Tag Archives: Hermit

Living Like Stephen King and Petting Tigers

Since I will be turning 29 in September (That’s 43 in real world time), I’ve started to think about how quickly life is passing by. It really does go by so fast after high school, doesn’t it? So, I’ve started listing the things I still want to accomplish before I (hopefully) drop dead suddenly and without pain at the age of 99. Because I like to over share, and because there is nothing good on TV in the summer, here is my bucket list for your reading enjoyment.

I want to learn to dance and sing Gangnam Style – wait for it – in KOREAN. YES! This has to be one of the most physically and mentally challenging things I could do. Just in case you live on another planet, and have not seen and heard this, take a minute or four to watch it.

I want, no I NEED, to hold a baby tiger. I’m not dumb enough to want to get in a cage with a full-grown tiger, but I could handle a kitten. Jack Hanna, are you reading this? Let me hold a tiger kitten, damn it!

I will be in a flash mob. I have to. Ever since I was in Miss Raines’ dance class at South Broward High School, I have enjoyed shaking my backside around to anything from Rhythm Nation to Black Hole Sun, which lends itself nicely to adolescent ballet moves.

I’ve gotta get around to finishing the two novels I’m writing. In my line of work, I spend WAY TOO MUCH time correcting other people’s writing. It dulls my creativity and makes it hard for me to write. I have to make time to finish my novel on the reincarnation of the 27 Club and the other about time travel.

I want to help animals more. Recently, I wrote a blog about how I have an only child and I’m fine with that. An old friend sent me a heartfelt letter telling me that I should adopt a child. She has adopted two children, and she is adopted. While I would love for every child to have a home, I simply don’t want more children. The good part about my friend’s message is that it made me realize that animals are my passion, not kids, and I need to do more to help furry beings.

I need to make enough money to piss off my extended family when I leave it to cats. If my husband leaves this earth before me, 80% of whatever I have will go to my son, and 20% will go to a cat shelter.

I really want to live to see religion truly separate from government. Things have gotten Handmaid’s Tale scary lately. Believe in Jesus all you want, but if he did exist, I’m pretty sure he was not a gun-toting Republican; he was more of a hippie. I’m no biblical scholar, but it seemed like he liked to help people, not make cuts to the food stamp program.

After reading Stephen King’s memoir, On Writing, I have decided that true success as a writer means living like Stephen King. I’m not talking about the cocaine years; I’m talking about now. The man has time to nap EVERY day, and he makes a living doing what he loves.

Even though I am a total hermit and I need Ativan to travel, I want to tour Europe. I want to see the castles and other historical buildings this world has to offer. I want to know where my pasty-skinned whiskey drinking ancestors come from.

That’s all I got for now. I’m sure as I enter my 30’s (AKA mid-40’s) I will think of more things. For now, I’m focusing on this list. So, what about you? What do you want to do before you croak?

 

Claustrophobic Cheesecake Factory Nostalgia

My husband and I had a gift card for Cheesecake Factory so we decided we should go out for lunch, by lunch we meant martinis and cheesecake.  When we got there, I knew we were in trouble because it was SOOOO crowded.  If you read this blog ever, you know I LOVE to be smooshed in a crowd of people. (That was sarcasm.)  Being five foot nothing, I usually can’t see anything but torsos in this situation. There was a 20-minute wait for a table and the hostess did not have a microphone or any of those vibrating “your table is ready” things.  So, we had to stand (no place to sit) and wait for the hostess to yell for us.  By yell I mean whisper, or at least that is how it sounded to me.

I had to pee, and I was thinking about going to the bathroom, but I didn’t because I HATE public bathrooms, I didn’t have to go that bad, and my husband ended up ducking out to take a phone call.  This left me and only me to stand there and wait for the hostess to whisper our name.  So, I just held it.

Finally, the happy moment arrived.  I was standing right next to the hostess stand, as I have the hearing of an 85 year-old, and she whispered something that sounded like “Chris, party of two.”  So, I asked her, “Did you say Chris, party of two?”  She nodded and smiled.  Score! I waved at my husband to come back in.  He followed us to our table, still on the phone.  It was a business call, so I will forgive him.  I was so relieved to get out of the crowd.

The tables were not hermit-friendly.
The tables were not hermit-friendly.

The hostess led us to a tiny table that was about four inches from the table next to it.  I am exaggerating; it was a foot from the next table, but it really felt like I was going to have to sit on the lady’s lap at the next table.  I barely had room to set my purse and coat next to me.  I scooted as far over to the left as I could, without going through the wooden partition.  It was one of those tables where you basically share the booth seat with strangers.  Hermits don’t like sitting with strangers.  So, I did the only thing one can do in this situation; I ordered a drink.

Our waiter came to the table soon after we sat, and he looked really familiar.  There was something about that dark hair, and prominent brow. It hit me. He looked like a younger, less Cro Magnon Brett.  Brett was someone I used to do stand-up comedy with back in the late 90’s.  Now, he is out in LA, doing stand-up and scoring some tiny roles on TV shows.  For example, he was a Eastern European thug on Weeds a few years ago.  I always found Brett to be funny, but sort of arrogant, especially after he gave me a mini speech on how I should have chosen my marriage to my first husband over stand-up comedy.  I’m holding my fingers in W formation on my forehead and facing west. Whatever, Brett!  I was kind of hoping that Hollywood had spit him out to wait tables at the Cheesecake Factory in Columbus, Ohio. Yes, I fully understand that this is very non-Buddhist of me.

So, back to that much needed drink. I ordered a Cosmo, my usual poison.  I’m just not that adventurous.  My husband pointed to a dirty martini on the menu, and tried to get off the phone.  Once his call was over, we ordered appetizers, too, because by this time, we wanted more than cheesecake and drinks.  The food was delicious.  We were long overdue for some greasy, salty food. Fried zucchini and mini burritos go great together and they are full of fat and gluten. Plus, we got cheesecake.

As you may know, my husband had his throat melon-balled on December 17.  So, we haven’t been eating fried bar food at home.  We’ve been sticking to things that don’t irritate the husband’s throat.  Without giving you too much TMI, I will tell you that my husband had to dash off to the bathroom shortly after polishing off his cheesecake. My apologies go out to the other gentlemen in the men’s room on Saturday.

I stayed at the table until Brett Jr. brought the check over.  I signed, tipped generously, and gingerly squeezed out of my seat, trying not to knock over the drinks on the table next to me. Two Cosmos and a full bladder later, I decided to check out the bathroom.  Surprise.  It was really crowded and stinky.  It seems that if a bunch of people eat a bunch of cheesecake, odds are that someone is going to have a lactose intolerant attack in the bathroom.  Oddly enough, this person was not me this time. I just had to pee REALLY BAD, but I didn’t.  The smell was overwhelming, so I opted to wait until we got home.  When we walked out to the car, the crowd in the waiting area had tripled.  We had gotten out just in time.  I think next time we will just get a cheesecake to go.

 

 

Hobbit Dance Studio

I’ve never read The Hobbit, but I’m going to start today because my son pointed out that I AM a Hobbit. He said, “Mom, Hobbits like to sit in their armchairs, and read and eat. They don’t like to go out on adventures because it takes them away from their books.  Plus, they eat second breakfast.” I think he’s on to something. After all, Hobbit almost sounds like Hermit, and I love to just sit, read, and eat.  This is why it defies all logic that I joined a  Diet Bet game  during the holidays, or anytime really.  What the heck was I thinking?

Well, honestly, I thought it would be easy because my husband had UPPP surgery on December 17.  For more about that, read this.  So, I figured that I would just eat a lot of soup right along with Chris.  This didn’t happen, of course. Whenever I think about dieting, I eat more.  Plus, there’s that whole hating exercise thing, and not liking people.  We introverts don’t like the gym because it involves people and chitchat.  Also, my fellow germaphobes and I look at the machines as though we have blacklights for eyes.  We can see the viruses dancing on the handlebars of bikes, weights, and elliptical machines.  Nope.  We Hobbit/Hermits must exercise at home.

I have always liked to dance.  In fact, I wanted to be a Browardette at South Broward High School, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask my parents for the large sum of money needed. From what I heard, Browardettes had to pay for a ton of things like, special bras, at least four outfits, camp travel costs, makeup, etc. So, I did the next best thing; I took two years of dance classes as PE electives.  I miss dance, and not only because I met one of my best friends in class.  I would love to take dance classes now, but I can’t find a jazz dance class for people older than 6.  It seems that older folks are supposed to take ballroom dancing, which doesn’t really interest me.  I want to dance alone, to good music. Since I don’t want to make the little kids or their parents uncomfortable by joining a kid class, I came up with my own solution.

I have heard of people having kitchen dance parties, but my kitchen is too small.  Also, since we have adopted three cats and two dogs, there’s usually anywhere from one to five animals begging for food at any time. Seriously, they act like they are starving to death. I’m surprised they haven’t figured out how to use the phone and call the Humane Society for help. So, unless I want to trip over a Great Dane and die from a granite countertop induced head injury, I can’t dance in the kitchen.  The bathroom, though, has potential.

My dance studio
My dance studio

I live in a five level split home.  Basically, the five levels are divided by half flights of stairs.  So, from the outside, the house looks like your average two-story home.  So, long story short, I have stairs in my bathroom.  There are five steps that go from the large master bathroom to a “bonus room” that I use for my office.  It’s big enough for dancing, and it has stairs for my own version of step aerobics.   A couple of weeks ago, at the beginning of this whole Diet Bet thing, I put my headphones on, turned the volume up to eleven, and jammed out to some eighties tunes while doing the grapevines and spins that I learned way back in dance class at South Broward.  I have been doing this about three times a week ever since.  I may not win on So You Think You Can Dance, but I can burn calories without talking to strangers or touching shared exercise equipment.   I call that a win-win.

If you like to dance, I hope you all get to have at least one dance party today, in whatever room works for you.  Happy New Year!