Author: lisabof

The Wonders of Menopause

I wonder what the heck?
What could be the cause?
Hair should not be there.
Thanks, menopause.

I wonder why I can’t grow,
Hair where it once was.
It belongs atop my head.
Thanks, menopause.

I wonder why I’m so hot.
I hope I don’t have yaws.
SARS? The Plague? Typhoid fever?
Thanks, menopause.

I wonder why I’m so dry.
Should I see Dr. Oz?
My body’s now a desert.
Thanks, menopause.

I wonder when my nails,
Turned into jagged claws?
They’re so hard and brittle.
Thanks, menopause.

I wonder about these ankles,
Do they belong to Santa Clause?
They should be on an elephant.
Thanks, menopause.

I wonder, is that wrinkle new?
Each day shows more flaws.
I’m going to break my mirrors.
Thanks, menopause.

I wonder why I’m crying.
I’m trapped in crazy jaws.
I wonder why that hurts?
Thanks, menopause.

I wondered why I was hearing,
Uncomfortable guffaws.
This poem was up on Skype.
Thanks, menopause.

I wonder why I’m so angry.
On my mind, rage gnaws.
Am I homicidal?
Thanks, menopause.

Two seconds later:
It defies all laws.
I’m loving everyone.
Thanks, menopause.

I wonder why I can’t lose weight?
But one thing deserves applause.
At least I’m not pregnant.
Thanks, menopause!

Okay, I know some of you have been reading my last few LisaLands thinking “Yadda, yadda, yadda, glad you’re fine; I want to hear about the dating disasters.” Well, you’re in luck. Now that I’m feeling pretty settled in Charlotte, I set out to meet someone the old-fashioned way, I joined the dating site Zoosk in January. 😉 I’d never tried it before, but it’s said to be one of the better ones, which is kind of like saying one root canal is superior to another. It does have a decent algorithm based on people I swipe on – I slowly saw fewer guys who came up to my knee-caps, fewer men closer in age to my dad, and fewer who lived two hours away in the snowy mountains (so done with that weather). Apparently, I was fresh meat since I’d never been on the site, nor had any of the guys from around here seen me on other sites. The response I got was a bit overwhelming at times, as I know I’m not all that, and like in marketing, not every interaction results in a sale. 😉 I’m also not unaware of the fact that I’m probably the thinnest I’ve ever been as an adult (and we know I use the term ‘adult’ loosely, ‘thin’ too, for that matter) – hello super healthy eating and less headaches.

I did learn a lot. Such as, pictures lie. Either that or some guys gained 40 pounds and turned gray overnight (which happened more than once). I would be okay with either, I just don’t like surprises – makes me wonder if he forgot something else, like if he’s still married or serving time.

Speaking of pictures, if they aren’t smiling in any of them, they may be missing a tooth. Yes, I’m shallow, but if you tell me you’re in sales, and appear to be financially stable, why in the world don’t you replace your missing TOP FRONT TOOTH??? Or address it during the date – “Sorry, I knocked out a tooth while sumo wrestling this weekend, I’m waiting for the implant”? I am way too immature for that – I couldn’t hear a word he said as I was concentrating on not staring at the gap the entire evening.

Looks aside, some of the pictures they chose could not have been more unflattering and/or creepy. One guy was sitting on a confederate flag beach towel in one shot (I guess that’s one way to make sure no African American women respond) and was in the shower doing a weird tongue on lips thing in another – at least the picture was just from the chest (again bare) up.

Another guy looked downright scary/threatening (even my dad thought so, and if you’ve seen my brother – we know what scary looks like). And it was his only picture. Plus, he hadn’t written anything about himself. I’d really like to meet any women who responded favorably to him. If they lived to tell about it.

Then there was a Fabio, with his long blonde locks blowing gently in the wind, reclining on his side in a field with two giant pumpkins – fortunately that’s not a euphemism.

There were tons of shirtless shots and pictures in the gym. If they just want to show they work out, fine, but I don’t think most women are thinking “Ooh, he sweats! That’s exactly what I’m looking for.” And apparently, if you owned a motorcycle, a monster truck, or a muscle car, it must be in a picture. I was not aware of this rule.

I realized after dates with guys who were 6’7”, 6’6”, and 6’4” I’m a bit of a height ‘ho.

One 50-something said he lived in an “RV Resort” for 14 months. And it was all his ex-wife’s fault, because she disagreed with how to help their drug addicted daughter, so she cleaned out his bank account. Pass.

Another:

Him:  I was just trying to show you I have a good heart.

Me:  That’d be one of us. Mine’s cold as a rock. Or dead as a stone. You decide. (In hindsight, I should have used an emoji here.)

Him:  Not sure what that means but I have a hammer and I hope to break you.

Me:  Game. On. (I thought this was hilarious/bantering.)

Him:  Why are you so hard? I won’t hurt you. I’m not about hurt. I’m about love. Come on lady.

Me:  …

 

I also appreciated any time I didn’t get his joke or even realize it was supposed to be a joke, he came back with “I thought you had a sense of humor.” Yes, blaming me and/or accusing me of being untruthful is a surefire aphrodisiac. Next.

I learned I’m truly in the bible belt. Unlike the Midwest’s attitude of actions speak louder than words when it comes to religion, down here it seems many of the guys wanted to make sure you knew they were religious, usually in CAPS. One guy said he attended church weekly and expected you to do the same. Oh, there’s only one right way to worship and you’re the expert?  Hopefully he’ll pray for me. 😉

I had a 26-year-old reach out to me – um, mommy issues?

Another told me if I’m going to text him, to focus as he’s not in to serial dating. He then complimented me on my picture taken on the slopes (there isn’t one that is even remotely close) and asked when I was moving to Charlotte, even though I’d clearly stated I’d been here since last August. Who needs to focus???

And the current guy and I have our own language barrier. He’s always “fixing to” but nothing is broken. He doesn’t like to be called “ornery” (he is) but happily admits he likes “aggravating” me. I never fully grasped the meaning of “rurnt.” Eat and eight sounded identical, as did Oakley and ugly, and fail and fell. Somehow “all right” becomes “uh-ight” when he says it. Evidently it can rain faster than you can pour piss out of a boot – I had to take his word on that one. But “one thing for sure and two things for certain,” I have mastered the many facets of “Bless your heart”. 😃

 

To read another dating disaster, feel free to go to https://lisaland.me/2019/06/08/lisaland-soaking-wet/.

For those of you wondering, yes, I still love Charlotte – come on down! I’m thankful for all the visitors I had this year, my parents even came down for the month of February and that went well, although I suspect Mo would have helped them with their luggage when they were leaving if he had opposable thumbs. I also managed trips to New York, Michigan several times, Louisville-Gurnee-Chicago in one weekend (it seemed like a good idea at the time), and Chicago for both work and play.

May your holidays resemble love at first sight and not the blind date from #*%%.

If you know me, you know walking and chewing gum at the same time should be an Olympic sport. Color coordination? I rock it. Physical coordination? I roll it. Sometimes I remember to tuck first, usually I don’t. Sigh.

Recently a friend invited me to go kayaking along an extremely lazy river. I’ve kayaked before, in the ocean no less, so thought “Sure, this should be fine.” And it probably would have been, but as soon as I was told the plan had been changed to a canoe, I knew I was in trouble. This was not one of the old aluminum models that sit low in the water, but a plastic one that sat higher. When you factor in someone who is over six and a half feet tall, you begin to fear.

The river itself is incredibly tame and shallow, (much like the author) never getting above mid-thigh for our portion. The instructions if you tip over? Stand up. Unfortunately, 30-45 minutes in to the trip, there is a very low bridge you cannot go under sitting normally. Add to that our canoe sat high in the water so both of us had to sit on the bottom and hunch over. Right afterwards the water flow picks up briefly and gets choppy. 6’7” told me to go ahead and sit back in my seat. Unfortunately, he was so far forward I couldn’t put the backrest up to sit. Subsequently he started shifting to give me room. And over we went into the frigid water, banging up my knees and shins on the rocks to ensure I won’t be wearing a sundress for at least a month – no hardship in Chicago but it’s SUMMER in Charlotte.

I did grab his bag which had the dry box containing our phones, keys, etc. It was clear plastic, so in theory, you could tell by tipping it this way and that if any water got in. Or, you could open it to examine and then have the lock break. I politely took it from him and tucked it into my sports top so it would stay shut and not float away in the event we tipped again as trust me, nothing’s happening in my top.

While the temps were in the low 80s in Charlotte, they were maybe 70 degrees in the mountains. And closer to -12^o with a mild breeze on the water when soaking wet. And of course, that’s the one three-hour period in my current life where I didn’t have a hot flash despite my fervent prayers for one. I’ve had 107 while writing this paragraph alone.

The views were awesome, even seen through the frost on my lashes. Well, they weren’t so awesome when the sky was threatening to rain. Pretty sure I’m not an atheist considering how fervently I was praying for it not to rain. A guy in a group of young men tubing together (wait, you can tube and bring a cooler of beer? NO ONE TOLD ME THAT WAS AN OPTION!) asked if we had tipped over. I looked like a wet, bedraggled, long-haired rat. So, with my best deadpan voice (which is identical to my usual speaking voice) I responded, “Why would you ask?” He hung his head while his friends snickered.

I had lost my paddle in the tumble, not that I’d used it much and when I did, I probably got more on him than I moved (accidental, I swear.) As I was more hindrance than help, he told me not to bother anymore. In fact, towards the end we came upon a group of about eight women tubing who were trying to paddle with their hands to reach the landing. We gave them my paddle to hasten their trip since I wasn’t using it (it was bone dry.) We got close enough to hand it to them. He continued to row but wondered if we’d gotten stuck as it suddenly became much harder. Well, one woman decided to grab on to our canoe for a tow even though one of her friends repeatedly said “I think they were just giving us a paddle, not tow” but she kept hanging on until almost the end. Freeloader.

One week later some of the feeling has come back to my extremeties. And yes, this trip earned me my first genuine “Bless your heart” from someone I didn’t know. I’m confident it won’t be the last.

Thanks for reading.

Day 1

7:00 am – What do you mean Vodka isn’t part of a “clear liquid diet”??

12:30 pm – Took two Bisacodyl tablets thinking what could go wrong? They’re not supposed to kick in for 6-12 hours.

2:30 pm – Took the other two, no problem.

3:45 pm – Um, why am I vibrating? Time to head home. Plus I’m getting meaner than usual from hunger.

4:28 pm – Please let me not throw up while driving.

4:38 pm – Practically shit myself as I walked in the door. Mo hid.

5:00 pm – Glass One. Couldn’t I have saved a lot of money and just drank the lemon scented Pine Sol I already have instead of this Tri-Lyte crap?

5:10 – 5:14 pm – Glass Two. This was tougher even though the mixture was colder. After I drank the last glass, I poured the next one and put it in the freezer to be extra cold thinking how smart I was. That made it too cold to drink in one chug. I’m not smart. Threw up an ounce or two. Practiced breathing like I was in labor and then finished the rest of the vile concoction.

5:25 pm – Drank Glass Three while sitting on the toilet. It just seemed more efficient.

5:39 pm – Glass Four was less eventful but not less awful.

5:42 pm – It’s a warm day. My bathroom window is open. Anyone walking by who happens to hear the sounds my body is making is probably going to call the police.

6:02 pm – How can I be nauseous and hungry at the same time?

6:05 pm – Glass Five. Drink. Shit. Drink. Shit. I’m sensing a pattern here.

6:14 pm – Ever tried to not puke while sneezing? I don’t recommend it, but I guess it’s better than puking WHILE sneezing.

6:19 pm – Glass Six. Whoever said it’s not that bad, lied. And they will pay for their sins.

6:28 pm – For fuck’s sake, now my nose is running.

6:30 pm – Glass Seven. I am sucking on a throat lozenge briefly after each chug to eliminate some of the solvent taste from my mouth. It was either that or candle wax – with the candle still burning.

6:35 pm – And now I’m shaking because I’m so cold.

6:42 pm – I’m glad I have a small condo or I’d have some clean-up in aisle five to do.

7:05 pm – I somehow drank Glass Eight. Just as nasty as the first. The instructions are to drink 8 oz. every 10-20 minutes until you’ve drank eight cups/2 liters. I did the math and figured I could be done by 6: 10 pm. As you’ll notice when looking at the intervals between drinks, I started stretching out those 10 minutes quite a bit due to dread and wimpy-ness. It also helped a teeny weeny bit with the nausea.

7:07 pm – Is it really less than 10 hours before this hell starts again?

7:17 pm – Jesus Christ! I just looked in the toilet and I swear to God it is lemon yellow. And possibly radioactive. What’s in that crap – Uranium?

7:19 pm – I have the hiccups.

7:23 pm – Well hello, cramps.

7:57 pm – Should I be timing my dumps like contractions?

9:26 pm – I wonder if the man who invented this prep (and yes, I firmly believe it’s a man – women know you never want to ingest anything reminiscent of Pledge) is the same one who invented pantyhose, advanced algebra and line dancing.

9:33 pm – For once Mo is happy to not be on my lap and refuses to make eye contact after what he’s seen so far this evening.

9:37 pm – The phrase “Can’t stop, won’t stop” suddenly has a new, sinister edge to it.

9:49 pm – I wonder if I’ll ever wear pants again.

10:54 pm – We’ll see how this sleep thing works out. Mo has chosen to remain on the couch. Coward.

Day 2

3:00 am –I determine it’s not working out all that well.

5:00 am – Glass One. What fresh hell is this? Seriously, nothing good comes at this hour.

5:08 am – I weighed myself. I lost 157 pounds, it appears to all be in my elbows.

5:11 am – Glass Two. Nope, not any better.

5:25 am – Glass Three. Kill. Me.

5:37 am – Glass Four. Piece of cake. If cake were vile, horrible, nasty and concocted by mad scientists.

5:38 am – And now we wait.

5:44 am – Almost grabbed the facial exfoliating wipes by accident. That would NOT have ended well.

6:03 am – So cold. You know how people say “Well, it’s still better than a day at the office”? Not always.

6:40 am – Dear, sweet, unsuspecting Christine arrived to take me to the Evanston hospital. Truly the hostess with the mostess she was even able to supply me with a blanket for the ride.

7:08 am – Walking to the gastroenterology lab, I realized my hunger was affecting my reading when I saw “Center for Breakfast” rather than “Center for Breast Health.” The disappointment was real.

7:09 am – Checked in. Barely resisted the urge to point to Christine and say “Take her instead!”

7:11 am – Christine handed me a scarf from her Mary Poppins valise.

7:25 am – The 60 & 70-yr-old couple’s crowd strolls in. I judge them.

7:30 am – My name is called and I begin the Green Mile.

7:31 am – Nehru comes in to take my vitals and review current medications. She never looked at me the same again.

7:50 am – Nehru temporarily replaced my mother in my affections when she placed a warm blanket over the thin, virtually see-through, pretend one I was already using. As the blanket cools, so do my affections and Mom is back in place. It was really only for a nanosecond, Mom.

8:05 am – The doctor informed me sometimes tearing or punctures can occur during the procedure. I told him not to do that to me today. Apparently he wasn’t expecting my response but he said he’d try. Yeah, I felt tons better after that.

8:24 am – Justin said while it was not an amusement park ride, he did take requests and then promptly refused me when I asked him to do some wheelies as he rolled my gurney to the procedure room. Justin is a tease.

8:27 am – Even though the rest of the room agreed the overhead Salsa music made one want a margarita, Justin informed me it was really Flamenco, not Salsa music. I am disappointed with Justin and his overbearing ways.

8:28 am – Doc asked me to confirm I was here for a colonoscopy screening. Unwilling and unable to stop myself I said “A WHAT?!?” as I widened my eyes and half-rose. His eyes got bigger. I laughed. The rest of the room laughed. He asked if the anesthesiologist had put me up to that. Um, you’re welcome to think that since you’ll be the one with the wand.

8:28 am – The anesthesiologist explained the drug would sting as it entered my hand. Quite the understatement, Karen. She said it would only last for about 30 seconds.

8:28:30 am – Hello darkness, my old friend.

8:54 am – Back in my room or an identical looking one (what do I know, I’m on drugs.) The doctor stopped by to tell me I was normal. I made sure the nurses heard him say that and ignored their insinuations it simply referred to my results. Christine later informed them she knew the truth.

8:57 am – Donna tries to make me fart. I’m fine, thank you.

9:01 am – Donna tries again. Seriously, don’t you have anything better to do? I’m fine. I ask to take my pulse monitor off as the beeping has gotten old and I’ve been at 60 for the last 15 minutes. She refuses. I silently declare war on Donna.

9:04 am – The monitor starts beeping louder with the pulse and she accused me of trying to take it off myself. Surprisingly, I had not, but it just proved the monitor didn’t feel it was necessary, either.

9:11 am – As Donna attempts to have me roll to my other side she pokes and prods my stomach and realizes actually, for probably the only time in my life, I am not gassy. Being full of hot air is another matter.

9:16 am – Animal crackers and high fructose syrup cranberry juice – no wonder kids behave the way they do.

9:25 am – Finally released from captivity to the watchful care of Christine.

10:07 am – Home sweet home. I contemplate dumping the remaining solution down the drain but I am concerned it will eat through my pipes.

 

Postscript:

3:17 pm – Ten years from now, if they have not greatly improved or replaced the Tri-Lyte (aka Die-right?) I will demand the ‘twilight drip’ begin simultaneously when the prep starts. Mo remains wary. But all said, it’s better than getting colon cancer, which is very treatable when caught early. Well I assume it is, hopefully I’ll never have to find out. I am also told my experience was worse than many people’s. Seriously, THIS is where I overachieve?

Thanks for reading.

Dear Chicago,

It’s not you, it’s me. Wait, no. It IS you. I will always love you but it’s better for both of us if we move on and see other cities. And so, last Thursday I was off to my future home, Charlotte, North Carolina. No, not Charleston, CHARLOTTE. And yes, I am serious about moving. Allstate is relocating me and later this summer I’ll be joining my boss and another co-worker who will already be down there.

Andrea flew in from Denver to verify not only was this a place I could live, but it was a place she could visit. Her flight landed about 90 minutes after mine – plenty of time to get my luggage and find a bar serving local brews right outside baggage claim, which was nice as most airports don’t have any food or beverage once you leave security. It was a short taxi ride to Hyatt Place in Uptown (which is what they call their downtown, which is also the name of my current neighborhood, which is going to confuse me for quite a while.)

After settling in we took the elevator up to the 21^st floor to Fahrenheit, which served food and had a rooftop. Unfortunately, it was the one night it was a bit too cold and windy to eat outside. They had an eclectic menu and crowd. Judging by some of the ‘dates’ that weren’t starting until after 10p with women dressed over the top or, more correctly, barely dressed, I believe there is a healthy  escort industry in Charlotte. One woman’s dress slit went so high we’re pretty sure the reason we couldn’t see her underwear is because she wasn’t wearing any. And she must be a fan of the Brazilian. Not. Kidding. 🙈

Friday morning after breakfast at the RedEye Diner in the nearby Epicentre, we walked over to where both my temporary and permanent offices – obviously still under construction – will be located (about five blocks apart.)

We also encountered our own Bermuda Triangle for the first of several times. No matter which route we chose to navigate, it was always the wrong one and we always had to wait forever for the walk signal. Always. Then we explored the surrounding area and found a few microbreweries but chose the Seoul Food Meat Company with outdoor seating available for lunch and learned Charlotte had its own gold rush – it wasn’t all about California after all (but don’t tell the Californians, you know how they are.)

Our weather was basically 70 and sunny every day (fine if you like that kind of thing) except Sunday, which clouded up later in the day but we were leaving anyway so it didn’t matter. My real estate agent (Jenny) picked us up Friday afternoon and did just as I had asked her – drove us around Charlotte to various neighborhoods I had suggested or she thought I’d like and showed us places that may or may not be in my price range, but gave me a feel for what was out there. This also served as a warning to me that their drivers are going to drive me bonkers (more so) as will my driving will for them but since they don’t use their horns I won’t know it. Jenny also drove us around the Charlotte area in general and then dropped us off by the 7th Street Market for out tour of the city on the Funny Bus (Andrea surprised me with this – can’t figure out why she thought I’d like it. 😏

We were two minutes late and everyone was waiting for us. Of course, they saved us seats right in front by the comedian who was giving the tour. Fortunately, she didn’t heckle us nearly as much as we thought she might. About midway through the tour we stopped at an area with several bars for a bathroom break and refreshment reload. You couldn’t carry an open container ON to the bus, but once on it, you could open it and drink. She got funnier after that. Luckily, we were not playing the suggested “Church!” game which required one to take a drink every time we passed a church. We would have been wasted within a mile, especially after other passengers started naming just about everything they saw, including a dog, “Church!”

Dinner was at a wonderful seafood restaurant mysteriously named Sea Level. When the couple sitting next to us, who had been eyeing our dinner, found out I was moving to Charlotte they couldn’t say enough good things about it, having moved to the area from Ohio 20 years prior. Andrea and I had noticed the downtown was thriving and there was a ton of new construction going on both there and in the nearby neighborhoods. It really is a clean, friendly city but I’m going to move there any way.

Fun fact: Charlotte natives are called Charlotteens and not Charlatans as I had hoped. And we only met two. Everyone else was a transplant. But don’t think I won’t still pick up a drawl, y’all. Okay, if I say “y’all,” you can smack me.

Afterwards we went to the top-rated Merchant and Trade rooftop to enjoy the view and people watch for a bit. From there we walked to the Punch Room, an unassuming bar located in the Ritz Carlton. It was reminiscent of a speak-easy, allowing only as many people as there were seats available, which were lounge style and they did little advertising; we only knew about it because Jenny recommended it. The Mixologist is evidently somewhat famous among mixologists and the bar was basically built around him. They gave us some kind of punch when we arrived and then I ordered the “I Know Bob” which is pretty much whatever Bob the Bartender wants to make for you although I asked it be bourbon based. He added Cynar (a surprisingly delicious artichoke based liquor that is evidently all the rage among foodie-types.) I don’t remember what else was in it (NOT because of the alcohol content) but it was pretty good. Andrea ordered a Boulvevadier because she’s fancy like that (not.)

Saturday morning, we walked over to the area near my future offices to pick up a rental car after re-navigating the Triangle. Andrea graciously did all the driving so I could look out the window and suggest areas to explore – basically I got to tell her where to go – a definite role reversal for us. 😁 I wish we had tracked how many miles we drove although Charlotte, while 850K in population, isn’t that big. It’s on the South Carolina border which is only 11 miles from downtown. We drove past a nice condo in a neighborhood I like (Dilworth) that Andrea’s husband, Cory, had found for me online  but it was only one bedroom. However, the age and style of the building were similar to mine and definitely a nice neighborhood – score 1 for Cory.

For lunch, we stopped at a Peruvian chain called Pio Pio. Siri incorrectly pronounced it pie-o pie-o. We decided it was more fun to call it pew-pew and make shooting motions. (You just did it in your head, didn’t you?) The food and service were both quite good and they had pulled off a wonderful Latin vibe without going for the cheese. We also stopped at the Paper Skyscraper. If you’re on my gift list, you now know where upcoming presents will be coming from. Which, I think, will be a nice change from the usual dumpster diving I do.

In the NoDa neighborhood, we discovered Bartique. Andrea was going to walk right by it but the name intrigued me too much so I inquired what they were. Turns out they are, according to them, the first ever women’s bar/clothing boutique. Besides some really cute clothes, they had a full bar and PBR was on special. It’s just a hunch but I won’t be too surprised if my Uncle Merlin suddenly discovers an interest in women’s fashion…

(No, this is not Bartique, it just cracked me up)

 

 

 

 

After returning the car later that afternoon, we chilled until walking to Fin and Fino, a new restaurant that had just opened a few days prior (I don’t know how Andrea finds these places.) The food was good but our waitress was a bit of a mess. She forgot to bring us our complimentary sherry when we arrived and after apologizing for forgetting a couple more times, finally remembered at the end of the meal. It took her a good five minutes to explain the menu to us, after which Andrea commented to me if it takes that long to explain, it might not be the best menu. We soon realized EVERY question we asked would take her five minutes to answer; partially because this was her first week of working after having a daughter five months ago. While said daughter had always slept through the night, now that mommy was working she was not so the waitress was very tired. I think we learned more about her than we needed to but she was very pleasant and we hoped she’d get some sleep soon.

We walked over to another area I’ve forgotten the name of and found The Cotton Room, a bar that had been gutted down to the bricks and wood beams, built 100+ years ago, with a bartender who clearly loved his craft cocktails. My first beverage was a drink that was fundamentally a Sidecar with jalapeno liquor but somehow it worked. For my next I asked for a bourbon based cocktail with Cynar and he got very excited. He added cognac and sweet vermouth. Don’t ask me how but it was quite tasty. Andrea enjoyed Smoke and Mirrors and they actually trapped smoke in the glass. Again, fancy. 😉

Sunday, after brunch at Heist, a brewery a cousin had recommended in a renovated former textile plant in NoDa, we rode the light rail from one end to the other, getting off in Southend to get a feel for the neighborhood. And now I’m home where it’s 50 degrees and everything but the grass is still brown. Of course, that doesn’t stop people from walking around in their shirtsleeves like they’re in Charlotte.

Thanks for reading.

P.S. No, I don’t know what’s going to happen to Lionel but he might be ready for a warmer climate too…

It appears I survived the Schulz family reunion. This is different than the Bofenkamp reunion as there’s little chance of the cops being involved. It’s in upper Wisconsin, about two hours northeast of Minneapolis. Michelle, Lindsay, Josh (3) and Lucas (3 months) headed out late Wednesday afternoon, roughly the same time as Mark and Jill (Joe had Guard and Jacob was watching the dogs.) Unfortunately the girls discovered a flat about 12 miles from Indiana while at a truck stop. Mark and Jill backtracked to see if they could help. There wasn’t much they could do but Jill managed to coerce/harass (it’s what she does) the truck stop mechanics into fixing the tire even though they are only supposed to work on trucks. It took several hours but everyone was finally back on the road. The girls still planned to drive straight through while the boys slept but just as M&J were pulling in to my place for the night the tire blew again on I-90 at about midnight. They limped in to an oasis and Illinois Roadside Assistance came and put the bubble on for them (*99 if you ever need them.) They then drove to a motel to spend the night before Lindsay bought a new tire the following morning and they were back on the road at about 10/10:30. I’m pretty sure there was some discussion about just giving up and going home. And that was probably Mark…

Mark, Jill and I left my place around the same time and met up with them at an Arby’s in Wisconsin. We all made it safely to the cabin Mom had rented through VRBO on Lower Clam Lake (which is NORTH of Clam Lake, uffda) around 5ish that afternoon so it basically took them 24 hours to get there. A bit overboard if you ask me but some people just like their drama. And my brother lost his wallet by leaving it on the top of his truck when filling up with gas at the Arby’s. Some nice people saw money blowing along the side of the road and stopped to pick it up when they saw the wallet, found him on Facebook and mailed it back. So basically our travel calamities ended well especially as he got both Dad and I to pay for gas at different times.

After we unloaded, some walked and some drove the 0.6 miles to Uncle Loren’s cabin on Clam Lake near Siren which would be home base for the duration. Several others had already arrived.  I believe we had burgers and brats that night but I’d probably have to look at the spreadsheet to be sure. Ah yes, the spreadsheet. It was magnificent and terrifying at the same time. On it Loren had tracked when people were arriving, leaving, and which meals they would be present for. He had also recorded what each meal would be and which family was in charge of making it that day. We all provided Loren and Leiann our shopping list and they hit up Costco before we arrived. Loren then calculated per person what everyone would owe based on the total bill and number of meals eaten. It was color coded. It was amazing. And scary. I’m pretty sure he excelled in accounting at college. And didn’t have a ton of friends. 😉

The rest arrived on Friday bringing our total number to 37, traveling from Austin, Chicago, Michigan, Nebraska, Minneapolis, Tennessee and Kentucky.  On land we had the use of two junior 4-wheelers and a neighbor’s side-by-side 4-wheeler. For the lake we had the pontoon boat, jet skis, a huge lily pad, and a giant floaty that holds about eight people and your drink. We probably went through 60-70 gallons of gas over the duration of the reunion. Speaking of gas, one family was in their camper when my cousin got up to use the porta-potty (aka bucket) in the middle of the night and subsequently farted. Which set off the carbon monoxide alarm located right by it. Her husband woke up startled, terribly concerned that something was on fire. Who says farts can’t be lethal?

And there was also ladder toss, corn-hole, and giant Husker Jenga lawn games. The kids mostly rode the juniors around the picnic/beach area but the side-by-side did find some trails and a few are fairly confident they saw either a still or a meth lab and heard banjo music. Of course they couldn’t remember where it was so they were afraid they’d accidentally wind up there again.

With all that to do, naturally some of the 8 and under set (apparently my target demographic) decided to follow me around instead. It was determined we’d play super heroes. Kiera (5) was Batman, Avery (5) was Batwoman, Lexi (3) was Batgirl and I was Wonder Woman (obviously.)  At one point someone suggested adding “princess” to our names but that was quickly voted down (they made me so proud.) And I’m really not worried about the future of our young women because all of them were happy to be the leader. One asked me to lead and then promptly did what she wanted. I’m betting LoAnn put her up to it.

When 8-year old Rowan came to join us, I asked which super hero he was and without pause he said the Human Torch. I looked at his mop of fiery red hair and tried not to swallow my tongue. Of course you are, Rowan, of course you are.  FYI, in case you were wondering, super heroes spend most of their time looking for clues and catching bad guys. We built what I thought was a rather impressive cage made out of sticks that could topple over in a gentle breeze. Of course I sent them off to gather the sticks thinking “that’ll kill five minutes” only to have them all return a minute later with their arms full. I guess I should have expected that in a heavily wooded area…

At one point we were discussing how much fun we (okay, mostly they) were having and something was mentioned about grown-ups. I stated that I was not a grown-up and Rowan promptly asked me if I had kids.

Me: No.

Rowan: So you’re not a mom?

Me: Nope.

Rowan: Oh, then you’re not a grown-up. Only people who are moms or dads are grown-ups.

Me: I agree completely Rowan and besides, I’m younger than your mother.

(Not technically true.)

Rowan: How old are you?

Me: 39.

Rowan: Oh yeah, you’re five years younger than my mom.

His mom was not very happy to hear how readily Rowan accepted I was younger. It still makes me smile.

On Saturday Loren had a group of folks out on the pontoon when one of the jet skis approached and Logan (5) asked to come aboard. Aunt Nancy then opted to ride back on the Jet Ski but she forgot her crutches and wasn’t using her prosthetic leg that day. The 50 yard walk from the dock to the cabin is a bit more arduous when it is going to be a 50 yard hop. So Tom graciously (and foolishly) hoisted Nancy over his shoulder, knocking his glasses askew. As he quipped: So a one legged lady and a blind man walk in to a bar… On returning from a pontoon boat ride at night where they hoped to see the Northern Lights, Nancy told Dave all about the boat ride she’d just been on. He’d been on the same one. I don’t care if it was dark out, it’s not that big of a boat.

Sunday was the family Olympics. Teams were picked with Uncle Merlin and dad/Gerald as the team captains and almost coming nose to nose except Gerald has a good 5 inches on Merlin. Various games were played but my favorite was the one where two people from each team put shower caps on and then the caps were covered in shaving cream. Cheese balls were thrown at their heads with the winners being the ones with the most cheese balls still on their head. Naturally my brother was one of the winners because, well, he has a big head.

The tradition of awarding the travelling trophy was continued. This year Batman and Batwoman were allowed to pick the recipient. Naturally Wonder Woman won hands down. It does function well as a cup holder.

Each evening was spent around the bonfire making s’mores and strawberries dipped in marshmallow fluff. Most stayed until they could no longer handle the mosquitos. Some of my cousins had to have at least 30 bites on them. I sat next to them so the mosquitos would just hang out there and leave me alone. It worked. I did not get bit once. Some have said my personality is repellant and evidently it works on mosquitos too.

All in all it was a good time with good food and good weather. And I think everybody is still speaking to each other. I think.

 

Recently I was provided with the starting sentence and given five minutes to write a story. Obviously I am not a fiction writer and am ridiculously slow but here’s the outcome and don’t worry, I won’t quit my day job any time soon.

It was a dark night and the moon was full as I stepped out on my back porch. Speaking of moons, my neighbor was sitting on his porch in his standard ratty robe. I prayed he wouldn’t stand up and an errant breeze would reveal his moon.

He was on his sixth or seventh vodka of the evening and chain smoking Virginia Slims; both of which did wonders for his mental and physical illnesses. Fortunately, he was winding down for the evening and starting to nod off. I watched a half-lit cigarette drop from his fingers and roll across the porch. His dog raised his head to survey its progress but did nothing to help. I watched as he slid down in his chair. The breeze stirred, shifting his robe to expose what I had long suspected.

He was a eunuch.

Not sure where I got this recipe originally (maybe Body for Life, or maybe just the voices in my head – but not the Swedish one, he mumbles) and I’m sure I have modified it over the years but as some of you have foolishly asked me for my recipe (that’s a first!) here goes:

Lisa’s surprisingly healthy (for her) breakfast burritos:

Ingredients; the ‘light’ version of what you like in an omelet. I like Southwestern/Mexican omelets so for me it’s typically:

32 oz. egg whites – that’s the tall carton. Doesn’t have to be Eggbeaters but the green carton tends to get runny

1 green pepper, diced (or color of your choice, no judging)

Low fat cheese, about 1TBS/shell (I prefer sharp cheddar)

8 La Tortilla Factory mini shells (50 cal/ea) I usually find these at Jewel – they are good because they limit your portion size and they’re not too high in carbs

1 small fist sized potato, you can pretend to shake your fist at me if this helps

Turkey sausage – equivalent of 3-4 links (I sometimes use turkey bacon because I’m unpredictable like that, but that has to be cooked first)

3/4c of your favorite salsa

 

1. Microwave potato for about 2 minutes so it’s not raw but still firm if that’s the texture you prefer.
2. Spray oil (I use canola) in pan, add egg whites, and cook at whatever temp the carton says or whatever temp you want if you’re feeling sassy.
3. When the eggs are almost done I add the diced potato, peppers and sausage for about another minute.
4. Let drain and then cool (so that the cheese doesn’t melt.)
5. Add salsa and pepper to taste.
6. Spoon on to shells and add cheese.
7. Wrap in plastic wrap.
8. I usually refrigerate four and freeze four as I believe this keeps the salmonella gods at bay.

To eat, microwave the refrigerated ones for about 60 seconds total. I try to let the frozen ones thaw a day in the fridge before using and then microwave for same time as above; if I forget and they’re still frozen, then they need to be microwaved for closer to two minutes depending on how many steroids your microwave is on. The downside of the frozen ones is they are a little runny, drain after heating if you can.

I have occasionally mixed it up using ham and Swiss or asparagus and feta (good for Lent if you’re not a heathen). 😉  You could add mushrooms if you want some slime, or onions if you want people to keep their distance. I have also added the Jewel fresh salsa (found behind the deli counter) on occasion as well.

The last time I did the math these come in between 180-200 calories each with around 18g of protein, 16g of carbs and 6 g of fat and surprisingly yummy.

 

I’ve seen a little kvetching on the interwebs bemoaning how much attention Prince’s death has garnered. I know in some circles, obviously not mine, Merle Haggard’s recent death, (or was it Waylon Jennings?) also got a lot of attention. Yes, that should tell you how big a country music fan I am although in my defense I was bummed when the Man in Black died. While I get that we are a celebrity obsessed society, I think their deaths have an impact on those of us who were fans not because we knew them (I’m sad to say I never even saw Prince in concert – at least I don’t think I did, Andrea might have to confirm that for me) but because of the role their music played in our lives. And I think the music you listened to between the ages of 13 and 22 tends to have the greatest influence. My theory is because we were giant balls of raging hormones and emotions, everything was felt to a greater extent at that point in our lives. I’d probably be similarly bummed if Billy Corgan or Eddie Vedder died but more because we are of a comparable age and it reflects my own mortality rather than the number of memories I have tied to specific songs.

I haven’t thought about Whirla Whip, the ice cream shop I worked at (and the last place I should have worked at next to a shoe store) in ages, but all of the sudden the memory of Stephie Pistone (or was it the other girl who went to North?) coming in to start her shift with her brand new Purple Rain album resurfaced in my brain. We oohed and aahed over the cover. Funny how I remember the moment and the album better than who I was with at the time. I loved how Prince had female band members that played more than the tambourine. And I even forgave him for the fact that band-mate Wendy, and not Lisa, was the pretty one in The Revolution.

I recall forgetting the PR cassette in a boy’s car that I’d been kissing. When I saw him a month later I tried to race down his car to get that cassette back like it was the last one ever made. I’m sure he thought I was homicidal or at least deranged and had no idea that all I wanted was my tape back, although I probably would have kissed him again if I’d had the chance, while I’m pretty sure he was thinking more along the lines of multiple restraining orders.

I can specifically recall sun bathing in the back yard of our Erskine Street house listening to “1999,” calculating how old I would be on New Year’s Eve of 1999, and being horribly disappointed that, at the ripe old age of 32, I would be much too old to be out partying.

I was bummed when David Bowie died; I was a definite fan and had some memories tied to him as well, but not the sheer volume that Prince’s death has generated. Of course my favorite Bowie memory involved seeing my first porn spoof. The end of “Flesh Gordon” was playing at a Salt Lake City movie house as my friend and I waited for the Ziggy Stardust documentary to begin. I’d kind of like to see a minute of FG again to see if it was as bad as I remember – I swear the spaceships were made by a high school drama department while the acting was performed people who’d never taken high school drama.

I watched and recorded more MTV Thursday night than I probably have in the past two decades and have reminisced with friends about Prince’s passing, most of whom were also near high school age when 1999 and PR came out. Granted I haven’t gone through a horrible loss or divorce and perhaps there would be musicicians that I would be very drawn to who helped me get through those hard times. Evidently the death of a cat isn’t as scarring as I’d thought. Sorry Gunther and Thor but I don’t recall listening to 4 Non Blondes and weeping for days.

I was visiting a vendor outside of Minneapolis about five years ago and they very proudly pointed out that if you looked through a particular window and squinted, you could see Paisley Park. They definitely took pride in the fact that he had chosen to stay in Minnesota, which is just another indication of how eccentric he was, if you ask me.  😉

So I’ve appreciated all of the Facebook posts and news coverage of his death. It’s made me sad that such a talent is gone too soon but also allowed me to relive so much. To this day I can’t listen to “I Would Die 4 U” without doing the hand gestures and I still find a guilty pleasure in listening to “Darling Nikki” and hoping my mother doesn’t EVER hear the lyrics. So while Prince will not grow old, I will not grow up.