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?