Heidi in Real Life

Enlisting help in Christmas Cookie making from my daughter, Krista, should make it more fun and less frenzied.   She is artistic and loves to decorate, but in this kitchen, with time constraints , we can’t put perfect smiles on every Santa Claus, now can we?   “Why don’t you make all the smiles, then go back and make all the eyes, and so on?” I suggested, adding up the seeming 10 minutes each cookie is taking. “But I want to do it this way.” The assembly line had come to a complete, steam-hissing halt . “Krista, we have 20 million cookies to make, can you hurry it up?”   Christmas clouds are darkening, laughing has ceased and I’m starting to feel like if something pure like an Angel or a Muppet entered my kitchen, it would fall dead from the “Cheer Vacuum.” “O.k., you keep going, I’m going to make more.” In the same time I made 2 batches of fudge, 2 trays of caramel bars and removed the ceremonial molten peanut brittle from the microwave, Krista had completed 25 Santa fac...

I earned a bad reputation for myself at a company potluck when I accidentally added a plastic-sealed recipe fold-out to my batch of fudge. “What are these layers made of?” one executive asked, splitting the fudge in two to reveal the white strata. “Layers?” I asked, my eyebrows rising to my hairline. “It looks like it has writing on it,” another executive added. “ Writing on it?” My mind-- visibly racing; my forehead--wet with anxiety. “It’s paper!” someone shouted and in a flash, everyone’s head was up, like a herd of deer who just heard a twig snap.   Those fellow employees will never look at a plate of fudge the same way again.   They will be mistrustful and wonder, “Did some dingbat put plastic in these?”   I’ve done this to them …and I am ashamed. I can relate to their distrust because I’ve had similar “Close Encounters of the Putrid Kind” at pretty much every Communal Food Event I’ve ever been to.   Here’s how a typical “Potluck Action” pla...

My family is nuts    They brought me to the grandparent’s house, leashed me to a shade tree, left me a bowl of water and patted my head.   They were gone for 2 hours (that’s 14 in dog hours), during which time the old folks’ automatic sprinklers timed ‘on.’   There I was, trapped in my 10-foot circle while the Ch-ch-ch-ch-tsssssssssssss Ch-ch-ch-ch- tssssssssssss spritzes of water, from which I could not escape , nailed me every 20 seconds.   Oh, they came home alright, and felt bad, but I definitely heard some chuckling at my expense. This latest incident follows a long summer of “First Time Dog Owner” follies starring me.   Heidi’s previous blog detailing my humiliating “all-over” shave was a crock of dog-doo.   I would have titled it, “Jasmine feels all exposed and NASTY.” I’m glad she got butt-fur on her face.   If I had known it would have caused her such discomfort, I would have blown the hair up at her myself. This all started back in Jul...

Jasmine, our Golden Retriever, needed a special bath to help sooth a skin irritation.   My idea was to shear her so the bath concoction would penetrate better.   I have a friend who shaves baby cows to prepare them for the county fair—BABY COWS!   How hard could clipping a 60 lb. dog be? I decided I should give her a haircut before I got out anything electric.   Jasmine enjoys any attention I give her, so for the majority of the grooming session, she lay in her deep-sleep, “Butcher Chart” pose, still, aside from her tail thumping.   The books will tell you to have her either stand or sit…but I didn’t think to consult those books. Using the “Grab a Hank and Cut” method, I felt like the White Witch from “ The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe ” with Aslan on the stone table.   After an hour and a half of squatting, rolling and panting (me, not the dog), one slightly molted canine emerged and one garbage bag of 4” hair was harvested.   The books would tell ...

The first time my oldest son, David, was terrorized by a butterfly, he was 3. He was sitting in a shopping cart in a flower nursery when one landed right on his nose and wouldn’t move. He cried…a lot. It was a big bug, after all. The second time he was 5,  when my mother innocently put on a butterfly puppet in the mall and flapped it around him. He screamed and from his perspective, I suppose it did look creepy--5 wiggling black gloved fingers and Grandma making a buzzing sound. The third time, age 8, he was on a school trip to a butterfly house when another winged-intruder came very close to his face. A couple of nanoseconds of flailing arms and then STOMP! He killed it, causing a scene of unimaginable proportions including, screaming, running and hysterical zoo keepers scraping up the remains of the Ruby-throated Pussycat Swallowtail up with a brochure. I’m sure there’s an age-enhanced picture of David at the zoo—even now--with a “Keep Him Away from Butterflyarium”” warning. W...

Because I have a lot of experience in what not to do--Here come the wedding  “I never-d os”: 1. Brides--Never, EVER pretend to throw the bouquet. I was 20 the first time I tried to catch a bouquet. I was at a wedding reception with my then boyfriend. The bride positioned herself at the top of a hill, to toss the flowers backwards. Just as she made a motion to throw, I, alone , charged for it, head down like a crazed ram. I tripped, fell face down and when I raised my head up from the grass, I saw my boyfriend looking horrified, with several men slapping him on the back and laughing.  The bride had only pretended to throw the bouquet. After all these years, I still want to punch her face in. 2. Never allow yourself to be photographed doing the “Chicken Dance.” I was having a very good time at 2nd my wedding. Such a good time , I didn’t realize that my new uncle-in-law had turned the his camcorder on me until we were at a post-wedding gathering at the Eagles Club 2 weeks l...

This is not meant to replace your annual physical, mammogram, pap-smear or prostate check. We all remember “The MOVIE” right?  They put the boys in one room, the girls in the other to teach us about the forthcoming changes in our bodies?   I suggest making one for us in 40s, so when things start changing… again …we don’t think we’re dying. Man Movie Highlights : When you reach your 40s, you’ll have new and wonderful areas of expanding skin…just above your eyebrows.  Don’t worry--the hair isn’t disappearing, it’s just moved … to inside your ears.  And hey---those new 4” long eyebrow hairs hanging down your cheek should take the focus off your shiny head.  Nature finds a way! Speaking of ears-- you're right, they actually are getting bigger.  Don’t bother your doctor--you’re not becoming a chimp--ears grow forever .  Your nose grows forever too.  In fact, in about 30 years, you and all your male friends can have an “Elmer Fudd” look-alike ...

Anyone out there who has hyperventilated blowing out trick birthday candles;  who’s had 20 friends startle you in a darkened room; or who’s been attacked by 30 pink flamingos on your front lawn— and hated every second of it —let us commiserate together. But we do like the cake and presents though.  Each year, I wish the same wish—just give me my fattening dessert and don’t involve strangers with fiendish grins.  I wish, O granter of birthday wishes, that there was a law against embarrassing birthdays, so that the next time someone slips a waiter a note about my birthday, a police officer would poof in, put them in handcuffs and force them sit on a table-side saddle in front of 150 strangers on their 40 th . Yeah!  Ride THAT cowboy! This year a friend offered to take me to lunch at my favorite Mexican restaurant on my birthday.  I accepted, but begged her— “Please don’t tell them it’s my birthday—I SERIOUSLY do not want to wear the sombrero!” But…faster th...

I had a job interview yesterday.  It was mental and physical Get-A-Job Olympics.  We began with the: Job Applicant Triathlon   In retrospect, it seemed a whole lot like they were administering a psychological test. Event 1:  12-page Application Completion Those fun-loving employers set us up with a clipboard and pencil on a rickety, wheeled office chair and no table. I managed to recant my life with only one episode of writer’s cramp and one small “Hoo-Hoo-Hoo-Hoo” sound-effect when the chair moved backwards unexpectedly. Event 2:  Math Test in an 80-degree Room I haven’t had a math test since I was 16.  That fact alone made me sweat, not to mention the high room temperature.  Deductions for water requests (which I made). Event 3:   Viewing of the Corporate Video This doesn’t sound much like an event, but the office manager put the video on, left the room, but neglected to hit ‘play .’  The same video scene ran for 2 LONG minutes befo...

My pants fell down in public this morning.  I just thought you should know that up front . It was a “Perfect Storm” when it came to conditions of my “self-pantsing”:  ·          A banded-bottom sweatshirt exerting force down (and in) ·          “Day before laundry day” looser elastic underwear ·          Cargo pants with “wannabe” sweat pants waistband ·          My apparent feigning sensitivity related to air on my bare flesh At this point I’d like to interject an apology to all plumbers, electricians and rappers, who I previously chided, behind their backs, for their density regarding the exposure of their backsides.  I would say, “How could they POSSIBLY NOT KNOW their butts were exposed?”   I’m a humbler person now. It all started when I felt my underwear roll down one side o...

They're coming. Soon, they'll be out there, canvassing neighborhoods and popping up at football parties.  Their mothers will be holding brochures luring us to buy their cookies?  I can only hide so long.   My problem is that it’s practically impossible for me to refuse a child pedaling anything on my porch.  I had to sell fruitcakes door-to-door as a kid and I still shudder recalling the rejection of a fruitcake-hating public.   A few weeks ago, as I was flipping through  Facebook  a message appeared from a friend announcing her daughter is ready to take my cookie order.  Within hours of the Facebook message, our quiet neighborhood streets were populated with the cardboard-chart holding green uniformed midgets.  The mad cookie pusher/cookie consumer “Cat and Mouse” game, starring me as the Mouse, had begun. As soon as I kindly-but-firmly sent one away, another appeared, with a “harder-sell” approach.  They were sending in...

I had a terrible cold for a month .  I have “Seven Dwarf” symptoms too-- Dopey, Sleepy, Sneezy and Grouchy.   I’m thinking I need Doc, but I know what she’ll say:  “It’s a Virus.”  But I’m miserable enough to risk getting the "V" word.    Nice Lady at Doctor’s Office (NLDO):  “What are your symptoms? Me :  “Green *goo* pouring out many of my orifices and the total loss of 4 of the 5 senses.” NLDO :  “Do you have a fever?” Dishonest Wench ( still me ):“Yes, 101 (always a good number to say when you’re lying about your temperature) but I took Ibuprofen so now it’s normal.” NLDO :  “When can you come in?” I’m on the schedule, but not home-free.  In years past, green *goo* (which wasn’t a lie) was the ticket to getting a prescription.  Now?  Not so easy.   Mentioning a fever, may make a bigger impression.   I’m hoping I can manage something like a friend of mine, who was bequeathed with a prescr...

Yesterday, I found two Godiva chocolate bars as I was going to put in my kids’ Christmas stockings.  I ate them like Scarlett O’Hara, filthy from the war, mauled that dusty radish on Tara. I probably have a slight addiction. I walked into a candy shop and the customers in the store looked up at me, in unison, like animals sensing a predator.  They clutched their selections and scurried to the cash register.  The candy clerk became super enthusiastic, determined to make me feel like the most important person in the entire mall.  When the manager of the store saw me, his eyeballs rolled back and became dollar signs like Uncle Scrooge McDuck. Large women have this affect on chocolate vendors.  Trying to be a reformed choco-holic, I went to a sporting goods store looking for some new exercise gear.  On the cashier’s counter was a display of extra-long Snickers , next to them Butterfingers large enough to be labeled Butter feet .  “That’s gotta be on...