My nomimation for Worst Person in the World: #1

Good morning!

I'm not a person who likes to judge people, as most of you know.  I'd rather live and let live.  But in recent weeks I've come across a couple "humans" that I think need to be nominated for the worst person in the world.  Now these aren't mass murderers, these aren't people who have done, as far as I know, any real crime.  These are ordinary people who have proven, in the very short amount of time I've observed them, they don't have the skills and manners other normal humans have.

My first nominee is a woman. 

This the woman who sat one seat behind and one seat to my left at the Rick Springfield concert last month.  Now, how could a fellow Rick Chick make my list of nominees for worst person in the world?

Read on:

At the concert hubby and I sat next to two women.  In front of us was a vastly tall man, and the one woman, I'll call her Friend, was shocked and disappointment at having to sit/stand behind a mountain of a man. Hubby offered to swap our seats, thereby putting the women more toward the middle of the row, but away from the tall guy.

Friend and a lovely lady I'll call Tina refused.  See, Tina had had a knee replacement a couple years early, and it hadn't gone well.  The result was that the poor woman had to walk with a cane and sit on the end of the row because she needed to stretch out her leg.  However, she'd bought the tickets for Friend because Friend was one of those girls who, in the 80's, had a Rick poster in her bedroom and she kissed it every night.  She'd never been to a concert, and this was Tina's gift. 

Tina, however, was not at all able to stand during the concert, which sort of sucked for her because once Rick hit the stage, everyone got up.  Even the guy next to hubby, who informed hubby he'd been "dragged" to the concert, but, once halfway through his bucket of Bud Light, starting yelling, "THIS GUY IS F***ING AWESOME!"

(I know that, and I don't have to drink multiple beers to admit it.)

Anyway, Friend  (who missed making this post only because the woman behind us was so horrible) sat on the end instead of Tina.  (Tina sacrificed her seat and comfort so Friend could dance in the aisle.)  Tina, meanwhile, listened to the concert while watching the tall guy's butt.

Because the horrible woman at the concert
drank it all.

The horrible woman behind us, a leathery, smokey girl in the plus 50 years age department, was, preconcert and pretty much through out, slamming rum and cokes like she was on a mission to finish all the rum in the Wisconsin Dells.

While sucking down plastic cup after plastic cup of the brown elixir, horrible woman would also run up to the front, accompanied by an equally horrible male friend of hers, to dance in the front.  (We'd been told at the start of the concert to stay in our rows because those who were in the front had paid for front row tickets and we, in row Z, had not.)

That did not deter Horrible and her male companion who would, at random times run into her row (row AA) take her by the hand, and run her up the aisle.  Much of the concert she'd run of there with her drink in hand.  (Hey, priorities.  If they're going to kick her out of the concert for running to the front, then she wasn't going to lose her drink.)

At some point in the concert, I took off my shoes.  I like to be barefoot.  I liked the feel of the cold concrete floor on my feet and I really like dancing barefoot.  I was careful not to dance to wildly because, you know, Tina was sitting next to me, her head about level with my hips.  That would be an unpleasant post, having to admit I hipped a girl to death.

Anyway, one of these times when Horrible and her male companion made a mad dash to the front, she lost hold of her rum and coke and it flew forward...all 24 ounces of it...right into the back of Tina's head.

I knew something was up because I got the residual dribble as rum and coke flowed from her row to mine.  My feet got very sticky.  But not as sticky as Tina's head and shoulders.  Went and messy, she had to hobble out of her seat, past Friend, and out to get herself cleaned up.  She did not return until after the encore.

Meanwhile, Horrible returned to her seat and while we were all waiting for the encore to happen she said to me, "Was that girl with you?"

"No,"  I said, "but we'd been talking, so I sort of know her."

"Did my drink get on you?"

"Just my feet.  But she's sort of a mess.  She had to leave to get herself cleaned up."

And ladies and gents, this is the point of the story.  This is why this woman is nominated for Worst Person in the World.  She shrugged and said:

"Well, it's a concert. What do you expect?"

And there it is, friends...my first nomination for Worst Person in the World.

ElSIE W. IS FREE!

Hey all!

Well, call me a sucker, but I'm trying it again!

This weekend, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, my newest book, "Not While I'm Chewing!" will be FREE to Kindle users!

All I ask of you, my faithful readers, is that when you read the book and you love the book you please WRITE A REVIEW of the book!  (if you didn't like it, just remember it was FREE and you don't have to be mean!  LOL!)

CLICK HERE  to order the book via Kindle.  And, if you want a print copy of the book, you can use that link as well.

I'm FREE!  But only for this weekend!

Five for Friday: A week of Ridiculousness!

Good morning!

So this week it's just been one ridiculous thing after the other...and I realized that while I didn't have one big post to share with you, I did have a lot of mini things that can only, yes, happen to me.

So here we go:  The Five most ridiculous things I lived through this week.

5)  Just roll the Perrier around that old guy's butt so the rest of us can get our meds.

"Just because it's 4:30 doesn't mean I have
to move any faster!  You office people
just wait until I'm good and ready to go
home!"

This has been a rough week for me, medically speaking. Three weeks ago my spine doctor promised to call in a new prescription...one that won't do the evil things the other muscle relaxers did to me.  Well, he forgot to call it in, or whatever, and I never did pick it up.  But this week I went to him and he swore up and down he called it in.  To be safe, he gave me an old school hand writtern scrip.  So I mosied on down to my local "Buy in Bulk" club pharmacy.  It was almost 4:30, that magic time where the work force people are starting to get out and the old people haven't quite gone home for the day yet.  At the prescription drop off window there was an old couple yelling at each other...through the pharmacy tech, since she could hear them and they couldn't hear each other.  There was no way I was getting involved in THAT.  So I took a chance that the original scrip was in and I went to the pick up window.

At the pick up window I was next to a woman about my age who also had just been released from her office prison.  We were both behind elderly
folks; one, a lady with a cart full of bottled Perrier and the other an older gentleman in some tight fitting slacks.  (We'll call him Fred.)

The older lady just had to get her bottled water scanned and be on her way, but she was pinned in the corner by Fred, who seemed to be having some trouble scanning his debit card.

"No Fred, swipe it the other way."

Fred swiped that card six times.

"No Fred, that's not right."

So Fred did what every many should NOT EVER DO!  He squatted.  He squatted so he was eye level with the debit card scanner. 

Think about this.  He squatted, instead of bending at the waist.  That butt had to go someplace....and it went straight out.  Not pretty.

So now the older lady had no room to move her cart full of Perrier, because Fred's issues with his debit card took up more time than his butt did space.

The other office drone and I just waited...and waited...and waited....

Finally, Fred figured out how to scan his debit card, the lady got her Perrier scanned and I got to ask for my prescription.

4)  Somehow, it just doesn't seem worth the hassle.

I finally got to ask for my prescription and she asked me when it was called in.  I said, "on July 10."  She said, "well, anything that's been called in for more than ten days goes back on the shelf."

Here's the thing, before you restock the drugs, do you bother to call the customer and let them know the scrip is in?  Cuz I don't think ya do!

So she checked the records and sure enough...the scrip had been restocked.  "We'll get the filled out for you right away."

What's your definition of "right away?"  Because by my count you've had twenty one days.

See this goes hand in hand with the fact that I had a doctor's appointment with this doctor in question on Thursday of this week.  On Tuesday I called to double check the time.  I was told, "Oh, they have to reschedule that appointment?"

Hey, was anyone going to tell me that?  Or would that have been a nice surprise when I showed up on Thursday?

Normally this clinic is very on top of things, but between this prescription foul up and the change in my appointment time, I am starting to lose confidence.

Anyway, so they get the thing filled.  (The old couple at the drop off desk is still yelling at each other and the pharma tech looks like she wants to die.)  My pharma tech says, "Is this a new prescription for you or do you know this one?"

I make the mistake of saying, "Its' new."

"Oh, then you need to talk to the pharmacist.  He'll be with you in a minute."

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!  All I wanted to do was go home and lie down.  That's all I ever want to do after a day at work.  But between Fred's butt, the arguing couple and now the pharmacist who seems to be watching "Sponge Bob" on his iPad instead of working, I've been at the pharmacy for way too long!

Pharmacist finally comes over and says, "So do you have questions?"

"No."

He then mumbles something I can't hear, and unbags my pills...and opens the bottle...and looks at them. Then looks at me...then looks at them.  He mumbles a few more things I can't hear and then he all but shouts, "BUT THIS IS HARDLY GOING TO BE WORTH TAKING FOR YOU!"

Oh, I get it.  Smalls pills.  Large woman. 

"Just some basic side effects.  Hearthburn, constipation, nothing serious."

Yes, so these will work exactly like the last three prescriptions have worked.  Only in this case since I'm such an elephant of a human, these tiny pills will barely scratch the surface.

Thank you.  Shoot me now.

3. Forget HEPA, we're in hell's waiting room.


I've been going to the Spine Care clinic for nearly nine months now.  I've often said the place looks like Hell's waiting room because most people are in some kind of wheelchair or brace or stretcher or body cast.  In that waiting room I'm the picture of health.

On Wednesday  (the day the appointment got moved to)  the place was packed.  It was like an old people's bus was on its way to Denny's and got rolled and everyone wound up with some sort of spine injury...all on the day I had an appointment.  So I waited in line while the women in charge of checking us all in discussed in great detail the previous night's episode of some dating show.  I don't watch dating shows on TV.  I tuned them out and instead overhead this delightful conversation between, yes, two old people.

LADY:  No, Edgar, you still have blood in your urine.

MAN:  I have what?

LADY:  BLOOD!  IN YOUR URINE!

MAN:  Why do I have that?

LADY:  I don't know.

MAN:  Well, how do you know?  I didn't know that.

LADY:  I TALKED TO THE DOCTOR AND HE TOLD ME YOU HAVE BLOOD IN YOUR URINE.

MAN:  Well, I hope they can fix that.  It sounds serious.

LADY:  I'm MORE WORRIED ABOUT THE BLOOD IN YOUR STOOL.

Strangely enough, even though he was the one in the wheelchair...they weren't there for him.  They were at that clinic for her.  He sat parked in the waiting room while she hobbled into the physical therapy room with her walker, her leg brace and her truss.

2.  Fun with BiFocals

Many of you may remember a few weeks ago when I was bullied into getting Progressive lens and frames I hated.  Well, after a week of feeling like I was in a box, I turned in the glasses and had them make me a pair of normal frames with lined bifocals.

Well /I got them yesterday...yes, after the pharmacy fiasco I went in for more abuse at the hands of the eye people. 

I like my frames now.  They are sporty, they are purple.  But lined bifocals...someone is going to get hurt, and it's probably going to be me. 

"They'll help you with working on the computer," says the woman who thought I looked good in the last pair of glasses.

How?  The line for the bifocals runs directly across the seeing part of my eye.  If I look down it's blurry.  If I look up, I get yet another pain in my neck.  So working at the computer...does not help.

And forget stairs.  Again, looking down makes the stairs blurry and looking up makes them invisible because stairs are DOWN.  Yep, I've tripped. I haven't fallen, but we all know it's a matter of time before I miss a step and go flying down a flight of stairs.

Meanwhile, trying to find that sweet spot where I have actual vision through my glasses has been fun.  At least for those around me.  But darn it all...those frames look great!

And who needs to actually SEE?  As long as you look good, that's what matters, right?

That brings me to this:

1.  I'm gettin' BOTOX!

Yep, if the new meds, the ones the pharmacist thinks are pointless for a girl of my advanced size, don't give me relief from pain...the next step is botox.

No, not around the eyes, where I need it because after a year of not sleeping more than 3 hours in a row, I'm starting to look a bit tired, no this would be in my neck.  The theory is that the botox would paralyze the muscle spasms in my neck.

And my neck will look smooth and sexy for 4-6 weeks.

So there's my ridiculous week.

Hope you are enjoying a great week as well!

Five for Friday (On Saturday) Things I did this week only I would do.

Good morning!

Sorry for the lateness of my Five for Friday.  I was going to write it yesterday...after I managed to accomplish #4 and #5 before heading off to work.  But I left work early yesterday to attend a musical recital by an artist named Mr. Richard Springfield.  Yes, I rocked out at the Rick Springfield concert last night, in someone limited manner since I can't turn my head to the right or left, so head banging was out.  Still, a physically restricted night at a Rick Springfield concert is better than pretty much...well, anything.

Anyway, yesterday morning I realized I accomplished five ridiculous things that only I could manage to do.  And now I'm sharing them with you.

Enjoy!

5)  Cut my knee fat while shaving.

I've been shaving my leg for more than three decades now, and I've had fat, lumpy knees for nearly as long.  You'd think I'd be able to remove some unwanted hair without opening a vein.  However, one problem I've always

Who is that in Row Z with the chubby, yet
super smooth legs?

had is that most of the time I shave my legs for a reason, and therefore shave early in the morning...before my brain has connected to the rest of my body.  Case in point, yesterday morning, before dawn I was up and trying to make my legs smooth and sexy...for the Rick Springfield concert...because he's going to notice my legs when I'm sitting in the middle of ROW Z.

4)  Wore long pants to the concert anyway.

I'm not saying the wound I gave myself was severe or anything...but I was bleeding hard enough that wearing tan Capri's to work was out...the one hem would have been bloodied by the time I got to work.  So I slapped on long pants.  As it turns out, we here in Wisconsin enjoyed a rare cool day weather wise and I kept the long pants on all day and to the concert.  I could have saved myself a pint of blood if I'd just checked the weather report.

3)  Celebrated Pandora's departure...before realizing what that really means for me.

Yep, after only seven weeks, Pandora is leaving us to move to New Orleans with her boyfriend.  At first I was sort of celebrating this.  Not that she's not a lovely girl, but I'd really like to work with someone who didn't use the word "like" as a break between all of her other words. That and the fact that she simply does not have a thought process, so instead of using logic to solve answer a question on her own, she asks me fifty questions a day.  It's not that tough of a job.  You dial the phone, you leave a message, you hang up the phone.  If you don't want to call someone for the thirtieth time, you don't have to.

 So I sort of did a happy dance at my desk...a happy dance that lasted all of four minutes when I realized that this is our mega busy season...and since Pandora won't be there to enter all the new leads from shows and fairs...and follow up with them, and schedule them...then there's only one person in the office who is going to have to do that.  And I already have a full time job.  (But, since no one else is capable of entering leads into the system or pick up the phone to schedule an appointment...)

2)  Had too much fun at a job interview and was a little too honest.

It's no secret I've been job hunting for several months now, mostly because I want something closer to home.  Dumping the first dollar of every hour I work into my gas tank is not fun.  So this week I had a job interview, one a long time friend got for me at her husband's company.  The interview lasted for more than an hour, mostly because the guy I was interviewing with was hilarious and we had a lot of fun chatting about this and that.  And the job he had to fill sounded really great.  Except for one thing:  It dealt with packing and handling frozen food.  (If you recall, one of the big reasons I had to leave my job at Kwik Trip. Thanks arthritis!)  Anyway, in the midst of the interview he asked me if I had any physical limitations.  Now, savvy job interviewers will tell you the answer to this question is NO.  But, hey, we were having a great time, we were laughing.  I sometimes find perverse humor in the fact that I 'm in my mid forties and I have the hands of a ninety year old.  So I said something stupid like, "well I have issues lifting things. Not that I can't, I'm strong enough, but I have crippled hands, it's so hilarious, let me tell you the saga of my arthritis."

My friend told me this morning I would have gotten the job if I hadn't said that.  Granted, I would still have had the problem with my hands, but by then I would be working there...and they'd have to deal with it...right?

1)  Got a little too enthusiastic greeting a cousin at a family reunion.

Last weekend Hubby and I attended a family gathering that involved two branches of unrelated families.  Several of my favorite cousins were going to be there and I was pretty excited about seeing relatives I haven't seen in a while.  We got here just in time for the massive family photo op, and as we were waiting to be placed in the picture, I found myself standing behind one of those favorite cousins-in-law.  I tapped her on the shoulder and said, "HI!  HOW ARE YOU?"  She turned to look at me, and I thought, "Wow, she's really changed since I saw her last.  When did she completely stop wearing makeup and what happened to her teeth?  And when did her eyes turn brown?"

She looked at me for a moment and said, "I'm fiiiiiiine," in that tone of voice that's a cross between, "Who the heck are you?"  and "Are you one of those stalkers I hear about?  Because if you are, I'm going to start screaming now."

I was undeterred.  "I'm great, it's so good to see you!"

She was ready to call the cops.  "Yeah, great."

I was about to think evil thoughts about how my cousin-in-law had gotten all snooty, when I looked just past this woman's shoulder...and saw the woman I THOUGHT I was talking to standing about fifteen feet away.

Realizing my mistake, I said, "Okay, well, have a good time!"  And, in a failed attempt to be cool, I walked away, leaving this poor woman wondering what just happened.

So there you go.  A week in a life that could only be mine.  Have a great weekend all!

I'll fix them. I'll wear my Sunglasses at night...and every other minute of the day!

Good afternoon all!

There probably should be a warning with this post, but since I know my friend Tag is hanging in Vegas with my friend Lovie I don't have to worry about him reading the post and commenting about female grossness.  Then again...Lovie reads the blog, too.

Anyway, most of my life I've worn glasses.  Since I was thirteen, when my parents were convinced the reason I was failing algebra was because I couldn't see the blackboard, I've worn glasses.  (For the record...the reason I was failing algebra is because I'm mentally deficient when it comes to math more advanced than fourth grade...oh, and I'd just fallen in love for the first time and so who cares about solving for X when all you want to do is XOXOXOXOX?)

Oddly enough, as restrictive as my parents were about pretty much every single aspect of my life, I had almost complete freedom when it came to my glass frames.  There was always a price restriction, of course, but as long as the frames were on the bargain rack, I could get whatever I wanted.

Over the years I developed a very definite style.  Round.  Wire.  Granted, in 1989 my glasses were roughly the size of saucers...and I'm talking about the ones you use to sled down icy hills.  But since then, round, wire frames have been my go to style and yes, they've gotten smaller over the years.  So much so that my most recent pair, purchased three years ago, were too small.  My field of vision was impaired.  (okay, I had to look WAY down to see my hymnal in church, making my extra couple chins more pronounced.)



No, not that kind of Progressive.

So recently Hubby announced it was TIME FOR AN EYE CHECK UP.  He and Peaches went, then it was my turn.  (Skippy lucked out of this because, well, he seems to be blessed with either perfect vision or complete denial.)  Hubby came home with something called...PROGRESSIVE LENS. 

He did not like them.  So he went back to get BI-FOCALS.  And when he went back, he took me along for an eye check.

I don't hate the eye doctor.  I'm just really, really sick of going to medical professionals who do little more than charge me a ton of money and leave me in worse shape than I was before I walked in.  But hey, I was squinting at things a lot more than normal, and it had been three years.

So I went to the eye doctor.  And she told me that I needed PROGRESSIVE LENS.  I said, "No, I do not want them.  My husband could not stand them.  They made him sick and he could not see properly.  I will take the bifocals."

The eye doctor said, "One person in thousands does not like PROGRESSIVE LENS.  Clearly your husband is that one person.  You will like them.  Wait and see."


I suddenly felt like I was in a Dr. Seuss book.

I said, fine I would try the PROGRESSIVE LENS.  And thusly, while my eyes were dilating, we went out to pick out frames.  It was a slow day I guess because both of the glass ladies, the eye doctor, and my husband decided to take a hand in picking out my glass frames.  I held up several that I liked.  Wire frames, round. 

They all shook their heads.

I really wanted to change, though.  Since I've gotten a bit more fluffy, my head is too big for most wire frames and so when I sweat, which is pretty often, I get those weird green marks on my head.  So I was looking for maybe something in a plastic frame.  And I found some glasses I really, really liked. 

"No,"  said one of the ladies.  "We will not sell you those glasses."

I picked out about seven pairs of frames, a couple of which I actually liked.  The one thing I did say was that I didn't care for dark frames and I really didn't like the kind of glasses that didn't have a frame all the way around the lens.  And I wanted a bigger lens than what I had because I wanted a broader field of vision. At some point, while my eyes were dilated and I couldn't see clearly, one of the four pulled a pair of frames off the rack and put them on my face.  Everyone cheered.  THESE ARE THE FRAMES!

They picked out dark frames, with a smaller lens, square, and oh yeah, the frames don't go all the way around the lens.

Now you might think I'm pathetic for letting them pick out my glasses for me, especially since I'm not wild about them. But see, there's always a funny part to every story, and this pathetic tale of a fat blind woman going to the eye doctor and being nudged into dark hipster Progressive lens glasses does have a funny part.

I picked them up today.  Anyone out there have Progressive Lens?  Let me tell you something about these lens.  You have to sort of shake your head to find the right spot to actually see whatever it is you're looking at.  Oh, and with Progressive Lens, you have a more skewed vision side to side so if you want to see something next to you, you have to turn your head to see it clearly.

Show of hands...who remembers what injury Sarah got in the car accident...and what part of her body has been getting treated for said injury for nearly a year?

Yes...SARAH CAN'T MOVE HER HEAD BACK AND FORTH WITHOUT GREAT PAIN.

Oh, but this gets funnier, trust me.

So I pick up the glasses and decide I'm going to wear them around the store. I have to pick up a couple things.  Now, wearing new glasses tends to disorient you a little bit.  Things are brighter, your eyes are focused weirdly.  And now, picture having TWO prescriptions in one lens and having to bounce your head and look back and forth to actually see something.

And now, put a fat, sweaty girl in this sense of disorientation into the PUNCTUATION PROTECTION AISLE.

So there I was bouncing my head up and down and moving side to side because I can't turn my head very well. All I wanted to do was pick up some female punctuation protection and scuttle to the ice cream aisle where I would drown my sorrows in a box of frozen something.  But no, this monthly trip down the aisle always takes me a while...and that's without having to "Adjust my set" as it were.

So after a very fun, headache and neck ache inducing ten minutes in the punctuation aisle, I staggered to the frozen foods section and picked up...I have no idea what.  At that point I just grabbed a couple boxes and made for the door.

At least, and here's the silver lining, the Fab Four let me pick out my own sunglasses.  I got the most fantastic Molly Ringwald gigantic round frames in a beautiful iced teal.  I look like Malibu Barbie...if Malibu Barbie ever
got fat and middle aged and drove an Imapala.  But those glasses, those are my happy glasses and I might just wear my sunglasses at night...and during the day...and in the office...and reading...and at church because my field of vision is HUGE and they aren't Progressive Lens and I LOVE THEM!


Yep, it's just gonna be me, singing Corey Hart songs, and wearing my pretty sunglasses.  And I won't have to turn to see anything because those lenses are so huge...I can almost see behind myself!



Ok Fluffy Folks, time to get out of the pool!

Most of you who have been following this blog for some time know that I'm a devoted listener of the Bob and Brian Show here in Milwaukee.  I'm especially a fan of their sports segment with Steve Czaben.  I may not always agree with Steve when it comes to American Football...or the NHL...or the true importance of professional golf  (There is none)  but I do agree with one thing he says over and over:  "It's time to leave the party when the football team arrives."

While Steve uses it as a caution to college coeds...I'd like to amend his statement a little.

When the Speedo shows up, it's time to get out of the pool.

Recently...yesterday...I started going back to Golds.  I decided, after nearly a year of doctors, lawyers, specialists, appointments, and pills that I needed to do something for me.  So yesterday I started going back to Golds gym.

As a side note, I was going to blog this week on how Tim McGraw and Lumbergh both made darn sure I didn't get to see Rick Springfield at Summerfest last week...but a trip to Golds made most of my rage over that incident melt away.  How?  Well, when I walked in to the gym, a place I hadn't been since November of last year, the first person I saw was KRAM, my some times personal trainer.

Kram saw me come and said, "Sarah Bradley!"  You're back!  You look great!"

I said, "No I don't.  But thanks.  I'm going to start looking great from now on."

And today, Kram again greeted me at the door and said, "Hey, two for two!"

I know, I'm shocked, too.

Anyway, so today I decided to hit the pool.  Last year I got a new swim suit, a really cool one with shorts and a zipper and a snap at the waist that doesn't stay closed no matter what.  I haven't worn it in a year.

I checked the pool for an available lane, and there was one...right on the end next to the fluffy couple who shared a lane and the very nice lady swimmer who was swimming laps quietly and minding her own business.

I got in the pool and started sort of walking/swimming.  I was having a lovely time.  The fluffy couple was having a lovely time.  The very nice lady swimmer was having a lovely time.

Then I emerged from floating underwater and came eye to eye with it.

The SPEEDO. 

At this point I have to apologize.  Normally I have a ton of pictures but I seem to be having technical difficulties and cannot load pictures to the blog.  Sorry, you're going to just have to imagine this blonde, twenty something, tan god in a teeny tiny red speedo.

And there I was, eye level with it.

I tried to ignore him.  We all did.  The fluffy couple kept paddling in their lane, the swimmer lady kept swimming laps, and I kept doing whatever weird mix of swimming and not swimming I was doing.

But, much like Glenn Close in "Fatal Attraction"  this dude was NOT GOING TO BE IGNORED!

He set all of his gear at the end of the pool.  He had a kick board  (he brought one from home...couldn't use the millions they have a the pool)  some weird flotation thingy for his feet, two towels, a stopwatch, and a water bottle.

A water bottle.

He set all that down.  Then he started walking up and down the length of the pool on the deck.  Again, we were all minding our own business.  So Speedo started doing something I swear I've never seen before:  He started walking while slapping his feet against the deck.

It's very noisy.  Everyone HAD to look at him.  I mean, what kind of flipper feet do you have to have to be able to make that kind of slapping sound? 

The swimmer lady cracked first.  She got out of the pool.

He kept pacing, slapping his feet on the deck.  Then he added some airplane moves with his arms.  I've seen Olympic swimmers do this.  It's looks just as goofy in real life, especially when you're slapping your feet on the deck.

I got out of the pool.  Hey, I'm an observer.  I had to watch this guy and I couldn't get a very good view without my glasses.

The fluffy couple held on and I give them credit. Speedo then went back to the end of the pool and began what can only be described as HE-MAN STRETCHING!

He pushed, stretched, bent, squatted, and we all held our breath.  That Speedo was being moved in a lot of directions..,and there wasn't much to it.

At some point during the HE-MAN STRETCHES, fluffy couple got out of the pool and joined me at the hot tub.  I thought about asking if we should get popcorn.

As Speedo was about to get into the water...a darling, tiny, older woman tottered herself into the pool and began to swim laps.

This broke Speedo's prep. He started the slap walking all over again.  Little old lady kept swimming.  He did his HE-MAN STRETCHES again.  She kept swimming.  In a sort of petty display, he kicked his pile of gear over in front of a different lane.

Little old lady kept swimming.

Finally, after some twenty minutes of parading and preening like some sort of plucked peacock, Speedo had to get into the water.  And he dove in with a great splash, clearly ignoring all the DO NOT DIVE signs around the pool.  And, just as quickly as he dove in, he leaped up, breaking the surface of the water and arching much like a really graceful dolphin or whale or something and he splashed back into the water all noisy and messy.

And Little old lady kept swimming.

So friends, I'm back at Golds, which means there will be fun blogging.  And I now have two rules to live by:  It's time to leave the party when the football team arrives and it's time for Fluffy Folk to leave the pool when the Speedo arrives.

Shirts and Skins Tennis

Good evening!

Our forefathers died so we could
eat hot dogs on red, white, and
blue everything.

First of all, to all my American friends and readers, Happy 4th of July!  Let's celebrate by grilling dead animal flesh on a pile of charcoal, drinking adult beverages, and blowing things up.  It's what the founding fathers had in mind, I'm sure, when they spilled their blood on the battle fields against the British...who are now one of the U.S.'s best friends.  Fun how things work out.  Given the mess the U.S. Government has made of the place I'm starting to wonder how things would have looked had we just stayed under
the rule of good old crazy King George.

I digress.

Yes, this is why the Revolutionaries
fought the war.  Right here.  This is
Exactly what the framers of the
Declaration of Independence wanted
to protect.

Anyway, today being the country's birthday and all, most people are off work...unless you work at a grocery store, a retail store, a furniture store, a place that sells gas, any emergency medical facility, a car dealership, a fast food place, Denny's, any bar, any bowling facility...you get my drift, a lot of people still have to work. But not me, and not hubby.

So we slept all the way in to 7:30 this morning, got up, had some coffee and pancakes  (I love it when hubby cooks for me.)  We got Skippy off to work at his job  (he's working his sixth consecutive 4th of July at Culvers.  This year he works open to close.) We kissed Peaches, who went to the late viewing of "Despicable Me" last night and was therefore tired, and we went to tennis.

Hubby found this nice, secret, out of the way tennis court.  The fenced area is way wider and the fences are taller, so I'm really happy to announce I did not hit anything over the fence this time!  I have also figured out how to hit a back hand shot without sending it behind me...I use both hands on the racket and fire it like I'm hitting left handed in a baseball game.  Hubby is impressed 1) that I actually hit some back hand shots in the right direction and 2) that I don't grunt when I do it.

We were having a lovely time and then THEY showed up.  You know that couple that wrecks normal people's fun just because they show up.  They're young, they're fit, they ride their bikes everywhere so they've already got a nice shine to their skin whenever they show up.  They drink water from glass bottles with foreign names instead of those super thin plastic bottles that flatten when you drink from them.  (Seriously, we're about one step away from juice bags with these water bottles.  I'm all for using less plastic and whatnot, but the other day I folded my empty water bottle and put it in my pocket.)

These are the kind of people who are so gloriously in shape they truly make the rest of us feel like hiding in a hole because we are too ugly to be in the same world. They looked like this: 

 

I'm not exaggerating.  Okay, maybe a little.  But they pulled up on the bikes and he was talking all rude about her bike.  And she looked like she hated riding her bike.  She parked it behind the dumpster near the tennis courts. He said something smug about the dumpster guys picking up and then he would buy her a new bike. You known that tone some guys take when they think they know everything about this machine or that and whatever machine you have doesn't measure up?  Yeah, he was that guy. 

 

I lost all interest in tennis.  I wanted to hide.  There she was in her sports bra, and not under a big giant T-shirt like I wear it, no just a sports bra...a WHITE sports bra.  And those little shorts that super fit women wear, the kind that hug your thighs...unlike my shorts which hug my thighs because the material is stretched to the max and the shorts have no other choice. She and I might both be female, but we are NOT of the same species.

 

He was wearing a muscle shirt.  I hate muscle shirts.  Muscle shirts are always worn by guys whose big move to impress a woman is to remove the muscle shirt.

 

I was not disappointed...it was only 70 degrees  (Fahrenheit) and there was a cool breeze, but that muscle shirt was OFF about nine seconds after they hit the court. So they were going for a shirts and skins, or maybe a skins and skins match.  Fortunately for me, they opted to play on the courts in the OTHER fenced area as opposed to playing on the court next to ours.  This gave Hubby and me a chance to tennis without apologizing to our neighbors when I whacked a ball into their court...and it gave me the chance to really focus on what they were saying and doing without looking more creepy to them than I already did.

 

Turns out...she was as bad at tennising as I am.  She just looked way better at being bad at it.  My guess is she's a gym rat who got those abs like my friend Dee did at Golds, through hours and hours of classes and weight lifting.  That would explain why, after dismounting her real world bike, she walked like I do when I get off a bike:  Like her whole body hurt and she wanted to lie down and let her female parts stop throbbing...in that bad way they do when you spend time on a bicycle.

 

He, meanwhile, was clearly that guy that rides his bike to work and work is in another county.  He strutted around like he wasn't just watching the Tour de France for the fun of it, but that those were his peeps. 

 

He was definitely the guy trying to teach his girl how to tennis correctly.  And he didn't care who knew it.

 

See, Hubby might give me a few pointers, but mostly he just chases after my balls when I'm blessed enough to actually hit them over the net.  Sometimes we talk about stuff in our day.  Mostly though, we just hit the ball back and forth and laugh when something really funny happens.

 

This guy...well he was trying to coach her.  Loudly.

 

At one point we collected our balls and met at the net and Hubby kissed me and said, "There's no way you're going to be as mad at me as she will be at him when this day is over."

 

Truer words were never spoken.  See, after we finished tennis, Hubby took me to get an iced coffee.  We drove, in a vehicle.  And then I read a little and took a nap.  Sports Bra and Muscle Shirt had to get on their bikes and ride off to the next thing he was going to force her to learn.

 

I like my 4th of July much better.

 

So happy 4th to all you who celebrate.  Let's appreciate and be thankful for the freedoms we have.  Let's show love to those in uniform who have continued to protect those freedoms. 

God bless America!  Land that I love.