It's My Life of Mediocrity- Its now or never. I mean it's probably never.

I'm in over my head. It's my life. It's too deep for me. And the really sucky part? There's no shallow end. And the even suckier part? I can't swim.  Another tricky day for me.

I'm thrashing around looking for a floating piece of rubbish to hold on to. If I could just sit up above the whirlpool and look around I might could see some higher ground to shoot for.

Nevertheless, I'm treading the storm. What else is there? The sun will come out tomorrow, won't it? I'll wait for the sun. The light in here is awful right now but I'm sure when the rays of sunshine hit me, I'll bask in the warm glow of hope.

How I got here is just the normal progression that started way back when. WAAAAAAAY back when. I was able to float around then. Put my feet on the bottom a time or two. Decide which way to go, which way not to go. Apparently, my sense of direction was just as crappy then as it is now. But at least I got to chose. Right now, I see no choices. Just what is.

Ok, I'll go with what is and hope what ain't comes around soon. Because I will hop right on the good ship "What Ain't" so fast my head will be spinning...and spinning...and...

Srsly? When I have a bad day I REALLY dramatize.

52 Weeks of Happiness - Week 1

http://leighvslaundry.blogspot.com/

GREETINGS FROM OCEAN CITY, NEW JERSEY!!!

I wanted to live in this town since I was old enough to know the difference between towns.

Every time I crossed this bridge, my heart would beat faster and I felt like I was entering a magical place. Like fairyland. Without the fairies.

I could not wait to arrive at the ocean. The beach and boardwalk were like mecca to me.
And the water!! Oh, the water. Warm like bath water. Gentle waves. Seaweed wrapped around my feet. It was paradise. Until the jelly fish moved in.

Even the smells of the town were intoxicating. On the North side the nose took in the scent of coconut oil. On the South side, it was primarily peanuts. And my favorite character roamed the boardwalk on hot, sweltering summer days in his very uncomfortable looking suit. He was probably in constant distress but his presence on the boards made many a child giddy.

Mr. Peanut

(Pretend you don't notice the building says "Atlantic City Convention Hall". It's only a few minutes away and Mr. Peanut roams their boards as well)

When arriving in the evening, this view never fails to excite me. At any age. Even at this age!

There is no loss of magic when the summer season ends. The fall and the winter steal my heart as well. The romance carries over to the icier months.

The boardwalk is even more exciting when its deserted.

For the last twelve years Ocean City, NJ has been my home and I've never been happier!

Life is Like A Bottle Of Chocolate Vodka-You never know what you're gonna do

Seriously, I am so tired of food.  Especially of the type that I'm supposed to prepare. There is no satisfaction in boiling chicken or steaming broccoli.

There is no joy in a seafood product shaped like a stick or a square tile. It's like only using a brown crayon. Unfortunately, because of the medical condition of the people in my home (including myself) this is what I'm reduced to putting out on a regular basis.One of these days, cholesterol be damned, I'm going to completely lose all control and throw a steak on the grill! (my apologies if I've insulted any vegans-don't hate). But until that day arrives,   Food is boooorrrriiiinnnngggg.

So, why do I look this way? What way? Like an entry into the Macy's Thanksgiving parade!!!

 INFLATED!!

Must be the air in this town. Or maybe its the water. Or maybe its the thirty or so snacks a day that I have to gorge on  in an attempt to satisfy my soul, which is starving for depth and substance.

If I didn't begin and end every day with Vodka, it wouldn't even be worth the effort to get up in the morning. Unless you count having to go out and earn a paycheck.  Luckily, Vodka is very exciting these days. It comes in so many fun flavors, a person could sail right through a life of alcoholism without the threat of boredom. Unlike the chicken and broccoli diet, Vodka is diverse and tasty.

The day begins so smoothly with a strawberry smoothie perked up with a shot or two of Whipped Cream Vodka.

The evening comes to a floating fade with a banana smoothie embellished with a portion each of Chocolate Devil's Food Vodka and Banana Vodka.


And in between? Whipped Cream Vodka in your Chai Latte. Raspberry Vodka on your sugar free vanilla ice cream. Espresso Vodka with your biscotti.  Don't be greedy here, chose one or the other for each sitting. (one from column A, one from column B)

It would seem that Vodka is a totally healthy food product. It contains, no sugar, carbs, cholesterol, trans fats or red dye # 2. So I won't cry over the forbidden milk. I'll just vodka my beverages and enjoy lowering my cholesterol.

Hubby is enjoying our new guilty pleasure as well. Except  he pretends he doesn't know  I have spiked his smoothie with a few good shots of Stoli Strasberi. He only knows that its the best strawberry smoothie he's ever had and can't wait until the  smoothie ritual each evening. He enjoys his secret little buzz, so I don't burst his bubble by pushing the truth. Truth is so over-rated anyway. Isn't it?

So the other day, I discover a way to make a nice aperitif out of my dinner salad.

Life is full of pleasant surprises!

Independence from Independence

Happy Independence Day!! This is the day we celebrate our independence from the mother country. Really, don't we all want our independence from the mother country (usually referred to as mother and father)? Some of us wanted it much earlier than others. Children are so much more sophisticated today because they have access to adult information that we may not have figured out until much later. They can find out everything they need to know up to a college graduate level on the internet,on cable television and from ten year olds who have porn web sites.

By the age of 14, kids know how to balance a checkbook, use a debit card, change the oil in a car, buy and sell drugs, and how to entice a girl/boy (or both) into engaging in sexual behavior; either in person or on line.  They can Facebook, Face Time, Skype, web cam and video conference.

Since they have iphones at the age of 5, can play all sorts of violent video games, can buy a pee-on pregnancy test, go to the clinic to dispose of the pregnancy if need be, they have no need of adult instruction and, from the looks of things, adult supervision either.

So when does a personal Independence Day actually happen? I'm thinking it starts on the day the child picks up the remote control and picks a non-mom sanctioned program. Viola! Step one. Step two is the day he/she turns on the computer without POS (that's parent over shoulder, just FYI) and contact the outside world. Step Three, the final step, happens when the first cell phone is received.

After these rites of passage are implemented, there's no going back.

The situation is exacerbated by the fact that most parents are too busy to spend much quality time with the growing child. Therefore, the child is left with more time to explore and expand his independence.

Although this transformation begins as early as 3 or 4 years old, the deal is sealed with the key to the family car. Or even the child's own car.

After that time, total independence is attained.

Why, then, I'd like to know, are there so many independent adult children living with their parents?
Shouldn't independence include living in your OWN space?

Children who have spent so much time breaking away from their parent seem to regress when it comes time to take their crap and get out of the parent's house!

Who even wants to be a thirty year old living in the same bedroom he/she couldn't wait to get out of all during adolescence? The economy has robbed our children of their ability to own their own space and their courage to leap into the world untethered from the people they always dreamed of getting away from.

Thanks, George. This is why I am not a republican.

A Little Ice, Please.

This summer has probably affected me more than any other summer since I've been an adult. Heat is a new experience for me. Before the dreaded men-o-pause I was always cold. Like maybe my core temp hovered around 32 degrees. I have been know to sleep in leather outwear in July (not in a kinky way). But now...I am damn HOT!!! So uncomfortably hot I don't know how I'll make it through another equatorial (I don't even know if this is a word, let alone a pretentious one) day.

My body temperature has now increased, I'm sure, to jungle fever (not in a kinky way) level  before the sun even touches me. I sit in my air conditioned office each day hoping my deodorant doesn't give out before 5 o'clock. I remember the days when my assistant would sit in our air conditioned office and complain about who put the goddamn heat on while I would sit shivering in an alpaca sweater. I thought menopause must be the worst experience of a woman's life. I was right.

I have no time to fight this summer time misery. I have a job to go to, a very demanding 92 year mother to tend to and a husband who is just living on the border between NOT NORMAL and full blown OCD. So. No time to mess with you, summer.

In order to simplify my life during this surface of the sun season, I have decided on two uniforms. One for sleeping and one for living in the rest of the time. Of course, work attire has to be a bit more formal but at all other times I will be chilling out in my uniforms.

I purchased 12 Big and Tall men's V neck undershirts, long enough to be worn as a mini dress, to serve as the top of my uniform.

For the jammies, I bought 5 pairs of light cotton baggy capris in various colors.

Bam!! Of course this classy little number gets tossed on the floor at night (not for a kinky reason).I only wear it  for the sake of propriety until it gets too hot to wear anything all night.

During the day, the same men's over sized tee shirts are the top half of my attire and one of 5 pairs of stretch capris for the bottom half. Easy and comfy. Thanks to my arrival into that "certain age", I am no longer worried about what the Shoobies will think of me as I fight my way through the grocery store to the strawberry aisle.

I have my uniforms, I have my menopausal don't give a shit attitude and in the evening I have my strawberry daiquiri. Bring it on, summer, you bitch!!!

What Happened To Lazy Saturday?

Saturday. What a joyous day. It used to be. Back in the days when I wasn't overloaded with responsibilities. But I remember those days...staying in bed way past the usual wake up call...a leisurely block of quality time with coffee and a bagel...a good (real) book to spend the morning with...plans with friends...shopping, lunching, yakking, wool gathering, dressing for the evening's festivities...So nostalgic.

Today, I'm lucky to get a cup of coffee and some computer time before everyone who depends on me (2 humans and a poodle) start stirring or whining or demanding my time. I long for the day that Saturday comes and I can't find a thing to do. That day will come when I pack my toothbrush and my favorite bra and sneak away in the wee hours of the morning. Where will I go? Nowhere. What will I do? Nothing. With whom will I do it? NO ONE!!!

Oh, how Divine does that sound? Very.

Alas, this fantasy remains a fantasy. But one that keeps me going.

I worked for a V.P. once who had a panoramic view of a Hawaiian island hanging on the wall behind his desk. It kept him working towards the day he would retire there.

I have no visual aid for my fantasy day. Really, what would represent divine nothingness? It's too zen a concept to capture with a physical image. So...when I have time to take a breather I close my eyes and envision...nothing. nowhere. no one.

Ommmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Here is my visual aid for nothingness. I shall hang it on the wall in my office and dream about it and the day I achieve it.

Getting Up?

No one in the family who raised me ever excelled at anything. It wasn't expected. It wasn't necessary. As long as everyone hung their coats in the closet, took their dirty cups and plates out of the livingroom and didn't hide fudgesicles in their dirty clothes hamper (which I only did ONCE, for pete's sake) all was well.

"Excelled" in the real world probably meant that higher standards were met - standards higher than my dad conversing in Italian with Sally Starr at the station where he pumped gas. Standards that surpassed Aunt Annie's macaroni salad or Aunt Venzi's whipped butter on toast (although, at the time, NOTHING surpassed what the Italian Aunties put on their tables).

As long as there was love, and there was lots of love (it was called FOOD), I was a happy kid. So who needed to excel?

Since the days of youth and bliss (as in ignorance is) I have had many chances to get up off my ass and excel. But why? and how? Like many other Americans, I have found that nice comfy dent my butt has made on the couch so welcoming, so hypnotic and has that aura of "where I belong" that I feel strange not easing down into it and basking in the glow of vegging out for the evening. Every evening.

So if ever I am to excel it will have to be sometime between leaving for work in the morning and arriving to the total lack of enthusiasm from my coworkers at my arrival. Or it will have to happen during the 9 mile, 20 minute drive back to my home.

Unless...
I could manage to keep my butt off of the business end of the couch for a few minute longer each night.

In the spirit of true mediocrity, this will be my goal:

I will keep all of my body parts upright 10 minutes longer each night.

And perhaps my next goal will be to actually DO something while I'm in the position.

Baby steps DO eventually get the baby all the way across the room!