Proud Auntie & Mr. T

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Mr. T would be the coolest Uncle EVER.

My sister no longer has a bun in the oven. The bun is now a teeny tiny human.

As of April 29th, I’m an Auntie! That makes me at least 50% more awesome and 100% proud. Other than some photos, I haven’t seen her yet, but judging by the amount the little cutie kicked inside the oven, she’s either going to be a soccer player or a handful.

Spoiler alert: Jack’s real name is not Jack; it’s Tony. He was never fond of the idea of being called “Uncle Tony”, and “Uncle Anthony” is a tongue twister for even an adult. A couple of months ago, I told him maybe he could go by the name “Uncle T”. He hummed and hawed until I decided to drop the subject altogether. Since then, I’ve put my thinking cap on.

Tony is not black. He is also not part of a team of war veterans framed for a crime they didn’t commit, running from the law whilst helping the innocent. And he most certainly doesn’t say “Pity the Foo”, but “Mr. T” is a pretty bad ass name. Imagine a child looking up to you to say, “Hey Mr. T, you’re the best!” It is impossible to not be the cool Uncle.

Of course, Mr. T will have to live up to his name. I assume he will do this by cutting prominent horizontal lines in the hair on his temples, and giving the kid whatever she wants: candy, piggy back rides, a brand new car when she turns 16, you name it.

I’m an Auntie and Jack’s Mr. T! I don’t know which one of us is more pumped for our new identities.

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25 Character-interests I Share With the Retired

 

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This is not my grandmother, but those are some mighty fine geraniums she’s got there.

I’m 28 going on 58. In some ways I’m older than my 85 year old grandmother. In my defence, she’s hip for her age (and her hips are likely stronger than mine).

How can a 20-something year old have ANYTHING in common with a retiree? Here’s a list of 25. If you’re my age, I hope it gives you an “ah-ha!” moment. If not, at least give me a little “ha-ha”.

  1. I love deals! I can’t wait for garage sale season and I visit the thrift shop on a weekly basis (because I am “For Real Engaged” and planning a wedding).
  2. When I go grocery shopping, I park by the cart return so my cart is easily returned.
  3. Turkey Bingo is my idea of a fun Friday outing. For you young folk, this is where you can win a turkey, not enjoy a turkey dinner whilst playing Bingo.
  4. I am obsessed with gardening. For proof, read “Crazy Garden Lady”, “Still Crazy Garden Lady“, and “Crazy Garden Lady Recklessly Returns”.
  5. I threw out all my thong underwear years ago and ever since, my underwear has become more and more substantial.
  6. I am obsessed with cleaning my house. It’s fun!
  7. A glass of wine and I’m tipsy, but I don’t admit it to ANYONE (except you). If I consume any more than that, I have a headache for 2-3 days.
  8. I plan my meals around fiber content and I take a probiotic daily.
  9.  I don’t understand current fashion. I don’t understand how or why the “Mr. T” haircut came back in style. In fact, I don’t understand young people at all.
  10.  I watch Days of Our Lives, every day. And, it pisses me off William Horton was switched out for a less attractive version a few months ago. I don’t care if he portrays a homosexual character, he was handsome. BRING BACK WILL!
  11.  I get up to pee at least twice a night.
  12.  I wear diabetic socks. I am not diabetic; I suffer from poor circulation (and so does my Grandma)!
  13.  If I over exert myself (like at Zumba), I’m sore for days.
  14.  Loud music annoys me and hurts my ears.
  15.  I drive a 4 door sedan, the speed limit, unless I’m trying to run over the “Asphalt Alligators“.
  16.  I still use recipe cards. I don’t own one of those iPad thingys.
  17.  I’ve heard myself say, “They don’t make things like they used to,” on multiple occasions. Usually when I break shit and need an   excuse.
  18.  Texas hold ‘em is a cattle herding technique, right?
  19.  I go to bed at 8:30 on a weeknight and I turn into a pumpkin after midnight on weekends.
  20.  Any movie that came out in the 2000’s is a new release.
  21.  I use anti-aging night cream religiously. I wash my face every night because I heard every time you leave make-up on, your skin ages 7 days.
  22.  I’ve had the same haircut for 20 years – with or without bangs.
  23.  Sky diving? Never. My idea of adventurous is flying to Mexico.
  24.  I shave my legs once a month.

There is no #25 because I couldn’t think of one and I’m stubborn like that.

*Know someone that can relate? Share this post and give them the “ah-ha” moment they deserve!

 

 

Cha-Cha Champion

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Zumba didn’t see me coming with my pretentious ponytail.

Two weeks ago, I skipped into my first Zumba class 30 minutes early. I had been looking forward to “joining the party” since I had signed up for it the week prior (ten years without a dance class is tortuous for a former dancer). I was so early, in fact, the teacher commented on my keenness. After that, I was determined to show her up.

You see, before taking a class, I was fairly certain Zumba was for housewives and old, out-of-shape biddies. Not true. When I started sweating so much I couldn’t see, I glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes in. I then looked at the make-up plastered, heavy lady busting a move beside me. Her makeup looked untouched; she didn’t even have a slight glow to her. Something wasn’t right and I think it had to do with my ego and being disgustingly out of shape. I gave ‘er as hard as I would have mid- dance season back in high school. What I was not prepared for was doing this for an entire hour without a break.

I was exhausted, but I was convinced I was still blowing away my instructor and everyone else in the class because, I rocked. And I was a champion. I was the title of every Queen song ever written and performed on stage. And their back-up dancer was none other than: ME.  Of course, I had an advantage because many of the steps came from the “Cha-Cha” and what I can only speculate as being the Mambo #5.

After my first class, I was hooked. If this makes me a Desperate Housewife, then so be it. There’s nothing like a good sweat and endorphins to enhance your mood. Even if you sweat so hard you’re instantly dehydrated and you hurt so much you develop a bad case of Restless Leg Syndrome and Insomnia. I plan on whooping and hollering once a week for the next 8 weeks and (fingers crossed) I will lose some misguided arrogance along the way.

 

Broken Bicycle Dreams

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 My Dump Bike Was Cooler.

When I was a kid I had a bike. It was a beautiful blue cruising bicycle. At that time the gear had not yet been invented, so there was no such thing as mountain bikes. At least, this sounds like an elaborate story my Dad would conjure up to tell a kid who was upset about the quality of bicycle she was riding.

I can’t remember how old I was when my Dad drove up with this bike in the back of his truck. I can, however, remember that I was beyond excited to FINALLY learn how to ride a two wheeler. Growing up on a farm a few feet from a major highway, there weren’t many options for me. I could cruise around the hay field (impossible) or I could cycle up and down the 100m driveway. Since my parents did not teach me how to ride my new toy (or maybe they gave up after hours of failure; I can’t remember which story is true), I mastered the act of dropping my bike and scraping my hands and knees on the gravel.

In those days, another thing that was not yet invented was the bicycle helmet. We led very dangerous lives and if it weren’t for my Type A personality and extreme caution, I probably wouldn’t have made it out alive.

I was invincible on my brand new bicycle; an unstoppable heroine.

My Dad would venture to the dump a little more often when his kids were younger. He would bring home all kinds of things to keep us entertained, including the beautiful blue cruising bicycle I have been praising. That’s right, just like my fake Cabbage Patch Doll Kit my Mom made me, my bicycle was a sham!

ASIDE: About a month ago, I saw a photo of my cousin holding a Cabbage Patch Kid and it brought back fabulous memories. My Mom overheard me telling Jack of Most Trades that I had a Cabbage Patch Kid with blonde hair and blue eyes.

“Oh, you thought that was real? I bought the kit with the doll head, nylon and stuffing; it was a lot cheaper. It even came with a birth certificate!”

Another broken dream.

“WHAT?! I did not know this!”

“Come on, no one could tell the difference. We couldn’t afford a REAL Cabbage Patch doll.”

At the time, I felt tricked. I don’t like feeling tricked. Now, I see it in a different light. Just like the bicycle my parents couldn’t afford for a kid that was just going to ride it up and down a driveway for a few minutes, fall, cry, and then give up, that Cabbage Patch Kid was a compromise. They loved us and they wanted their kids to own cool shit. They have shown me that living frugal does not mean living in poverty.

Fast forward to the present . . .

I bought “His and Hers” bicycles today. They were used and yes, they were cheap. Jack and I are going to have a blast on these bikes the one and only time we take them out for a cruise in the subdivision this season. I drove up with the bikes in the back of Jack’s truck and I couldn’t wait for Jack to get home. The snow hasn’t even all disappeared, but I just had to try it out. I have to admit: riding a bike is not just like riding a bike. It’s tough, especially with a flat tire. But you know what? I dig that shit. It kind of reminds me of a simpler time in my life when I owned a dump bike and a counterfeit Cabbage Patch Kid.