Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Never, Ever, Grow Old

When I was younger the only 'old' people I knew weren't really that old. In retrospect they were actually pretty young. Certainly not much older than some of my friends are now.

BUT They had old people hair, they dressed like old people, they even smelled like old people.

Now when I say OLD I'm talking not about a specific number but a mindset.

I'm pretty sure most of them weren't over 50 but they acted so old. The TV was too loud. Teenagers were awful. What is with today's music? 

side note. TEENAGERS are awful. You aren't old if you think that, you just aren't a teenager. 

I hated the idea that one day I was going to be "old" too. One day I was going to just give up and go grey. No more cool shoes. No more exciting movies. No more scandalous jokes. No more anything fun.

I was going to get a Laz-e-boy and watch Matlock (or some other equally boring show) until I died.

They say 40 is the new 30 or 50 is the new 40? I don't know because they change it all the time. Grey is the new black too. Or something like that.

I talk about this now because I have never wanted to grow old. Up? sure. It's cool to be a semi responsible adult because it means I can make my own choices and do my own things. It means I know who I am and don't care what anyone else thinks. (I'm pretty sure this blog is all the proof you need of that.)

Old? No thank you.

I was hoping that as I looked back it wasn't that they were old but that I was so young and couldn't imagine anything past the next morning.

Nope. They are still old. Pictures and memories viewed through more mature eyes (that still don't need glasses!!!!!! WOOOO) can't change the fact that these people chose to get OLD.

Right now though there are a bunch of ladies in my life that are becoming my idols. Ladies who refuse to grow old. Ladies who do and say amazing things. Ladies who get up every morning and tell father time to Buzz Off.


This lady is my idol!

Nonagenarian's rule!



I'm going to follow their example. I'm not going to get "old". I'm going to get more awesome with each passing year. Screw you Father time. (My idols are slightly more polite than I am)

Monday, October 6, 2014

Delete my Browser History

I know  a lot of shows portray this as the ultimate thing one guy can do for another should he suddenly die. If you need me to explain you don't spend enough time on the Internet. (HINT :it's NSFW)

Here's my question though. What is the female equivalent?

Hide my shoes?

Clean out my glove box?

Go through my purse?

I really don't know, but in this age of equality I'd like to know.

Suggestions?


Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Best Compliment/Worst Insult

Yesterday someone told me that "I make people happy."

My first thought was it was an odd thing to say but then I thought about it.

Really thought. I even wrinkled my brow. I mean I did some deep brain stretches.

There may have been smoke.

Then it occurred to me that it was one of the best things anyone has ever said about me. EVER.

Better than you're pretty or nice or strong or any other generic compliment that people offer.

Which was really nice because it came on the tails of someone insulting me at Krav Maga.

Saturday is sparring day. (That's fighting with gloves on.)

We've been working on multiple pairings and unlike in the movies my partners don't get in a line and come at me one at a time. It's great exercise and a fantastic stress outlet. Maybe not for everyone but I really like it.

Yes , I am aware this is not normal.

Not that you will be surprised by this but I'm the only woman. Sure there are lots in the regular class but I'm the only lunatic that signs up to get punched on a weekly basis.

"It's hard getting over a lifetime of not punching girls."

That is what someone said after we finished a 2 minute round.

Bravo Sierra! I didn't ask for special treatment and I'm pretty sure no one has ever offered it. (I sincerely hope not.)


I doubt he meant it to be that insulting but that is kind of the point.

So today I'm going to forget about subtle sexism and bask in the warm and fuzzy feeling of an awesome compliment.

Don't sweat the small stuff should be my family motto.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Derek Jeter

He's retiring this year. It's a big deal even if you aren't a Yankee fan (which I totally am) because he has like 700 world records. Okay maybe not that many, I'm not fact checking this. Let's call it stream of consciences because it sounds better than lazy.

Whatever the point is he's impressive. 



Beyond the records and the stats and the fan love though Derek Jeter is a throw back player to a time when baseball was truly our national passtime. To a time when we watched to see legends in the making. In short he is a class act.

No scandals. No hearings on capitol hill. No arrests or rumors.

Nothing.

Sure there are plenty of consistantly good players that dont get into trouble but Jeter isn't just good. He's amazing. There is no question in anyone's mind that he will be in the hall of fame. More than likely a first round pick and possibly a unanimous vote. Those aren't things to scoff at.

Sure he's slowing down a bit and the amazing plays aren't as much a daily event anymore but after 20 years (20, an insane number in professional sports) he is getting tired. 

I look forward to the pomp and circumstance that will follow him this season. He deserves every bit of fan love.

So as a fan I want to say I'm sorry I called you a pretty boy Derek. Not that you aren't pretty. Because you certainly are but you are also an amazing player and an actual role model. Thanks for not letting us down.

Great job Cap! We will miss you.




Monday, September 15, 2014

Neighborhood

When I was a small child I lived in Queens in a small apartment above a store.
It was just like this.


I wasn't there long though because apparently Queens isn't an idyllic place to raise a family.  So we packed up and moved to Queens Village.

Obviously it is very cool to live in the Queen's Village as the name implies. Under the watchful eye of royalty. In the shadow of a castle.

Okay Queens Village isn't like that at all. There are a lot of houses only separated by a driveway and a perfectly manicured lawn of 10'x10'.

That isn't to say it didn't have it's perks.

Two words: BLOCK PARTY!!

The whole street would shut down for a day and everyone would come out and talk to the neighbors. There would be Police barriers at the end of the street so kids could ride their bikes or skate their skates (my preferred mode of transportation in those days.) without concern of being flattened.

There were unsafe carnival rides that would arrive on the back of trucks run by x felons with questionable  people skills. We would eat and eat and eat until it wasn't a matter of if a child was going to vomit on the "round up" but when.

To a small child it was better than Disney World.

Jump to the present. 

Triple S and I moved into a nice neighborhood where people wave to each other every morning. Where kids ride around on bikes and play basketball in driveways.

Then they started a ladies night. One night a month all the women of the community gather in the clubhouse to chit chat about kids, decorating and guns (it is the South after all).

That was awesome but they didn't stop there. Oh no! Because we go big or go home here!

THEY PLANNED A BLOCK PARTY!!

The little Long Island girl inside of me jumped for joy. There weren't any pony rides or dangerously unsafe roller coasters but there was more food than 150 people could eat.

Those are grown men about to hulu hoop. bet you wish you lived here too.

There was a hula hoop contest and a pulled pork cook off. There was an eggs toss and croquet and cornhole. (I know that doesn't sound family friendly but trust me, it is.)


Please note Triple S' perfect form during the egg toss.


It was awesome.

So I can live with ridiculous rules about wheeled carts for garden hoses (yeah we have a rule for that) and garbage cans visible from the street (I'm not storing that smelly thing in my garage).

I'm okay with arguing about the color of my door. I'm good with all of this because my neighbors are making the pro column of living in a planned community out weight the con column but a huge margin.

Friday, September 12, 2014

Preschool: year 3


This year though, I was worried about criers. 

I love 4 year olds. They are smart and funny and fun and we play with crayons and play dough and dress up. There are swings and slides and nature walks. It's basically the coolest job ever. Plus I get to indulge in my superhero t shirt obsession. 

The problem is that none of that fun stuff can happen until they get to know me and not miss their moms so much. 

Sometimes that takes a few minutes and sometimes it takes a few days. For the littler guys it can take weeks. Although it feels much longer when they won't stop crying. Poor babies.

This year my new kiddos walked right in and got down to the business of having fun. No tears. No crying. Nothing but smiles. It was epic.

I'm hoping it was a sign of how our year together is going to go and not a "things can only get worse" situation.

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Could You Recognize Your Spouse's Dismembered Body?



This was the conversation Triple S and I had yesterday. It started simple enough. (As it usually does.)

I was pointing out to him that I had a birth mark on my leg. You know just in case I'm involved in a horrible accident and dental records and fingerprint aren't a viable identification method.

He told me that he was going to make a mental note although he couldn't make any promises. He further posited that he didn't think it was likely that he would be able to recognize his own severed limb.

Say out of a lineup of 5 severed legs. Because that is a likely scenario.

That is when I suggested we get identifying tattoos. Like code numbers on each limb.


Suspicious detective: "Ma'am we found a leg in the harbor. We need you to confirm it's your husbands."

Me: "Arm or Leg?"

Suspicious detective: "Leg."

Me: "Left or right?"

Suspicious detective: "Left."

Me: "Does it have a 7 on it?"

Suspicious detective: "No it has an 11."

Me: "Then that can't be my husband."

You see Triple S thought my idea was so genius that it was likely someone else would have come to the same conclusion. Therefore we would have to be very clever about what we chose so as no to have repeated numbers. It would suck to bury someone else's husband's arm when my own husband's arm was still out there somewhere.
You really can find anything and everything on the internet. It is equal parts awesome and terrifying.

sidebar: Why does spellcheck keep telling me "else's" isn't a word. It totally is right?