side with some of these. Books on writing. Books on publishing. Books on style. Books on finding your writer's voice. Completely hooked.

The meat of the article, the main grabber on the front of the magazine, was how to earn money. This was going to magically happen by placing ads on my site. Again, a list of resources, ideas, etc.

My blog, my baby, was finally up and running. Complete with ads. Now these ads work on a per click basis. Which, for a while, I was completely thrilled to see a few cents here and a few cents there. It was really adding up. In fact, I am pleased to announce that in the past year I have earned a total of $32.15, payable to me just as soon as I have reached my "earnings threshold" of $100.00. So, in just about three more years I should be seeing that direct deposited into my account.

Oh well. I've been having a lot of fun doing this and while I'm not 'chalking it up' per se, I am going to call this whole occupation 'a learning experience'. Chalking it up would imply that I am through with the whole undertaking. And I am so not done. I think I'm a little too vested in this to just give up.

I've learned a lot in the past year. I've learned that I shouldn't continuously change the layout of my blog as I do not understand HTML* well enough to fix what I mess up.

*That's Hyper Text Markup Language for you not so savvy in the way of computer talk.

I've become familiar with (and favorited) several other blog sites that I particularly enjoy reading, as well as other sites that have a plethera of blogging and writing information. If you haven't guessed it by now: I am openly admitting, coming out of the closet so to speak, I have opened myself up and found my inner geek. In fact, if time and money allowed, I would take classes on that darned HTML and start building all kinds of sites.

This sideline of mine has allowed me to escape, when needed, from the rigormarole of my everyday life. However, on the flip-side, I often feel like I'm experiencing slight withdrawal symptoms if I am not able to sit down for a day or two and write. I suppose that's the stinger. The hardest part. Learning to balance the work, the family and the things that I want to do for me, myself and I. I honestly try not to be selfish. It's hard, though. It's really hard.

Anywho, I want to leave you today with a smile on your face. This isn't all about me, you know. This is about something that began a year ago. A relationship that has budded, been nurtured by the writer and the reader and has taken on a life of it's own. I apologize for the times that I am not able to keep the growth trimmed and watered. Life outside the blog does occasionally call. But I do thank you for your faithfulness, your encouraging comments, for just reading. Heck! I know I've even gotten some negativity returned towards my maybe not so p.c. blogs, but hey, we're all entitled to our opinions. But it's only those of us with blogs who get to spout off to the world.

1 year behind me - and (hopefully) many more to come. Woohoooo!

Thank you!

The Hilton Vacation Club Called...

I'm serious! They really did. In fact, they told me that they were offering "loyal" guests first dibs at the new Hilton Grand Vacation Club in Hawaii.

So I say to myself: "Wow! That's like really super nice of them. They are sooo generous and thoughtful!"

Well of course I didn't really say that! What I said was "No thanks!"

Who are they trying to kid?

First of all.... I totally cannot afford it - even at the senior citizen, loyal customer, grand opening discount. Or whatever it was they were offering.

Secondly... Loyal guest? What? I, to my recollection, have stayed exactly one time at a Hilton approximately 14 years ago. Lovely time. Chicago... Andrea Bocelli concert.... public transportation.... Oh what memories!

Sorry... No. Nowadays, my idea of a vacation would be waking up early on the weekend and getting the family (at least the agreeable ones) in the car and going exploring... blasting some good tunes on the radio, stopping at a roadside park for lunch... Yes sir! That's fun... according to me. (The opinion of the children may differ slightly - go figure.)

You want to hear something else funny??

Does anyone out there watch reality TV? In particular, Real Housewives of Beverly Hills? I was so mad after watching less than 20 minutes that I was just about in tears. These women, if you can really call them that since they are obviously all plastic, collagen and silicone.... actually, let's call them Barbies, as the actual Barbie doll does not own a real brain either....

First - have you seen their hands and necks. Uh, ladies? I have a newsflash for you: We can tell your real age by the sagging flappiness on your necks and the age spots on your gnarly, arthritic hands.

Secondly - I honestly don't think anyone cares about what's going on in your lives. Do you not realize that they only reason people are watching you on their tellies is because they need a good laugh. Kind of like when Jessica Simpson was a newly wed and she had her own reality TV show. Sorry Jessica, but you made a complete fool of yourself, and now the whole world knows it. So ladies, don't be fooled by what the producers are telling you. We aren't tuning in week to week to see what happens next, but rather, it's to see how stupid you can be this week. (TV announcer's voice) Will Kim and Kyle kill each other this week? Will Taylor get more plastic pumped into her face? Why does Lisa put up with these bimbos? Tune in next week to see every sad detail.

Third - These women have ABSOLUTELY no concept of reality. This is mind-boggling to me. I cannot fathom and sometimes, like this show, need to see for myself just how detached so many people really are from what is really happening in the world around them. They literally live in their own little circle, and in their own little worlds (aka Beverly Hills, the spa, Rodeo Drive, etc.). Prepare yourselves. No really, please take a seat. You may even want to sit on your hands. Because I am about to tell you something. This is almost verbatim, something I heard one of the women say on the show. (I hope I get this correct, for I certainly do not want to discredit anyone.)

      Our lovely ladies were all at an extended ski weekend at Camille's Colorado mountain home. Apparently Camille is soon to be divorced. Lisa was talking to the camera saying how sorry she felt for Camille. My first response was, "Wow, that was actually kind of sweet." Then the verbal bomb! Ready? Lisa actually said, ON TV: "I feel really bad for Camille. Because of the divorce and the settlement, she is being forced to sell several of her homes and she'll only be left with a few." HOLY CRAP!!! I had to ask myself out loud if I had just heard that correctly. My jaw dropped. I'm sure my eyes were bulging. ARE THESE PEOPLE FOR REAL??

Like I said, it's just mind-boggling. Now please, tell me what you really think. I am begging for you to leave comments. Do you watch this show? If yes, please tell me why. I would love to hear your opinions on this topic. Because, I don't know about the rest of you, but me? I'm from planet Earth, in particular, the state of Michigan. And it leaves me sick and sleepless at night to know that there really are people out there who don't believe there's a recession because, as of yet, their world has been left untouched, pristine, still sparkling like the champagne they are accustomed to drinking for breakfast every morning. Hey! They probably use Asti to flush their bidets!

Three Day Weekend…

What should I do first?

I’m sure you all have your mental list of what you’re going to be doing with the next three days.  Those who have children may be going camping one last time, or to beach or boating one last time, getting ice cream, yard work, school shopping.  Of course, we all know that the chores need to come first. Don’t delay. Just do them. Get that laundry done so that not only you have some clean clothes for the weekend, but you’ll not have to chug those heavy clothes baskets up and down the stairs for the remaining two days. It’ll be like a mini-vacation inside your vacation.

Those who don’t have kids, what are your plans? Laying on the beach, reading a good book would be one of my first three choices. Maybe you’re heading out of town to Mackinac Island for a few nights. That would rank right up there for me, as well. Spa day? Mani-pedi?

All wonderful choices. I hope you all are safe and have fun no matter what you decide.

What? Well, thank you for asking.

My theoretically ideal three day weekend would fall along these lines…

1.       Out of work early on Friday. Get home and into something cool and comfortable. Start getting the laundry done. Clean up the kitchen. Prep food for meals all three days.

2.       Once the house is cleaned up (kitchen, bathrooms, living room, bedrooms, etc.) I would dearly love to sit at the computer all weekend and write to my hearts’ content.

3.       If hot and sunny, my goal all summer has been to even out my tan. It’s literally just like that episode of Friends where Ross gets a spray tan which, through an unfortunate series of misguided ‘turns’, he ends up tan (orange) only on one side. Well, mine is natural, from the actual sun. But, like Ross it’s only on my front side. My back side is still, sadly, completely white. I’ve done the flip move for some, showing them: tan – white – tan – white.  I know what will happen though. If I even get the chance to get to the beach, I will end up tan on the front side and fuchsia on the back side. Woe is me…

4.       If the guys were to go camping, I would definitely be trying to watch some good movies this weekend. I find that for me to enjoy a movie is highly dependent on if the guys are out of the house. Oh sure, I like Star Wars and the new Star Trek, and it’s those kinds of movies that the guys sit all engrossed and quiet, listening for all of the super-cool sound effects and the new non-existent gadgetry. But try streaming Sense and Sensibility in front of them and they are so awkward and out of place that all they can manage to do is let the stupid comments fly. “Are you crying? Is that guy gay? What did she just say?”  Believe me, I’ve tried to apply reverse psychology to this – or is that reverse stupidity?… well, you get my point.

So, I suppose, I’ll just take it in stride as best as I can. Try to get the writing in, but not force it so that everyone is unhappy. After all, it’s not NaNoWriMo quite yet. Try to get the laundry done. Make some lists to get organized for the fast approaching school year. I hope you all enjoy your holiday. Be safe!

Is Road Rage Still Road Rage in a Parking Lot?

I guess I have completely missed the boat or something. I think I am one of the few, the rare breed, the near extinct, rarely seen, almost mythological Nice Person.

What is wrong with people today? I sit here today, in my car, waiting in the high school parking lot for my son to come out so we can go home. Home from work. Home from practice. Home from the hustle and bustle, high-demand world. I am still calming myself, but find it very hard to do when I look around me and see so many idiots.

(I already know this post will probably make some people angry – or you will all agree with me and say “I know exactly what you mean! In fact just the other day…”)

I’m getting out of work and trying to get across town to deposit some books back into the library, stopped at stop signs (‘cause that’s what you’re supposed to do), waiting for the dimwits who must think that we don’t mind waiting while they don’t use their turn signal, but really plan to turn right in front of you.

And of course, the little old grannies, who must have had bad luck scheduling their monthly check-up at their doctor’s office because they’ve obviously gotten stuck in rush hour traffic. Sorry dear grandparents! I really, really love you. But everybody else’s grandparents are driving 35 mph in the 45 mph zone. And remember, it’s rush hour. I think the doctor’s offices should schedule all people over the age of 60 in the middle of the day, say between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. It really is for their own safety.

Upon entrance into the school parking lot, I find I have been thrust into the midst of all dummies! The special (and dominating) breed of ‘I Can Do Whatever I Want – Without Looking – And Everyone Can Just Wait For Me’. These people drive me nuts to NO END!! I mean, they don’t even waive and say thank you anymore. Remember when you could actually see people mouthing the words: “Go Ahead”, “I’m Sorry”, “Thank You”? Pure, blatant disregard for other people’s time. That’s what it is, in a nutshell, plain and simple, handed to you on a silver platter.

When are these ignoramuses going to realize that they’re making people angry when they do such foolish things like:

• Park in the no parking zone at the curb nearest the main entrance.
• Sit at a stop sign as if it were their own private parking spot.( She was either completely ignoring everyone lined up behind her or she was really that stupid!!
• Walking across the road without using the crosswalk (where I am willing to stop because the law tells me to), and then cross in front of me, because inside their peanut-sized brains, the rest of us have nothing better to do than sit and wait for them to sludge across – and all without a quick wave of the hand and the words “Oops, I’m sorry. Thanks for waiting.” mouthed back at me.
• Oh my gosh! You do not want to get me started on the cyclists….

All I’m asking is that there is more acknowledgements for the people (me and those law-abiding citizens like me) who sit there and are inconvenienced on a daily basis by those who deem themselves more special than the rest of us. Let me inform you that one of these days, your indifference will back-fire and you will be very sorry when the nice people whom you thought were all extinct rise up and fight back. Also let me inform you, that your behavior makes you look rather stupid. Do you realize that we sit here in our cars watching you perform your offensive behavior and think: Are they really that dumb or are they just that rude? Also, did you know that your behavior reflects on your parents? Your parents must have left you at the daycare for waaaay too long! Of course, I don’t know. Maybe you were like this as a child as well and your parents just couldn’t deal with it so they left you in front of the Atari as much as possible.

Well, I must say: I am feeling much better now. Thank you for listening to my rant. Please go out and be nice. Use the crosswalks (my tax dollars helped pay for them). Say thank you. Say that you’re sorry to those that you offend. Smile. Move when you’re in the way. And if you hear a horn honk and muffled yelling like it’s coming through a car window, yeah, that’s me!

Please read my similar post geared more towards the holidays at: http://sumofthisnthat.blogspot.com/2010/11/big-helping-of-manners-side-of-common.html

Peters & DeLuca Investigating Agency.... May I Help You?

Had a girls night out last night. Mom, sister, myself and the 5 granddaughters. Out to the baseball game. Had some fun. Feeling very tired today. As usual, there was no end to topics of conversation. We discussed the kids and going back to school. Did you go to the fair? Did you know the cousins are coming for a visit? What exactly does cousin J do again? I think he works for the FBI. Does he? Doing what? I think he works in the If I Told You, I'd Have To Kill You department. Why can't we have cool jobs like that?

Cool jobs.... Why not? Sis and I agreed: We could be private investigators. My sis and I as PI's. We have a car and we have camera phones. What else do you need? Right?

First you need to understand that we grew up in a very rural area with one TV in the house that got (on a good day) 3 channels. Our serial choices were slim to none. But we definitely remembered Rick & AJ Simon; Simon & Simon. Brothers that were private investigators. Soo hot! Sis had the poster of Jameson Parker who played AJ. Remember people: this was pre-cordless phone era.

And how about Moonlighting? LOVED IT!!! How many seasons did you faithfully watch? And hope and pray and want Maddie and David to get together. Honestly, I don't remember any of the story lines. I only remember the chemistry between those two characters. (I mean, Bruce Willis 25 years younger and with hair! Who could ask for more?!

Okay! Okay! Of course I didn't forget the ultimate PI: Thomas Magnum. Tall, dark, handsome, brave, smart. Complete package? Well, duh!

I am completely getting off track here. It must have been the mustache... I wonder how my sis and I would do. I'm sure we would end up talking too much while on a stake out and miss the entire episode of the cheating spouse giving lingerie to his mistress. Even if we managed to save the evidence with our camera phone, neither of us know how to get it off the phone into some of the those 8X10 black and white glossy prints that we would need to seal in a manila envelope and present to our client between the preschool drop-off, grocery shopping and picking up the kids again at ball practice.

Sis and I could enroll in one of those classes that teach high performance stunt driving. And how cool would that be? I could then pick up the kids (one at a time, of course) on my shiny blue ninja, skidding to a stop exactly in the middle of the pick-up zone, then zoom off to look for clues in the abandoned warehouse, then home just in time to make dinner and brew a fresh pot of coffee for our late night stakeout. Who wouldn't want to be Drew Barrymore in Charlie's Angels? Or Lucy? Or Cameron?

Just don't expect me to ride a mechanical bull and perform a slo-mo picture perfect roundhouse above the heads of twenty Huns. (wink!)

Testing My Mettle

I believe I've already told you the story about coloring my hair dark(er than I had aimed for) - if not, read it here: http://mysupermidlife.blogspot.com/2011_06_01_archive.html. Now that I've gone through the spring and summer seasons, the color has faded and my shiny blonde strands (ok, maybe they are silver - but it's very difficult to tell) are starting to peek through. I am definitely going to color it again. I have the box of color, but was hoping to get my hair cut first. I just haven't been able to get in touch with my stylist yet. What's a girl to do?

I suppose if I were brave enough I would:
     1. Try a different stylist. Ummm, yeah... thought about that for all of 2 seconds: NO WAY!!
     2. Try to cut it myself...
     3. Take a razor blade to it and start hacking. I knew a girl once, much younger (and therefore much braver than I) who did this. Personally, I thought it looked amazing!! Not sure if I could manage this one on my own since I should probably remove my glasses. I have a gut feeling that I may accidentally pull a Van Gogh. What?

Cut & Color Mettle Factor: Low - None. I will patiently wait for my stylist to get back to me while I continue to pull my overgrown frumpy hairstyle back into the daily ponytail routine. (dang!)



And you know something? I've always wanted a tattoo. Yeah. You know, just something small, meaningful and tucked away somewhere so as not to prohibit my job choices. So what's the point of getting a tattoo? you say. My reply? Purely for my enjoyment. And NO ONE else's. But who's got that kind of cash now-a-days? Guess what I found? It's super cheap and easy. Look here: TWO 2 Instant HENNA MEHNDI Paste Kits TEMPORARY TATTOO. I bought this kit and nearly every weekend since it was delivered to my front porch, my daughters and I have been drawing on all kinds of art onto our ankles and hands and feet. LOVE IT!!! It lasts for just a couple of weeks before it fades completely, so you're not committed for a lifetime.
Tattoo Mettle Factor: ZERO (are you nuts) - temporary tattoos are much more fun - and interchangeable.



Hey! How about this? A piercing. Totally not in the girls - and definitely no vajazzling. I've heard that belly button piercings can get infected easy and smell; and I gotta tell ya... after four kids, my belly button leaves a lot to be desired! Mmmm.. not the eyebrow either. Not the lip. Some girls can really pull off the teeniest little sparkle at the side of the nose. I've always wanted to try that, but I don't think it would look right on me. Unfortunately I don't have that cute little up-turned pixie nose that it looks best with. So what's left? The ears. When I was much, much younger I had my ears triple pierced. That's been about the extent of my rebellious years.... (hi mom!). So I've been tossing around the idea of getting the second holes redone and/or maybe one small diamond up high in the cartilage. If there's a technical term for that, I apologize that I don't know it. Sorry. At my age, I'm feeling a tad bit out of the "Hip Terminology" loop.

Piercing Mettle Factor: Low - Think I might give a whirl.... but then, maybe a toe ring would be safer.


Stay tuned. Maybe I'll post some before and after pics! (And wish me luck!)

Trolling

Now I'm sure that the younger folks aren't yet familiar with this term in the sense that we will be discussing here today.

Trolling. for all intents and purposes, means the following:

troll

¹    /troʊl/ Show Spelled[trohl] Show IPA

verb (used with object)

1. to sing or utter in a full, rolling voice.

2. to sing in the manner of a round or catch.

3. to fish for or in with a moving line, working the line up or down with a rod, as in fishing for pike, or trailing the line behind a slow-moving boat.

4. to move (the line or bait) in doing this.

5. to cause to turn round and round; roll.

 

That's right. It's more or less a fishing term. Until you apply it to the single, tan, 50-60 year old male, who, more often than not, enjoys spending his late afternoons on the golf couse with his pals, getting slightly liquored up before heading out to their favorite up-scale pub for happy hour....and a bit of heavy trolling.

 

Now the word trolling takes on a whole new meaning.

 

These guys, smooth operators if you will, see themselves through rose-colored glasses, or maybe it's through the glass of their fancy Stella Artois beer glass. After all, it must take one heck of a man to pull off drinking beer from that kind of beer 'mug'.

 

Moving on....

 

These lonely, dateless guys have dolled up their fresh-from-the-course tans, with a shower and shave. They've doused on a few splashes of good cologne (you mean to say that Polo isn't popular anymore?), trimmed and buffed their nails, lightly spritzed a little holding spray on their wispy, silvering hair and then gotten dressed in what they believe to be their most flattering polyester pants, shiny tasseled shoes and a pink button-down dress shirt, notably unbuttoned one more button than should be necessary for a simple evening out with the guys. Plus, this one extra button now shows the tpasty white skin below the tan line from the polo shirt worn earlier that afternoon.

 

They meet up at the pub, making sure they are sitting at one of the tall bar tables. This ensures that they have the best view of the delectables at the bar, as well as first dibs on the pretty dames coming in the front door.

 

They are all present so they begin to hound the waitress, who of course, is on to them already since she waited on them during last week's Ladies' Night. She is patient with them, giving them her smile that says, "I will put up with your comments and remarks, but if you think about touching my ass..." The guys know this as they actually tried that move last week.

 

They keep their sites set on a group of ladies who look as if they have just come from a business meeting. The ladies are dressed in tight pencil skirts, high heels, pretty, frilly blouses that have had a few buttons undone after a long, stressful day at work. Their hair and make-up are immaculate. The trollers begin jabbing each others' ribs with their elbows, motioning towards the group of beauties. The girls look so classy sipping their martinis and eating the stuffed olives off the toothpicks.

 

The old farts can't believe their good fortune when one of the ladies slowly turns her head to survey her male counterparts who have filled the bar on this mid-summer session of Ladies' Night. Her eyes land on the group of trollers sitting at the ultra-hip tall bar table, puffing their cigars and talking hunched over their glasses of Glenfiddich scotch, discussing what seems to be the excess profits they've encountered through the stock market that day.

 

What's this? She's smiling. And then she waives. The trollers see her elbow her friend. She says something and her friend looks over as well and smiles. The trollers are now smiling ferociously, snickering in a half-grunt-half-chuckle. If these trollers were actually bulls, they would be stomping their feet and snorting before the full-on charge towards the shiny red muletas.

 

Now the guys are in real trouble. They don't realize it yet, but they are. The two girls are making their way across the crowded pub towards them. The trollers are sweating bullets, giving their faces a pasty, shiny sheen and their thin combed over hair a stringy quality. Their pick-up line repertoire is full, practiced and ready to launch.

 

One of the trollers sits up a bit straighter. He has stopped smiling. He spreads his arms out slowly and places his hands on the arms of the two buddies that are on either side of him. They in turn, quiet their sniggering and look at him. He seems to be speechless. He is slightly pale and for a very minute space of time they believe he may be experiencing cardiac arrest. That's when he signals towards the lovely ladies and manages to croak out "Christ Harry! That's your daughter!".

 

To the objective observing eye the demeanor of the trollers abruptly and visibly physically changes. They are now all sitting up a bit straighter, putting on the air of 'just relaxing a little with the guys before heading home to watch the ten o'clock news'.

 

The girls have finally reached the table. "Mr. Richards! It's so good to see you again." Mr. Richards hasn't seen his daughter's friend since she and his daughter were in highschool together - four short years ago. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

 

"Uh... uh..." He's thankful the pub is loud enough to drown out his nervous stuttering.

 

"You remember Tracy, my friend?"

 

"Uh... Lovely to see you again Tracy." Poor Mr. Richards, part-time troller, has been found out. His mouth has gone dry. All the scotch has now gone through him and is soaking into the pink shirt material under his arms. "The lads and I were just catching a harmless drink before heading home for the evenin'."

 

Not much to say. At least not much can be thought of by poor Mr. Richards. His aresenal was full to the brim with those damned corny pick-up lines and now, not only are those forgotten, but he has no decent small talk that he can easily conjure from his soggied brain.

 

The girls say good night and make their way back to the bar to join their girlfriends. The trollers decide to make a hasty exit after leaving  several crinkled bills on the table for the tolerant waitress.

 

The trollers decide in the parking lot that this pub is just a little too out of the way for them to drive to anymore. They decree that next Thursday evening they should try someplace new. It's unanimous. Their cover has been blown and they will never meet at that pub again.

 

That pub didn't have that many head-turners, anyways.