Sunday, July 26, 2015

Alcohol + FB = Trouble

So I may have had a few drinks and the casino in Connecticut last week and I may have posted something on Facebook that mentioned people that direct the smoke from their cigarette or cigar directly into your face are dicks. I also commented on a news article about requiring student driver vehicles to be clearly marked as such. My well thought out comment? "Stupid Idea."

FBI, also known as Facebooking While Intoxicated, is a very dangerous thing. How many times have you woken up, frantically searched for your phone, and signed into your account only to find your status reads "My ex's new girlfriend is a total bitch", "I want to hump my next door neighbor behind the shed",  "I'm quitting sniffing glue right after the weekend", or "Look at my great new kitten tattoo!"

Please people, let's be there for one another when friends are in the midst of committing an FBI. A quick text, a message on FB, or a phone call can save your friend hours or perhaps days and months of embarrassment. Let's hope anyone that reads this blog will not have to endure the repercussions of an FBI. But if you do, I promise to only laugh a little before pretending I have no idea who you are.










Saturday, July 25, 2015

The Drink Is Always Greener….

I think I have figured out how to create my own green drinks instead of buying expensive powders.

Get some broccoli from the grocery store. When you get home,  run some cold water over it. Before it dries, take it outside and rub it in the dirt. Now grab a couple of fistfuls of grass and maybe a dandelion or two and a tall weed. Come back in the house and open a beer.

Place the dirt covered broccoli, grass, weed and dandelions in a blender. Throw in one blueberry for flavor. Add 8 ounces room temp water and mix that bad boy up. Pour the contents of the blender into a juice glass and the contents of the beer into a pint glass. Drink the beer.

Easy peasy! I said I could make them. I didn't say I would drink it.



When Good Thoughts Go Bad

A very good friend of the family passed away last Saturday. His name was Richard but everyone called him Dick. He lived a long and interesting life, was generous and thoughtful, and will be missed by many.

After he was cremated,  I pondered how someone could be here one minute and gone the next. And then this thought popped into my head - "All we are left with is Dick in a box".

Wrong on a few levels, especially if you have seen this:

http://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/snl-digital-short-d-in-a-box/n12100


Friday, July 24, 2015

Ignore The Off Taste

Dont' you just love a good text exchange between married folk?

The following text messages were sent between my niece and her husband.


Breakfast Arsenic Blend. Now available in A-Kups at your favorite retailer. Apparently I'm not the only one in the family with the off sense of humor :)



Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Eyes On Your Own Meter!

Spinning is a great workout. Get the heart rate up and burn a ton of calories while listening to a rocking playlist. For those of you not familiar with spinning, you gauge your progress and set goals by trying to maintain your RPMs within a certain range while setting the tension at a challenging level.

Challenging is a relative term. Some nights I can handle the tension on 8 and some nights I am panting at 3. Either way, I am still a wimp. One thing I don't do however, is check out what tension my neighbor is using. I liken it to standing at a urinal in a men's room and gazing over at the guy to the immediate left or right. You may be curious, but some things are better left to the imagination. An easy way to remember this bit of etiquette is the following phrase: Just like an adjacent peter, don't you dare look at your neighbor's meter.

Not that I have ever been in a men's bathroom. Except maybe that one time at Faneuil Hall Marketplace in Boston when I had been over-served at the now defunct Lord Bunbury's Pub. I knew the error of my  ways immediately however and walked right out of that toilet area with a "I meant to do that, just looking for my pretend boyfriend" attitude.

In conclusion, because I am really effing tired and have to be up in less than 6 hours, if you are looking for a quick way to get in shape you may want to check out your local spin studio. You will have fun and you'll get to go commando in those cute padded bike shorts. Ohhh baby.

Nighty night.


Sunday, July 12, 2015

Sober As A Judge

Sober Sunday today. Not as much fun as Saucy Saturday but since tomorrow is Masshole Monday, it's best to behave, go to bed early, and wake with a clear head.  Masshole Monday is the day when all the commuters forget how to drive after the weekend. It's also the day that everyone somehow telepathically agrees to get to the exit 12 on ramp in Framingham, Mass at exactly the same time, thereby clogging up the Mass Pike and making my 68 mile commute even more hellacious.

I am doing flex hours for the summer which requires me to get up at 4:00am and leave the house by 5:15am. I'll feel like crap all week but I'll get Freebie Flex Fridays off for most of the summer dammit! Wicked Pissah! (That's Boston for very good). 

Hope everyone had a Whimsical Weekend!

Saturday, July 11, 2015

Stop Harping On Me

It's been a little over 2 months since my mother Irene passed away. I've been reading books about orphaned adults, the death of one's mother, and Kitchen Confidential. Hey, I need some diversions.

Irene had been on hospice care for about 6 months. On the day her passing seemed imminent, the nursing home rolled a cart into Irene's room for my sister and me with enough coffee, tea, juice, water, muffins, snacks, fruit, and cookies to feed a small army. Or, as I like to call a small army, me. Hospice brought us a booklet called When Death Is Near. To be honest, we enjoyed the cart much better.

After their morning visit,the hospice nurses told us that things were progressing along. They asked me if I wanted a harp. I was surprised because I didn't think you could serve beer in a nursing home. Then light dawned over my Marblehead and I realized they were talking about an actual harp, the instrument.  How strange I thought. Yes, this day is not quite sad enough. Please bring in a harp, a chorus of war orphaned children in wheelchairs, and several homeless pets set to be euthanized in 24 hours. That's the ticket.

I declined the offer. I don't think Irene would have liked the harp. However, I know she loved the Elvis hymns we played at her visitation and funeral.

I've seen butterflies twice since Irene's passing. One landed on my hip when I was visiting my parent's grave sites. I've read that our loved ones, once passed, can channel their energy into small creatures like butterflies and birds in order to pay us a visit. I believe it. And I'm enjoying the company.

**Please note: The hospice team at my mother's nursing home was awesome. Truly. Except for the harp ; )