Costco Rotisserie Chicken, Anyone?

Who am I kidding? I’m scared to death. Weird thing, nobody wants to listen and “I’m here for you” means – I will tell you to stay positive. I’m one of the most positive people I know, but fuck – I’m allowed to be scared and mad and freaked out and thinking dark thoughts – they go with the territory.


I really should have been typing my thoughts instead of writing in my head the last few weeks. There is so much I will forget. I am not sure anything in my head warrants sharing – but, so many things have changed since I typed that paragraph.

I was afraid. Until the next ugly thing happened. I was worried about my lab results. Those fuckers. Let’s just say – it’s in my nodes. (which I am delivering in Chloe’s panic and drama in Pitch Perfect)  I meet with an oncologist next week. Which is a sentence I never wanted to speak. So, either fear has given way to acceptance (and therefor fight) or I’m still out of my fucking mind. Which do you think is true?

Cancer isn’t funny. But, why all the support? What if I’d been told I had diabetes? Lupus? COPD? High blood pressure? A heart condition? None of these things need to sign your death certificate – but, most of them will. Cancer kills people too. But, we are living longer at an alarming rate. We are more worried about living longer and therefor running out of resources on our planet than we are about fixing it, but I digress.

First – the speed at which my medical insurance is responding is fantastic. My family and friends have been so amazingly supportive – I feel undeserving. My children. OMG my kids If you ever want to know if your little assholey teenagers love you – get cancer. Wow. The pit viper has beens sleeping with me. Wow!

Here is where I am: I’ve been given notice – life is short. You were on fire with your writing and goals a few years ago. Time to get back in gear. I’ve been slowly gaining progress in the health and exercise department. Well now, you know. I’ve got too much to do before I leave this universe. Also – the absolute worst part of having a boob removed so far? No hiding the fat. I used to look down at my big boobs and that was all I could see. I didn’t love looking in the mirror but, i was okay. Now. omg now, there is a dent where my boob used to be. I look like a Costco rotisserie chicken with one breast removed. And as my eyes glide over that pretty picture, I see my more than thin belly. I don’t like it. It is going away. It is long since time, anyway.

Something I am feeling now is that I am not really thinking I will reconstruct. I am not sure why that is where I am but, it is. I’m thinking super fucking cool tattoo. When I told my dad – my poor old dad – he was sure to let me know that I don’t need a tattoo.  Parents are so funny.

So – I was wanting to see my friends more especially during the holidays – guess what? I wanted a private secretary – got that too. I wanted to know if my kids loved me. Check. I wanted to eat better, be more focused on my health not that I’m older…check and double check. I could go on and on about all the things cancer has given me. But, I wonder what is really going to be the thing I take with me when this is over.

Or – I could be in the biggest state of denial there ever fucking was.


Baby, This is Ridiculous

So, they are calling to ban Baby It’s Cold Outside. As some of you know, I’m into music the way some people are into other things. I’ve been thinking that a lot of our songs are going to be on the banned pile. An old song (and maybe popular?) I have in heavy rotation is All American Boy by Y&T. Perhaps because they are local or because I may or may not have crushed on a past band member……mostly, the song reminds me of high school. But, every time I hear it, I recognize the dilemma.

The first verse is total high school

I‘ve got a 57’ Chevy with four on the floor, Glass packs, Chester slicks, 454, Girls on the phone, girls at my door, They just keep comin’ back for more, I’m just a red-blooded, fun-lovin’ all American boy.

I was a boy crazy teen…I drove a cool old Cutlass with a 350 – I understand glasspacks and 454. If they had used Centerlines instead of cheater slicks….could have been about me. It was a bouncy and fun and reminds me of simpler music and simpler times.

I’ve got a big Stratocaster and my band is hot, Wild streak a mile wild that just won’t stop, Got a chain on my mirror made of beer can tops, A chip on my shoulder, better not knock it off,  ‘m just a red-blooded fun-lovin’ all American boy.

I had the same chain and one made out of gum wrappers. But, this boy sounded like everyone I knew.

Well her eyes are blue and her skin is tan, The girl looks to me, thinks that I’m all hands, And I’m gonna touch her everywhere I can, I’m just a red-blooded fun-lovin’ all American boy.

This, too reminded me of my childhood – although, I haven’t heard anyone call anyone all hands in the last few decades.  But, there it is, “I’m gonna touch her everywhere I can.” A lot of your dates in high school were fighting hands. And, some…..well, I welcomed those hands. Touching you, touching me. (see what I did there?)

I can name 5 worse songs:

  1. Walk on the Wild Side
  2. Brown SugarUnder My Thumb
  3. My all time favorite – Kung Fu fighting
  4. Everything by the Knack and most things by hard rock bands

And that is just off the top of my head….

I don’t think we need to ban anything. People should get to make their own choices. Those songs were allowed. Nobody cared about the lyrics then and the bands were just trying to get around the censors. Look how far we’ve come that we can recognize all the things wrong with these songs. But, please don’t take my childhood away. Wait until I’m dead and gone and then remove whatever you want – the way history continues to do. Plus, where will we stop? Why do we need more legislation to tell us what not to listen to?

But, what do I know? I’m still angry with the PMRC.

Take My Boobs – Please!

Take them. I don’t need them. They are sooo big. I have been saying this for years whenever the topic of breast cancer came up. Talk about getting what you ask for. I have never been particularly proud of or in love with my breasts. They are huge. They get in my way. They are hard to dress and – they are heavy.

But, things sure change when the situation is real and not maybe or if. Soooo…..a few weeks ago, I noticed a flat spot on my right breast. I called the doc. They got me in immediately. Doc wasn’t worried, but it was time (actually a little overdue) for my mammo. So, I got a mammo on Friday. And a call from the doc on Monday – can you come in Tuesday for more images? Sure. Tuesday – mammo, ultrasound, and a biopsy. Wednesday – the call. “Are you driving?”  WTF? RUFKMRN? I have cancer? I have cancer? How in the fuck did that happen?

I really don’t live in the state of denial. I believe that knowledge is power and the more I have, the better my decisions can be. I also tend to be a worrier. Before the call, I was maybe 10% worried. Because – no other symptoms, no history in the family. But, I was not ready at all for the doctor to ask me if I was driving and then suggest I pull over. Well – the news should be fantastic, then – right?

Age has brought me many things – one is the knowing that things can change in a minute. A phone call can turn your life into “before the phone call” and “after the phone call” And the amount of crazy things that run through your head when you hear something like this….how will I tell the kids? What if they freak out? Chemo? Radiation? The doc just discussed lumpectomy and within a few hours, I was wondering if double mastectomy is what I needed. Wow….not so sure I was ready to get rid of my boobs. Life is a funny thing. Be careful what words come out of your mouth – you really might have to eat them later.  

I also was composing blogs in my head and wishing I had my laptop. I don’t expect to spend the next few months writing about this – but, you know, I probably fucking will.

Fuck. I have cancer. Life is just a series of experiences, right? This is one more I get to have. The first time I said that about an unpleasant situation was when i got a divorce. I told one of my closest friends – hey it’s just one more experience I get to have. Her reply? Yeah – some experiences, I would rather not have. Roger that.

You don’t always get a choice, do you? A few years ago, a friend had a cancer scare – I call it the ten minutes she had cancer. She had an abnormal pap and a hysterectomy. No other treatment. Now she is fine. Anyway – when she was telling people – she said – “I’m ready to die”. Hmmm that pissed me off then and now. I am not “ready” to die. But, my relationships are good and all words have been exchanged. But, I have way too much to do to be ready to die now. And at the very least – my kids need me.

The stages of growing up: I can’t wait to move out. I can eat ice cream for dinner. Buying appliances. Having kids. Divorce. And, then – the big effing C (or whatever life changing disease you may have.

A few things have been ridiculously hard since this whole thing started. One of them is telling people. It sucks. Knowing you are going to suck the wind out of their day. Told my dad – that hurt. Told one of my closest friends. She was having such a great, carefree day.  I blurted it out to a coworker today. She was irritated – “you can’t just drop this on someone like that.” I hear you – maybe when I have had a chance to figure it out, I will be better at it. I’ve been wondering how to get the news out. I’ve also been wondering when my friends might read my blog. Ha – I can kill 2 birds this way.


Killer Queen, Absolutely

Before I write a blog, I usually think it out, spit it out, and do research as I go.  When reviewing a band, musician, movie about a band or a song – I don’t read what others have written before me. I want my thoughts and conclusions to be my own. In this case, I am going to skip tradition. I have read several articles now on Bohemian Rhapsody. I took my kids to the matinee. I knew the girl would appreciate and have opinions. The boy – I was hoping to draw him into the music business that his parents and sister love but that he ignores and avoids. I hoped that he would appreciate the music and the genius of this band lead by a flamboyant gay man. The Liberace of rock n roll.

As the movie ended and we waited for the credits/performance of Freddie Mercury to end, we started to discuss the movie. I loved it. I wanted to buy tickets for the next showing. The girl, felt the same. The boy liked it, but wasn’t ready to sit through it again. Best movie ever! If we thought “ A Star is Born” was good, this took the cake.

I thought Rami Malek was fantastic, more smooth than Freddie – whose jerky movements onstage always bugged me. His voice you couldn’t match. Ever. Unrivaled in any genre and way above the rest in the rock genre. For the uninitiated – good lead singers are almost unicorns. The must sing well. Captivate the crowd, lead the show, cover any failures, be beautiful and dynamic, loveable, and fuckable.

FM was not all of those things. He was unattractive, had buck teeth that could open a beer you were holding 6 feet away. As a younger person, I wondered how someone so unattractive and not trying to fit in could lead a band that wrote great songs as well as creating anthems sung in stadiums across the world? I wondered, and then I moved on. The music, after all, stood alone. And, Freddie Mercury could look like whatever he wanted.

While I did some fact checking – so many things I wondered if they were true. The band members were shown and their individual contributions highlighted. Did they really write their songs way? Total collaboration? Maybe. My limited experience was different – usually one or two had a vision or a sound and everyone better follow that. How 4 individuals could put together a song like Bohemian Rhapsody would have been fun to watch. I’ve probably said it before, but I still cannot believe that song works. A real rock opera, that made no sense and could not be categorized. Maybe, that was the point. A song, like the band.

As some of us do when we are raised with it, we take things for granted. I had become bored with the relentless playing of We Are the Champions and We Will Rock You at stadium events. I wish for something new. Well, no more. I will always appreciate and say thanks for theme when I hear them. And, I will appreciate the Bohemian Rhapsody when I hear it on the radio.

The songs in my heart were Best Friends, Somebody to Love, Killer Queen (which I think would have been a great name for the movie) and some deep cuts. Those are the ones on my playlists.

Prior to seeing the movie, I heard that Freddie’s sexuality was down-played in the movie. Not so sure that is accurate. Or, I misunderstood the things I heard. The movie dealt with it pretty clearly, I though. Or maybe, I know way more about some bands than is necessary. I think we all know that is true. I remember when Freddie announced he had AIDS and then died the next day. I called my sister and said something about how I didn’t know Freddie was gay. Her response, “My God, Bianca, the band’s name was Queen.” Yeah – what seems so obvious now, was a secret back in the day.

Also – my favorite joke in the whole movie – the bass player’s room – hilarious!  Even with the two phenomenal bass riffs he wrote: 1 & 2.

Freddie Mercury is a voice that was silenced too soon. We always say that – but, in this case, it is true. Who knows what he would have done next. Rest peacefully, Freddie. Your legend and your music live on.


Tom Petty, I Still Miss You

I often wonder, as I sit down to spit out a blog – who cares? Who is going to read this? The minutia and ridiculousness of what is in my head doesn’t always strike me as something anybody else is interested in. And this blog is no different. As many of you know, when musician, Tom Petty, died. I took it pretty hard. It can still make me cry if I talk about it. It took months to listen to his music again.

A few months ago, I was notified (FB spying on me again? Or did I put my name on some sad list?) that there would be a boxed set of some previously unreleased Tom Petty material – from his archives. His wife, daughter, and 2 original members of the Heartbreakers (Mudcrutch, too) had mourned their loss by wallowing in their grief and every recording ever made by our fallen hero.

I immediately went to Amazon and pre-ordered. Why? Eff if I know. I don’t buy any music anymore. I pay a streaming service for 24/7 access to almost everything ever released. But, this was something else entirely. Plus, I was mourning. I don’t have to explain.

A few days ago, I received an invitation (FB? Sad list?) to attend the pre-release listening party. I have been to these before. For local bands. Of people I know. And nobody that anybody else knows. This is being held in a handful of places around the country. I almost deleted it. Couldn’t. I also couldn’t think of any reason to go hang out with a bunch of stranger weirdos to listen to some old second-rate music by some old guy who died.

Every time I checked my inbox – it jammed me. I came up with an excuse to go – check out the venue – ha! But, who to go with? The pit viper – has warmed up to me lately and agreed (enthusiastically, I might add) to be my date – which is great – and I am so happy she is willing to go. I asked her if she thought it would be weird – because, for some reason – I sure do. She doesn’t know, but she is up for the adventure. (Maybe my work there is done?)

I love music and musicians. I liked to go to shows. I liked to hang out at local venues and see and be seen. I will make a specific night out to see a certain band, but I am no groupie. And, going to a pre-release listening party of some old crap by some dead dude just smacks of groupie.

For the uninitiated (and everyone else), There are hierarchies in the music business. Kinda like high school. Which is why it is easy to spot and fun and stupid to discuss. I am always digressing. Anyway – the last thing I want to be is a groupie. They are possibly lower than roadies. Yet, here I am. Girl and I are going. I’m looking forward to it. Ultimately – I’ve never been. I have no idea what to expect. It is something new. I am all about new experiences these days. And, Tom is probably the only one I would do this for. 

I started this blog wondering if anyone cares. The answer is yes. Steve Hyden wrote this. About why the box set is so cool and other things Tom Petty related. It is a good blog. I read the entire thing, his crazy minutia and all. Steven Hyden is a music critic who has written for Rolling Stone. I’m in good company. He wrote it. I read it. We couldn’t be the only two. The listening party is tonight. Stay tuned.



Maria Shriver is One Smart Cookie, Except for that Ahnold Thing

Do you ever wonder why you get the news that you do? Why some stories are reported and others not. Why some stories catch fire and others don’t? Or, why some things are stories at all? I do. I think about shit like that all of the time. I have been thinking about this particular topic since I saw Maria Shriver on the Oprah show a million years ago. She was being asked (for the millionth time, probably) why she didn’t go into politics. She described how she helped on her Uncle Teddy’s campaign and spent a lot of time learning everything she could. The biggest thing she learned (my words, not hers) was that it is not the politicians with the power. The real power, she said, was in the reporter and journalists’ hands. It was the news media who decided what you heard. They are the ones who decide what a story is. They are the ones who decide what and how to cover a story. They are the ones who determine what sound bites, quotes, and excerpts from speeches you hear.

Think about that for a minute. A member of what is arguably the most political family in our country has announced that politicians aren’t #1 in terms of power. Our president can give interviews all day long and he does not determine what makes the evening news or headlines. The media does. My investigation, if you want to call it that, started in earnest when I thought my phone was spying on me. Which we now know is true. With the news it was more subtle.  A few months ago (when I started writing this blog) guns in the classroom was the talk of the town.

This is the 2nd similar story that has popped up in my news feed. I thought the same thing I thought when I read the first one. -”of course I am going to see this, some idiot said we should have guns in the classroom. Some other idiots needed to demonstrate why this idea is idiotic.”

This happens more often than is coincidental. It happens with all kinds of stories.  Deciphering the news is difficult when you have no idea who or what to believe. This isn’t new or news, but, it sure gets me thinking.

I notice, for example, how both sides of the coin are flipped on controversial headlines. I wonder who is paying whom, who leaked the story to the press, whom the reporter knows, and just how people are connected in the story. I don’t want to know, really. But, it sure makes me doubt what I hear. And, it makes me doubt the dumb things other people report to me as “fact.”

Sometimes after a particularly emotional or touching story, my mind will wonder…what ever happened to…? And then a new story comes along and we are all diverted – like a tennis match. First we look this way, then that way.

Am I late to the party again? Or did I just not peel back all of the layers? Or worse yet – have I become my parents and their parents before them? Am I a crazy conspiracy theorist who trusts no one? Getting older sucks sometimes….

Madonna, Way Before Nirvana

The Material Girl. When she was starting her career, I was in college. I was listening to hard rock and heavy metal radio and she wasn’t exactly, “underground.” My roommate, however, was a HUGE fan. Huge. We had a door sized poster of Madonna’s face hanging in our apartment. (We also had a door poster of Jon Bon Jovi)  My roommate was the rightest republican there ever was. She even worked in our state capitol and had plans to run for office. (I know, I know – how did I end up with a roommate like that?) I was mildly amused that she admired a woman who strutted around wearing a “Boy Toy” belt buckle on stage. That is the main reason that I was not a big fan. I was nobody’s toy. Also, when I looked a little deeper – all I wanted to do was scrub all that smeary meakeup off of her face. Not my cup of tea.

The roommate, though, still idolized. It took several years for me to catch on and catch on I did. When Madonna released the “Justify My Love” on VHS for sale after it was banned on MTV, I decided I was a fan. Talk about a genius marketing move. Impressive. I didn’t love everything she did and frequently disagree with some of the things she stands for. But, here is a woman who made it on her own by herself. She worked hard, made decisions, some amazing decisions, and did everything she could to continue to make herself relevant. Talk about a role model.

Well, she has done it again –

She is raging against the machine – the one that says that women of a certain age should act a certain way and are basically irrelevant. C’mon. Madge isn’t going to take that shit laying down. Where have all you fuckers been?  But, here is the thing, for the first time in our relationship (mine and Madonna’s), we are on the same page. She is saying the things I am saying.

Apparently some are saying she isn’t aging with dignity or grace. What, she is 60? She needs to wear a housecoat, crocs and stay at home crafting? Or doing volunteer work? Who defines and why do we listen?

Who decides when we are irrelevant? I have been saying for years that I am so tired of being treated like I am invisible.  I have just hit my stride – who is going to tell me my voice isn’t important? Okay, I think we all know it isn’t important – yet. But, when did a number determine when I had to silence it or use it in a different way?

I don’t want anyone to tell me what to wear or not to wear, what to say, who decided we had to: be pretty? Wear makeup? Get botox? Look young? How many men do this? I could age rage forever. You get the picture. 

Madonna doesn’t need my support, but – Rock on, Sister Queen. Fuck ’em.


It’s a Girl, My Lord….

Oh, Jeff Slate. You don’t get to spew about how much the Eagles suck and not get some sort of response from me. I will agree with you – they are not a rock band. Just like ABBA was not a rock band. If you compare them to rock, you are contributing to the problem you are complaining about in the first place. You and I are on the same side on this one. Yeah, I can see heated arguments with famous musicians. 

Mr. Slate was writing his unhappy response to the above article where the Eagles Greatest Hits from the 70’s has outsold Michael Jackson (also not a rock act) to be top of the list for most albums sold. I think the first conversation anyone should have is why we included a greatest hits album on a “best of albums list” to begin with. But, I digress.

I can appreciate his opinion – he is, after all, writing about music for a living. And, he has already lived my dream of writing for Rolling Stone. There are some of us who love music and some of us who merely turn on the radio.  I, like Jeff, am a music lover. My favorite thing to do in the world, is to talk music with anyone who loves and appreciates it as much as I do. If I have a glass of wine in one hand while doing it – I couldn’t be happier.

So, I agree with Jeff, they are not a rock band. And, we grew up in roughly the same era – so we have heard the same things. I’ve written about it before but things have changed a little since I was growing up. Back then we had AM radio and FM radio. Everything was played on AM radio, except the harder rock or less mainstream stuff that showed up on FM. I don’t even remember FM radio until high school – I had a semi nomadic life as a child – not all towns are created equal when it comes to radio. Especially for dinos like me. 

I spent a lot of time in my mom’s car back in the day. It was nice – she drove a Lincoln Continental with leather seats – the nicest car we had ever owned. It was the late 70s.  I always wanted the radio on – mom compromised – we could listen to her 8-tracks. She had ABBA (of course), Eddie Rabbit, George Jones, John Denver, Charlie Rich ( I can sing Behind Closed Doors in my sleep), and the Eagles Greatest Hits. I was listening to Styx and Bowie – I hadn’t crossed all the way over to hard rock, yet. The Eagles were doable and Mom liked them – A Lot. So, listen I did. Until Hotel California came out. My brother gave it to me for Christmas – my very first ever cassette tape. I still have it. But, I wore that out. It was the Eagles, who my mom loved and new music – which she hated. It was a win-win for this little rebel. Old Eagles is something we could agree on. Ha. it was probably the only thing we agreed on. 

Flash forward a bit, and you have me now in my mid-twenties and rockin’ the local live rock bar on weekends (weekdays too, but that is another story.) The Eagles were okay, but I was more interested in Bon Jovi (yes, I know you hate him, too, Jeff) and Motley Crue. I enjoyed more hard and metal and no easy listening except for the Madonna and Rick Astley my College roommate would play when she couldn’t take the “noise” anymore. So – I was more into Joe Walsh than Glen Frey.

I feel like one of my most important jobs as a mom is to make sure my kids have a healthy music appetite and appreciation. I want them to know everybody I know.  We started playing “who sings this song” when they were little. We still do – the daughter is amazing at it – the boy – poor kid. He likes music but isn’t the fanatic the rest of his family is. She is also a choir kid – so, I introduced her to the Eagles young. Because, hate or whatever – those boys could sing amazingly together. She loved them. When she was 11 or 12, I gave her her first concert/band T. She had asked for several for Christmas – but, I bought her the Eagles, Hotel California shirt. She didn’t ask for it, but I had a feeling. I have never before (or after) given her anything that elicited such a fantastic response. She didn’t open any other presents for a while. She still wears it. Last summer me and the kids road tripped on RT 66, travelling all the way to Winslow, AZ….I am sure you can guess why.

If my mom was still here – the Eagles are something our three generations could share. How many other music acts (bands, groups or other) can say that? They were not a rock act. Unless, you want to put them under the soft-rock category. But, I don’t think that exists. Whether or not they sucked? If you like and enjoy them and they make you happy – even if only for the time the song is on – that doesn’t suck. I can remember one Christmas eve where an entire family of fifteen (spanning generations) had a fantastic evening watching the dvd of their farewell tour. We sang, we laughed, we had a blast.

You are entitled to your opinion, Mr. Slate. But, don’t expect to hate and not hear about it.

Copy and Paste, for Geezers

I am not 30 anymore. I know it. You know it. Everyone around me knows it. I can’t stop talking about it. In this ongoing trek through the quagmire of aging….I wonder how to describe myself. I do what we were all taught to do back in the day – look it up in the dictionary. Okay, don’t do that. It’s depressing. I qualify for “elderly” but, am not quite there yet.

I usually say “old lady” because it’s funny and has more than one meaning. I googled “mature women” and started to laugh, there is so very little mature about me. Well, that’s what I think, anyway.  I used to ask my mom how it felt to be old. She died when she was 59. 6 years older than me. 6 years. Of course, I started asking her this when she was in her 40s. What a little snot I was.

But, here I am. Teenaged kids and divorced. Starting over. I feel not old, but experienced. Mature? Old? I don’t think so, Susan. Parts of me (body parts, mostly) feel pretty old. The rest of me? Well, just a few days ago, I was fangirling like a 15 year old over a has-band rocker – local at that. I was tittering and giggling and stalking his fb page – look, he is so cute, I can’t help myself. See? 15 year old fangirl. Please note, I was fangirling with another elderly woman.

Very little has changed about my irreverent attitude and my devil may care, throw it to the winds existence since I was a teen. But, I am wiser (wise asser, too) calmer, and more comfortable in my skin. Or, at least I’m trying to be.

In one area though, I have definitely become a dinosaur. I have a smart phone, laptop, ipad. Continue to self publish this blog and manage an online existence for my writing persona. Some of the other raptors I hang with think I am the pinnacle of “up with the times.” They think I can do everything electronic and internet based. And, mostly I can.

I have finally learned how to copy and paste on my cell phone. It’s awesome. Some of you have stopped reading in laughter. This isn’t for you. Move along. This is for those like me from a prehistoric era. Here is the funny part. I “copy” with one finger and I hold it up and do not let it touch anything. I do not lower it to type. I do not lower it to answer my phone or swipe a way a tweet notification. I actually hold it up – like it is actually something – and keep it up until I get to the “paste” page.  And, you should see the contortions I make trying to make this happen. I laugh everytime. So stupid. And yet, I can’t stop doing it. I don’t want to “lose” it.

I don’t know how long it was before I noticed I was doing this. Maybe I should listen more when the snarky teenager says, “mom, you aren’t doing that right.” As if that is going to fucking happen.


What a Croc

I have a funny friend. She doesn’t try to be funny, but she can’t help it. She says funny things. Some people might say the things she says make her a bitch – but, she makes me laugh, sometimes for hours. She has been trying to get me to step up my personal presentation game as I am not one of those women who know how to coordinate. She wears outfits. I wear clothes. Comfortable clothes. For years, she has tried. I knew if I just let her, I could have the wardrobe that many would envy. It’s just that I hate to shop and thought that being a slave to fashion would take more money, time, and patience than I possess. Her efforts and those of others, have paid off. I have stepped up my game, and expanded my wardrobe beyond t-shirts and jeans.

When I was a kid, wearing jeans was still pretty new.  My mother used to say, “only convicts and drug addicts wear jeans.” According to her, they also are the only ones who got tattoos. She and I would go shopping and I would find these lovely casual tops and my mom would ask, “what are you going to wear that with?”


We would sing that song until the chorus where mom would say, “You know, you can’t wear jeans everywhere, all of the time. You will never find a job where you can wear jeans.” Ha! I laughed at that. And, Mom, I proved you wrong. I have worn jeans to work since 1995. I wore jeans almost daily until just recently, when I discovered leggings and tunics….my new uniform. Talk about comfortable – man. I don’t even change clothes when I get home because I am still comfy. It is the biggest form of cheating I can think of and people compliment me all day long. And I can wear boots! But, I digress.

While I may have improved the wardrobe…my shoes were still in the comfy department. To be fair – my ankles roll and I have a balance problem. Not a big deal when I was younger, but as I get older, falling could mean a broken hip or I’ve fallen and I can’t reach my wine….what a tragedy that would be.

Back to my funny friend. She barely tolerates my Birkenstocks and Uggs. Two brands I loved for their quality and comfort. But, they no longer meet my expectations in either department.  I have a few pair I haven’t worn out yet and I wear them sometimes when I’m with her just for fun. Anyhow – we were talking about schools and teaching philosophies – mom stuff. And she is telling me about someone’s opinion from where her kids go to school.

She says, “How can I listen to anything she says, she wears Crocs.”

I burst out laughing. I mean, even I agree that wearing Crocs spells giving up as much as Birkenstocks say lesbian. It is one of my favorite things she has ever said. It still makes me smile to think of it. By the way, not all of us in Birks are lesbians. And the reverse is also true.

Recently the son and I were shopping for this week long walking trip we were going to be taking.  I was looking for cute, comfy shoes. With arch support. That go with everything. While my son tried on a poop ton of shoes, I wandered. I found the cutest little flip flops. Okay – not super cute.  Not little.  But they are black, have about an inch of stacked height, and little stars of glitter all over the strap. Tacky to some, cute to me. Even the funny fashionista would approve.  And, they are on clearance – score!

Until I find the box…Crocs. Never say never starts going through my mind. Well, they won’t have my size. They do. I figure I might as well try them on to prove to myself that I won’t like them. OMG. They are possibly the most comfortable shoes I have ever worn. Lighter than the Famolare Get Theres. Way lighter than the Doc Marten’s. They feel like walking on a cloud or one of those new thick kitchen sink cushions on your feet. They have arch support and are cheaper than the Havaianas I used to wear.

Dang. I hope I don’t lose her as a friend.

PS – Famolares are back for sale….I might die.