Spring In The Desert

Prickly Pear Cactus with its flowers in bloom. This is what spring in the Southwest looks like.

They Must Have Been On Sale

What other explanation could there possibly be for NASCAR paper towels being in my mother's kitchen???

We're not even from the South.

Not Nearly As Appealing As Gnocchi

Although it's one of my favorite cuisines, and my favorite resturant to eat it in is La Parrilla Suiza, Mexican food doesn't look nearly as appetizing in a photo (this photo was not taken at La Parrilla Suiza) as Italian food does.

It looks rather, well, fattening.

Sad but true.

I Hate When He Does That

So, I'm sitting in a casino in Reno, watching all the old people who have emerged from the stream of busses that come through here on a regular basis. It's amazing, I tell you, and every time I see it I think, is this what's in store for me when I'm old - spending the last of my measly social security check on slot machines?

Anyway, there were two old ladies and one old man sitting directly behind me; they were easily in their seventies. The ladies were going back and forth about what time it was, how much time they had before meeting the bus and why Joe (the guy they were with) had to play one more round on the slots.

Finally the old man gets up, telling the ladies he'll be right back, and starts to walk past me. I watch him as he does, amused by his scrunched old man hunch, the struggle he was having with getting his massive wallet back into his tiny pants pocket and thinking, I can't believe he is still out and about, going to casinos.

He was shuffling. I mean, literally shuffling. As he propelled himself forward, his feet didn't move further than six inches at a time, and never once did they lift off the ground. He was moving so slowly, I was gettting impatient just watching him, thinking he was never going to get to his destination.

He was gone for quite a while and the entire time, the ladies were chattering behind me. The one, who must have been his wife, said to the other "I don't know where he is. We have to meet the bus at three. I hate when he just takes off like that."

Takes off???? She said it like he was fast and just zipped away. It took him ten minutes just to get out of our line of sight. It wasn't like he got far. When I heard her say, "I hope he doesn't forget where we were sitting" I thought it was time for me to step in.

I was ready to get up anyway, so I peeked around the slot machine and there was Joe; standing about one hundred feet away, playing another machine. I turned and said, "Is that him over there?"

They looked, laughed and said "Oh, there he is! Thank you."

"Well, it doesn't look like he got very far. I guess you should catch him while you can."

They agreed and started shuffling toward him. It didn't appear as if any of them were going to make it back to the bus on time; but I'd suspect the bus driver is prepared for the ones who just take off like that.

Better Late Than Never

Back in January, I wrote about finding out that the photo I entered in a contest was a winner and that it was going to be published in the Pilot Travel Centers magazine.

It was finally published in the March 2007 issue and in addition, I won this little cute digital camera.

Click Here to see the winning picture.

Gnocchi From The Gods

This is my absolute favorite type of pasta.

When I was a kid, my Uncle Lawrence and Aunt Jennie used to make these by hand. He spoke such broken English, we could barely understand what he was saying, but damn, he knew how to cook!

Starting Soon. No, Really.

In an effort to gear up for bathing suit season, I have been in endless conversations with my friend in Nashville and my mother, regarding the quickest way to drop a few pounds and get in shape. I'm nauseated with the thought of "poolside activities" and am getting equally ill listening to myself talk about it how we're going to prepare for it. As for Ed; well, he must just be at the end of his rope having to hear the ass end of all these conversations.

While driving through California the other day, in the Sierra Nevadas, through winding roads which took us past glorious lakes and majestic pine trees, as squirrels scampered across the road without fear, I, without stopping for a breath, let Eddie in on my new plan.

"I think we should start walking. Just thirty minutes a day to start. We'll watch what we eat and fit in a walk everyday, maybe even doing forty-five minutes on some days. You know, my doctor friend says we should do at least forty-five minutes for three days a week and she even does things like yoga and bike riding, which we can't do since we don't have bikes in the truck, but I'm going to go to such an extreme of losing weight that people are going to think I'm sick and have one foot in the grave...I swear, I'm going to get Nicole-Richie-skinny and let me tell you, that when I do get there, I'm just going to eat myself back up to a normal size...I'm going to do such a flip, people will wonder what alien is living in my body...I think I'm just going to be one of those people that everyone hates because they're always talking about how "great" they feel from exercise and what a "natural high" they get and how they have "so much energy" and all that crap; people are going to hate having me around. I'm going to talk about organic foods, eating fruits and vegies, how Splenda is the Devil, etc. I'm not going to put one thing in my mouth that is fattening...I'm going to eat more fruits and vegies, I'm going to become an exercise freak...that's what I'm going to do; get all granola-ish like those people in Oregon and up here, the total California types who eat salad all the time with things in it like tofu and edamame...I'm going to walk everyday, I'm not going to drink full fat lattes, I'm going to only order skim milk lattes, maybe even soy...."

And then in the middle of my tirade, "Look, there's a Starbucks!"

"Where???" I said, as my head snapped around.

He just laughed. "Wow, that was quick."

"Well, I didn't say I was starting today."

Evening Tide

The evening tide rolls in, just before nightfall; somewhere in Florida.

It Should Be Called "Thimble Shot"

(Photo courtesy of the internet)

This is my new discovery. It's espresso-y and creamy. But I need it to come in a bigger can. It's only 6.5 ounces. I mean, that's not even two sips.

The funniest thing to me is, on the can, it says "Refrigerate After Opening."

Who can't finish off a can of this stuff?

Some People Are SAD; I Am Not One Of Them

Seasonal Affective Disorder is commonly known as SAD. Most people afflicted with SAD will experience mood variations that are believed to be related mostly to light, specifically, the lack of it. They get depressed in winter months when there isn't a lot of sunshine or throughout the year if they live in areas like Seattle, for example, that has dreary weather on more days than not. This apparently depresses some people.

I am not one of those people; the kind who is adversely affected by dark, gloomy, overcast days. In fact, I actually like them and wish we had more. I am not a fan of abundant sunshine. I enjoy places where there is a cloud or two, inclement weather, ominous storms rolling in. There just aren't enough of those days.

The days that are the worst for me are those SO full of sunshine, I want to poke my eyes out because I can't find a single spot to hide from the glare. Of course, being inside isn't usually a problem, but even when indoors, I like a dark house, I don't want to see sun shining in from every damn glass hole in the wall. My brother used to call my house "The Bat Cave" because I would keep all the drapes and shades closed; all the time.

And skylights? Don't even get me started on skylights; they are straight from the Devil. What kind of sadistic person puts a skylight in their house when there is no way on earth to block the light shining through it??? Not me, that's for damn sure.

Obviously I'm a little pissy about the light today. Actually, it's like this most of the time in the truck when I'm trying to do something from the passenger seat like reading or being on the computer and the abundant sunshine hinders me. If the sun is out, it's incredibly unpleasant and most times, impossible.

The light bounces off the shiny sixty-four square feet of white truck hood, through the eleven feet of wrap-a-round window, none of which can be properly blocked by the slivers they call "sun" visors, and shines directly into the cornea of my eye. And don't even suggest sunglasses, because they are useless. They are fine if all I'm doing is staring out the window upon the sun soaked land, but otherwise, they are too dark to even see what the hell I'm doing, so I'd have to take them off anyway. Sort of defeats their purpose.

I suppose I can take up wearing a tennis visor, like the one my sister-in-law lives in; but she's petite and perky and dresses in cute little country-club-like outfits, often white in color, which actually make her look like she's going to break out in a game of tennis any minute. I would look ridiculous wearing one of those; "sporty" is not my thing.

Sometimes, in a moment of lunacy, like when we recently visted one of the Bass Pro Shop stores, I get all excited by the gadgets and clothing and neat little bits and pieces used for camping and boating and fishing, that I think, I can do this - the fishing, boating, camping thing...

Then I remember who I am. Wait. I hate the outdoors. Sunshine. No TV. No place to plug in my laptop. What the hell am I thinking?

So as those freaky little SAD people are joyfully anticipating the arrival of summer, I will just poke my head out long enough to get a respectable tan and buy a few new pairs of flip-flops.

When I'm not doing that, you will find me hiding behind my sunglasses, bitching about not only the sun, but the heat that will be coming along with it and searching for places that offer tons of shade with the possible bonus of accompanying air conditioning.

And that makes me very HAPPY.

The Restroom Shell Game

Are we just supposed to GUESS where he is??

First of all, there were only TWO restrooms; well, two in the immediate vicinity of this sign. The other was one of those "family" restrooms that I noticed nearby, obscured by a poorly marked door, so if you weren't looking for a family restroom, which most people aren't, this is what you see; men to the left, women to the right and a very confusing sign in the middle.

As I stood outside of the restroom waiting for Ed to come out, I watched everyone who walked in. Men just walked right on by, happily oblivious of anything but their mission to pee. Women, on the other hand, would stop, look at the sign, sort of tilt their head as if they were also thinking one of three?? and then walk into their restroom.

I decided at that moment that it was must have been a man who wrote the sign. Since I didn't see him in my restroom, and I didn't see him in the family restroom, I guessed there was only one place he could be; the men's room, which Ed later confirmed.

For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to place a bet and watch someone shuffle shells until a maintenance man popped out.

Now I Can Go Back To Watching The Show

The only thing better than Larry Birkhead being the father, is Sanjaya getting voted off American Idol.

Finally.

Seriously, people, I'm so glad you came to your senses. I was really starting to wonder what the flock was wrong with America.

Although now I'm quite sure this is the same way we got stuck with George Bush.

The Color Of Elizabeth's Eyes

Taken in Theodore, Alabama.

Is It REALLY Such A Mystery??

While driving through Canada looking for a place to have lunch, this is what I hear come out of Ed's mouth:

"Oh, look! A Hooters in Canada. I wonder what that's like?"

"CANADIAN girls in shorts, that's what it's like."

Sunset On The Move

Sunset in Iowa, captured in the rearview mirror, while in motion.

Activities Director

That's Eddie's new title. He is the trucking industry equivalent of the resort hotel activities director. Or wants to be.

This weekend, Ed and I had a difference of opinion on what we consider "fun" which led us to a discussion on how we can bring our definitions closer together. He told me that he thinks we should find some activites that we can do together outside of the normal way we enjoy our free time.

"Like what?" I asked.

"I don't know. Isn't there anything you like to do that you don't already do now?"

"No, not really."

"Well, what did you used to do with your friends when you lived home?" he wanted to know.

"The same things I do now; go out to dinner, see movies, go for coffee and chit chat at the nearest Starbucks, take in an occassional street fair or concert, have sex. Well, not that with my friends, of course, but you know what I mean."

"That's it?"

"Yup." I think he wanted me to say I used to be a cross country skier, looked forward to hiking difficult summits or enjoyed the personal challenge of golf. Nope. Wrong girl.

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

"Well, I don't know. What about like, bowling?" he said.

"I'd bowl. That's sorta fun."

"Okay, good." he seemed satisfied at his first attempt at suggesting an activity.

"What else?" I wanted to know. "I mean, are you talking about us doing stuff like kayaking, biking, skiing, etc.?"

"Well, that wouldn't be practical in the truck; we can't carry the things needed to do that."

"OK, well what else then?"

"I don't know. Can't you think of anything?"

"I'm not the one dissatisfied with what we do, but okay, let me see...Well, I like to travel, but we already do that. I like to take pictures, but I already do that too."

"Isn't there anything else you can think of??" he's displaying an unusual amount of impatience.

"Well, I'm more of a cerebral girl; I'd be interested in photography exhibits, art galleries, plays, music events, workshops, that kind of thing. Are you talking about activites for fun or something to do for exercise?"

"Either. It doesn't matter." So much for his new job as the Activites Director.

"OK," I said. "Well, let's go discuss it over a cup of coffee and a magazine."

See? We're already doing something I like.

Waxing Brilliant

Back when I was a stupid girl (December), I purchased Smashbox Brow Tech Wax to tame my unruly brows. Even though I had been taming my brows for years with a little spritz of hairspray, I spent, against my better judgement, $20 on this fantastic product, thinking it would do things no one else had promised.

Well, it was good and all, while it lasted. A little pot of wax does not go very far on bushy Italian brows. And no, I'm not going to tweeze them; I like them gloriously bushy, ala Brooke Shields, circa 1980.

But then one day I had this Aha! moment and thought, Why don't I just use mustache wax?? I mean, those guys with handlebar mustaches that never seem to move must be in on some underground secret for sure. So I went on the hunt.

The first few places I tried didn't have what I needed. I guess since it's not 1950 anymore, there aren't many men out there who use the products my grandfather, a barber, used to groom hair. No sticky pomades, no greased back "do" and no mustache wax.

But then, I found this:

(photo courtesy of the internet)

This product has a delightfully citrus scent and tames with unheard of precision in the bushy brow world.

I am thrilled by my brilliance. And all of this for $4.39 courtesy of CVS drugstore.

It's okay; you can envy me now.

Before The Luck Ran Out

Waiting For A Beautiful Balsamic Splash

The first bite of my Vegas mini-vacation.

The Man Filter

Pressed for time and wanting both Starbucks and McDonald's, which were in two different locations, I said to Eddie "I'll get the Starbucks, you get the McDonald's." Plan in motion.

The Starbucks was diagonally across the street from the McDonald's, so as we passed by, Eddie stopped the truck, I jumped out and said "I want a yogurt parfait from McDonald's. Yogurt Parfait."

I proceeded to Starbucks, got my latte and headed back out to wait for my chariot. Hmmm, not out front, but I did see it still parked across the street, so I started to walk over. Ed wasn't in the truck and although I thought he had plenty of time to order our food and should have been back out by now, I thought maybe I misunderstood and was supposed to meet him inside to sit and dine in luxury, so I walked inside to find him.

Just as I opened the door, he was on his way out. We got to the truck and he hands me the McDonald's bag, "You wanted an Egg McMuffin, right?"

"Um, noooo." I say, thinking he's kidding, as I look in the bag.

"Oh, I thought you wanted an Egg McMuffin."

"No," I said, rolling my eyes, "I wanted a yogurt parfait."

"Oh, okay, I'll go get you the yogurt." he answers, in his sweet I-don't-mind-I'll-go-get-it-for-you way.

So we go back and forth a few minutes with "no, don't worry about it" and "it's fine, I'll go get it" and "no it's okay, I'll just eat this" until he finally just starts off across the lot to get the breakfast I really wanted.

I wouldn't make an issue out of this if it were a one time thing, but it happens ALL. THE. TIME. I just don't understand how I say one thing, he acknowledges receipt of that one thing and then he hears something entirely different. It's as if there's a filter in his head that skews all the information and spits it back to him completely wrong. How exactly does that happen?

When I got back into the truck, I tried to approach the subject lightly (so it wouldn't seem as if I were nagging or harping, God forbid) and said, "Can I just ask one thing? How is it that I said 'yogurt parfait' and even made sure I said it twice so you understood what I wanted, and then you get me an Egg McMuffin??"

"I didn't hear what you said. It sounded like mmmph mmpfth yogurmpf parfamfh, so I had no idea what you wanted. I thought you said Egg McMuffin."

So there it is folks, he didn't even hear me. Not one word. Acknowledged, but didn't really even hear what I said, therefore getting me whatever he thought I'd want for breakfast.

I continued with, "I have never in my life eaten an Egg McMuffin. Never. Not once. Why would I order one now?"

"Well, I haven't known you your whole life," he says "I've only known you for three years."

"Okaaay, well in three years I've never ordered one."

"How am I supposed to know you don't eat Egg McMuffins every three years? This could be the three year anniversary of you ordering an Egg McMuffin. I don't know." From his tone, I assume it was his attempt to be funny; and how can I be pissed at someone who is so cute and trying to be funny?

I guess being specific in my requests are not enough, so next time I'll be better prepared. Instead of taking the risk of my information going through the filter, I'm going to write it down and pin it to his shirt like he's five years old; this way, the person at the counter filling my order can read my note and just hand him what I asked for.

No man filter involved.