Talking and Driving

You all know how I feel about texting and driving. Last night I was pulling out of the Kinko's on Kennedy. In comes this tool yakking away on his cell and he practically hits me. He wouldn't let go of his phone so he could grab the steering wheel with both hands. I went into full punisher mode. I yell (like he can hear me with my windows up) "Hang up the phone!" over and over while do the hang up motion with my hand. He just kept the phone to his ear making some weird face while trying to steer with one hand. Ridiculous. I used to tell the boys that if someone hit us while they were yakking on their cell I would get out of the car, go to the driver, ask if they were alright, when they said, "yes", then I would then KICK them.

Whiners with Jobs

A couple of years ago when I had been laid off, I would complain to Sulie that I couldn't stand it when my employed friends would call me and whine about there jobs. I thought it was really insensitive. At the same time Sulie had a friend confide in her that she was having a really hard time with a boss. The friend would cry to her husband. They began a ritual. Every morning the husband would get out a ball point pen and write the boss's name on his wife's bare foot. He said that all day she could smile because she knew she was standing on her boss. I loved that story! The night Sulie heard the story she sent me this picture on my phone:

Anybody messes with you? Just put their name right on the bottom of your foot!

Pink Nausea

I have several friends (as I am sure you all do) that are either breast cancer survivors, recently diagnosed and/or battling it right now. A few weeks ago a thing went around on Facebook telling women to post the color of their bra. It was supposedly to show support for breast cancer. I participated and it was funny to see your mild mannered friends post things like "leopard print". One friend told me it was some perv guy that started it just to hear what color bras everyone had on. One of my friends had a mastectomy and reconstruction. She posted an interesting article on her fb and the bra color exercise was mentioned in the article. My friend and I chatted about it both in email and live. She mentioned the "Pink Nausea". I had never heard that expression, but I knew exactly what she meant. Under Armor has tops and sweat suits. There is jewelry, bags, beer coozies...you name it. I think pink is now immediately associated with breast cancer. Sulie did the 3 Day walk last year. It was everywhere. I think back to when I worked in recovery at Moffitt. My co-workers would always ask me to take the women that had mastectomies. A couple of them told me they just couldn't do it and I was good at it. (oy)  I have taken care of really sick patients, but there are no words to describe being the first face a woman sees when she wakes up and answering the question, "did they have to remove my breast(s)?"

I now cover Moffitt as a sales rep. I was taking the stairs the other day and I had a flash back to being in scrubs and tennis shoes running up the stairs to get to the unit. I was transported back 15 years and I had that same feeling of "hurry up, eat fast, no time to pee, there are 20 more patients coming out of the O.R."

I don't know what made me think of this this morning. Awareness is great, but I think we need to remember the individuals. 

Another reason to hate Gasparilla...

Tampa folks know it well. For you out of towners...Gasparilla is like Mardi Gras with Pirates. Jose Gaspar storming Tampa Bay. Krewes, beads, flashing boobs and alcohol. I have lived in the South Tampa area off and on for more than 20 years. I spoke to my ex husband yesterday (#1--the nice one: Duke). We laughed about when we lived in an apartment on Bayshore (in the thick of it) back in the 90s. We had people asking us for ice and to use our toilet. Penelope was a more angrier girl back then. Actually Penelope the cat was alive back then. She hated Gasparilla too-the noise scared her. I have hazy memories of telling them all to fuck off. Years later, I owned a condo on Willow. My next door neighbor (an attorney for the Dept of Justice) and I watched as people did lines off our mailbox. Now I live in a house where I get to watch people search for parking spaces in the street. Last year I had to ask a man to stop stepping on my plants. Okay, there is your Gasparilla backgrounder according to Penelope. Folks that don't live here love it. Cherry came down from Jacksonville and had a great time. She sent me a text with a quote on a sign from folks that were protesting Gasparilla--"Party in hell cancelled due to Fire!". (There was talk of rescheduling Gasparilla due tot he bad weather). My friends that live in North Tampa have posted all kinds of pictures of the fun they had. I escaped and got in the car yesterday and went to Orlando to meet a friend for lunch and asked my neighbors to keep people from peeing in my yard! This picture is mild--usually they just whip it out. I think this is the condos on Rome and Morrison...

Okay--newest reason to hate Gasparilla. Recall the friend that is getting ready to "do it" for the first time with her new guy. I counseled her on bush management along with Boys #1-6 and their candid opinions on LadyScaping. Last night was THE night. As I drove to Orlando, I dialed her number to offer words of encouragement. I got her voicemail, so I did my best Rod Stewart signing,Tonight's the Night, Sing it with me--disconnect the telephone wiireee, relax babeeee, enjoy that Fire! I screeched "Tonight's the Night!" while cackling on her voicemail. I smiled thinking of the fun she had in store. The guy she is dating works in law enforcement. This morning I get this text: 

Sad but true. No police here last night. Stuck on Howard with  

Gasparilla assholes till the wee hours. By the time he could have come  

we decided to save it for a better, off duty night. So, I had a  

practice shave, tweeze, tan and my house is spotless. I also have a  

really nice playlist ready to use.

Thank you for caring about my foray back to being an adult. Now, back  

to sleep (no kid, no parents. Ahhhh)

XO

I fucking HATE Gasparilla...

Guest Blogger

I knew he was acting weird. He used to come in around 11 after he would find a mouse for me. I had noticed he was staying out later and talking to that new Siamese cat that moved in down the street. He started bleaching his teeth, he had a new collar--I also found this weird thing in the bathroom drawer--it was called a CatGroomer™. Last night I had it. He smelled like tuna when he came in. My person never gives us wet food. I knew he was over at her place because Tigger next door told me he heard the Siamese wench boasting how she got wet food every night. Why didn't I see the Red Flags? He was so smooth--he would bring me fresh mice, he would groom my back...I ignored the times he would stay out all night. My person has locked the door. I can see him out there meowing and saying he's sorry. Let him go to her. 

Chocolate is a Band-Aid

I like to accessorize my outfits and mood with my iphone covers. Today I am opting for the chocolate bar:

Is that not the queerest thing you've ever seen? Girl, I am rocking it.

Rewriting memories

I had a Lynn appointment yesterday. Ironically as I was driving to the appointment I saw Spencer walking a puppy. There he was in his cargo shorts and t-shirt. Thank buddha I was in my company car. The yellow mini sticks out like a sore thumb, but the racing blue Taurus deftly glides past old boyfriends without a second glance! I sent Sulie this email:

Subject: Spencer

Just saw him walking a golden retriever puppy on Beach Drive.

Her reply:

Poor Dog.

It was good though. I looked over at him. I thought for a flash to say "hello" but it was more so I could see the puppy. Heart rate didn't change. I observed his cargo shorts and dumb ass t-shirt with indifference (okay, maybe the "dumb ass" remark gave it some caring). I drove toward my appointment and I thought, "I used to spend a lot of time with that guy. He used to say mean things to me and I would get upset. Now, I feel nothing." Very cool.

Penelope and Technology

Several of my friends urged me to set up a Facebook page for Penelope. I finally got it working where the new blog posts will import on to the Facebook page. It will make it easier for my friends that read the blog at night on their iphone or Blackberries. I told you about Hymie reading while she is breastfeeding. I've had to teach several of my non computer savvy friends how to bookmark a favorite (love you all, but that is SAD!) I envision others with their iphones under the covers reading about ladyscaping while their husband gently snores next to them...

Do you think it will fit?

Sabrina Catfish and Joe

So I sent a link to the blog to my friend. He is married to a lovely woman and they have 3 adorable boys. I told him to share it with his wife.  This is what he sent back:

I’m trying to figure out what happened to the intelligence of men in the last couple years and how they’ve gotten so stupid when it comes to cells phones and texting in particular (See Tiger Woods).  What happened to just meeting girls (or boys) in the bathroom at public parks.  It hasn’t come out yet, but I have to believe Elizabeth Edwards has looked at that slime ball’s phone messages a few times.  All I can figure is that the cell phone has taken the place of a certain part of a guy’s body that we hold so dear.  You know that part that also has been known to affect our intelligence at times.  

A while ago, I was thinking about developing and marketing a cell phone that was actually shaped like a penis. I thought guys would love to keep it in there front pocket so when asked, “Is that your penis?” They could respond, “Do you want it to be?”. Or maybe, “Yes it is, and it’s calling you right now”.  I’m currently going through the R&D process now.  Didn’t Elvis take the stage with a gourds (as an Italian, I prefer zucchini) or garden hose in his pants.  If it worked for the king….

He made it easy for me with the codes names when he told me about dating:

My wife went by Sabrina Catfish when she met guys in bars (prior to me, she says). Then again, she thought my name was Joe for the first month.

  

And if Joe and Sabrina were cartoons...

Joe looks like Steve Carell (sorry Joe, but you know you do). All this name stuff reminds me--my code name was Amber Finegashé  back in the day. It was French...