Post-Travel

Note to airports: If I am not allowed to carry on anything liquid in a bottle, then don't sell it to me! Seriously, did you really have to confiscate the olive oil I had just bought at the duty free shop not 5 minutes before?

Note to passengers: Crowding around the gate the second that they start boarding the elderly and people with small children will not get the plane off the ground any quicker. Even if you are the first one on, you will have to sit there and wait for the rest of us to board. There is a reason they board a plane from back to front; that is so you impatient idiots don't stand in the aisle blocking the way for the rest of us while you hog up the overhead compartment, placing your belongings just so!!

Note to Swiss Air: Thank you! That was truly a great flying experience. From the choice of movies to video games and even the food.

Sugar and Spice

I miss being a young girl, sometimes. Though I always strived to be a tom-boy (I had an older brother and male cousins), I was torn between wanting to be outside playing "war" with them at dusk, or inside getting Barbie ready for her big date. Mostly, I miss my girl stuff.

My dollhouse (thankfully still stowed away in my grandmother's attic!) My Hollie Hobby doll, with her modest brown dress and her hair that I used to like to suck on. I miss my Barbies, big time, especially on rainy days when my sister and I would play for hours, sending Barbie over to make out with GI Joe or going for a road trip in her giant camper, or going for a ride on her horse. Changing her outfits more than necessary. We weren't rich, but Mom made sure we were fully equipped with everything that Barbie needed to live like she was.

I miss my pink shirt that was adorned with a repeated pattern of a little table with a vase of flowers on top. My friendship bracelets and pins. My silver-blue ten-speed with the radio attached to it's handlebar, plastic streamers coming out of the ends. My Easy Bake Oven and Snoopy Sno-Cone machine. The little doll my mother gave to me after a rough day in which I was particularly naughty or she was just overly tired. My stuffed animals... oh, how I miss Rosebud and Dog and Doggie and the stuffed seal that never got a name! These things made me happy.

I think a part of me today continues to collect that which is cute, knowing that I might seem immature, but not caring. During my trip with my hubby to Portugal and Spain, I acquired things that tickled me pink - bright, girly, pink. No designer jackets or shoes. A little notebook with icons of flamenco dancers on front. A pencil with a wooden bull affixed to it. A cute hand-painted dish for olives. Homemade honey. Things that are cute, some of which will hopefully last, and all of which definitely make me (and my inner child) smile.

She Carries it Around with the Free Condiment Packets

The hubby's grandmother is turning 98. We celebrated with brunch this past weekend. The conversation turned to health and cholesterol. Father-in-law turns to Grandma and says "how's your cholesterol?"

She pauses a moment, opens her purse, rummages around and says "I know I've got it in here somewhere!"

You Are So Annoying

All my faithful readers know how much I can get annoyed by stupid human behavior. Yes, I am the person who gets frustrated when the people in front of me are walking too slowly. Or by a pack of teenagers hooting and hollering in a cramped subway so that everyone will turn and look at them, so desperate for attention. But you'll be happy to know that the rest of humanity aren't my only targets for annoyance... I even annoy myself!

Sometimes, it's the tone of my voice. Or I will do something that exactly mimics the behavior of my mother which, yes you guessed it, I find annoying. I'll argue a point that I don't believe strongly in just to prove a different point with my mother-in-law. Why can't I just be nice? Annoying. And when I'm drunk... oh, forget it. I can barely stand to be around myself. The quiet girl that I normally am turns into a raucous, talkative, funny only to myself alcoholic. Sometimes my sensitivity really gets on my nerves. Or the times when I make really dumb mistakes at work, over and over again. I can be a total airhead. I can be a real bitch. There are times when my mere outfit choice makes me annoyed at myself.

So when I turned to my hubby the other night, when PMS was raging and I was at the end of my rope, and asked him if he ever just gets annoyed with himself, I didn't mean to be insensitive. I was really curious if he could relate to the way I feel, sometimes, about him, about the rest of the world and about me, too.

Oh, Sploosh Me, Baby!

Real Sex... what a great show. A while ago, I was watching and there was a segment on splooshing. People seemingly are into splattering people with food. Not just using whipped cream strategically to enhance a particular sex act, but using food (a LOT of food) to cover your partner's body completely, and that act is what turns on both the sploosher and the splooshee. I found it very funny, and couldn't wait to tell my office mates about it the next day.

I consider myself to be fairly sexually adventurous. Not too kinky, crazy, but not a bore, either. But splooshing just didn't sound fun to me. No, do not pour pea soup all over my body, thank you. Yet months later, I still would think about it once in a while. Not because I want to do it, but it was such a great word. Onomatopoeia. Splooshing sounds like what it is. And once you hear it, you can't forget it.

So here I am tonight, watching Real Sex, a Retrospective where they showcase the weirdest sexual tendencies that they have broadcast previously, and much to my delight and surprise, the splooshing episode was the first one they showed. So I got to see it again, in all its messy glory. Now I have to go because I want to see the one where people pretend they are ponies and prance around stables, all to get off.

Use It Before You Lose It

Old age. Everyone gets older. It's the way it is. And nobody knows what age they will be when they die. Statistically, you know that life expectancy is around 77 years old. But what if you live past that... way past that? Every day you must wonder when your time will come. My hubby's grandmother is going to be 98 in two weeks. My grandmother is going to be 99 in 2 months. All of her friends are dead. She says, out loud, that she's tired and is ready to die. Her days are filled with listening to talk radio, watching her "stories" (aka soaps), hoping for a visit from family, maybe attending church, or taking a walk down to the grocery store. But she's still with it, and I can have a real conversation with her. That's pretty cool.

But we younguns sit here and worry about our cholesterol levels (good vs. bad) and go to the gym and fill our days with things to better ourselves. My grandmother has never stepped foot in a gym and has been cooking good comfort food since I can remember. Load on the gravy! And use more butter in that creamed spinach! It's all about the flavor, and making your guests happy. To this day, you can visit her at ten in the morning, and will immediately be offered a "little nibble" (aka schapps or blackberry-flavored brandy) and it doesn't matter if you're the one driving. It's rude to say no. She'll down her shot saying that she really shouldn't because of her blood pressure medicine. She'll sneak teaspoons of peanut butter during the day. Her guilty pleasure. Imagine being concerned with your waist line when your 99. I mean, honestly, who's looking?

I think it's all a matter of luck in your draw. You may be healthy as can be, only to die in a freak treadmill accident. You might watch every calorie, and work out every day and still have high blood pressure. We are so focused on what's wrong with us, and in beating the clock, staying young, that life just passes us by. I can be the same way... I work out to say healthy and I don't eat everything I want all the time. But I definitely don't deprive myself of much. I'll have a glass of wine or two, and sometimes eight. I don't know when my last breath will be, so I want to enjoy it while I got it. Travel. Eat. Drink. I'd rather die with my mouth stuffed full of chocolate, than die weighing in a 110lbs and wearing a size 4, DREAMING of my mouth being stuffed full of chocolate.