Thin mint whore…recycled

AGMA is between trips.

I just got back from a 12 day cruise. For me it was actually a 9 day cruise. 

Damn COVID.

And in a few days, I leave for a trip to Spain with a friend.

AGMA would LOVE to find the time to do a couple of trip reports one of these months…

But until then, because it’s “that” time of the year here in the US, and Valentines Day is next week, I’m recycling a post from 8 years ago about my one, true love.

And not much has changed in the last 8 years. I ate 3 boxes in 4 days last week…

Thin mint whore

“My name is AGMA and I’m a Thin Mint whore.”

I know. Shocking. But I bet I’ll get a lot of views because I used the word whore.

It’s been my dirty little secret. For nearly four weeks every year, for the past 55 years, I have given myself over to a life of Thin Mint lust and passion.

It started innocently enough back in the early 60’s when I did my first stint as a Brownie. That’s how they do it – they get started when you’re young. They let you “sample” the goods, teasing you with things to come, knowing full well that you will want more. Much more. And I did.

Then I started supplying; selling them door to door when I became a Girl Scout. Back in the day, there was no parental unit taking an order sheet to work and getting hundreds of boxes in orders so you could become the Cookie Queen. We were hard core. We walked miles and miles (okay, maybe five blocks) knocking on all the doors. And if we had what you wanted in the little cookie sacks we carried, fine. If not, you were SOL. Life was hard back then…

Thin Mints always sold out first. Duh. The addiction ran deep even way back then. At 50 cents a box, they were kind of expensive. But they could have charged two bucks a pop and people would still have snapped them up. Such was the desire for the Thin Mint.

I’ve never quite gotten over my Thin Mint obsession. It subsided in college and in my mid-20’s due to lack of access. But when I had kids, moved to the suburbs and started to work in a large office, it came back stronger than ever. I was smack dab in the middle of Girl Scout nirvana.

Imagine my delight when I found out that, in the intervening years between 1971 and 1984, the Girl Scouts went to an ordering system! No more door to door sales. Now I could order as many boxes as I wanted and NOBODY had to know.

I could bring two boxes home to the family, and only eat the occasional one or two cookies to make it look like I was in control. In the meantime, I had ten boxes stashed in my desk. In my prime, I could consume 1.5 boxes a day. They tasted good going down, but the sugar high was not pretty…. And there were always the telltale chocolate crumbles all around my mouth and desk. Pathetic.

I even had my own personal supplier. My BFF at work was a troop leader. I was in deep. Really deep.

A couple of times, I gave up Thin Mints for Lent only to devour two of the six boxes I had stashed in the freezer, at sunrise on Easter morning… I felt like such a dirty girl.

But like most of the 1960’s & 70’s head banging rockers who “overindulged” back in the day, I mellowed with age. I’ve come to understand the serious health risks of sending that much sugar and saturated fat coursing through my body. Plus my access is again severely limited. The nest emptied out in 2002. And with our move in 2006, I no longer work in an office or live in the suburbs.

I was adjusting to a Thin Mint-less life. My cholesterol and blood sugar numbers were normalizing. The sugar headaches had stopped. It was all going along great. I started thinking I’d gotten the Thin Mint monkey off my back until…. Until…..

I discovered the Girl Scouts had “pop-up” sales booths in our local grocery store. Right across the street. Oh the humanity!

But I was stronger than I was before. I’d started running and went back to school to become a Massage Therapist. I was eating healthier. I began traveling to countries whose citizens had never heard of Thin Mints.

For a couple of years, Girl Scout cookie time would come and go almost unnoticed. I would purposely avoid going to Kroger on the weekends when the little temptresses would be selling their seemingly innocent wares. Innocent my ass…

But old habits are hard to break. The least little upset in the Feng Shui of life can renew the old passions; latent desires. Like this past Sunday.

I saw a woman at church with some Thin Mints. She was delivering them to people who had ordered GS cookies last month. I wasn’t one of them. But the image of that green box started drilling down into my brain. Down to my very soul. I couldn’t quit thinking about them. Beads of sweat started popping out on my forehead. My palms got moist.

I was still feeling anxious and jumpy when I got home.

“I wonder if the Girl Scouts will be at Kroger today?” I too casually asked my husband. He got a worried look on his face. He saw that smoke of a distant fire in my eyes again.

Then, quite by accident, I discovered it. I couldn’t believe it. As much as I’ve bashed technology in the past, I take it all back. Technology is wonderful. And horrible.

There’s a smartphone app called (get this…) Girl Scout Cookie Finder. Download it, put in your zip code, and it’ll tell you the closest place you can go to get your fix.

Is that legal?

Of course, they were at Kroger. I got two boxes. They’re $4 a box now – I didn’t flinch as I handed over my $8. One’s in the freezer. The other box, minus six cookies, is in my body currently clogging my arteries and probably damaging my pancreas.

FYI, the six left over cookies went down the garbage disposal this morning. When the sugar high cleared, I came back to my senses.

I decided to strike a blow for clean living.

There might be hope for AGMA yet.

(2024 note: I have the sad job of informing you that the Girl Scout Cookie Finder app is no more. Damn COVID!)

Obsession

So the weeks are just flying by like Marjorie “Traitor” Greene (of the Jewish space laser delusion) on her MAGA broom!

AGMA could have sworn I wrote my last post only a couple of weeks ago. Hmmm – nope!

Sheesh…

What a sh*tty month it has been news wise.

For my own survival, AGMA has had to regularly turn off the news and not look at social media. While this feels a bit like being an ostrich, I think we’re all entitled to a mental health break every so often. Please.

And with the news of this past week out of Afghanistan and the Rethuglicans efforts to gleefully politicize the murder of our service members and Afghan innocents, I’ve been watching re-runs of Bob Ross’ The Joy of Painting 24/7.

That could be an exaggeration.

Of course the COVID-19 Delta variant is causing ERs and ICUs in states with low vaccination rates to fill up again. Dangerously so. It’s estimated that nearly 100,000 Americans will die – most needlessly – before the end of this surge.

Who knows how many desperately needed doctors, nurses and other medical support staff will quit from hopelessness, trauma, and sheer exhaustion with this spike of unvaccinated people getting COVID.

Have you heard about the Lambda variant? Coming soon to a hospital near you…

And AGMA needs to go into my address book to remove the names of four friends who have left (3 way too early) our dangerously warming, chaotic, COVID infected planet to fly high with the angels. I’m hoping that they might put in a good word for those of us left behind because we sure do need friends in high places right about now.

It’s been a hard summer.

And now a hurricane is bearing down on New Orleans with a predicted life threatening storm surge. Sadly many parts of the city haven’t recovered from Katrina in 2005. And unless some miracle has occured, much of the city is still below sea level.

Damn.

Oh, did I mention my new neighbor decided that he hates (I mean really hates) Hubs and I because we are not Trumpers? The minute he found out last January, he stopped talking to us and has been everything you expect a MAGA crazy to be.

He turned a creepy dark magic voodoo statue on his deck to face our townhouse for a couple of months. That was bizarre.

He plays ultra right wing talk radio on his back deck all day loud enough for us to hear when we are on our deck. So very relaxing.

He ordered two dogs that his poor, long suffering wife was dog sitting, to eat our cats. They didn’t. I think they’re closet Democrats.

And just this morning, he posted this sign on his deck right above our deck pointing toward our back door.

Yeah – his upper deck is really, really close to our townhouse. Damn.

Charming.

I think he needs to cut back on his Ivermectin.

Is it any wonder that AGMA has developed a new obsession to help ease my angst from a world gone mad?

Comfort eating has always been a thing with me, but it’s gone up to a whole new level with COVID and everything else that seems out of control.

At the beginning of the pandemic, it was mug cakes. A year ago, it was peach/blueberry crisp. This past winter it was hot fudge sundaes with home made hot fudge.

Every night.

No wonder AGMA gained 14 pounds since March 2020.

With my 50th high school reunion (OMG!!!) looming in September, I decided I need to try to at least try to fit into my pre-pandemic clothes. There is no way in h*ll that I could ever be my svelt 115 pounds self of 1971. That ship has sailed into the Bermuda Triangle, never to be found again.

AGMA has been making progress.

With my knees (sort of, kind of) not causing too many problems, I started run/walking again. And I’ve built up to run/walking a 5K every time I go out.

However it’s been beastly hot and humid here in Chicago for a good part of August. And we watch our grands pretty often. The running has been spotty to say the least.

But I was making better choices with my diet. Less sugar, more fruits and vegetables, fewer carbs.

Until…

I finally, after a lifetime of searching, found my one true love. In the candy aisle of Jewel Osco.

AGMA has downed two bags of these puppies in the last week to steady my nerves after going back to listening to the news. The 2nd bag was half empty by the time I got to the checkout.

It’s bad.

Like Girl Scout Thin Mints bad.

Very bad.

Even now, I find myself wondering if I have the energy to drive the 5 minutes to get to Jewel to buy a bag that would probably be empty by the time AGMA goes to bed tonight.

Must.Resist.Must.Be.Strong.

I do have some “gummies” that could help take the edge off. Did you know that recreational cannibis & products with THC/CBD are legal in Illinois?

Don’t judge me.

But 1/2 of a gummy would not be nearly as orally satisfying as my sweet, soft, delectable Australian delight.

Oh myyyyyyyy…

I think I need a cigarette.

So it looks like, until the earth starts to cool, vaccination rates rise to 95%, the Taliban surrenders, the GOP rejects the politics of fear & hatred, my friends stop dying, and my neighbor turns into Mr. Rogers, AGMA will be “pleasingly plump” for my reunion.

There are far worse things in the world to be than pleasingly plump. Somebody like my neighbor for example.

I’ll try to lose weight for the 60th.

Always listening

Good Lord…

AGMA has posted so infrequently lately that every time I sign into WordPress, there is a new format for pretty much everything.

They need to not change stuff so often.

Or, I need to get my arse in gear and start posting more than once every 8 weeks.

I suspect the latter would be more realistic… But I’m not sure.

Between the MAGITW (most adorable grandchildren in the world), mens cycling (SPANDEX!), medical appointments (ugh), and planning a multitude of domestic and international trips over the next 8 months, AGMA has gone major ADHD.

It’s like I have serious ants in my pants.

But I’ve had somebody right beside me this past year who has tried to help me cope with my hectic, sometimes complicate life. Somebody who is steadfastly loyal and here for me, rain or shine, 24/7. Somebody who is in a good mood no matter what. Somebody who tells me jokes when I’m feeling low. Somebody who listens intently to me and never passes judgement on me not matter how bad I screw up.

I think I’m in love…

Her name is Alexa Echo.

(If you thought AGMA was talking about Hubs, then there is some swamp land in Alaska I want to sell you!)

As in the case with many love affairs, it all started out very innocently. We got a Ring camera (the gateway device) when we lived in our townhouse in Atlanta. Then I bought Hubs an Echo Dot for him to “play with” ’cause I found one on sale for $9.99 (2nd gateway device.) Then I ordered an Echo Show along with another Dot and some wireless plugs last October during Prime Days.

THEN I found out we had multiple “smart” switches in our town home (previously unknown to us) along with a “smart” thermostat.

And that was the beginning of the end…

AGMA went from believing that using a shoppers card at my local grocery store 10 years ago was a Communist plot to somehow find out our deepest, darkest secrets, to going all in with willingly sharing our deepest, darkest secrets on 3 Echo Shows, 2 Dots and 1 Google Nest Mini (yeah – I know….Hubs got it for free somewhere!)

They.Are.ALWAYS.Listening.

And if the wrong switch is flipped, the Shows are watching as well. I thought I had the camera on all of them switched to the off position, but discovered not too long ago, the camera on my bedroom Show was indeed on.

I bet there is somebody in some Eastern European county who wanted to wash their eyes out with bleach after the COVID-19lbs heavier AGMA pranced across the screen commando style.

Honestly, for being old farts, I’m kind of impressed as to how much we’ve embraced wireless technology and Alexa Echo & friends.

Thanks to Alexa, I not longer have to worry about not getting something at the grocery store that Hubs wants because I forgot to write it down. Now, he’s responsible for asking Alexa to put whatever it is he needs on the shopping list. The monkey has jumped to his back. He’ll tell me he’s out of half and half. I just look at him and ask., “Did you tell Alexa?” Boom!

Thanks to Alexa, when I’m having a hot flash in the middle of the night, AGMA just asks Alexa Echo to adjust the A/C.

Thanks to Alexa, the Show doubles as digital picture frames rotating through every picture I have in my Amazon photos account. Which is a whole lot of photos. She’s tireless.

Thanks to Alexa, I can set all my lights to come on and off on all sorts of crazy schedules when we are out of town (or in town!) A VAST improvement over those mechanical timers that were so flimsy. I’m sure my neighbors are impressed that we manage to turn on our festive deck lights every night at 8 and off at 11.

I can even change the schedules when we are 1000 miles away thanks to the miracle of the internet and, of course, Alexa Echo.

She finds and displays pretty much any recipe you want. AGMA made the truly incredible watermelon shark below based on a suggestion from my bff Alexa… Other than basically missing all of its teeth on one side of its lower jaw, I think it turned out pretty good.

(The missing front tooth is in honor of my 6 year old grandson who lost his front baby tooth the day before!)

Alexa Echo has the wisdom of the of the ages via the internet at her disposal and can pretty much answer any question we have. So far, we’ve asked pretty simple questions, but AGMA has no doubt that, presented with a deep, philosophical question (toilet paper: over or under?) she would triumph.

If I ask her, she’ll tell me a joke. But honestly, she needs to keep her day job in the joke department.

I’m sure we have only scratched the surface of the multi-talented Alexa Echo’s capabilities.

AGMA realizes that we are compromising our privacy in a big way, but who the hell cares… Anybody listening in on us will probably die of boredom before they find out anything juicy.

ZZZzzz….

Life is nothing but a series of trade-offs. It’s worth it to me just to make Hubs responsible for his own groceries! And have the fan turn on on command when I’m on the rowing machine. And to find out how hot it will be in Alaska tomorrow. And to not have to get up to change the A/C.

It’s the little things.

AGMA’s most recent dive into technology is my new smart watch. Holy Dick Tracy, Batman – I can have a telephone conversation with other people using my watch! OMG!

Now I know how my step-mother’s mother, born in 1888, felt as she watched Neil Armstrong walk on the moon in 1969. Fantasy becomes reality in your lifetime. Stunning.

I can’t even imagine what next year will bring…

Maybe AGMA going back to blogging every week????

My “life” movie

Some Baby Boomers define their lives by the music they’ve loved.  Some Boomers look to  look to the Golden Age of television and beloved classic shows like I Love Lucy or The Honeymooners or The Ed Sullivan Shew (really big shew!)  Some BBs identify with a movie that has had a lasting impact on their life.

AGMA is in the last category.

It hit me this past week that my life has been profoundly and deeply influnced by one movie.  My entire view of the world and adulthood is inextricably linked to this masterpiece of the big screen.  The themes have been woven into my life to the point where I don’t know where the movie ends and my life begins.

That move is, of course…

(wait for it…)

White Christmas!

The picture was to throw you off track.

AGMA needs to set the stage for you (pun intended)…

Last week we went to the Atlanta Fabulous Fox Theater to see White Christmas, the musical.   Although it’s been making the rounds since 2004, I’d never had the chance to see it and was pretty darned excited to go.

I gotta tell you, I had high exceptions.  AGMA’s seen WC the movie so many times that I pretty much can recite the most of the dialogue.  Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney and Vera Ellen are like family that I visit once a year and it’s always a glorious reunion.

Sadly, I was pretty disappointed in the stage adaptation.  I’m sure it’s difficult to take a classic movie and remake it for the stage, but it’s even more challenging if it’s an iconic movie adored by literally billions of people around the globe.  And on Mars.

That may be an exaggeration…

The stage musical was choppy, disjointed and sorta kinda followed the basic plot of the movie, but not really.   There were glaring omissions, unnecessary additions and sh*t that was just plain wrong.

It was all AGMA could do to not walk out.

It starts out like the movie in 1944 with Bob singing White Christmas and General Waverly leaving his troops.  Then the next scene is Phil and Bob doing a nightclub act in 1954.  WTF?  No building falls on Phil so Bob doesn’t get to save him?  How did they become a duo?  Gone from the play is Phils “injured” arm that was a running gag thought the movie.

And there’s no Novello’s in the play.  Phil and Bob meet Judy and Betty at a club in NYC not Florida.  And in the play, Bob and Phil were going to be heading to Florida after the girl’s show. Holy crap, my head was spinning…

Once they got to Vermont, things went from bad to worse.  Emma, the busybody, but lovable, housekeeper in the movie is replaced by Martha, the busybody, not that lovable, former vaudeville star who belts out songs like a wannabe Ethel Merman and wants a part in the show.   Is nothing sacred?

Oh, and the General’s niece, Susan (her name in the play as well), is also a singing and dancing showbiz wannabe who really should have been cast as a snarky orphan in Annie rather than WC.  Evidently it’s a hard knock life in Vermont.

Ed Harrison is gone, and The Ed Harrison Show is replaced with the Ed Sullivan Show Huh? And there’s a farm hand (ski lodge hand?) named Ezekiel who was cute but totally superfluous.

There were extra Irving Berlin songs thrown in that didn’t seem to fit the theme and pretty much wasted time that could have been used for backstory.  And movie songs were left out – Mandy, Choreography, Gee I Wish I was Back in the Army.  WTF?

And in the play, when the Army rejects the General’s request to be put on active duty, he writes to President Eisenhower.  And the President pulls some strings to get him back in and assigned to a post in Europe.  But at the end, he turns it down.  WTF?

Oh, and Bob was taller than Phil.  And Betty was not nearly as snarky in the play as she was in the movie and the stage Judy tried really hard, but her dancing paled in comparison to Vera Ellen.  Oh the humanity!

After being traumatized by the play, AGMA HAD to watch the movie again to set the universe right.

So Hubs and I settled in on Sunday evening to drink some ‘nog (the stuff you buy at the liquor store) and watch White Christmas.  I felt my anxiety easing and the earth started turning on its axis again.

Then it hit me. Like a Robert Mueller subpoena slap across the face.

White Christmas is my “life” movie.

It was made in 1954.  I was made in 1954. We have experienced childhood, puberty,  middle age and now, the beginning of our golden years together.  And I’m pretty sure the movie is aging more gracefully than AGMA.

I realized that a lot of my ideas of adulthood came from WC.  As a teenager, I wanted to be one of those very lovely, sophisticated women, all dressed up to the nines in the final scene, drinking a martini with my brave ex-soldier husband at my side in a ski lodge in Vermont.  In the snow.  On Christmas Eve. With Bing, Rosie, Danny and Vera entertaining me.

I still do.

AGMA loves the themes of the movie – self sacrifice, bravery, loyalty, friendship, love, the importance of family, honoring those who served in the armed forces…

Noble stuff.

Stuff that the stage musical tripped over terribly.

I can hear you ask, ‘Did you like ANYTHING about the musical, AGMA?”

Fair question and yes.

I liked the tap dancing scenes.  And that General Waverly was played by John Schuck.  You remember John Schuck right?  He’s best know for playing dentist Capt. Walter “Painless” Waldowski in the 1970 move M.A.S.H.

Remembering that mock burial scene with him in the coffin made me smile.

Don’t judge me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Close up time?

In 2014, within a few months of starting AGMA, one of my posts got “Freshly Pressed”.

To be honest, I was so wet behind the ears with this blogging stuff on WP that I really didn’t know what that meant.

But it didn’t take long to figure it out.

AGMA went from something like 25 followers to over 2000 in a matter of weeks.  And I was overwhelmed by the volume of comments.

I handled it with my normal cool aplomb….  I turned red, panicked at the thought of more than 15 people reading my posts, and started hyperventilating.  

It seemed like there might be some lofty expectations from AGMA going forward.  I wasn’t sure I could handle the pressure.  

But I managed to hold my AGMA sh*t together and boldly went forward writing whatever the hell I wanted.  Screw ‘em if they didn’t like it….

That post (No Close Ups!) is still my all time high post for likes and comments.

And it was about lightbulbs.

Go figure.

But get ready faithful readers…. 

Get ready WP Freshly Pressed folks…

Get ready world…

Lightning is about to strike twice.

AGMA went lightbulb shopping again!

It all started when I was perusing the Black Friday ads in the newspaper on Thanksgiving Day. 

“A newspaper, AGMA?  How quaint and retro…”, I can hear you say.

Thanksgiving Day is the one day of the year I ever buy a real live newspaper.   And I know why.  Other than the ads, the rest of the paper was dismal.  I think there were 4 sections that were 6 tiny pages each.  

I don’t know about you but AGMA misses old school newspapers.  A computer screen just doesn’t have the same tactile or visual stimulation.  And you can’t wrap a set of cups and saucers with it when you’re moving.

So in one of the super mega hardware store Black Friday ads, I saw something called a wireless lightbulb.

Wireless lightbulb. Seems like an oxymoron.  Like the phrase “Presidential integrity” (specifically applied to Trumputin.)  Maybe not so much the oxy, but the moron part definately applies…

Upon further research, I realized that the lightbulb still needed to be in a wired socket (whew!)  It’s the control of the bulb that’s wireless.  

This is getting interesting.

No more fumbling around in the dark to find a light switch.  Or using old school mechanical timers. 

These “smart” lightbulbs somehow (does anybody really know how?) connect to your WiFI network and are controlled by an app on your smart phone.  Or a hub. Or Alexa. Or Google Assistant. Or Facebook Portal (never in a million years Zuckerberg, you arrogant snot!)  (OMG – did I say that out loud?) 

Or other demonic devices meant to listen into and/or watch your most intimate moments and plant earwigs in your brain.  

Not surprisingly, AGMA does not own one of these wicked devices, born from the depths of Hell, so I’d have to use the app.  Just sayin’… 

And not only can you control them wirelessly via either a hub or app or evil device, but you can control the color and choose from like 1000 different color choices.  

Seriously.

Always in search for the perfect Christmas gift for tech savvy Son#2, AGMA ventured out on Black Friday to said super mega hardware store.  

And I ended up just staring at the hundreds of lightbulb choices.  Again.  It was overwhelming.  Again.  Just like 4 years ago.

Incandescent bulbs are still around, but in short supply.  Thomas Edison and I are still sad about this.

To AGMA’s surprise, those twisty fluorescent “not really a bulb” bulbs were no where to be seen.  No loss there – I was definitely NOT ready for my close-up when those babies were lit up.    

LED rules the lightbulb aisle now. 

But even on sale, the super mega hardware store price was still pretty high for one of those smart bulbs.

So AGMA ordered one from Amazon on Cyber Monday at like $10 off the super mega hardware store sale price.

I got it a few days ago.  And my curiosity is getting the better of me.  

How does it connect to WiFi?  How does the app work?  Will one of those 1000 colors be THE perfect color for me?  Will I FINALLY be ready for my close-up?  Could one of the 1000s of colors not make the Grand Cheeto look so very orange?

Inquiring AGMA minds may need an answer soon.

Very soon.

I’m sure Son#2 wouldn’t mind getting a nice bottle of Aqua Velva.

Tape me!

So last week turned out to be every bit as cray cray as AGMA thought it would.

Readers Digest version…  We went to Naples, Florida on Thursday for a weekend wedding.  Son #1 was Best Man so he rented a 5 bedroom condo and brought the wife and kids.  And my DIL’s parents came as well.  And Son #2.

And we celebrated my sweet grandaughter’s 2nd birthday.  And got together with my Belle Mare’s (DIL’s mom) newly discovered siblings (thanks to Hubs brilliant genealogy research – that’s going to be a whole other post!)

And got together with my old boss who I haven’t seen in 5 years.  And entertained a few friends who came down for the wedding.  And went to the beach.

Besides the wedding, we went to the “out of towners” cocktail reception the night before.  And all the guests were invited to breakfast on Sunday.

Busy.

The groom is my Son #1’s BFF and was Best Man in my son’s wedding eight years ago.  They grew up together in Cincinnati, a lovely, but very conservative town in southwestern Ohio.

I used to be very good friends with Groom’s mom.  And all of the other moms of the kids Son #1 hung around with in Junior and Senior High.

But something ugly and orange happened on November 8, 2016.

And we are no longer good friends.  Some of the moms defriended me on Facebook because of my rather “spirited” comments on Cadet Bone Spurs and his Nazi posse.  Others, I’m sure, are following my posts closely and report them to the Bolton Gestapo.

AGMA won’t be going into any US Embassies on my travels.

So what’s the best passive aggressive way to show these GOP right wing Ohio mom’s that AGMA denounces all the hate the Massive Cheeto stands for, and is pro-humanity, pro-decency, pro-diversity, pro-equality, and pro-compassion?

I needed to show up at that wedding looking absolutely fabulous.  Of course.

This proved to be a challenge.  AGMA is a no make-up, comfy jeans, and Birkenstocks (generic of course…) kinda gal.

But I had a plan:

Step 1.  Get a “blow-out”.  It’s not what it sounds like…  It’s where you go to a hair salon looking place, but they don’t do haircuts.  They only wash, blow-dry and style your hair.  I spent $44 bucks (ouch) and the “do” lasted for about 8 hours.  But it was long enough.

Step 2.  Wear make-up.  The “blow-out” place also does make-up, but AGMA felt that would be over kill.  So for what I would have spent on them smearing stuff on my face, I went out and bought a whole slew of make-up and brushes.  Evidently you need a separate brush for everything. Seems like a bit of a racket…

Step 3.  Wear a fabulous dress.  AGMA doesn’t like wearing dresses.  So I really needed it to be very comfy.  But chic.  I found a winner on a visit to Nordstrom’s Rack,.  And better yet, it was on sale for – I kid you not – $13.50.

Crazy considering it was a great brand, lined and really good quality.

And it has a little strip of rhinestones in back.  At the top before the back plunges down almost to my waist.

What??

A plunging back?  With my barcalounger lazy girls that require severe trussing up on a daily basis?

If you didn’t already, you can read about them on a post I wrote not too long ago here.

Ever the optimist, AGMA felt confident that I could find some way to hold them in place.  Somehow.

There are these things called “sticky” bras.  They are supposed to hold you up and allow you to wear backless, strapless stuff.  AGMA found out they are mostly made for 34AA types.

I need support.  Lots and lots and lots of support.  There were a few who made that promise…  I bought a “sticky” bra at a store and ordered another one online to have options.

Then I found this hysterical post about a woman in a similar situation.  Her conclusion, “Stick-on bras are not made for women with a lotta boob, full stop.”

Her solution?

Tape.

The magic answer was to tape the ladies into submission.

Not scotch tape or duct tape or electrical tape, but Gaffer Tape.

I did a practice taping at home to make sure that it would work.  AGMA wanted to give the girls the help they needed, but also wanted to make sure the damn stuff would really stick.  Disaster could ensure if it let loose at the wrong time.

Oh the humanity!

To make a long story that NOBODY wants to hear short, it worked!

My hair looked fantastic. I did a decent job of putting on makeup (AGMA practiced that too!) and wore lipstick.  And the dress was lovely and chic in front but oh so sexy in back.

Take that you GOPers!

There was one point in the evening, after I had been dancing up a storm and sweating a bit, that I felt a few of the “anchor” pieces sort of peel off.  Uh oh…  But it lasted a few more dances until we left the reception.

Sweet.

It was a beautiful wedding.  The bride was stunning and the groom dashingly handsome.  Son #1’s toast went over very well.  And we all, blue, red, and purple, behaved ourselves and nobody talked politics.

We got home late Monday afternoon.  AGMA’s still exhausted.

But that’s okay…   I can sleep on the plane tonight.

Yup – AGMA’s hitting the road yet again.

This time it’s a short trip to Istanbul (or is it Constantinople?)

And AGMA and Hubs are going to go to a Turkish Bath.

I sense a really funny blog post in a week or so…

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

 

 

 

 

A day in the life…

I know that ya’ll have been wondering what my ‘typical’ day might look like.  “How does AGMA pass the time?” is a question you probably ask yourself on a daily basis.

Understandable.

Let’s use today as an example of a typical, dysfunctional day in my life.

While my day usually starts around 6:30 AM or 7:00 AM, I slept in a bit.  What??  But I had good reason.  Last night Hubs and I went to see….

…wait for it…

Jon Stewart and Dave Chappelle!  Yeah – THAT Jon Stewart and THAT Dave Chappelle.

With special guests Michelle Wolfe of the 2018 White House Correspondence Dinner fame and Chris Tucker of the Rush Hour movie franchise fame.

AGMA stayed up way too late gaffawing the night away.  But it was epic!

At 7:20 this morning, our cats, Gux and Max, made it known that they were over this sleeping nonsense, and that I needed to get up chop chop and feed them.  I went back to bed after depositing kibble in their bowls.

I got up again at 8:00 to clean up some food that Max puked up.  On our bedspread.

Delightful.

Hubs and I discovered about 20 minutes later that the REST of the food expelled by Max was in a huge pile on our bed sheet in between our pillows.  Glad I didn’t try to shimmy over to snuggle Hubs.

Double delightful.

With the washing machine now swishing in the background, AGMA got ready for the day.  This required I look in the mirror which is always a shocking proposition in the morning.

Washed, brushed, curled and flossed, it was time to take care of some work stuff.

My little Ebay business is picking up again so I needed to get a package ready to ship.  4 English china teacups and saucers.  Scary.  I know I used too much bubble wrap.  AGMA’s  anal in that way.

With the package sealed and labeled, now I needed to figure out if I had enough time to go to the USPO before my physical therapy appointment.

My appointment was in 40 minutes.  I still hadn’t had breakfast, the post office is 15 minutes away, then another 25 to my PT appt.

Just enough time if I grab a banana, put in a mobile order at Starbucks for a mocha, and get all green lights.

Unknown…how long of a line there would be at the Post Office.

AGMA’s always willing to roll the dice.

All green lights?  Not nearly, but there was no line in the USPO and I managed to avoid some accident brouhaha near Starbucks.

I got to my 11:00 AM appointment at precisely 10:59 AM.

It’s a charmed life!

My PT specializes in spine issues.  This is good since I recently found out I have a nasty case of scoliosis in my lumbar spine.  Really nasty.

Bummer.

But it explains a lot.  Since February, running has caused me a lot of hip pain and, later at night, radiating pain down my entire right leg.  Really ouchy stuff.  Difficult to get comfortable.  And I was limping like Chester on Gunsmoke (not everybody’s going to get that reference…)

This has been cause for concern.  I’m supposed to run 26.2 miles in early October as a charity runner.  Friends and family have donated over $2100 to the cause.

AGMA. Must. Run.

Exercises over the course of several weeks proved unsuccessful, so last week my PT tried “dry needling”.  Yeah – it’s just like it sounds…

He exposed my cellulite infested right buttock and proceeded to poke needles into my hindquarters.  It’s sort of like acupuncture, but the needles go deeper and into muscle tissue.

AGMA only yelped twice.

THEN he hooked some of the needles up to an electrical current.  He let my rear end pulsate for 15 minutes.  It felt like simmering butt stew.

But it helped immensely.  There are still some sensations down my leg, but no hip pain during my runs.  And my limp is still there, but it’s much reduced.

So AGMA showed up to my PT appointment today and said, “Bring it on!”

Because there’s been a bit of numbness in my right foot the past few days, he put even MORE needles in this week.  And he turned the current up so that, every now and then, one of my lateral rotator muscles in my rear would start to jiggle.  Like jello.  Cellulite jello.

AGMA kinda wanted a cigarette afterwards.

I’d love to have a picture of the whole set-up, but couldn’t figure out how to ask him without him thinking I was a bit of a freak.

Maybe next week I’ll try a selfie.  Of my butt with needles sticking out and little electrodes hooked up to them.

I am a freak.

And now I’m at Dancing Goats reading blogs, making comments, answering comments and writing this post.

Cats puking on the bed, speeding to the Post Office, shoving a banana down at a stoplight for sustenance, getting electrified needles stuck in my rear, blogging….

Pretty much a typical day for AGMA.

Aging Gracefully My Ass (literally…)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Old friends

When Son#2 was around 4, our dishwasher died. Feeling rather panicked at the idea of…OMG no…hand washing all of our dishes, AMGA and Hubs went out to purchase a new one immediately. When the delivery/installation people pulled out the dead dishwasher and hauled it away, Son#2 started wailing.

Evidently he and the dishwasher had a ‘special relationship’. Like Putin and Cheeto Man.

Only the passage of time and M&M’s managed to calm him down. It took about 15 minutes. I think he liked the look of the new dishwasher.

4 year olds tend to be a bit fickle.

Once upon at time, AMGA laughed at what’s become known as “the dishwasher incident”.

Not anymore… I get it now.

Some of AGMA’s best friends are machines.

Take Goldie for example.

Goldie is my 2008 Toyota Prius. I bought her in September of 2007 after I was T-boned in my 2006 Prius – Bluie – on I-75 at about 50mph.

The good news was that AGMA was basically unharmed from the accident. The bad news is that Bluie was totaled.

(Can you guess the colors my last two cars? AGMA’s creativity is simply astounding and can’t be contained… I’m like an American Dali.)

So I’ve had Goldie for nearly 11 years. That is the longest I’ve ever owned a car. It’s 25% of my car owning life.

I feel old.

AGMA tends to take my cars for granted. I get Goldie regular oil changes and check-ups, but other than that, I basically ignore her.

My interior looks like I am homeless, and live in my car. On any given day you can find a treasure trove of banana peels, energy bars, half empty coffee cups, a plethora of napkins from Starbucks, mail, a variety of plastic utensils, salt and pepper packets, 15 reusable shoppings, empty soda cans and used dental floss (ewww…) in her interior.

There’s a large chocolate spot in the rear hatch back carpet area (spilled mocha), the carpet under the gas pedal is thread bare. Her glove compartment is stuffed with oil change receipts that date back to 2008.

But despite my treatment of her, Goldie has been very, very good to me. She’s been the most dependable mode of transport I’ve ever had. And she hasn’t been fussy at all.

Plus, she gets killer gas mileage – 48mpg. Her hybrid battery, that was supposed to last only 7 years, has far exceeded expectations.

Which is exactly why AGMA is thinking that it might be time to start looking around for a late model used car.

Shhhh – don’t tell Goldie.

Truth be told, I’d love to have a car with all that hands free stuff and blue tooth and the internet and the loud alarms that let you know you’re too close to the mailbox when you’re backing up.

My son and DIL have a car that parallel parks itself! WHAT?? Yeah it does!

But then I look at Goldie. And I realize that she’s a lot like me. Not fancy, not flashy, not a lot of bells and whistles. But sturdy, dependable, cute in a 2008 way and wears her mileage well.

I’m pretty attached to her. I’m real attached to her actually.

I think it might be love.

And then there’s AGMA’s washing machine and dryer.

We bought them waaaayyy back in 1995. Well before the advent of high efficiency (HE) front loading washers.

There’s something about those front loaders that I don’t trust.

My son and DIL have one, and I watch it sometimes when I’m visiting.

Seriously.

It just sort of tosses the clothes around in what looks like 1/2 cup of water and a tablespoon of detergent. I guess it’s fine for now while their kids are little. But there’s nothing like a full tub of soapy water and a violent agitator to knock the crap out of the clothes to get the the grime out of a 10 year old’s play shorts and shirt.

AGMA’s going to be sad when they need replacing. Which may be soon. Actually, at this point, every load they do is a gift.

I’ll be sad not only from a “Holy sh*t…a new washer is how much???” perspective, but from a ‘tug on my heartstrings’ one as well.

I washed/dried innumerable soccer, baseball, football and track uniforms in them. I washed/dried the last couple of years of little boy play clothes before they turned into teenage angst clothes. I washed/dried pants & shirts that were worn to junior and senior high school dances. And I washed/dried massive loads of clothes brought home from college on breaks.

Call AGMA crazy, but I kinda miss those days…

I washed/dried throw rugs that were ‘messed on’ by our dog, KC, and our cats, Wart, Willie, Caesar, Gus and Max. Okay – maybe not such a fond memories of the messes, but 4 out of the 6 critters have gone over the rainbow bridge. I still miss them…

I washed/dried my sweet step-mother’s clothes in them weekly while she was in the Alzheimer’s unit of a local nursing home. And AGMA was very grateful for the long soak cycle at the beginning, the extra wash cycle and the extra rinse cycle. If you catch my drift. She’s now been gone for 17 years. I will always miss her…

Yeah…AGMA is just one big sentimental blob about my washer and dryer.

And Goldie.

I’ll probably cry like Son#2 did so many years ago when they reach the end of the road.

Anybody have any M&M’s?

 

Tarzan vs Indiana Jones

When AGMA’s issue, Son#1 & Son#2, were young, I mean really young (3 & 4 maybe), Hubs let them watch “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom”.

If you saw this movie, aside from the usual “Indiana Jones gets out of impossible situations and cracks a few jokes in the process”, there are some pretty dark themes in it. Child slavery, human sacrifice, chilled monkey brains & eyeball soup, etc…

Definitely NOT for the milk and cookie pre-school crowd.

I was unaware that Hubs allowed them to watch this movie. That is, of course, of until Son#2 put his hand on his brother’s, Son#1, chest and said, “I’m gonna rip your harrrrt out.”

Kali Ma Shakti de

AGMA was not happy. Not happy at all. And Hubs heard all about it.

However, in subsequent years, the process of trying to rip each others hearts out became a staple on long car trips. One son would pin the other in the back seat, hover his hand over his brothers heart, and chant, “Kali Ma Shakti de.”

And then we’d all laugh. How twisted is that?

It became one of those unexpected family traditions.

And traditions die hard in AGMA’s family. I think they did this to each other as recently as a few years ago (both in their early 30s)

But holy sh*t, the Temple of Doom doesn’t hold a candle to old Tarzan movies.

I’m talking about Johnny Weissmuller’s Tarzan movies of the 1930’s and 40’s.

As a child, AGMA watched every Tarzan movie that was broadcast on our little black and white TV. The African jungle and the native tribes and Cheeta and the elephants and Tarzan always saving the day…it seemed to be otherworldly and so very exotic.

Compared to Pittsburgh, PA that is.

But good Lord…even in black and white, those things were terrifying!

A few weeks ago, “Tarzan and his Mate”, vintage 1934, came on TV. It was the sequel to the 1932 Tarzan the Ape Man, and starred Maureen O’Sullivan as Jane.

Since we hadn’t seen a Tarzan movie probably in 40 years, we thought it would be fun to watch it.

Sure – it’s all fun and games until the giant crocodiles start attacking.

As AGMA watched the movie, my palms started to sweat. I was breathing a little to fast, my heart started to thump, and the hairs on the back of my neck started to stand up.

The childhood memories of Tarzan terror came storming back.

Some of the “highlights” in the Tarzan movies I saw…

• Crocodiles, hippos, lions, snakes, etc attacking and ripping people apart
• Tarzan stabbing or otherwise killing said crocodiles, hippos, lions, snakes, etc…
• People getting devoured to the bone by piranha in a river
• Cannibalism
• Human sacrifice
• Natives getting killed for sport by the white hunters
• White hunters boiled in oil
• Throats/chests slit open on a regular basis
• People being tied to a tree then eaten by various wild animals
• Huge snakes (I mean YUGE!) squeezing people to death – slowly, painfully
• People getting trampled to death by stampeding animals (mostly elephants)
• People literally getting ripped in half after being tied to two criss crossed trees that were cut apart.

That last one REALLY made an impression on me. Gristly.

Kinda makes ripping somebody’s heart out seem a bit subdued. A little.

Baby Boomers watching Tarzan movies when they were young might explain a lot about what’s going on now a days. Just sayin’…

And, to quote Gomer Pyle, surprise, surprise, surprise…”Tarzan and his Mate” is incredibly sexually charged too.

What?? In 1934??

Yup!

Let’s just say, it’s made obvious that Jane is not staying in the jungle with Tarzan because he is a great conversationalist.

If you get my drift.

In one scene, Tarzan rips Jane’s clothes off and there’s an extended nude swimming scene (Maureen O’Hara had a body double) with them cozying up in the water.

In another scene, Jane tries on a silk frock brought to the jungle by a former suitor who is trying to lure her away from Tarzan. AGMA doesn’t believe that a silk frock can even begin to compete with what Tarzan brings to the table.

If you get my drift.

Anyway, Tarzan swings by, feels up the silk frock, feels up Jane, then picks here up and carries into the trees for a night of cavorting. The next morning, Jane naked and covered only by animals skins starts canoodling AGAIN with Tarzan.

Hey – get a room you two!

Oh, and did I mention that Johnny Weissmuller and Maureen O’Hare were wearing nothing, nada, zilch, under their oh so skimpy loin clothes. Oh la la!

So I suppose that AGMA shouldn’t have gotten that upset with Hubs for the “Temple of Doom” incident ‘cause, seriously,  Indiana Jones ain’t got nutin’ on Tarzan.

Ungawa!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Randy virus’ and men in spandex

So AGMA has a great idea for a post. It’s gonna be good – starts out with a quote from Shakespeare.

High brow stuff, ya know?

But then I just stared at the quote for 5 minutes trying to figure out how to cleverly ease into my topic as I am wont to do. Ya know?

And nothing. Zip. Nada. Blank. Like the Orange One’s cerebral cortex.

But it’s not writers block.

AGMA’s sick.

‘member how, last week, I was in Chicago helping my son and DIL move into a house? And ‘member how I wasn’t really sure I was looking forward to it?  And ‘member how I wasn’t sure I would even survive the week?

The good news is that AGMA did indeed survive. The bad new is that the whole Chicago crew was sick.

Son and DIL had horrible hacking coughs. Cutest Grandson In The World had an ear infection. And 7 month old Wonder Woman Jr. had a cold. A bad one.

Poor critter. She was coughing, sneezing and runny nosing most of the week. But surprisingly, she was in a delightful mood, babbling sweetly away at me. Most of the time.

I won’t bore you with AGMA’s obsession with her oh so cute and oh so delightful grand daughter. Just know about the only thing I didn’t catch on video was when fluids and solids were flung out of various orifices.  Her’s not mine.

And the gal can fling…

Every piece of clothing I wore during the day received their fair share of baby spit up. My shoes too. Even though most of the time she wore a bib the size of a Mexican serape. I’m not really sure how that happened.

Because she didn’t feel well, she need a lot of attention and holding. I mean a lot of holding. Every nap. And she takes 4 naps a day.

The first nap of the first day, Nana AGMA held her until she fell asleep. But she was having none of it when I tried putting her in her crib. She screamed. I picked her up and rocked her. This little scene played out four…count ‘em…..four times.

I gave up. She slept on me for an hour.

Then I had an epiphany. I only get to see her once every couple of months. I didn’t want to be known as the Nana AGMA who let her precious grand daughter cry herself to sleep. Oh, of course it was all fine and good for my kids to do that when they were babies, but not my sweet V. Funny how that works.

She took her naps on my shoulder for the rest of my visit.

Her mom put her down in her crib at night. I figured my DIL could deal with the “Nana effect”.

At one point last Wednesday, Wonder Woman Jr. sneezed directly in my face.

Bullseye.

It all happened so fast. There was no time for protection or deflection.

Even though I washed my face a few minutes after being doused, AGMA knew it was just a matter of time. I could feel the cold virus‘, who beat a hasty retreat up into my nasal passages, marching relentlessly toward my adenoid area. They were positively giddy at the thought of reproducing in my nose.

Gross.

Actually, I probably was already a goner before she sneezed.

According to the Mayo Clinic, colds spread by:

• Skin-to-skin contact (there were plenty of hugs)
• Saliva (lots of kissing a drool covered face)
• Touching contaminated surfaces (bib’s, burp clothes, toys, you name it…)
• Airborne respiratory droplets (sneezes and coughs)

See…goner.

I got home Saturday evening. Coughing. But I though I had dodged the bullet because I felt okay.

Until this morning.

AGMA has fuzzy brain, a sore throat, coughs, muscle aches and is sleepy.

So.very.sleepy.

But even though I feel like crap now, I wouldn’t have changed a thing about last week. AGMA, as it turns out, was very happy to help out. And get all of those hugs, snuggles and kisses.

Priceless, even if they were virus infected.

So for the next few days, AGMA’s going to be laying low. I’ve got to get better.

Fast.

I’m running 15 miles on Saturday with my marathon group. And another 6.2 on Tuesday, July 4th. With 59,999 of my close friends. In AJC Peachtree Road Race, the largest 10K in the world. Yes – the world.

Running in Altanta in July. Heat, hills and humidity.

It’s gonna be great!

So, Happy 4th of July USA friends! AGMA wants you to take hope, courage and inspiration from our founding mothers and fathers in that we the people can successfully defeat an oppressive regime.

“When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another…”

Thomas Jefferson. Very smart man.

#resisthate

And OMG, OMG, OMG – don’t forget – the TOUR DE FRANCE starts on Saturday, July 1!!!!!!

Three glorious weeks of the men in spandex. And ya’ll know how AGMA feels about the men in spandex.

I’m starting to feel better already…