9 things that make me smile...

1. Little girls in supermarkets wearing tutus: Extra smiles if cowboy boots are an accessory to the tutu. You almost have to laugh out loud when you realize that her mom is saving up for a bigger, more important fight sometime in the future (like a tramp stamp tattoo or dating the guy with the bone through his nose) than what to wear to the grocery store. Smart lady. (And when/why did I stop feeling like wearing a tutu to the store?)

2. Sidewalk chalk art: I love any type of creative drawing and even when you see abandoned sidewalk drawings...if you are very quite...you can hear the giggling. Shh. Listen....

3. Lemonade stands on the corner: Just have to love when capitalism meets Skippy, the neighbor's kid. Buy a glass. Ask for a refill. Someday all of this will be his. Best to suck up now.

4. Bikers who strap stuffed animals to their Harleys: Its always the biggest, baddest, long-haired, tattooed biker too. And a it's fuzzy teddy bear... sometimes in a matching Harley jacket. I'm not sure what the deal is but I will say that it never fails to make me smile. Ever.

5. Bubbles: I love to blow bubbles. Marley, my used pup, loves to chase bubbles. We are both, obviously, easily amused. You see bubbles at weddings now instead of rice (is that exploding bird thing even real or just a myth created by the people who have to sweep up after?). Point being...I think bubbles are good, clean (haha) fun.

6. Moms wearing macaroni necklaces: Usually seen for a few days after Mother's Day. The more glitter on the macaroni... the bigger the smile from me.

7. Baby anythings: puppies, ducklings, even humans...as long as they are someone else's...and sleeping...awwwww

8. Big guys with little dogs: Somewhere on a couch, amid the bonbons, sits a princess who has that guy so whipped that he is willing to "walk" her precious pooch in public. Hey, musclehead... a chiwawa or a min pin can NOT be macho even if she name him "Brutus"... which she didn't... so you have to call him "Boopsie"...even in public.. hehehe

9. Well thought out vanity plates: I"m not talking RED CAR or BOBS VW here... personally I think you should be able to shoot those guys with BB GUNS. I'm talking something that makes me think... challenges me while I'm stuck in traffic in a car with no A/C and no radio... My personal best was WUDA BCH (which the DMV girl thought was "wooooo da beach" which is NOT what anyone who knows me thought). Hockey Boy once had PINOT NV (remember he used to be Wine Guy). How about this one...GR82SH? OK, you 8 faithful readers... whatcha got?... go ahead, make me smile....

Ah... the pressures of having a blog...

It was brought to my attention by my newest reader and former BFF that I don't blog everyday and therefore leave her with a hole in her day. Apparently, I am single-handedly responsible for taking up a few minutes of her time at work and without my witty musings she is forced to...well...work I guess. My apologies, Michele and I suggest you check out YouTube for cute videos about chiwawas on those days I don't blog. Try this one.
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During the same conversation, someone asked me what the "theme" of my blog was. Hmm... theme? Am I suppose to have a theme? Really? I'm gonna have to think about that one and get back to you on it.

Of course the hardest part of blogging isn't that I really have nothing interesting to say.. you all know that already. I should end all my stories with "...and then I found 5 bucks" to make it seem at least slightly interesting but not many of you would be fooled. No, the hardest part is remembering who reads this stuff and making sure that I don't say something wrong. Hockey Boy reads it so I try not to ramble on about.. well, stuff that might make him blush. And if I said anything that might make HIM blush, imagine what it would do to my daughter (who probably reads my blog in a quiet dark corner with lots of denial about her heritage) and my mom (who thankfully hasn't taught my father how to access my blog). I don't think I could say anything to embarrass the rest of you though you can rest assured that I will continue to try to think of something.

So... I continue to babble on about my life and thoughts in a somewhat watered-down version of reality... or maybe it's my life that is really watered-down... hey, wait.... is that a theme?

Relationship Revelation

It was a bit windy as Hockey Boy and I sat waiting for Tanya Tucker to finish singing so that the fireworks could start at Fort Monroe. There were small children running amok with blinkie, battery-operated dolphin & starfish necklaces and people chatting all around us so it made having a conversation a bit hard at times.

Me: I wish I had a blinkie thing.
HB: I was gonna bring one.
Me: Really? You have a blinkie thing?
HB: Oh. No, I thought you said "blanket".

And while the fireworks exploded overhead, ladies and gentlemen, I realized that I finally had a summary of my relationship with this boy.... I am a blinkie thing and he is a blanket.

I am frivolous and scattered. He is focused and organized.

I am a Type Q to his Type A personality.

I can name all the members of the Rolling Stones. He has actually met them and can still only remember Mick What's-his-name.

He knows the five mother sauces and I don't even know what a mother sauce is, let alone possess the ability to name all five (and are there father sauces, I wonder?)

He folds clothes as they come out of the warm dryer. I wear the wrinkled clothes thinking it will be dark where I'm going...who will notice? And even if they do, who would be rude enough to tell me i looked like I slept in my outfit?

He washes his/my/my friend's car... regularly. I have empty McD bags stuffed in between my back seats that are older than my dog.

He is Abercrombie & Fitch. I am Allcrumbly & Bitch.

He watches sports on a wide screen TV with 3 different remotes and a strict sequence of button pushing that makes sense only to someone who understands how to launch the space shuttle. I have been known to start a good book while I waited for reinforcements when I couldn't figure out how to get the blue screen that says LINE 1 to turn into a TV show. I am not sure what LINE 1 is (besides blue) or if I have (or need) more LINES.

He is single-handedly keeping alive the posies that my dad planted for me. I forget to dust the plastic decorative tree in the living room.

Sure... we have a lot in common as well...like...for example...don’t rush me....ah, he likes to cook FOOD and I like to eat FOOD...so we have going for us. And the dog likes us both though he has been known to play favorite depending on which of us has the treats. And, of course, there are a few things that we both enjoy that I would mention if I didn't know that my daughter AND my mother read my blog.

So how have we ended up together? Easy... as he reached for my hand during the fireworks finale... I realized that even a blanket kinda boy needs a little blinkie thing once in awhile.

Arrgghhh!

In my eternal search for the real me, I have stumbled on a few interesting alter egos. The latest was a pirate wench, which, if you know me at all, is not that far a stretch. This picture is of me (with fake hair, of course, but authentic wench cleavage) and the other two Lushkateers: Jules (surprisingly not in costume) and Rach (who was a hoochie pirate). It was taken at the annual Blackbeard Festival in Downtown Hampton which is not as much to celebrate the history of pirates but more of an excuse for otherwise normal adults to dress up and drink copious amounts of grog.

My pirate crew (which included a piratized Hockey Boy even though it was Game 3 of the Stanley Cup) decided to skip the Grand Pirates Ball which is both hoyty and toyty. We opted to do the two things pirates do best: hang around the docks and drink rum. Apparently it is also appropriate for pirates to do jello shooters though I don't recall reading that in the history books. There was lots of "arrrgghh"-ing but minimal pillaging and almost no plundering.

As the evening wore on and the rum bottles emptied ("Why is the rum always gone?"), the dock party moved inland for our own safety. Saturdays Downtown the main street is cordoned off for the block party and there are at least 4 bands. Little known fact: Pirates LOVE live music and drunk pirates LOVE dancing to live music. I have pictures to prove this but they are not pretty and are currently locked in a vault in case Rach ever decides to run for public office. Hockey Boy found a TV showing the game and I found a bartender who believed my theory that pirates love Cosmos. Jules remembered why she doesn't come home from Georgia as often as we'd like.

Alas, even a pirate has to call it a day at some point and, in the misty early morning hours, a certain pirate wench and her Hockey Pirate could be seen following their own verson of a treasure map back home. It was time to de-pirate and pack it all away until next year. As far as my alter-egos go, Pirate Wench may well be one of my favourites. Afterall, I'm a girl who likes a little booty.

BONUS: Go to www.piratequiz.com to find out your pirate name!

The Five

Relationship Girl is all about finding The One. Single Chick gets better numbers --she is allowed The Five. Everyone is familiar with this game -- five people that you would get a pass to sleep with should the opportunity ever present itself. The Five usually consist of unattainable celebrities and so a certain comfort level is afforded even if you end up playing this game with The One. (Note: The Five should NEVER include anyone he knows personally. Bad form.)

SC started out picking the usual:
1. Brad Pitt
2. George Clooney
3. Johnny Depp
4. Matthew McConaughey
5. Bob Dylan

OK, so Bob Dylan probably is not on the standard list but sleeping with a legend is sleeping with a legend and, quite frankly, I think he's brilliant and worth my last slot. Hockey Boy started his list with the gorgeous Halle Berry and added Keira Knightley when I added Johnny Depp (it was the end of a 3 day Pirates2 viewing -- there were... ahem...distractions along the way) and I almost thought about giving Keira a spot on my 5 as well... (Brad Pitt ? I could bump him off I suppose)...and she does have that fantastic accent... but instead I decided to revise my list a little....stray from the norm. Seriously, how can I have a 5 List with no artists or musicians? And so here is my revised updated list (with a lot of help from Relationship Girl):

1. Albert Einstein - yes, I know he is dead but my chances in reality are every bit as good with him as with George Clooney. I just think Al might be a bit of fun to hang out with. "Imagination is more important than knowledge... " I think he might have had a fun wild streak... besides smart is sexy.

2. Leonardo - not DiCaprio -- da Vinci - Sure, he didn't star in Titanic but he DID invent the helicopter in the 1500s! (Did I say smart is sexy?). Normally, I'm not attracted to a guy with that much facial hair. Of course, I would love to spend the early morning hours under the sheets talking about light and art and painting and sculpting and find out if he really liked Dan Brown's book.

3.Bob Dylan - Yeah, he's staying on the list. I don't have to explain it again. It's my list.

4. Frank Sinatra - I have a thing for blue eyes... and men who look good in expensive suits... and drink martinis...

5. David Beckham - Hey, I AM a girl. Gotta have one athletic hottie with a nice butt.

Okay...so the revised SC list is every bit as fantastical as the original list and I'm not sure if three dead guys and one 66 year old rocker makes Hockey Boy feel any better.... but he still has Keira and Halle and they should be able to get him through... besides, he stands a pretty decent chance of being on RG's shorter list...

Hockey Boy

What does it say about a middle-aged girl (I just assume I will die when I am 88 so I am middle-aged now at 44) who agrees to go ROLLERBLADING on a date to impress a wine guy who turns out to really be a hockey guy?

His wine guy profile includes a picture of him in Rollerblades on the boardwalk. (Yes, ladies, that's him there.) I recall that I OWN Rollerblades. I may have, in an attempt to impress him, mentioned that to him at some point. He remembers and asks me to skate on my newly paved street with him. Now, I know what you girls who read my blog are thinking and yes...I certainly tried to use new relationship sex as a diversion and convince him that we could skate another day. It didn't work! So there I was...sitting on the front steps... lacing up my skates... trying to figure out how the buckles work...wondering if my decision to skip wearing pads in favour of looking cute was a good idea after all....and still trying to talk my way out of it.

Here's my background: I ice skated on a pond in my backyard until I moved south at age 11. I roller skated when I was a teen at the local roller rink. I am a former ballerina AND a Libra -- balance should not be an issue , dammit!

Here's his background: He came out of the womb with hockey skates on (OK...maybe not...that sounds painful for his poor mom!), he was a hockey star in high school and in college (some little school in Columbus, Ohio) and, apparently has skated EVERY DAY OF HIS LIFE!

He will not let me fall, he says. In fact, I think that's what he was saying as I slide off the end of my driveway, flailing my arms, completely airborne and landed on my ass. It was a beautifully executed tumble and even the Russian judges would have given me a 9.85 for it. I bruised my butt, pulled something in my shoulder and damaged my ego. He did not laugh at me. He skated over, looked at me with those amazing blue eyes, smiled at me and pulled me to my feet even though I was pretty sure that that was not where I wanted to be. It was that smile that made me try again. He jumped over sticks and stones and I tripped on pollen particles and flattened pine needles. I grabbed at cars parked on the street to keep from crashing. I skated like a toddler learning to walk and he circled me in figure 8s and other higher numbers. And the whole time he just smiled at me. The neighbors came out on their porches for the evening's entertainment and while I was certain I would embarrass myself, I was grateful that someone watching might dial 911 for me.

The second fall was less spectacular. The bruise, however, was larger and today is blacker, bluer and sorer. I just laid in the street looking at the sky and wondering if I could make gravel angels if I fanned my arms and legs out. Again, he didn't laugh. Again he helped me up (and again, I wasn't so convinced that I wanted to be up.) He held my hand. He skated backwards and pulled me along. He was a patient and gentle teacher and when I declared myself done with my first lesson, he didn't call me a pussy. He made me cosmos to dull the pain and let me snuggle up with him later even though I smelled like IcyHot (which smells oddly like those little pink Brach candies).

So...will I do it again? Absofreekinlutly! I have something to prove to my middle-aged self (and my neighbors)... besides, ladies... how could I resist that smile?