This is weird question to be asked 3 times, right?

Hello everyone!  First of all, Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends out there.  For those of you not in the know, Thanksgiving is the official kick off to the five week mayhem that we call "the Holiday Season."  I'm happy to say that other than placing an order for Kringle for my far flung relatives, I'm officially done with all the shopping and can now settle into 5 weeks of decorating, caroling, and drinking warm adult beverage while watching charming, utterly forgettable movies.

But first, Thanksgiving.  So, hey all, I'm thankful for another year of being able to share my life with you fine folks and, while my posts might not have been as many this year (mostly because my life has been a tiny bit more exhausting...) that doesn't mean I don't have plenty up my sleeve for 2020. Seriously, who thought we'd all make it this far?

Anyway, Season's Greetings and all that.

Now, on to the topic of the day.

So yesterday I took a break from writing (still working it hard for #nanowrimo2019) and Hubby and I went out for lunch/brunch.  It was noon when we settled on a cute little family diner/bakery in a cute part of an adorable town near ours.  Given that it was noon on a Saturday, I expected the place to be busy, but apparently this was more of a breakfast/supper place than a flat out lunch place. What I'm saying is that at noon yesterday, we were one of about six tables in the restaurant and there were no less than 9 young ladies, all of whom wore ponytails, working as servers.

That's not the weird part.

Just wait.

So Ponytail #1 takes us to our table and asks if we want breakfast or dinner menus. We take breakfast.  She gives us our menu and leaves.  Ponytail #2 comes up, brings water, asks if we want coffee. We do. She gets it, takes our order, and leaves.  (BTW, I'm calling them "Ponytails" because not a one of them told us their names.)

Now, while we are waiting for our food, this is when it starts to get weird.  Another ponytail walks us and asks us if we are using our ketchup.

I have to think about it for a moment, but then Hubby reminds me that I like ketchup on my hash browns.  So, we tell Ponytail #3, that yes, we are using our ketchup.  She walks away.

Had that been the end of it, there would be no blog.

Another two minutes pass and Ponytail #4  comes up to our table. Now, she's carrying several ketchup bottles.  She asks us, "Are you done with your ketchup?"

Sweetie, we haven't even gotten our food yet.  No, we say politely, we are going to be using our ketchup.

She turns around, and leaves us. Now, Ponytail #5 (I'm not making this us...all different young ladies, same hair.) brings us our food. It's great. It's delicious.  And then Ponytail tale #6, who nearly trips over #5 on her way to our table, asks, "are you done with your ketchup?"

I mean, this is a weird question, right?  This is a strange thing to be asked 3 times within a matter of about five minutes by three different people.  Right?  All my years working in a restaurant, and all my kids' years, I don't think anyone's ever asked a seated table to surrender their ketchup. And, if they were cleaning and refilling the bottles, as Hubby suggested, noon is a weird time to do it. That's really more of a 2-4PM job, right?  Let me hear from my servers and bussers on this one!

Anyway, Hubby, at this point, hides our ketchup on his booth.  When I need it, I ask for it, and then he tucks it back on his seat.  (I like to put ketchup on my hash browns in stages.)  So we're enjoying out meal It's really good food.

And then it happens.  Ponytail #2, our server, comes over and puts a bottle of ketchup on the table. "Here's your ketchup!"

And now we have TWO BOTTLES on our table.

I'm not about to say anything. It's mine now.

Meal over, everything was wonderful, we pay our check and go on with our lives. At the register Ponytail # 7 asks "How was everything?"

I, of course, want to ask, "WHAT IS THE DEAL WITH YOU PEOPLE AND THE KETCHUP?"

But I don't.

Because I'm basically a coward.

But seriously, that's a weird question, right?

Anyway, everyone have a safe and happy Thanksgiving and we'll see you in December!

A birthday concert and dinner...and this happened.

Hello everyone!

I know you're all wondering how National Novel Writing Month is going for me.  Well, it's going. I'm behind the standard goal for the month, but I am gradually working myself into a regular, consistent schedule for writing.  So that's a win.  Plus, My newest work in progress, "Suburban Princess" (a psychological thriller) is starting to take shape. Check out a rough draft of the cover!  Isn't it sort of cool?

So this past weekend was my birthday.  I don't need to share how old I am.  I'll just say I'm old enough to know better, young enough to still think I should try anyway, but now I'm old enough to be too tired to bother.

Hubby REALLY outdid himself this year. First of all, he took me to Detroit to see my beloved Redwings play in their new (AND AWESOME) arena. We got to catch up with old friends, the Redwings won (which was nice...they aren't great this year) and we drove back in a blizzard which wasn't nice, but we got home safely.

That was great.

Then, hubby and I sort of did a fun impromptu little thing with friends Jake and Sydney.  They got tickets to see Manheim Steamroller's 35th anniversary tour for themselves for Christmas and asked us to join them.  (So nice!  We felt pretty honored, especially when we saw the seats, which were perfection!  On the aisle, close to the door, the walkway in front of us so no one sitting right in front of us...awesome.)

I'll bet you think someone dumped a rum and coke on me.  (Especially since this is the same place where we saw Mellencamp.)  Nope. No one dumped anything on me.  We enjoyed the balanced mix of orchestral instruments and electronic keyboards. We hummed along with familiar Christmas tunes and tapped our feet to the ones that were less than familiar.  We talked about how Manheim Steamroller Christmas was an important album when we were in college.  Oh, there was one interaction with the woman behind us. She tapped Hubby on the shoulder and told him his bow tie was the best one she'd ever seen.

I think I need to attend more concerts with Jake and Sydney.  Seriously, I've never been to a concert where nothing was dumped, poured, sneezed, barfed, thrown, or coughed on me. Not even church concerts.  This was a magical experience.

When the concert let out we walked back to our parking ramp where we waited in line zero minutes to get out and back on the street.  We then drove to a popular Italian place for dinner.  A place called Maggiano's. If you have one near you, check it out.  

Now, when I say this place is popular, I mean...it's a massive two story eatery with a huge bar area. Having no idea how long the concert would be or how long it would take us to get out of the parking ramp, we didn't make a reservation.

Wait time: 1 hour.  

Did I mention that, thanks to Nano, I got up right away in the morning, didn't eat breakfast, didn't eat lunch, the went to the concert...not eating?  

I FORGOT TO EAT?  

Ohhhhhhh, You say....here we go!  

Did someone bump into me?  Did I obaserve someone arguing with wait staff over their bill?  Did we have to wait longer than one hour for dinner?

You know what?  No. None of that happened!

The four of us waited a bit, and a table in the bar opened up. Hubby asked the head seating guy if we could take the table. Head seating guy said sure.  So, we did.  

Total wait time: 25 minutes.

We got a waiter I affectionately called "man bun."  (see, because he had a man bun...)

Man Bun (or MB as we'll call him here) was very harried. Poor guy.  He apologized every time he came to the table for the long wait. 

Here's the thing:  We didn't wait any sort of length of time for anything.  If we asked for drinks, we got drinks. When Hubby asked for a clean water glass because his had some weird brown, brackish liquid in it, he got it, along with a series of apologies from MB.

Sydney has some dietary requirements that make eating out a little bit of a challenge. She's really cool about it, though, so it's no biggie when she asked MB about gluten free/dairy free options.  MB...he was great. Instead of sighing and secretly rolling his eyes (I've seen that before)  he apologized that he didn't know everything about the options.  So what did he do? He got the CHEF to come out and talk to us.

Did I mention that this place was beyond packed on a Saturday night?

Now of course our food took eons and was clearly dried out because we had a special order, right?

Nope.  Everything was amazing and perfect and lovely and if it had been polite to do so I would have licked my bowl clean because, remember, I'd forgotten to eat.

Now it was time for dessert.  Hubby informed MB that it was my birthday.  Like here we are, actually out on the day of my birth.  MB said they had a lemon cookie dessert they could bring.  

No thanks. I'm not eating lemon cookies when TIRAMISU is on the menu!  

So we put in a dessert order and we waited.

We waited the exact amount of time it would take to get a dessert order if there was literally no one else in the restaurant. The food runner brought out our desserts and we began enjoying them. 

That's when MB came out and said, "Wait...there's no candle in your dessert?  I'm so sorry! I told them to put candles in your dessert!"

Poor guy. I don't know what they do in the back rooms of that restaurant, but I was starting to feel sorry for MB. He was really great at his job and we were having literally the best time ever.

MB vanished for a moment, and I thought the candle issue was over.  Nope. He returned a couple minutes later. 

"I'm so sorry," says he.  "I couldn't find candles so here," he held his lighter just over the last bits of my tiramisu (I'm sort of a pig when it comes to a good tiramisu...and this was magical) and he lit it. 

Hubby and friends and MB wished me a happy birthday and I blew out the lighter.

So, here's the point of all this:  I went out, on my birthday to a concert, to dinner at a busy place, and everything went very, very smoothly.

On this blog I generally talk about how I fall down a lot or get frustrated with people or get stuff dumped on me.  I figured, in this holiday season, especially since we are so close to American Thanksgiving (and those of you outside the US, when you celebrate your own holiday of thanks, ponder this) I had to share the one and only time I went to a concert and dinner and nothing bad happened.

It's just like riding that annoying, painful bike you thought you'd thrown away.

The following blog deals with a very personal matter in a very personal way.  (Yes, Todd, it's about feminine punctuation.)

If you don't want to know way too much about me...or if female problems make you feel icky, do not read further.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED...

I'm serious.  We're about to get graphic and female up in here.  If you're going to read this and then chase me down after church and tell me this week's blog grossed you out, then stop reading right now!

Let me be clear:  I'm not going to keep you wondering. I'm going to reveal it all!  STOP READING NOW IF  FEMALE ISSUES MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE.

The language, also, is going to get pretty bad.

Who's left?  Just us girls?  Us older, age appropriate to listen to a graphic rant about female stuff girls?

Good.

Ready?

WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL JUST HAPPENED?  I JUST GOT MY PERIOD.

I haven't had one since JUNE.  JUNE.  That's July, August, September and October, no female punctuation.  No cramping. No bloating. No leaks all over the sheets. No leaks all over  my clothes.  No worrying if I had protection in my purse, suitcase, whatever. NO WORRIES ABOUT ANY OF THAT NONSENSE AT ALL for four blissful months.

Unlike not getting your monthly punctuation when you're younger, or maybe waiting on that first punctuation after the baby is born, getting one after missing it due to menopause is just a gigantic slap in the face.  I was done. I was free. I was able to leave my house without wondering if I had stocked my purse properly.

All I had were hot flashes. And yes, they were horrible this summer, but guess what?  We're getting into winter. I was looking forward to those hot flashes. You know, save on the heating bill. But, a couple weeks ago, I noticed I wasn't getting those flashes as often.

Stupid me, I thought I'd just gone through the fastest menopause EVER.

BUT NOOOOOOOOOO.

I got up this morning, all crampy and grumpy and sick to my stomach and head achy and then boom, bam POW.  

Period.

So now, I'm taking a moment out of my novel writing month to share this with all of you because I'm so FREAKING MAD.  I have to do things I thought I was done doing.  I have to use things I thought I was done using.  I HAVE TO HAVE RESET THE MENOPAUSE CLOCK AND GO BACK TO START AGAIN.

Now, of course I haven't forgotten how to treat a period.  I haven't forgotten how to use the punctuation protection. I haven't forgotten to wear all dark colors.  (Like I had even gotten away from that yet. That'll teach me to ponder getting a pair of gray jeans.)

Getting a period after so many months is like riding a bike. An annoying bike that causes pain. A bike I honestly thought I'd gotten rid of for good.  But, apparently, unlike stuff you take to St.  Vincent de Paul, this bike is coming back to you until it's good and ready to be gone.

So reset the menopause clock.  I'm back in the land of the menstruating for at least one more cycle. And I'm not terribly happy about it.