The Hills are alive With the Sound of Blogging…

“It’s raining…..It’s pouring…..my husband won’t stop snoring……He went to bed…turned his head…and I kicked him out this morning”….

I know snoring is no laughing matter, especially to the other person occupying the the right side of the bed who can’t sleep, due to the massive logs being sawed next to her…more like a buzz saw emanating from those nostrils.  How does this rhythmic rhino sleep through his own band of breaths.  How does he manage to open the floodgates of  an airway to bring in ‘da Funk, bring in ‘da Nose….relentlessly causing him to  not Breath Right.  This is nothing to sneeze at.

The only semi cure to calm his turbulent turbinates is to roll him on his side so his schnoz is facing East.  If he is resistant to that change in venue and chooses to remain on his back pausing to inhale; he will face the pillow of doom hovering over his face as he’s Waiting to Exhale.

  I tried that once. It was a mere threat…..in jesture .  My  recidivist  snore hog (snog)  awoke to the Scent of a Woman who uses too much fru-fru fabric softener in the laundry, so he hurled a ginormous sneeze onto the pillow case:

“Were you holding a pillow over my face?”…..he asks Eyes Wide Shut incrusted with sleep particles.

“No, darling,  you were dreaming.”….she coos, replacing the deformed microfoam  to the head of the bed…for Her Eyes Only.

“You were holding a pillow over my head thinking to smother me with down feathers,”…he smirks with laughing Eyes.

“Don’t be Batt(y) sweet heart,  that material contains too much airspace, if I truly wanted to off you I’d use the fiber- filled decorative  throw pillows;  everyone knows Polyester doesn’t breath”.

“So..you were trying to kill me in my sleep.” ….He spills out trying to suppress laughter.

“Not exactly honey -pie,  it was more like adding a muffler to your mouth piece.  You’re snoring”.

“I don’t snore.”..he deniably stated  looking through the eyes behind his head.

(Oh..that’s right, how could you possibly hear yourself snore over the the clamor emitting from your palate as you lie there in your sleep number coma, oblivious to the affect is has on your neighboring bed mate.  She beamed through her Betty Davis Eyes….).

That was the last time I tried the Muffle effect.

My next approach was during a visit out  west staying with relatives and  I tried the Extended- Arm -Prop- to -the -back technique. This enables your snog to remain on his side for the night, quieting the rumbling gasps;  however, it will leave you Sleepless in Seattle with an Achy Breaky Arm in the morning.  One night I chose to use the retractable-limb method: Once your snore victim (snortims) is on his side, your arm repeatedly jumps out into action with the slightest inkling of him turning onto his back.  Sometimes this method calls for two arms to be utilized as you are dealing with  unconscious weight.  Weight that has been tipping the scales of  late night snacking.  There are repercussions when using this tactic, especially if you work out at the gym three to four days a week, as my husband once fell victim to the floor:

“You pushed me out of bed?”,   he blew out after the THUD landing.

“No darling, you were dreaming”,...she winces, eyes squinting in guilt.

“You could have killed me”,   he puffs out.

“No sweetums, the chili peppers you loaded onto your late night burrito will kill you, thus the THUD when you hit the carpet, I was merely administering a minor love tap to your back helping the jalapeno’s adjust”,  she quips as her eyes search for a Eurythmic’s lyric….

“Would I Lie to you honey?…..ok..ok….you were snoring.”

“I don’t snore”,  he freely denies …again…

This lead me to my third and final modus operandi: Which is a full proof  formula so easy a dog could master it. This ritual  not only works but will provide your slumbering snog the  body of evidence that which he is being accused of: Disturbing the Peace(ful) sleeping wife:

I video taped him.

I filmed him in all his snore glory.

I showed him my presentation after I jiggled him awake.  Just try and deny the snoring now my little sweet apnea…

“You filmed me sleeping?”, he says as as his Eyes roll to the Heavens.

“Yes, pumpkin, now there is no confusion as to your snoring or not. Here you are, In Living Color, lying on your back, breathing and expiring the snuffle shuffle through your nose to the tune of She Drives Me Crazy”. 

“So what do you have to say now Mr. I Don’t Snore?”.( Her EYES have it!).

“THAT’S NOT ME”,….rolls over….fade to black..

(EYE GIVE UP!)

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Some of the Best Laid Blogs

I am not a big planner in life.  I admire those people that carry their life in the palm of their pocket.  I tried to get inspired by those folks whose lives run on a PDA, but the best I can do is scribble notes on a giant desk calender and forget to look at it again.  Or the important data I just documented has a mishap with my cappuccino and is now rendered illegible.

Oh, I have planned vacations and booked flights, but it’s really not me doing the arrangements, it’s the booking agent that gets all the credit.  I know everything is handled through the information highway with precise technocality, but I am the person who downloads the material online while talking to the agent.  I need the comfort of a human voice that responds back with semi-logic and a  peppy emotion who entraps me to commit to a date and hand over my American Express card.

It seems that some of my best laid plans go awry no matter how methodically I  manage to orchestrate them in my mind.  For example:  Last night I planned a great nights sleep with Charly dog nesting at my ankles and  wake up refreshed and ready to prance off to the gym to endure a grueling workout sporting my matching Nike attire.

Instead….I woke up to a puddle of pee at the base of the bed.

My first inclination after I yanked the covers  off was to replicate that memorable scene from the Godfather where the studio head discovers the horses noggin beneath the bedding.

But…. it was early and I didn’t want to wake the sleeping teens down the corridor for fear of being doused with attitude and rolling eyes; or..worse yet… I believe my quasi adult children may have listed a retirement community on their cell phones……s(pee)d dial…….

It did cross (what’s left of) my mind,  that…well….er……did I have and accidental accident???

I know I’m in the drones of menopause and plumbing issues are near the top of the list of things that go bump in the night.  I did under go a surgical procedure  a few years ago that was performed by a robot harboring arms like a giant spider which has the same name of the artist who painted The Last Supper, and looked as though it was assembled  at NASA.  This was a procedure that was less invasive and could be executed in under two hours.  That is, if there are no complications.  Mine lasted five hours because the commander at the controls ripped a hole in my bladder which resulted in a 911 call to an in-House specialist. So, needless to say, that morning I thought I had sprung a leak.

As I toppled out of bed and began to  figure out a way to wake my husband and break the news to him that I just might be a victim of the Depends generation I realized:

Maybe it’s time to wake up and smell the urine.  No more  sailing that sea of denial that age and women don’t mix well in certain genres.  Might as well face the future and take it with a grain of cotton and imported materials with a flexible waistline……………

……..and that an over-sized puffy pant, while moderately absorbent and locks in odors, may be replacing my  Pink Victoria Secret  Lacy Wonder Scanty Panty.

As I climbed off the California King (mattress) my foot touched a breathing furry object semi cowered under the bed.  There lie Charly-dog staring at me with guilty big round eyes and shaking as if he were stuck in a winter storm without his coat. He glared with the kind of eyes you see in a Keane painting that  boarder on cuteness and crazy.   I noticed a dotted trail of pee that flowed in his direction and it didn’t take the Dream Team to figure who the culprit was in this voiding crime.  I’m surprised my pup didn’t grab my husbands Bruno Magli’s and leave and imprint in the carpet…..

I was angry at the dog and wanted to reprimand him for the dirty deed that happened during my REM slumber, but I didn’t get mad at Charly for his incidental accident on my dry clean only comforter.  I turned my anger into elation because it wasn’t me that suffered the indiscriminate incontinence…… it was my pup.

Oh Halleluja and pass the menopausal plate!  I have branded another age defying dilemma and will Prevail with Dignity-plus a Nu-Fit on age that Depends on the Tranquility  that life can Pull-Up.

I picked up my shivering puppy and held him tight and whispered in his bobble head that “everything will be O.K”.

Tonight my Plan is to take a Brief interlude and turn a Puppy-Pad into a Huggies Overnite…oh..and..delete the retirement center’s number on my kids cell phones…

spread the humor.

Blog Agility (earlier post)

If you are reading this blog AND you find it clever or funny please comment. I need the feedback or otherwise I am wasting my Megabytes.  Speaking of mega-bites, my puppy is still snapping even after two weeks of guaranteed training. I don’t blame the Trainer , I blame my family who are lacking in the follow-up program arena.

My scheduled training of two weeks ended recently and I feel a bit empty inside. Charly-dog and I got use to the trainers 10 a.m. visits and it is hard to let go now. This trainer came into our lives and spent hours with each and every member of my family and worked with all of us as a whole to get Charly on track. I am  starting to have a small tinge of anxiety that once he is out of our lives for good, things will resort to the way they were.  The trainer did drop an anecdote  while sipping his bottled water, that being ;if any “uprisings” occur he will be here on the spot, and this is guaranteed forever.

Hmm.…. I could always find some fault somewhere in my puppy that might need tending to; maybe stage a scene or two…….kind of like the little boy crying wolf, only it’s a middle aged menopausal woman needing someone to talk to other than her doggie…..

I find as I am getting older and less tolerant of my estrogen levels, that letting go is becoming harder and harder. I took my son to the airport to catch a flight from Philadelphia to Los Angeles. He has been bugging me to let him fly out to see his best friend  ever since we moved out to the East Coast. My children have traveled extensively since they were born, but never without me in tow. I have this phobia about my children on  planes without me, what if something happens to that plane; what if there is an outbreak  on board of food poisoning from stale pretzel’s; what if there’s an emergency landing in a Delta swamp; what if  they have snakes on board……or worse yet , Samuel L Jackson  is pushing the beverage cart………”I’ve had it with these Mother F*ckin’ Pepsi’s on this Mother F*ckin’ plane…..coffee? Tea?….”

My son is 16 and does not qualify for the “unaccompanied child Airline escort” anymore. Plus, there is a $100 hidden  fee for this “Program”. It must fall in line with the “Meal Program” and the “Luggage Program”.   Personally I think they should wave this amount for first time moms letting their youngster fly solo and traipsing through Major City airports spending all their allowance on nonsense that is flagged out in the open Kiosks. ( Oh , yes son, I love the $50 neck snuggie you purchased to keep you comfortable during your flight that you left on board and is now on its way to Hong Kong where it originated from).

My sons flight was delayed over an hour from his connecting flight. I have a party retrieving him at the baggage claim terminal and they phoned to inform me that his flight was going to be late.   I got nervous.   I phoned the Major Airline that starts with a “D” and has been around since the Nixon administration, to find out more information about his flight. The “D” Agent confirmed that it was delayed twice, out of Atlanta.

I spat out; “TWICE?”.

“Yes”,( he said with an accent that was identical to the driver in the second Indiana Jones Movie).

I interrupted his silence with a very loud “WHY TWICE?”.

He enlightened me with the explanation that the first delay was a security issue.

(Oh great,  glow snakes in a Plane Pocket..)

AND THE SECOND DELAY? 

  “Was a maintenance problem”.

 I questioned him further on the maintenance problem and he laughed and told me:

” Well the plane is in the air now”.

Oh thank God, that is so reassuring, I am so thrilled, oh, and I feel so relieved and unconcerned that that plane is in the air now! How about the landing??? Please tell me the maintenance problem was a toilet that wouldn’t stop flushing or the Captain’s coffee pot heater light keeps blinking, or the food cart has a rusty wheel…………

I popped open a Dos Equis and brought up my sons Itinerary and  started to track his flight on my Macbook like a Pro. I love technology, it’s almost like being in the control tower yourself, minus all the other distractions, like ten million OTHER flights trying to take off and land.   I went into the “D” Airline WEB site and typed his flight number and it showed a map of the U.S. with a little yellow airplane following a bright blue line to his destination. I felt a little more at ease and managed to breath a little easier…………..

Until this little yellow plane started a nose dive over Arizona….

The time left on his flight was an hour and a half and the meter was not moving, nor was the tiny yellow plane that I was watching for twenty minutes without blinking…

 That little mustard piper cub was not advancing on my screen and I was having the most horrible images run through my mind.  Images of a black smoke plume smoldering from seat 11B because I thought I  had confiscated all the fireworks my son wanted to share with his friend in California. Where they are illegal.….. And maybe, just maybe,  he sequestered a box of black Snake Glow worms that he stuck in his back pocket. I was a flight attendant once and have witnessed plight flights that brought me to my knees saying a few Hail Mary’s while pouring a few Bloody Mary’s……anything’s possible.

I shut the laptop off  and logged back on to the “D” website to commence with stalking my sons flight. His fake plane kept stalling in the air until I clicked the refresh button so it would advance faster to LAX airport.  In a matter of seconds that little yellow cartoon 757 was now starting it’s descent  into Los Angeles with it’s nose in the air and landing in 22 minutes……..Funny if I keep clicking the Back Button that plane just might land on time.

My son loves being independent and Hates that his mother texted him thirteen times before he even left the ground. I can’t wait to tell him about the tracking device….I wonder if they have that for everything…like when he starts driving or is out with his friends at a movie, or maybe, just maybe…on a date.

Yes I love technology it helps a mom sleep at night…….and you thought Big Brother was watching……………hellooo Big Mother……..

The Blog Less Traveled

Is this venue a Blogularity contest of folks competing to be the best in Blog or is this just a case of diarrhea of the diatribe.  If someone were genuinely writing to express their emotions on, say, such subjects as motherhood or fatherhood, in hopes that their editorial would bequeath down to their offspring as a little light reading of parental aspirations….well…It just makes me reach for another round of Pomegranite Martini’s.  How much can a person endure and or find interesting of someones cutsie Kid anecdote,  Rumball remedies, or how one managed to be the greatest “whatever” they can be.  After scanning the Blog waves I have truthfully found that my attention span can not endure paragraphs that contain T.M.I. (Too Many Idio-syncrazies)   Some posts have me at Hello and some have lost me at the Title.

Maybe the blogging’s are individualized because they are vented around a personal genre that only the Blog-head that wrote them can understand or *get*.  oohh help me Obi- Blog-Kanobi…..

I *get* the posts displaying food, in fact, I get those cuisine commentaries so much that I put on ten pounds just drooling over them.  They are so life like that I cut and copy the articles and paste them onto my families dinner plates. If there were an aroma tab in the drop down menu I’d have it made…..

I *get* Blog-fomercials that instruct on the adversity of  the diversity of Chiropractic care of an unused clavicle and the pro’s and con’s of Transformer’s vs. Toy story.  I understand clicking on a useful site to gain pertinent info that might be useful to  our Blog alignment yet  can also carry us back to our childhood action figures. What I fail to *get* is the bait-n-switch routine once my mouse has clicked into the vast unknown.  Some of the deceptiveness has risen it’s ugly blog and turned into an advertisement for something that should enhance my life and enlarge my milieu. If I had one….a milieu that is…..

I *get* the ramblin’ blog who’s insight ,via their own eyesight, is the never ending story that temporarily perks my interest at The End.  I know love and life are hard…so are the other four letter words…….

I *get* the Sci-Fi and Mad Hatter routines using anonymous fillers for entertainment value to coerce a firing of rapid responses.  I’ll even throw in the Techno crowd-pleasers with their abundance of orchestrated graphics and pie charts.  ummm..pie (chart)..makes me want to return to the Food Blogwork…..

I *get* the poetry section?  Well I try to.  I can barely follow the alliteration of Dr. Suess‘ One Fish..Two Fish… I know that has a deeper meaning attached to it some where located on the Discovery channel.  I can follow the Blog-alligory  set in motion by the ingenious minds  masked behind a comic relief.  I GET humor. What I don’t get is someone so far removed that they don’t *get* the GET.  That could be a diagnostic dilemma in the getter or the getee….Hmm this proses a problem.

I *get* the travel section and reading about expeditions and exotic camping equipment , it’s riveting and has me on the edge of my Blog and makes me want to jump into an action packed Wrangler toward the end of the horizon. Although the scenic one’s that picture white sandy beaches and a coral reef  keeps me in a trance until my stomach growl’s…..which makes me return to the Food blog network…

I *get* the Kid’s periodicals on their growth charts and the parental expletives of the undertakings of their underlings.  I am particularly fond of the ghost writer posing as Dr. Spock, who blog-ly goes where no one has  blogged before.  I’d like to review those credentials….ohh were makin’ Wookieeee…

I *get* Humor.  The  Good,   The Bad, or The  Ugly….I *get* it.  The left brain function is logical enough to disentangle  the right brain creative force enabling the egghead to look at the whole picture in detailed funny.  Some folks can’t grasp the different depths of Funny…Lot’s of people are Off The Wall……Take Humpty Dumpty for instance…even he cracked up.

Well, if I had my say, which I do because this is my venue where I stand too tall in my platform shoes; I believe  most reader’s contain a humorous bone in their skeletal Blog. Even if the writings are subject(ive) to one’s own mind using a Forced energy to  Sabor our  thoughts throughout the Ja-wa sisterhood.

MUMBO-JUMBO NUMBER FIVE…..a little bit of blogging in my life…

Get a Bolg in Edgewise

What is the point of going to a gym to work out where the surround sound is blasting it’s predetermined tune, and the T.V.’s are all set to CNN with subtitles, and you are vehemently perspiring on your Mega machine absorbing all the white noise, and  before you can step up to a reasonable speed, a giant woman saddles her Nikes on the pedals of the adjoining ride and blasts her own personal I Phone to  blare Jay Z and Beyonce for all to hear…

Apparently she had not  yet heard of the great discovery of EAR phones. Although, by the SIZE of things, there could be a little TOO much Skull Candy on the menu.  This woman’s not -so-smart-phone was wailing everything form Lil Wayne to Waylon Jennings over the all- encompassed distorted made- in- China-speakers that BlackBerry can cultivate.  This is not a piece of technology that entertains Bose woofers that tweet with a mild base;   this was a phone that projected music through it’s 1 Gee- got -no -reception- network -of mangled wires that were held together by electrician’s tape. This woman proceeded to ferry herself onto her exercise equipment in all her glory smacking Juicy Fruit and jiggling her Juicy Couture.   Her obtrusiveness was making it hard for the other “attendees” to enjoy their workout time without listening to her vibrant near nineties tunes screech at the top of her mega bytes.  The mere fact that she was oblivious to people around her and ignoring any consideration of their right to pump iron , all the while being held captive to her outmoded music.  This woman was persistent and kept increasing the volume of her phone.  I tried to ignore this intrusion  that was causing irreparable damage to my ossicles and just focus on the t.v.’s subtitles that appeared to be typed by  Marlee Matlin, but this woman’s Not-so -smart- phone was irritating the entire gym nation.  I just wanted to confiscate her Blackberry and throw it into the fruit compost pile; but instead I handled the situation in a more diplomatic fashion…….I raised the volume up on the TV until we had reached dueling broadcasts.  Wolfe Blitzer was barely audible in his tree next to Spandau Ballet.  I didn’t want to turn this exercise room into a situation.

I can her Wolfie now on this decibel dilemma as he straightens his Windsor knot and stares blankly at his teleprompter: “What. is. the .most. important .impediment .that .you. are .facing .right. now. with .this. happening. in. your. country?”

Well Mr. Blitzer..it all started when the Sony Walkman was entered into the Smithsonian and Ma Bell monopolized the phones and got  extremely wired-less and crossbred with various Fruited microcircuitry and gave birth to a lot of Smart systems to sell to our lovely Circuit City of people with too many Chips in their shoulder bag already….

I tried to be patient with this I- haven’t-been-to-the-gym-in-years- woman, and I understand she pays to be there just as much as everyone else does, but does that entitle her to blow-out Smashing Pumpkins for all to endure through her Itchy and Scratchy speaker system?  The best part in all this was watching her tread on her stair-master and answer her cell in between bursting her greatest hits.  I watched as she attempted to punch the mute button with what was left of her Press On nails to answer an incoming call.

I couldn’t believe the fortunate luck I was having……now I get to bear witness to a lengthy conversation about weeds killing her prized Apple tree. Now I get to listen to her fruity phone call… Well the McIntosh doesn’t fall far from the Blackberry..

I don’t understand why people feel the necessity to talk unnecessary nonsense while trying to better their bodies. The only pertinent conversation she might want to consider is with 9-1-1……….when I finish my workout with her………I’ll ruffle that couture covering into juicy-juice until that Smashbox runs down that earphone-less face, causing the thermal  resisters to experience an antenna switch outage, making her capacitors incapacitated and processed into a fruit compote……..

Oh , my, was I blogging out loud? I beg your pardon it must be the menopause talking…that progesterone certainly packs a punch. Why I would never ever consider any undo harm to someone’s Cell Phone…...

Spread the humor.