Don't Tell Doc. B. but...

Lose weight, blah blah blah, drink less, blah blah blah, exercise more, blah blah blah, be more mindful, blah blah blah, don’t agree to your partner going on a week-long silent meditation retreat over new year’s eve, blah blah blah. Sounds like a pretty standard set of 2011 resolutions, eh?

It’s strange and unsettling enough that January 1, 2011 marked the first time since 1776 that there has NOT been a Kennedy in Washington (well, it’s really only since 1947 but either way it’s like having a 22 year old cat – it seems like forever).  But not having Doc. B. in the house on 1/1/11 is a bit odd.

Neither one of us really had anything in mind for Christmas presents this year.  We'd had the screened porch built and that was all I really wanted besides my two front teeth.  But since I'd received the latter many Christmases ago after sending a letter to Santa asking for them of course (and promptly placing them in Towne Club pop to see what chemical reaction would take place), Doc. B. inquired as to whether there might be something else I'd like to see under the lamp table this year? I'll admit it; we didn't put up a tree.  All of our pagan ornaments stayed in the attic and any gifts that made it into our household went under the lamp table to patiently await Christmas morning.

After thinking about it a while, I settled on two things that I really did want for Christmas.  I wanted a specific Christmas brunch of Irish coffee, bagels and lox, cream cheese and capers AND I wanted Doc. B. to figure out the exact date on which Maddie the cat will have lived for half my life.  Doc. B. thought about it too and settled on a request that I go with her to her parent’s house for lunch on Christmas Eve AND she wanted to go on a meditation retreat in Texas for the week between Christmas and New Year’s.

Meditation Building

We both got what we wanted.  And that’s why Rumi the cat and I are sitting out on the screened porch drinking champagne (well, sparkling wine since it’s not from that special region in France) and writing a blog about the holidays without the presence of Doc. B. who's been gone for a week now but will be home this evening.

Don’t tell Doc. B. but over the past week:

• ·         I spent way too much at the grocery store and it wasn’t even on organic stuff,
• ·         I watched a ton of Glee, Twilight Zone and Mad Men Re-runs,
• ·         I’ve been listening to 1980’s hair band music rather loudly and regularly (Rumi likes it!),
• ·         I cleaned in preparation for the interview we have on Monday with a prospective housekeeper.
• ·         I threw away the Omaha Steaks gift certificate she received in the mail (interesting tidbit – Omaha Steaks has a mailing address on John Galt Blvd. – who is John Galt?)
• ·         Several of us decided that if Doc. B. goes on a retreat in the future, it shouldn’t be a silent retreat since that’s not a challenge for her.  Rather it should be a hang out and talk with other people 24/7 retreat.
• ·         I’ve had cereal for dinner at least twice.

Happy New Year Beloved Reader(s?)!

Post Script

Below is a copy of how Doc. B. started calculating the date when Maddie will have lived for half my life.  This was before she quickly came to the realization that all she had to do was double how old I was on the day Maddie was born.  That Doc. B. IS a smart one.  Heck, I couldn't even get into the University of Michigan let alone Georgia Tech (well, U of M did say I could feel free to pay their high tuition rates in the fall of 1982 so long as I agreed to be there on academic probation - that was too much pressure for a 17 year old Social "Scientist.").  And so the question is finally answered, "yes little miss no dress wearin', tennis shoe-lovin', math hatin' girl in the 8^th grade, you could actually need algebra in your day-to-day adult life."  My response, "or you could find a partner to figure out (math) problems for you."

Mark your calendars for December 29^th 2011.  If Maddie and I make it that long, that’s when she will have lived for half of my life.

What I did over my Summer Vacation, I mean, my December Day Off.

It's DISH Network, they want to know if we want to upgrade our service?

I decided to take yesterday off of work to read the new Oakhurst Leaflet, wait for Christmas cards to arrive and get my energy up to watch Glee.  I was pleasantly surprised to find that our neighborhood newsletter had increased its font size and not so surprised that the first holiday greeting card delivered to our black metal mailbox was from our favorite gay-boys. And of course Glee did not disappoint - Doc. B. even liked it (but don't say I told you).

In between waiting for the leaflet and mail carriers to arrive, I figured I’d also take care of some other binn-ness.

My first e-mail, at 6:00 am, was to the local computer repair guy.  I asked him if he could please come apply the automated external defibrillator to my lil’ old Sony Vaio in an effort to revive it from its frozen state.  Given the fact that temps were in the 20’s with a wind chill in the teens, I wasn’t all that hopeful that he could revive the poor thing.  After all, it is a 4 year old baby and laptop PC’s of that age don’t usually enjoy life that long.

Then off to my favorite gym – Core Body .  I did a secret alone time 45 minute spin class*, of my own creation, including the below iPhone play list that I hooked into the overhead speaker system and dared anyone to make me turn it off:

Blue on Black – Kenny Wayne Shepherd

Low Rider – Barry White

Sun Rising – The Beloved/Chilled Spirit

I Gotta Feeling- The Black Eye Peas

Everywhere I go- The Call

She Sells Sanctuary – The Cult

Are We Ourselves – The Fixx

Jump – Madonna

Shut Your Eyes – Snow Patrol

Closer – Ne-Yo

*Bonus Points - Weight Watchers now counts a 45 minute spin class as 8, count 'em 8, activity points!  Not that I know anything about Weight Watchers or anything.

As I’m leaving the gym, Computer Repair Guy calls to tell me he’ll be over at 11:30.  So I decided to go home, get cleaned up and add s’more items to my to do list.  

Next, I directed my Ford Ranger (‘cause it’s too dang cold to ride my bike) to the Decatur USPS with mom’s L’Oreal lipstick that she left while visiting a few weeks ago – I’m splurging to mail it back to her…because she’s worth it.

Then on to the CVS to use up my medical spending account money on over-the-counter standards (Aleve, Tylenol, Zyrtec, Neosporin, Epsom salts, Percocet and Oxycontin – well, not those last two unfortunately).  Can you believe that next year’s medical spending account, to which I contribute my own fairly hard-earned money, will only reimburse me for OTC items if I have a prescription?  That’s so STUPID!  Like I'm going to ask my gynecologist to write me a script for Nyquil?  Guess I’ll drop my annual deduction in half and hope that I don’t need a root canal or bifocals – thank goodness for the large print in the Oakhurst Leaflet to help the latter!

The CVS clerk checked me out (well, she didn't really check ME out, just my items). She was in awe of my CardStar iPhone application on which she was able to scan my rewards card bar code, AND she was also in awe of my $80.00 worth of drugs.  Okay, I added some red licorice to the bill – maybe it's reimbursable?  After all, it is medically necessary to combat depression and prevent any possibility of some resulting suicidal ideation.

Computer repair guy shows up right on queue and resolves the problem for a measly 50 bucks – LOVE HIM!  He tells me I can put off replacing my laptop until I’m ready to give in and buy a Mac – and in the meantime, he’ll keep coming by and fixing the PC (‘cause when I buy the Mac, he says I won’t need him anymore).

Last on the list was my quarterly call to Dish Network to find out what they’re billing me for that they shouldn’t be.  And when I say me I mean Doc. B. because of course I had to lie to DISH about my identity again.  Can I just tell you that it was the most pleasant customer service call Doc. B. has had in quite some time?  Brittany, clearly not sitting in an Indian call center, clearly sitting in a Georgia, USA call center, handled all of Doc. B.'s concerns and even acknowledged Doc. B. for being a long-time customer.

Question:  What is it called if you are talking about yourself, but not really you, in the third person?  Third person once removed?  Remind me to e-mail Grammar Girl to find out.

Off to Glee I went, rear end fitting perfectly in the love pit sofa butt print.  And since I was in the music mood after Glee, I HAD to watch some of Celtic Woman: The Greatest Journey on Georgia Public Broadcasting.

Sweet Dreams?

I rarely remember my dreams. But last night’s was so vivid, it stuck with me most of the day. Here’s how it went:

I was driving the 4-Runner, Doc. B. was in the passenger seat. It was dusk and chilly. We slowly maneuvered the car into the back alley; the distance of 6 houses on our right and three on our left. I could see the light of the television in one home – the University of Georgia vs. Georgia Tech football game. We turned the car lights to dim so as not to draw too much attention. Once we got to Mrs. K’s section of the back alley, we could go no further – there were compost bins in our way.

We stopped there and quietly slipped out of the beat-up leather seats, leaving the doors ajar as we made our way to the back of the car. Doc. B. put on a pair of work gloves and I asked if there was a pair for me. We opened the back door hatch and tugged at a crinkly blue plastic tarp. It was so heavy we had to work together to slide its contents to the back of the SUV. Its contents? A heavy, dirty, damp female body. So heavy, it was like an awkward chunk of cement that took all of our intellect and might to move it out, onto the ground and to its final resting place.

I woke up smiling. Why? Because this was a replay of the prior evenings events. No, we didn’t literally take a body out of our car. But we did purchase a cement Buddha (Kwan Yin) statue that I’m guessing weighs over 200 pounds. And we did transport it in our 4-Runner to the back alley where we placed it, at dusk, with great difficulty, on the site of our dearly departed 100+ year old oak tree.

She looks good, huh?