THE REST OF THE STORY

So it’s been over 30 days and I think that might be sufficient time for a cliff-hanger, non?  (My apologies, sometimes those two years of high school French just slip out unexpected) 

Where were we?  Traveling back from Texas, ah yes.   I arrived back at PBI at about 4:30 pm on that first Monday in February – post Superbowl for reference.  My Harley Stud swept me off my feet and into my carriage and off we went to our Home Sweet Home. 

We pulled into the drive and Oh yes, I remember it well:

Twas the night after Texas and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring.  No one was in the house.

But out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter

I sprang from my reclined position in my car to see what was the matter!

And what to my wondering eyes should appear?

Two delightful Canadians in a camper with lots of wine……and beer!

 

Tessa!  And The First Husband!  FTW!

I was sad to leave MLS and HBL but happy to come home to MHS.  And ecstatic to find Tessa and TFH in the drive!  OK, it wasn’t really a surprise.  If you’re a long-time reader, you may remember when MHS and I first met Tessa and TFH on their Florida vacation a few years back.  We had a great time then and were so excited to hear that they were heading back our way.  I heard through some sort of social networking that Tessa and TFH were headed south with a camper in tow.  A very exciting adventure ahead of them, I emailed Tessa and asked = pleaded that they come to visit. 

I received an email from Tessa when I was in Texas.  She said they were coming from the West coast of Florida and looking for a campground near us so that we could visit before they started heading back North.  Being the country girl that I am, I said that if they didn’t mind doing it “redneck” style, they could camp in our yard.  We live in a rural community and there is plenty of room for a make-shift campsite on our property.  (The Biker Nazi and Co. had just done the same for Christmas)  Much to my surprise, the very sophisticated Tessa took me up on my “redneck” offer and Yeehaw!  Let the games begin!

We had a delightful time.  We went to dinner at our favorite haunt with a Irish name (in Tessa’s honor) but alas, a very American menu.  Good stuff anyway.  We were joined at dinner by Daughter # 1.  After dinner, we all went back to the camper and may or may not have had too much to drink.  I will never tell.  But suffice it to say, we gabbed and gabbed, caught up on stories and made up stories.  It was really hard to go to work the next morning.  I hated to see Tessa and TFH go and I really hated to get back to real life but it is what it is. 

Tessa and TFH’s fun didn’t end there.  They moved their way North and even visited Daughter #2 in her college town.  (PS – They had never met before either) and then small world that it is, they worked their way to our home town in Indiana where they had business to conduct.  It really is a small world. 

And once again, I must recommend that if you have the chance to meet a bloggy friend, go for it.  I have never been disappointed.  I have been blessed beyond measure to have met such wonderful friends in these pages. 

 

Love and Kisses,

SMB

PS.  I had some surgery that will require me to work from home for a few weeks.  This may mean you will see more of me…..or not.  Time will tell. 

 

 

 

I SEE WHAT YOU’RE SAYING

I know I left you with a cliffhanger and that’s not fair.  But guess what?  I need you to hang there just a little longer while I work out a personal crisis. 

Just the other day, I dropped (for the one millionth time)  and broke my Olay Regenerist stick.  That may not sound oh so serious to you but it is a personal disaster of monumental proportion!   Allow me to explain:

This little stick of wonder is the only thing that keeps me from tripping on the bags under my eyes.   Every morning I stumble to the kitchen and retrieve that wand of perfection from my refrigerator.  I roll those cold little roller balls covered in debaggery lotion under my eyes and then sit back, drink coffee and wait for magic to begin.  For the record, I don’t know if keeping it in the fridge makes it work better but that is what Lolly does and she doesn’t have any bags under her eyes.  And that is good enough for me.   As for me, I won’t say that this cosmetic tool completely erases the bags under my eyes but man oh man does it ever help.

Before you get all, “Let’s start a telethon for SMB and her baggy eyes!”, I bought a new stick and personal crisis #1 has been averted.

But never being one to leave well enough alone, I decided to get creative and experimentish.  Hey, when inspiration hits, one must go with it, right?  Right?  That’s what I thought.

So I was applying some “More Expensive than I Usually Spring For but Since I am Desperate, Go for IT” eye cream yesterday when I noticed all these little wrinkles around my mouth.  And I thought to myself, “Self, how does this lotion know if it is dewrinkling your eyes or your mouth?”  And myself answered, “I bet it doesn’t know the difference at all.  Just because it’s pricey doesn’t mean it’s smart.” 

And so I did it.

Yes.I.Did!

I applied that METIUSFBSIADGFI eye cream to the wrinkles around my mouth.  And you know what?  I think it worked.  A little……  But a little is good, right?  I do notice a difference.

The only thing is:

Now every time I can’t find the words to express myself………my mouth squints.

 

Love and Kisses

SMB

I CAN COUNT ON YOU LIKE FOUR, THREE, TWO

 

Every year when February rolls around, I want to crawl into bed and not stick my nose out from under the covers until March 1st.  Just like Punxsutawny Phil…..only different.  My beloved Lucy passed away eight years ago in February and since then the second month of the year has become my most dreaded time.  History has proven it is a sucky month to be sure.  After Lucy died, all sorts of mayhem has fallen upon us in February.   My apologies to those of you who have birthdays or anniversaries in this month.  You may have some special affection for the month of FebI’MGONNAKICKYOURARSEruary but as for me, I would totally vote to take it right off the calendar.   I mean, who needs the confusion anyway?  28 days?  29?”  Who can keep track?

And the weather!  Enough winter already!  OK, you’ve got me there.  February is quite beautiful for the most part in Florida.  It is usually sunny and about 72f.  Who can complain about that? But still….even so, I detest the month and all of the crap-storm it brings with it.

That is until this year…………

This year, I got smart.  About mid-January, I started feeling anxiety about the days to come.  Those January days just kept ticking by on the calendar and impending doom was weighing heavily on my shoulders.  I wasn’t sleeping well.  I was cranky.  No amount of chocolate chip cookies (read dough) or Cabernet Sauvignon was sufficient to quell the storm that was brewing in my heart. 

I began to joke about running away from home.  Getting on the Florida turnpike and just driving until I ran out of gas, money and SweeTarts.  I mentioned this several times to a good friend of mine who shall remain nameless but you may know her as Midlife Slices.   Well, MLS, being MLS, did what MLS does so graciously, she extended an invitation to me to stay at her home and refresh my spirit.  Or maybe I invited myself……..I’m not really sure at this point…..but that is neither here not there, right?  Plane tickets were purchased, plans were made and Feb.1st found me on a plane to Texas. 

MLS and her Hunk a Burnin’ Love, aka HBL, greeted me with open arms at the airport and whisked me off to their home.  One might ask if I was a little worried about traveling to a complete stranger’s home and relying entirely on them for transportation (read no escape route).  Well, to tell the truth, MLS IS strange but she is no stranger to me.  We met several years ago right here in these pages and a beautiful albeit warped friendship (Love ya, MLS) has developed from there.  And was I a little nervous about climbing into their SUV after seeing HBL open the back to load my luggage and spotting duct tape and blankets wadded up in the cargo hold? Not one bit.  Did I feel any apprehension while riding in the dark in a place completely foreign to me as they drove me out into the middle of nowhere.  Actually, no, I didn’t. OK, I may or may not have checked my iphone no less than a dozen times to make sure of a signal. 

OK, the real truth is that MLS and I actually met in person almost a year ago when after complaining about needing a getaway, a girls weekend was planned and executed with two other “perfect strangers”, known here in the interwebs as Fat Cat Crochet and Nothing Fancy.  I was in blog darkness then and have yet to write about that escapade but just you wait……I will write about it……as soon as I can remember the details. 

MLS and HBL welcomed me into their home and treated me like ……well….like the Queen that I am.  *snort*   They wined me and dined me.  They soaked me (in a hottub) and choked me (with jalapeno chips).  They booted me (cowboy, of course) and suited me (off to cowboy church).  They cowed me and WOWed me at the rodeo!  I even got manure on my pants!  Now I’ve run out of rhymes but let it suffice to say that I had a darn good time and my spirit WAS refreshed.  I left Texas with my soul at peace and with a newfound love for all things of the Lonestar state.  Hot sauce! Steak!  Caramel Pecan chewy things that are to die for!  Cowboy hats!  Cowboy boots!  Beer served while you are shopping!  Cowboy church!  MLS!  HBL! 

Words cannot express my gratitude for the friendship and hospitality of MLS and HBL.  And I can’t say enough how blessed I am to have met such wonderful friends here in bloggyland.  My dear peeps, if you ever have the chance to meet and greet with a friend with whom you’ve connected here in the interwebs, don’t walk, RUN, straight to the nearest Starbucks (but take a bodyguard….one has to be careful) and share a cup of Joe with them.  And if they are normal like you…….or abnormal as was the case with MLS and me, invite them into your home,  You won’t regret it.  Well, MLS might but that’s a different story. 

Thank you, MLS!  I love you like my luggage……even more.  LIKE YOUR LUGGAGE! 

 

And when I got home……you’ll never guess what was waiting in my drive…….

 

To be continued.  

 

Hugs and Kisses,

SMB

 

 

HEY, HEY, PAULA!

                                                        
I want to marry you. 

OK, so maybe I don’t really want to marry her because as my dear friend, Janie, says, I’m “not turned that way” but with the good Lord’s blessing, I would gladly marry her chicken pot pie!
My dear friend, Paula, has come under serious attack this week.  An attack of the force which is usually reserved for Osama bin Laden, may he RIH, and the Kardashians.

I turned on my television Monday morning for my daily dose of the Today show while I readied myself for work.  Much to my surprise, there was my BFF, Paula, on the screen.  What?  you don’t believe we are BFFs?  Please refer to picture below.  ………See?  But I digress.  There was Paula announcing to the world what she has known for 3 years.  She has been diagnosed with type II diabetes.  Bless her heart ..and her glucose levels, please.  She also announced that she is the new spokeswoman for a diabetes related medicine, the name of which I can’t remember and am too lazy to look up.  Hey, I’m a blogger, not a journalist!  I’m not getting paid for this crap interesting viewpoint, you know.



As the week progressed, I couldn’t turn on the TV without hearing about Paula and her announcement.  ABC, NBC and CBS couldn’t stop talking about it.  Apparently the cast of Jersey Shore was uncharacteristically behaving themselves this week and poor Paula became the focus of the national media.

It seems that she has come under attack because she withheld information about her diagnosis, continued to preach the yummy goodness of butter, bacon and mayonaise for three years until she was offered a paid position as a spokeswoman for this drug company.  I say……SO WHAT!  Good.For.Her!

Is this not America?  The land of opportunity and fried green tomatoes?


What is the big deal?  I can’t believe there is a person on this planet that turns to any of the many Paula Deen shows, cookbooks or magazines for advice on good nutrition.  The woman has built an empire selling indulgence to the masses.  And we ate it up and asked for more!  This is a woman who not that many years ago was broke and going from office building to office building selling sandwiches.  Why would she risk the level of success she has earned because of her personal health problem?  It is really none of our business unless she wants to make it so.  For her own sake, I hope that has changed her eating habits and is following her physicians instructions but I also hope that she will continue to give us what we crave: Recipes for Ooey Gooey Butter cake and macaroni and cheese.

I FUZZY HEART WITH SPRINKLES ON TOP love Paula Deen but you only have to take one look at her to know that while she is beautiful, she is extremely over-weight and probably not in the best of health. Is it really any surprise that she has diabetes?   But Paula Deen is not to blame for our over-weight society and all of the health issues that go along with it.  Come on, people, stand up and take responsibility for your own choices.  Any American who says they don’t already know that mayonnaise, butter and bacon are all fat and should be avoided or at least consumed in moderation is a big, fat liar….or lives in a cave with no WIFI.
 
There are two whole networks  devoted exclusively to the preparation and consumption of food.   Any show touting the benefits of healthy cooking doesn’t last long.  We all know how to eat healthy.  We all know that we are supposed to  more veggies and fruit, less fat, less sugar, lean meats, blah, blah, blah.  We also all have to keep our houses clean but we don’t want to watch television shows about the daily grind.  We want indulgence!  Where is the crime in giving us what we want?
 
Take a look at the most successful celebrity chefs on the Food network: 

Paula – nuff said.

Ina Garten – overweight.

Emeril – overweight.

Rachael Ray – while not extremely overweight, she clearly struggles with the ups and downs on the scale like the rest of us.

Guy Fieri – overweight.

Tyler Florence – the goodies are catching up with him and he is getting a little thick around the middle.  God love his sexy soul.  XOXO, my love.

Bobby Flay – I can see a paunch.

Giada DeLaurentis – Well…..there are exceptions to every rule.  Clearly something is suspect here.  Whether this woman has mastered the art of moderation or is simply blessed with supergenes, we need to bottle it and sell it to the masses.  Let me be the first in line. So in closing, I say:

Dear National Media:

Go pick on someone else.  Leave my friend, Paula, alone.  I’m pretty sure I heard there is a presidential primary going on somewhere.
 
Respectfully,
Smart Mouth Broad

And to the rest of you who may or may not agree with my point of view, allow me to leave you with this little ditty that I can’t seem to get out of my head.

Hugs and kisses,
SMB

ARMED AND DANGEROUS

 

I know I said in my last post that I didn’t have anything to talk about but when I put my thinker to work, I actually found that I had quite a few topics about which we should discuss here in these pages but first things first:

Despite the doubts of close friends and family, I AM a reasonable woman of sound mind, with buckets full of patience and an undeniable pure heart.  All that being said, I’m crazed with impatience over the security measures of which we much tolerate in our daily lives while living in the good ole US of A.

I’m all for homeland security.  I applaud it.  My lack of patience isn’t with what we must endure to ensure our citizens safety. It is with the practices put into place to secure our safety.  I don’t mind doing what needs to be done.  Without complaint I suffer through long lines and walking bare-footed (Ewwww!) through security booths designed to detect a lethal weapon in my bra.  My problem is with the naivety of the practices put into place. 

Have you been to Disney World since 9/11?  First of all, it is absurd to conceive of a situation where anyone would dare to launch a terrorist attack at the most magical place on Earth!  Duh…. 

Anyway, once you’ve presented your ticket, been finger-printed, shown your pass-port and provided access to all of your banking information (I’m just kidding about that last part….sort of…), you then proceed to the security check stations.  There are several tents set up to accommodate the masses.  You choose your line and wait your turn to be inspected.  Once you arrive at the front of the line, a security guard has you open your hangbags, tote bags, diaper bags, etc.  With a flash light, they “inspect” your bag and then give you the go – ahead to proceed to Main Street USA in the House of Mouse where all-day suckers and ginormous turkey legs await. 

Here’s my problem.  That inspection?  Yeah.  The light is flashed into your bag and the guard glances without moving a single thing.  Have you seen my bag?  Remember Mary Poppins’ carpet bag?  That’s me.  I have my whole life in there.  As previously mentioned, I’m a reasonably intelligent woman.  Do you really think that if I was carrying, say a gun, knife, or dare I say, at the risk of being banned from my favorite place for life…..a bomb, that I wouldn’t be smart enough to put it under my wallet, tissues and sunglasses?  Why are you wasting my time?  I could already be pinching Mickey’s cute little cheeks!  I don’t mind having my bag checked for security but for Heaven’s sake:  Check it!  If they are going to perform this security joke, they should at least make the security guards dress as Donald Duck or Goofy. 

None of this diminishes my love for the place.  It truly is the happiest place on earth.  (I was corrected at the gate and told that it is NOT the happiest place on earth.  That is DisneyLand in California.  Disney World is “the most magical place on Earth!”  Well…….excuuuuuuuse me!  Whatever…  Somebody needs to sprinkle a little more pixie dust in their cereal.

My frustrations with security isn’t limited to Disney World.  Earlier this week I had to renew my drivers license.  The state of Florida required several documents be presented in order to renew my privilege to drive.  The one that frustrated me the most was my marriage license.  I’ve been married for over 31 years.  My married name has been on my license for that same amount of time.  In order to have my name changed to my married name on my drivers license, I had to present my marriage license.  Why now, after 31 years, are they suddenly questioning if my marriage is legitimate?  Once again, I presented the same license.  Again, I don’t mind going through these procedures but repeating the same ones seems a bit ridiculous and time consuming.   *Deep breath*  OK, I feel a little better having vented that. 

And air travel!  Any post about security policies and procedures wouldn’t be complete without mentioning airport security. 

My dad had a hip replacement a few years ago.  He gets stopped by security each and every time he travels.  They put him in the lucite box and wand, question and frisk him.  Every.single.time.  Meanwhile his daughter, who shall not be named, may or may not have had a mini box cutter and a small pair of scissors in her handbag and slid right through completely undetected.  In her defense, she was unaware of the forgotten security breach.  And she may or may not have committed that same breach of security on over a dozen flights undetected. 

So what I’m saying is:  Security?  I’m all for it.  But if we are going to have to endure it, can we please UP OUR GAME to make it effective?

Hugs and Kisses,

SMB

JUST MY LITTLE PINKY TOE INTO THE WATER

 

I’ve been yearning to write again.  I can’t seem to find the time to sit down and put words to pape…uh……screen.   For almost two weeks, I’ve been knocked completely off my feet with the cold from H-E-double hockey sticks.  So now I have the time.  In fact, I’m bored out of my skull from watching endless television, pinning…(What?  You haven’t heard about pinning?  More about that later…) and texting whiny comments to my friends and family. 

So now that I have the time, here I am: Keys at my fingertips and I’ve got nothing! 

Nothing clever to say.  Nothing exciting happening to tell. I can’t even think of a smart mouthed comment to make on current events.  ………………..Nope.  ……Nothing.

 

But this is me, putting my little pinky toe back into the water with hopes that, someday soon, something blog=worthy will come to mind and will make it to these pages.

I’ve missed this place.  It’s cozy and warm here.   It’s safe here.  It’s home.

 

Love and Kisses,

SMB

THE APPLE DOESN’T FALL FAR

                           or CHEAP AND EASY LIKE SUNDAY MORNING

 

I confess:  I’m cheap.  We could sugar coat it a bit and say that I’m frugal but the truth is that I’m just plain cheap. 

The facts clearly reveal the truth.

• I only shop from the clearance rack.  I haven’t been ahead of the trend for over 20 years….if ever.
• I decide what we “want” to eat for the week from the local grocer’s sale flyer.
• I won’t replace anything until it’s broken.  I mean really broken.  Can’t be fixed – broken.
• I will convince myself that I like something based on its low price.  If it’s only $8.20: It’s perfect and exactly what I was looking for…..or close enough.  
• I refuse to replace my 30 year old microwave even though my children are certain that we are getting excess radiation.  The darn thing still reheats yesterday’s meatloaf, doesn’t it?  Why should I dump it?

One might think with all of this glorious frugality, I would be rolling in dough.  Sadly that is not the case. This either means that I’m a complete failure at being a cheapskate or that if I weren’t so miserly with my cash, I would really be in trouble. 

I come by this trait honestly enough.  My own beloved mother, Lucy, was a real penny pincher.  The woman reused the zip lock baggies in which she lovingly placed the cookies she packed for my father’s lunch.  After several weeks of recycling, my poor daddy could no longer identify the cookie he was consuming because it was covered in a such a potpourri of crumbs from earlier offerings.  Laugh if you must but – TRUE STORY.  Pecan Sandie?  Oreo?  Chips Ahoy?  No clue.

My mother and grandmother used to scour the grocery ads in the newspaper and then drive all over the county to make sure that they didn’t pay a cent more for paper toweling than what was necessary.  Never mind the gas that was wasted as they visited every supermarket within a fifty mile radius.  

The practice that drove me (a card carrying tightwad) more than just a little over the edge was when Mother would insist that we wash “disposable” plastic plates, cups and eating utensils.  I would argue, “Isn’t the reason we’re using these items in the first place to reduce the workload and have more time to enjoy ourselves?  Just throw them away!”  Alas, Mom was always right and wash them we would.  I probably should let it go but I’m still grinding my teeth a little over that one.

I’m still using the hand mixer I received as a bridal shower gift over thirty years ago.  While I dream about the Kitchenaid hand mixer with its wire whisk magic beaters; my avocado green, Sunbeam Mixmaster just WON’T DIE!  Just to give you a true visual of how splendid this small appliance is, I would be remiss not to mention that somewhere in the move to Florida in 1980 the cord was lost or thrown out.  It was replaced with a brown cord from some other appliance that has long since bit the dust.    You have to shove a little harder than normal to get the cord in but it WILL fit.  Don’t think I haven’t tried to speed up the demise of the Mixmaster either.  I’ve accidentally dropped it once or twice or ten times.  Its housing is cracked.  Every time I think I’ll finally get that new, shiny whisky gadget, MHS manages to bring the dang thing back to life.  Sometimes I think that man hates me.

I realize that any other woman would just get the new one that she wanted and put the old one in a drawer as a back-up.  Or give it to their college age daughter.  Or put it in the yard sale pile. Or *gasp* throw it away.  Not me.  It pains me to replace something that is still in working order.  (Let us not forget, I’ve been married to the same man for over thirty years.)

I am making little break-throughs though.  My boss mentioned several times to me that our office kitchen needs a new toaster.  I kept arguing that the one we had was still working.   She claims that it was burning her toast.  Hogwash!  Adjust the setting!  Eventually, I relented.  The woman signs my paychecks after all.  I shopped for the best deal, bought the new toaster and installed it on the kitchen counter in our break room.  And then I did something that I’ve never done before.

I threw a perfectly good working toaster in the trash!  Looking back, I feel a little guilty.  I could have donated it.  But it WAS burning the toast. 

 

Hugs and Kisses,

SMB

PS. What have you thrown away lately?

GETTIN' SMARTER EVERY DAY….. OR SUPER POOPER POWER

OK, So I really didn’t think it would be this long before I made it back to this place.  All I have to say for myself if that I did cross over to the dark side and let it suffice to say that my life has been forever changed.  I used to scoff, sneer and roll my eyes at all those iphone people and their love for an electronic device.  Ya’ll know that I cherished my “crackberry” but they were ridiculous.

……and now I’m one of them.  *sigh*

So many apps, so little time and there you have it:  I’ve been busy.  My apologies.

A few days ago, it occurred to me that my name is even more misleading than previously believed.  Most people only use their first name but in my case you have to use my first, middle and last name to get the whole picture of who I am.  Allow me to explain:

SMART.MOUTH.BROAD

If you only consider my first name, it implies that I’m intelligent, someone whose opinion is to be respected.  But you must add the middle name to discover that is not necessarily the case.  It’s not  that I’m stoopid or anything but I’m just sayin’.  And then of course when you add in the last name, gender is discerned and that IS important.

Still some people remain confused.  Even my own daughter who knows me better than most has fallen victim to this misconception.  She sent me a text on Monday morning that read: “Any words of wisdom from a Smart Mouth Broad?”

This got me thinking.  I need to up my game.  I’ve got to become smarter.  I need to put that slimy blob of intellect inside my skull to work.  After all, I’m not 49 anymore.  Wisdom should be something that falls easily from my lips, not just something that I profess with tongue in cheek smartarsiness.  And so, the quest for knowledge begins.

I work from home on Fridays.  This morning found me on the couch watching a segment on Live with Regis and Kelly that included worm castings.  Worm castings?  Yep.  That’s what I said.

What are worm castings?  Not the actions of fly fisherworms like I imagined.  No, it’s worm poop.  What, you ask, does one do with worm poop?  Fertilizer, of course.  Who knew?  Certainly not me.

There is so much I don’t know.

Like for instance:

• Worms are so small.  Even if they are made up of 100% poop, how long does it take a worm to produce a decent size bag of fertilizer?
• Dare I even think about how you collect worm poop?
• And who has this job?
• Once I get answers to all these questions, how am I going to work this into witty dinner-party conversation?

So I did a little research and it seems that earthworms (apparently they make the best poop) do nothing more than eat, have sex and poop.  What a life!   It’s not clear if they sleep or not but so far, it sounds like a pretty good gig.  Don’t take my word for it, though.  Watch this:



Now don’t ever say that you didn’t learn anything from me.


I have to run.  My iphone is charged and it’s my move in Words with Friends.  I’m becoming quite the intellectual, right? 

Love and hugs,
SMB

CROSSING OVER TO THE DARK SIDE

 

If you’ve visited these pages once or twice before, no doubt you’ve heard me mention my beloved “crackberry”.  My love affair with my “crackberry” aka blackberry began years ago.  Oh sure, I’ve upgraded over the years to newer, more flashy models but a loyal blackberry fan, I have been.  This fancy little device brings me my email instantly allowing me to tend to business and pleasure from almost anywhere.  Friends, family and colleagues can reach me via phone, email, text, blackberry messenger, facebook and twitter any time.  While some see that as a disturbance, I like to be connected at all times.  I have my crackberry at my side 24/7 and I like it that way.   I don’t like to think that someone needs to reach me and can’t.  ….and I can never understand why anyone would ever want to wait to hear from me.  Crazy nonsense! 

About a month ago Verizon announced that they would be offering the iphone.  Now the only thing I’m more loyal to than my blackberry is my cell carrier (….oh and MHS).  They all have their drawbacks but most of my friends and family are on Verizon and that saves me minutes and minutes equals dollars.  ….and I’m cheap like that. 

I have to admit that in the past, I have always sort of turned up my nose at the iphone and its users.  I may or may not have  thought that my crackberry was far superior with its more serious, businesslike tone and fancy email push.

But lately, my head has been turned.  I am hearing the iphone and all of its fantappulousness call my name.   I have resisted it for a long time but that shiny little rectangle of awesome technology is making me rethink my love affair with my crackberry.  Daughter #1 has one.  She is always showing off all the advantages of the iphone.

I hear the email server isn’t the best and can’t compare to the crackberry but everyone appears to be so caught up by all the apps that they don’t care if they get their email in a timely fashion.  How can that be?  Is there some sort of gas that is emitted from the iphone that creates euphoria, reduces stress and erases the urge to have up to the minute communication with your office?  Do you just become so dazzled with all the apps and their capabilities that the main reason to have the device no longer matters?

The touch screen is more than a little daunting to me too.  I am a total SPAZ with a touch screen.  I presume that touch screen skills improve with practice but I worry that I might throw the darned thing out the window before I reach an acceptable skill level. 

So far, I’ve turned a blind eye.  I’ve stood fast in my love for my crackberry and could not be swayed.  But did you know the iphone has a weight watchers mobile app that is ever so much more efficient than the points calculator on my crackberry? 

Did you know that you can pull up a birthday candle app for an impromptu birthday party?   ….And blow it out?  Way cool.

So many apps, so little time.  One con to all my pros is that if I were to purchase one of these shiny devils, I may never look up again but instead be stuck with my head down in constant fascination of the wonder of it all.

Did you know that the iphone is faster than my crackberry.

Oh yes, my head is turned.  Surely, my crackberry senses that things are not the same between us.  Could this be the beginning of the end? 

Where do you stand on this issue?  Have you crossed over to the dark side?  Are you considering it?  Or have you found  a way to resist the ever-present temptation of this slick little bugger?

GOOD NEWS, BAD NEWS

The bad news:  I haven't been tracking my food intake for the last few days.

The good news:  I lost a pound. 

The bad news:  I have diverticulitis.

The good news:  I don't have colon cancer.

The bad news:  I am on a liquid diet for the next few days.

The good news:  I will probably lose more weight.

My question:  Does anyone know how many Weight Watchers plus points are in the barium prep you drink before an abdominal CT scan?  

Woe is me and all that whiney crap.  I’m home sick for bed rest and on television overload.  Truthfully, I’m delighted.  I’ve never been so happy to have a disease.  Since my beloved mother, Lucy, died from colon cancer, the last thing I wanted to hear is that I have something wrong with my colon.  To say I was a little freaked is an understatement of gigantic proportion.  Every time the doctor left the exam room for this thing or that I was in tears with total illogical paranoia.  By all accounts, what I was suffering appeared to be diverticulitis but other more serious problems couldn’t be ruled out until a CT was performed.  And that’s what had me shaking in my 3 inch heels. I must have said to myself, “Come on Smart Mouth, pull it together.” no less than 100 times. 

In the end, I was diagnosed with diverticulitis but I feel blessed.  I’m more than a little sad about saying goodbye to some food favorites for the rest of my life but grateful that is all that is wrong with me. 

The bad news:  I am on two very strong antibiotics, one of which has some pretty strict restrictions.  The following is the conversation I had with my boss/doctor.

DR:  “OK, I spoke with the GI specialist and she said that you do need to take both antibiotics.  You will need to fill the second prescription.  The thing is; with this one, you can’t drink anything.”

SMB:  “Nothing?”

DR:  “Absolutely nothing.  I’m serious.  If you drink even a sip, you can become very ill.”

SMB:  “Not even water?”

DR:  “No, you can have water.  I mean alcohol.  I’m serious.  Not even a beer.”

SMB:  “Uh, OK?”  looking a bit confused.  “I wasn’t really planning on drinking anyway.”

DR:  “REALLY!  I’m serious.  No wine, no beer.  AT.ALL!

SMB:  “OK, OK.  It’s not like I’m an alcoholic or anything.  What do you think of me?”

DR:  “I’m just sayin’.”

Is it a bad thing when your boss thinks you’re an alcoholic?

IF I’M DEAD TOMORROW……It was worth it!

 

My Harley Stud and I celebrated my ten pound weight loss this morning with a scrumptious buttermilk blueberry pancake (or is that blueberry buttermilk pancake?) breakfast complete with sugar-free syrup, sausage (lite) and fresh melon with coffee.  It was…

TO.DIE.FOR.

and I mean that literally. 

Let’s forget the irony of the somewhat destructive choice of celebrating weight-loss with food indulgences, there is another destructive concern at play here.  (Don’t be fooled by that sugar-free syrup and lite sausage.  It is still sausage and eating four of these pancakes cannot be considered light even when they are accompanied by sugar-free syrup and Smart Balance instead of butter.)

Quite by accident, about a year ago, I stumbled across a recipe for buttermilk pancakes.  We tried it and since that day nothing else will do.  We used to just buy the box mix and add water and sometimes an egg but no more.  We are hooked.  Nothing else will do. 

We don’t make pancakes every weekend but we make them quite often so I always try to keep buttermilk on hand.  When we decided to make pancakes this morning, we discovered that the buttermilk in the fridge had an expiration date of Feb 5th. 

…..but I really wanted pancakes.  I opened it and gave it a sniff.  It smelled like buttermilk.  Isn’t buttermilk half spoiled anyway?  What does bad buttermilk smell like?  I surely don’t know.  …..and I really wanted pancakes. 

So my recipe calls for 3 cups of buttermilk.  I only had 2 cups.  I figured that I could counteract any icky after-life properties of the expired buttermilk with substituting cream and skim milk to make up the difference. 

Might I say that they were the best darn pancakes we’ve ever had.  And if we don’t survive the night, it will soooooo be worth it.  And just to be sure that the recipe doesn’t die with me, I’ve included it below for your culinary enjoyment.  I will leave it up to you to use fresh or expired buttermilk.

 

Buttermilk Pancakes

3 cups flour

3 TBS white sugar

1 TBS baking powder

1 1/2 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

3 cups buttermilk (or 2 cups buttermilk 15 days past expiration date mixed with 1/2 cup heavy cream and 1/2 cup skim milk)

1/2 cup milk

3 eggs

1/3 cup butter melted

1 tsp vanilla

Mix the dry and wet ingredients separately and then combine.  For uniform pancakes, use a gravy ladle to spoon onto buttered griddle.  You know the rest. 

*Disclaimer*

These pancakes are a little more work than adding water to a box mix but are truly worth the effort.  Be warned.  Easy box mix pancakes will never do once you’ve tried these little discs of yumminess.

 

Hugs and Kisses,

SMB

SAY THAT AGAIN?

If you’ve been here awhile, you know that I’m not really very political.  I try to avoid the news because it is mostly bad and being informed is highly over-rated in my opinion.  For example, we have a breaking story in Palm Beach County that is heart-breaking.  It is a case of child abuse and insanity beyond belief.  The father/child abuser should be released from the hospital tomorrow and will go to jail awaiting a hearing.  All “innocent until proven guilty” notions aside, the death penalty will be too good for this guy.  Reading stories like this leaves me feeling helpless.  How do we save every child?  This question lays heavily on my heart. 

In other Palm Beach County news, our school board is in the process of firing our superintendent of schools.  He’s made some bad choices, some sketchy deals and by most accounts doesn’t deserve the job.  The part that blows my mind is his severance package. 

The following was copied and pasted from our local paper, The Palm Beach Post:

“Under the second proposal, Johnson would be paid more than $418,000 in salary, severance pay, accrued vacation and sick time and health insurance benefits. His insurance benefits for him and his wife would continue until June 30, 2014.”

How do you and I get a sweet deal like that?  Now you tell me:  If you cheat the company for which you work and are fired, would you get a severance package like that?  It’s insane!  Teachers are struggling on miserable salaries and this guy gets $418,000 when he’s fired?  I smell a rat!

There is too much wrong in the world.   I spent 15 minutes reading the paper, trying to do the grown-up thing, educate myself in the ways of the world.  NO THANK YOU VERY MUCH!   Now my head hurts.  It’s too much.  I’m going back to sticking my head in the sand.
 
What about you?  Are you a newshound?  Can you make it through the day without a current events fix?  Or do you want to come on over to my place?  It’s cozy here in the bubble. 

Hugs and Kisses,
SMB

THE ON-GOING, NEVER-ENDING BATTLE

I did it. 

Over the last 10 year years, I’ve talked and talked about losing weight and getting into shape again.  What can I say?  I’m a slow starter. 

To be fair, I’ve done more than talk.  I’ve made several attempts.  I joined a gym and went faithfully for two years.  I gave up the gym and continued to work out with my Wii.  I walked miles and miles and miles.  I’ve Zoned and South Beached.  I’ve tried so many diets that I can’t remember them all.  A few years ago, I joined Weight Watchers.  It works.  The truth is, they all work.  If you limit what you eat to less calories than your body needs to maintain itself, you will lose weight.  Simple, right?  Obviously it’s more complicated than that since we are a nation/world of overweight people. 

But for me, Weight Watchers just might be the best way to go.  And the reason why is this: Pride.  Vanity.  I can’t stand to lose face.   I lost 17 lbs on WW the time around.  The secret to my success was the weekly weigh-in.  I was terrified of walking into that Saturday morning meeting and having the woman behind the counter tell me that I gained weight.  (Even thought she says it very sweetly.)  That fear kept me on track all week long. 

The secret to my failure was this:  I’m cheap.  The meeting was $15 every week.  After losing the 17 lbs, I started to get cocky.  I thought, “I’ll just save the $15  and skip the meeting this week.  I can count points on my own and I’ll go back next week.  But the next week, I feared that I had gained a few pounds and so I skipped the meeting (saved the $15) again.  And so it went. 

My strategy for staying on track this time:  I signed up for the monthly pass.  The money gets deducted from my checking account monthly so I’m not tempted to skip meetings to save.  And I get to feel good about saving because the monthly rate breaks down to a little over $9/week.  It’s a win-win situation.  Or should I say it’s a win-lose situation?     

It’s a little late to be making resolutions but when you live in SMBland, late is par for the course.  And so…..here I am making a resolution:  I hope to be at my goal weight by summer.   That might be a little too lofty a goal so I’m giving myself until October but summer is still my dream.  Shorts, swimsuits, etc. 

I’ve lost 9lbs so far.  The sad thing is that I can’t even tell.  What the…..?  That just goes to show you how much I have to lose, I guess.  9 lbs?  phffft.  Drop in the bucket.  Grrrr.  But I will keep on and I will get there.  Because if I drop the ball this time, I expect you (are you still out there?) to never let me hear the end of it.
  
My recent birthday seems to present an additional challenge.   A decade ago, I learned that it’s harder to lose weight after forty.  At fifty…….it’s darn near impossible!   But I can see that flicker of hope.  There are plenty of women over the age of 50 out there who are in great shape.   And I’m not just talking about celebrities who can afford personal trainers, personal chefs and personal food police.  I’m talking real life people.  Go ahead, stand up and take a bow.  You know who you are and we hate you.  I kid, I kid. 

Does anyone out there care to join me in my quest for a better, smaller version of myself?   Who’s with me?   Come on……misery loves company. 

WOW for today:  Never give up. Never, ever, ever give up.  NEVER!   Everything is possible.  The impossible just takes longer. 

Hugs and Kisses,
SMB

WOW! WHAT A WEEK!

 

I know we are over the whole broken-promise issue of my posting every day but still I never thought it would be 10 days before I uttered words onto these pages again.  It’s been quite a week. 

Work is crazy as usual but thanks to the addition of our new Electronic Health Record system, crazy takes on new meaning.  Clinic days have gone from 9-10hr days to an mind-crushing 12-13hr days.  And I have to admit here that my brain shuts down at 11.96 hrs.  No reboot possible.  Battery-Dead.  Screen-Blank.  Hard-drive-MUSH.  Thankfully, we are a surgery practice and only have two clinic days per week. 

Normally, I can handle the long hours of our clinic days because I get all those other days to recharge my batteries.  But last week …… no such luck.  My schedule went as follows:

Monday – 13 hr clinic day – this turns into a 15hr work day when you add in my commute.  *yawn*

Tuesday- 7 hr work day followed by dinner meeting one hour South of office.  (I live 1 hour North of office.)

Wednesday – 7 hr work day followed by another dinner meeting.  I actually worked in the office until 6:30 to make up for * a visit to the doctor’s office with a friend during the day.

Thursday – Due to a miracle from God, we were able to leave the office by 7:30 on this clinic day.  Don’t scoff at me for calling this a miracle.  It is a bonified, full-body MIRACLE.  (which can hopefully be repeated again this week.)  Am I asking too much? 

Friday – This is my work at home half day.  All I’m gonna say is that after four 12+ hr days putting one foot in front of the other was about all I could manage by Friday.  Does being fifty mean that I can no longer handle these long hours with ease?  That’s not fair.  I call foul!

 

*Now about that doctor visit with a friend.  It was awful.  Gut wrenching.  Eye opening.  I was honored to be there and hated every minute. 

Without divulging too many details, I will tell you about my friend.  Because you need to know.

In almost 13 years of working in the breast surgery field, I have really only had two patients whose diagnosises have rocked me to my core.  That may sound really insensitive to you.  But when you do what I do for a living, you can’t let a cancer diagnosis blow your mind because it happens EVERY.SINGLE.DAY.  Some days more than once a day.  Yeah, it sucks.  And I always feel terrible for the patient and their family.  But I can leave it at the office when I go home for the day.  I have to.

It should be said here that with early detection and advanced treatment options, breast cancer is no longer an automatic death sentence.  Most people diagnosed with breast cancer go on to lead perfectly normal, cancer-free lives. 

The first time I had my world rocked by the cancer diagnosis of one of our patients, it was a beautiful twenty-two year old new mother.  Take a moment to let that sink in.  TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD!  And she had a baby less than a year old.  She wasn’t even old enough to have a screening mammogram.  Her mother was in treatment for her own breast cancer.  Can you imagine?  Her cancer was a very aggressive type but it was caught early and her prognosis is good. 

That night, I came home and told MHS that I couldn’t cook.  I barely had the energy to eat.  We went out to dinner and I just sat and stared at the wall.  I was not a good dinner companion.  I couldn’t get this young woman out of my mind.   If her diagnosis affected me like this, can you imagine how she and her family must have been feeling at the same time?  For the record, she had her treatment, was the most beautiful bald woman I have ever seen and is doing very well today.

Then last month I was contacted by a colleague who said that his wife had a recent abnormal mammogram and biopsy was advised.  I told him to bring her in and we would take good care of her.  I had never met her before but when we met, it was love at first sight.  I told my friend that I was certain I had a girl crush on his wife.  He gave me a very wary look.  *Men can be so homo-phobic*  We just clicked immediately. 

I’ve had several friends come to my office to be seen by our doctor.  Abscesses, cysts, benign masses.  I’ve had five biopsies myself – all thankfully benign.   It never occurred to me when I offered up our services to my new friend that the end result would be anything other than sunshine and rainbows. 

By now you know where I’m going with this.  She just turned 37.  She has three kids under the age of 12.  She is a lively, beautiful, healthy, active woman with so much to look forward to in her life.  She had never had a mammogram before this.  Her first mammogram showed the abnormality.  A biopsy was performed.  Pathology confirmed what we already feared from the images. 

My friend was diagnosed with breast cancer that had already spread to her lymph nodes.  A PET CT scan showed metastatic disease in her liver as well.  All this adds up to stage IV breast cancer. 

Medical science doesn’t hold much hope for stage IV disease.  They say it can’t be cured.  The only hope is palliative treatment to hold off the progression of the disease. 

I went to my friend’s second opinion appointment with a respected medical oncologist last week.  I sat there listening to the recommended treatment.  When my friend expressed her concern with side-effects of the treatment, the doctor explained that the side effects were minimal in her opinion.  My friend pressed on saying that she had read about more side effects of the medication.  The doctor said, “But your cancer will kill you.” 

And my heart stopped.  My mouth went dry.  I suddenly found it hard to breathe.  And all I could think was that if this was how I was feeling, how must my friend feel?  How would you feel if those words were said to you?  Can you even imagine?  

My friend is a Christian woman.  She is not accepting that her diagnosis is a death sentence.  She has too much to do.  She has a life to live, children to raise, a handsome hubby to love up on.   She has hope.  She has faith.  She is an inspiration.  She is a remarkable woman, I tell you. 

As a Believer myself, I know there are miracles performed everyday.  I have hope.  As my friend explores alternative treatment, weighs her options and makes life-changing decisions, I will pray.  I will hope.  I will plead with God to perform one of those Biblical-like miracles that we cynical, modern citizens of the world explain away as coincidence or unexplained phenomena.  

Faith, Hope and Love.   Lean on these.  Lean in hard.  Pray.  I can think of nothing better to do.  Can you? 

 

WOW for today:  Get your mammogram.   Don’t put it off.  Do not pass GO.  Do not collect $200.  Get your dang mammogram.  Do self-examinations.  Feel up your ladies.  It just might save your life. 

PROMISES, PROMISES

I know that I promised Words of Wisdom every day here in these pages so that YOU could benefit from my mistakes learning and failures experience.  But the beauty of being fifty is that it comes with the gift of discernment.   Fifty means you have the ability to know which promises to keep and which ones to well……..pretend to forget that you made.  There, I said it.  Consider yourself blown-off.  Rude?  Maybe.  But come on in.  Sit down and I’ll pour the wine and we can talk about it.  I’m certain that when we’re through thanks to the wine and just the right amount of BS,  you will come to see things my way. 

You see, some days just turn to (for lack of a better word) poop.  Up becomes down.  Right is now left.  Slow is fast.  Pink is orange.  And pink should NEVER be orange!   Some days, the only promise you can manage to keep is to love, honor and *cough* obey  your beloved spouse.  And even that is a struggle because those little voices in your head keep telling you to kill him in his sleep.

Life can get rough, dammick!  I’m not whining.  OK, I am whining.  But it is justifiable whinification, I tell you.  And speaking of wine, may I pour you another glass?

Cheers!   *glasses clink*

Where was I?  Oh yes.  I’m not going to go into details because who wants to hear that!  The only thing worse that listening to someone whine and complain (no matter how justifiable) is to listen to them whine and complain in detail.  I much prefer to be vague and mysterious.  *Imagine dreadful situations and feel terribly sorry for me.  Send cards, letters, cash. And I’ll just keep quiet about how I was unable to get my pedicure, I’m out of coffee cream and my brakes are squeaking.*

Oh dear, it appears that we’ve drained the bottle.  Are you OK to drive home?  No?  No worries, just lie down and take a little nap here on the sofa.  I’ll just tuck you in with my favorite snuggly throw. 
So, we’re OK now, right?  You completely understand about the whole promise breaking debacle?  Great!  Now just rest here and when you wake, I’ll fix some biscuits and gravy to send you on your way. 

Todays Words of Wisdom aka WOW are:  “When you’re going through hell, keep on going.  You might get out before the devil even knows you’re there.”

Isn’t he a cute country boy?

ON THE 15TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS…..

I just wrote a whole post on how I still haven’t taken down my Christmas decorations.  It was so stinking boring, I couldn’t even finish.
 
Today’s “Words of Wisdom” are:
Don’t be afraid to hit the delete button.  Sometimes it’s the best thing you can do. 

Since I don’t seem to have the presence of mind to write anything of interest today, here’s a fun little video.  Daughter #1 was part of a flash mob organized to support the Susan G. Komen South Florida Race for the Cure.  See if you can spot her.  She’s the one in pink.
 
As the office manager for a Boobiologist practice, I see the Susan G. Komen funds at work everyday to help women get the breast care they need.  If you don’t have a local connection to SGK and would like to donate, click here.

Gardens Mall–Race for the Cure Flash Mob

Hugs and Kisses,
SMB

THE DIVINE SECRETS OF THE YA YA PARENTHOOD

I love this show.  They keep it real.  And in the end…….there’s always love.

A friend recently asked me for parenting advice.  Ahhh, parenting.  The joy.  The heartbreak.  The wonder of it all.

I became a mother at the ripe old age of 24.  Relatively young by today’s standards.  I can remember taking Daughter #1 in a stroller to the mall to get the second hole pierced in my ears.  Don’t judge, people.  It was the 80’s.  If you must know, I had big hair, MC Hammer pants and shoulder pads.  And I rocked it like nobody’s business.  But I digress….

The “10 year old” working at the ear-piercing kiosk asked me if I had a permission note from my parents to get the piercing!  I was mortified!  Couldn’t she see how very grown up I was?  I quickly explained that I was WELL over the age of 18.  I had been married for MANY years and was the MOTHER of the BABY in the stroller.  (Little did I know then that I should have been grateful.  That one day I would be crying in the  parking lot of Ross Dress for Less because some stupid twit mistook me for a SENIOR CITIZEN and gave me a 10% discount!)  But again….I digress.  My apologies.

The point I’m trying to make is that I was young, clueless and fearless as a young mother.  I did not read “What to Expect When You are Expecting.” (in part because it hadn’t been written yet)  I had not yet begun to watch Oprah, Dr. Phil and Jerry Springer.  For the record, I don’t watch any of the afore-mentioned programs but you get the idea.  I didn’t turn to the “experts”  I leaned on common sense.  If it was hungry, I fed it.  If it smelled, I changed it.  If it cried, I held it.  If it cried all day long, I threw it at its father the second he walked in the door and went to the shower to cry for 30 minutes.  I had also yet to discover the benefits of a good glass of red wine.


As the girls got older, the mommy gig got a little more complicated but they’ve turned out pretty well.  No worse for the wear, my mother would say.  The secret of good parenting is realizing that it is really just a crap-shoot.  Look around.  There are parents who read all the books (…..even the best one…..the Bible), take classes, make no mistakes and the kid still ends up in juvie.  Some of us make all the mistakes and the kids thrive despite our best efforts to screw them up.  Go figure.


When it’s all said and done, we all do the best we can.  We love them in our own language.  One of my favorite movies is The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood.  Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a booze-soaked child-beater.  The movie just spoke to me.  The characters made really bad choices at times but it was what they knew.  It was a different time.  They did the best they could (OK, maybe that’s not entirely true but they tried) and in the end, there was no judgment.  Just love.  That’s what I hope for. 


That one day, my kids will look back at where I’ve screwed up and say, “But we KNOW that she LOVED us.” 

GUESS WHAT I DID TODAY…..

 

I love Christmas.  It is my most favorite time of the year.  But after all of the hustle and bustle, when the gifts have all been unwrapped, the goodies have all been eaten, the toasts have been made and the dishes are done, it gets really quiet in SMBland. 

I have to tell you.  I’m whipped.  I was so happy to have absolutely nothing to do today.  Oh sure, I have plenty to do but I ignored those little voices in my head and I planted my arse on the sofa and stayed there pretty much all day.

Perhaps I should feel a twinge of guilt for all that wasn’t accomplished today?  ………Nah!  There’s always tomorrow for that. 

Sometimes, you have to just stop. Get off the merry-go-round of life.  Say “When”.  Put your feet up.  Don’t do anything that requires thinking or moving a muscle. 

I highly recommend that if you haven’t already tried this life break, do it.  The benefits far out-weight any consequences.  You won’t regret it.  Not even a little bit. 

Hugs and Kisses,

SMB

*Sigh*

Twenty-six years ago  MHS and I were given a beautiful gift from God.  Today she is a grown woman in whom we are well pleased.  She is lovely but oh so much more.  What you can’t see behind that pretty face is a heart of gold, a brilliant mind and a funny bone that won’t quit even when we ask her to. 

Happy birthday, Sweetheart.   We love you so much!

Cherish every moment.  Time flies so fast. 

RESOLUTIONS ARE FOR SISSIES

I don’t usually make New Year’s resolutions.  I have commitment issues.  Making a promise to follow through on almost anything strikes real fear into the heart of this Smart Mouth(ed) Broad.  I’ve been married for 30 years.  What more do you want?   I like to win.  And making a resolution always ends with a failure, at least in my experience, more often than not within three thirty days.

2010 has not been the best of years.  I think the economy and society’s refusal to recognize my QUEENDOM has taken its toll on all of us.  But I am nothing if not a cock-eyed optimist.  I like to hope for the best and expect the worst……so that I’m never disappointed.  Cock-eyed, I tell ya. 
So this year I’m lowering my expectations.  Baby steps.  Here are my New Year’s resolutions for 2011.

1. I resolve not to gain any weight.  For years I’ve been trying to lose the equivalent of a 4 year old child.  Here’s to hoping that 2012 doesn’t have me lugging around (= to) a six year old.
2. I will stop myself from making promises that I can’t possibly keep.  i.e, “I will blog words of wisdom every single day of my 50th year.”  You didn’t believe that, did you?
3. I will read more books.  The Bible, trashy novels, spy novels, self-help books.  I will finish reading Eat, Pray, Love.  I am lolly-gagging for sure on this one.  I absolutely adore this woman author.  I feel a strong kinship.  The problem is that a dear friend of mine told me that once you get past “eat”, It all goes downhill….or is it uphill?  Whatever…it’s not so good.  So I'm lingering.  I’m savoring every word of the “eat” section.  I might even finish in 2011 if I pick up the pace just a bit.
4. I will drink the occasional martini.  Dirty.  With 3 olives.  Shaken, not stirred.  Hey, I’m 49+1 now.  Martinis are soooooooo grown up.  But writing “soooooooo” really isn’t, is it?
5. I will wine a lot.  It makes me feel better. 
6. I will eat no less some cookies.
7. I will cherish the “little moments” and enjoy the journey.  Sometimes, I get all caught up working toward and anticipating the big stuff.  A little older, a little wiser now, I realize that it’s the little moments that make all the difference. 
8. I will spend more time doing things that give me pleasure.   Get your mind out of the gutter, people. 
9. I will spend less time worrying.   I spend a good deal of time worrying.  No more.
10. I will find time to read more of my favorite blogs.  I miss you guys.  I miss knowing what is happening with your lives.  I will not let it become my life.  Balance.  Balance.  Balance.  That is the key. 
11. In 2011, I will strive for balance.  Wish me luck.  History has proven this to be a real challenge for me. 

Ladies and Gentlemen of the blogosphere, I raise my glass to you.  You are some of the best, most interesting, caring and talented people I’ve ever (not) met. 

Happy New Year, Ya’ll!

May all your dreams come true.

Love and Kisses,
SMB