I'm In Love With Bugs

Who would have thought locusts could be so cute?

I just had to get really close and look past that crusty exterior. You know, like we have to do with people sometimes.

Guilty Pleasures

Somehow I’ve managed to avoid getting hooked on any of the “Housewives of” series on the Bravo network. I know just enough about them to be appalled that Snookie and the gang were recently allowed to ring the bell at the Stock Market Exchange and that the Housewives of DC stirred up controversy before the season even started, thanks to White House gate crasher Michaele Salahi’s participation on the show. I was amused at the story the other day about Michaele’s little faux smackdown with Whoopi Goldberg on The View. What was girlfriend thinking, picking a fight with Whoopi? Whoopi is old school. She’ll whoop your arse first and ask questions later. She’s got street cred, and you don’t go messin’ around with someone who had to fight her way out of poverty. Duh.

Anyhoo, the series is likely to garner plenty of watchers since it’s like a romp through a Jackie Collins’ book, and who doesn’t enjoy that kind of trashy entertainment every now and then? I’m just basing that on the fact that those books are always checked out at my local library. So I’m told.

While I’ll admit to being curious about this season because of the DC setting, I refuse to get lured into that hot mess. I’m not judgin’ those who do though. We all have our little guilty pleasures. Oh, we can cite a long list of literary icons as our favorite authors or gloat about our contributions to public television, but the fact is we all have some skeletons in our entertainment closets. In the interest of keepin’ it real, I thought I’d share a few of mine with you. And if you ask me about these in public, I’ll swear I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.

1. Lady Gaga-I LOVE Lady Gaga. She’s outrageous. She’s bold, and she knows how to make a radio hit. The Cher’s and Cyndi Lauper’s paved the way for her, but she’s taken fashion and pop to a level that makes Madonna seem a little tame. We used to think Madonna’s silk cone bra was outrageous until Lady G. set her boobs on fire. And then her hoo hoo. I tried and tried to get me and Teen Angel tickets to her St. Louis concert this summer, but I got started too late and could never score any. I was bummed ‘cause what a spectacle that would have been. And it was on my birthday weekend. I may be 46 years old (forget I just gave you that number), but I love her music and her drama.

2. ABBA-Hubby bought the Best of ABBA CD at Wal-Mart recently, and when I saw it in his hands, I fell in love with him all over again. Seriously, our eyes locked and we had this, “You mean, you like them, too?” moment that was as good as renewing our wedding vows. All these years, we never knew how much we each loved the singing Swedes. We stuck the CD in the player as soon as we got into the van, and sang Dancin’ Queen together at the top of our lungs. Well, I sang at the top of my lungs. He hummed. He loves Fernando, hates to watch organized sports on TV and knows how to pick a diamond. God, I’m a lucky woman.

3. Dr. Drew’s Celebrity Rehab-I’m addicted to Celebrity Rehab. Pun intended. It’s like driving past a bad car wreck. You don’t want to look, but you can’t help looking. Maybe it’s because I’ve dealt with addiction in a loved one and been there for the interventions, the rehab, the relapse and all of the hurt and craziness that goes with it. I just love watching that show. (And A & E’s Intervention, which I think is very well produced for a reality show.)

I never missed an episode of Season 3 of Celebrity Rehab. I folded many a towel and pair of drawers on Saturday morning while watching that show. I cried with Mackenzie Phillips when she had to put her dog to sleep, and I followed all of the celebs into the next season’s Sober House. I laughed at their fights and shook my head at Heidi Fleiss every weekend. I just love Dr. Drew and find it ironic that they announced the cast of Season 4 on my birthday. I can’t wait to see if he finally gets Leif Garrett straight. Bonus Skeleton Reveal: I think Dr. Drew is a little hot in a weird, clinical kind of way. I know, I know.

4. Saturday Night Fever-“Watch the hair!” I love it when Tony says that. It’s a goofy, dated movie but it came along as I came of age, and it brings back fond memories of satin pants, Candy’s shoes and Bee Gees’s music. Sigh, I miss the 70’s.

5. Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory-I know the songs. I know the lines. And I will watch the entire dadgum thing when I happen across it while flipping the remote. And now that I’ve typed this I’ll be playing the Oompa Loompa song in my head for the rest of the night. Do not laugh, ‘cause I know you’re singin’ it now, too. You can’t help yourself.

6. The Rocky Horror Picture Show-I know the songs. I know the lines. I can do the Time warp. I have the extended version of the Time Warp and the rest of the soundtrack on my iPod, and we shall not talk about how high those songs rank on my playlists. This movie was huge when I was in college, and I dressed up and performed the part of Magenta many times in various cities when I was younger. It always brings back memories of a good friend of mine who played the part of Frank-n-furter to the hilt. A group of rednecks beat him up one night behind the theater because he was gay and wearing fishnet stockings, and it was my introduction to homophobia. I’ve never forgotten that. He died of AIDS at the height of the epidemic, and I often think of him when I watch that movie. Always with a smile though. Somewhere out there are some pictures of me, him and our friend V. in full costume, puttin’ our hands on our hips and knees in tight. And I’m thankful we never had Facebook back then ‘cause any hopes of a successful senate confirmation hearing for me would be doomed by those pictures alone.

Speaking of senate confirmation hearings, I’ll bet Elana Kagan knows who Michaele Salahi and the other Housewives of DC are. She may not admit it, but I’ll bet she does.

iheartfaces Photography Challenge-"Surprise"

The game is called Sprinkle, Sprinkle, Splash, and it works like Duck, Duck, Goose only with water.

Just For Giggles

Whenever I look at this old picture of Hubby (far left) and some of his family, all I can think about are those birthday cards you find on the sales rack at the car wash and in convenience stores. That and the fact that it looks like S. just pinched Hubby's butt.

Card caption anyone?

Photo Friday Challenge-"Best Friend"

I love photographing high school girls. They'll cooperate like nobody's business.

Maybe It's A Tumah

I woke up Sunday morning to a text from a good friend of mine from grade school (and yes, I know I date myself when I use the term “grade school”) telling me he had suffered a heart attack the day before. He was about to undergo a heart cath to find out the extent of his problems. For a split second, the irrational part of me thought he had taken up smoking crack and was in some crack house sending wild, drug induced texts. Then the rational part of me kicked in and absorbed the truth and realized the magnitude of the situation. Fortunately, he had no heart damage and no heart disease, so they didn’t have to crack open his chest and do surgery. He had what is known as a cardiac artery spasm that brought on a medium heart attack. The cause of the spasm is unknown, but he is home and expected to do well. Whew! What a relief. He scared the patootie out of me. And that’s the part that won’t quit bugging me.

I’m so very glad that he’s going to be okay, but for the past two days my brain has randomly and frequently screamed, “He had a FREAKIN’ heart attack at 46 years old! Just 46 years old!!” Sudden and unexpected. The picture of health and then, bam! A comin’ to join you Elizabeth moment in the master bathroom and an ambulance ride to the hospital. There’s reality smacking me in the face, and reality can be a beetch. It’s a sign that we are not spring chickens any more, and it’s scares me.

It has nothing to do with vanity. Sure, I try to ignore those little crow’s feet and brown spots, but I know they’re there, and I accept those grudgingly. It’s the fact that we’re a little closer to the end of our life than the beginning now, even if we live to a ripe old age. It’s the reality that disease and wear and tear are starting to show up on me and my generation, and I must accept the fact that gosh darn it, I will get old. And that is distressing news.

For the last couple of years, I’ve lived in denial about this. I’ve joked about it and laughed about it, but I’ve truly pretended that time was not etching away at my being. That everyone but me was growing older. That I was immune to getting old. I mean, have you read the title of my blog? I like to think that if I eat enough fiber, drink enough water and run enough miles, I’ll make time stand still. While it may help keep some health issues at bay for a while, it won’t stop the clock, and there are signs that my body is changing.

There’s the menopause thing, but I’m all, “Woo hoo, no more periods!” about that. Sorry male readers, but you have no idea how great of a thing THAT is. For you, it’s like ice cold beer, unlimited sex and a John Wayne movie all rolled together. The downside to no estrogen is I now have a regular schedule for waxing my upper lip.

The gray hair is coming in faster than I can color it. I’m on a regular schedule for that, and as God is my witness I’ll go blond before I go gray. Not that blond is a bad thing. It’s just that I’m a terrible looking blond.

I’m wearing down my front teeth faster than my dentist can bond them. I was referred to an orthodontist at my last dental appointment to see if braces will help. Braces!

I have an eye doctor appointment tomorrow because the vision in my right eye is not as good as it should be. That just popped up recently. Reading glasses are probably in my future.

I catch myself saying, “Huh?” more often so I think the AC/DC is starting to catch up with me. AND the bone in my left hip is thinning so I had to start taking Boniva this year. I’m on the Sally Field train at 46 years old. Chugga chugga.

Now, none of these is really serious, and I have no obvious serious health issues. The only medication I take is the Boniva. Other than an annual sinus infection and the sinuses from hell, I seem to be fine. I’ve never had a broken bone and never been hospitalized for anything other than childbirth. I’ve had stitches only once. By all accounts, I’m healthy as a horse, but I know that something’s going to get me. It always does, so I’m afraid mine will be a surprise, too. My imagination is on overtime worrying about what it will be. Heart attack? Brain tumor? Or maybe cancer. I was frantically checking for lumps last night. A headache makes me worry if I’m working up a stroke. It’s just silly. I know I should quit worrying about it, but I can’t seem to put it out of my mind. I read the obituaries in this morning’s newspaper and took great comfort in the fact that all but one dead person was old. How sad is that? I think I need a vacation. A cruise to Alaska maybe? Isn’t that what older folks do?

Another Year Gone

Sissy's birthday is a few days away. All of those memories associated with her suicide wrap this family like a wool coat on a summer day. Sometimes, I can't breathe when I think about the night she jumped from that bridge and the demons that led her to make that leap.

I've listened to this song so many times and thought of her. It brings me an odd kind of peace.