12 Steps?

My time mysteriously disappears down several Internet black holes. Facebook is a big consumer of time, what with keeping up with the quotidian minutiae of the immediate world,  playing endless games of Scrabble with Calvin and friends, and playing endless, mindless games on the evil Mindjolt games there. E-v-i-l. I have openly admitted my addiction to the online version of Ticket To Ride. My desk screams for attention as do the stack of books on my nightstand. Oh, and of course this blog. Many days this month I’ve found myself racing against the clock to post something before the stroke of midnight.

Hi, my name is Alto2, and I’m addicted to my computer:

Etched in stone.

1. I am not powerless over my computer. I just choose to ignore the ugly reality of my life.
2. I believe a power greater than myself can restore me to sanity. They’re called children, spouse, and bills.
3. I have decided to turn my will and my life over to the care of G-d. I’m waiting for Him to clean the house and pay the bills.
4. I made a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself. And I like it.
5. I have admitted to G-d, to myself, and to all you blogfriends the exact nature of  my wrong. Won’t you join me?
6. I am entirely ready for G-d to remove all these defects from my character. G-d, while you’re at it, can You delete my potty mouth, too?
7. I humbly ask G-d to remove my shortcomings. I also humbly ask G-d to remove these 100 pounds I’m struggling with.
8. I made a list of all the persons I have harmed, and I am willing to make amends to them all. Just as soon as I find it in the pile on my desk.
9. I have made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would be inconvenient or uncomfortable for me.
10. I continue to take a personal inventory, and I admit that I am wrong to continue forsaking my responsibilities for that 101-point Bingo! in Scrabble.
11. I seek, through prayer and meditation, to improve my conscious contact with G-d. Yes, I really do this weekly in synagogue.
12. I have had a spiritual awakening, and I’ll practice these principles in all my affairs. Just as soon as I get them in order. Later. After I play another round of Scrabble with Calvin.

And, if I have offended anyone, please accept my profound apologies.

Perfume

This is merely a perfunctory post. I walked 2.5 miles today and had a busy day. I’m sleepy, but I need to post something.

Currently, my favorite scents are Narciso Rodriguez, Sisley’s Soie de Lune, and Cartier’s Le Baiser du Dragon. I like Narciso because it is clean, modern, and floral without being citrusy or soapy. Soie de Lune enchants me with tuberoses; it’s slightly exotic and reminds me of a blast from the past, Maroc by Ultima II.

As for Cartier, they are fragrances for a woman of substance. Le Baiser du Dragon (Dragon’s Kiss), is a heady, sexy, sandalwoody scent meant for evening wear.

What’s your favorite fragrance?

Pearls

In my never-ending quest for meaningful, positive things about which to write this month, I found a challenge from Sock Girl to list 5 pearls of wisdom I’ve learned from a young person (teen or child). OK, Sock-babe, here goes.

1. Children know good books when they read them. Moose and Wizard encouraged me to read the “Percy Jackson and The Olympians” series this summer after we saw a trailer for “The Lightning Thief” movie coming in February 2010. They loved the modern take on mythology. Even Wild Thing, a reluctant reader, read the first book and loved it.
2. Laugh with your children, more often than you laugh at them. Wizard shares my cynical sense of humor and made me laugh at one of his antics this afternoon. It felt great to share yuks with my moody teen.
3. It’s all about the shoes. A little girl in synagogue tonight was wearing some fierce pink-and-white cowboy boots. They matched her shiny pink headband. She also has this fabulous pair of sparkly red shoes that rival Dorothy’s on any given day. Little Girlfriend, your kicks always make me smile.
4. A good scare is cathartic. Wild Thing and Moose routinely hide around corners from each other, jump out, and scare the snot out of the other one. I’ll hear “Boo!”, “Aaaaah!” and then peals of laughter.
5. Boys smell, but they don’t know it. Little boys smell of sweat and candy and stinky underwear. Big boys smell of body odor, body spray, and chips.

Pass this Pearl along and tell me and/or Sock Girl all about it.

Shut Up and Drive

Dear Condo Cave-dweller,

Today, instead of walking with my friends, I decided to go for a bike ride through my neighborhood and yours. I clipped my water bottle to my bike. I donned my helmet and strategically placed my cell phone and set out. I huffed and puffed my way up the street, and it was getting just the tiniest bit easier. So, I decided to venture past the gates of the Estates, where The Zone is, and through the adjacent condos, oddly known as The Courtyards, from whence you came.

I enjoyed riding through The Courtyards. A bevy of mallards waddled out of my way as I peddled around the sparkling pond. By this time, I was feeling a bit stronger, so I decided to ride all the way out to the main road before turning back to my house. I coasted out of The Courtyards and avoided riding on the sidewalk because your lame condo association never keeps its plants trimmed. As I rounded that blind curve northbound, I heard your car behind me; I steered towards the right edge of the road, hoping to get out of your way.

Apparently, that conversation you were having on your mobile phone was so engrossing that you couldn’t pay attention to the fat broad (me) riding her bicycle on the sunny lane. You sped by me and forced me on to the grass. I skidded on to the sidewalk and crashed into the coral rock wall. My right hand absorbed the full impact; I’m lucky I didn’t break it. Bloodied and badly shaken, I limply pedalled home. My right hand now has several huge holes in it. They are not easily bandaged, and they sting.

Caveman, you suck as a driver. You suck as a neighbor, and you suck as a human being for failing to stop to see if I was alright. Hang up the damn cell phone and pay attention to the road.

Sincerely,

Alto2

P.S.  If you ever venture out of The Courtyards and into The Estates, the last thing you will see is the rictus on my face as I flatten you with my big-ass new car.

Shameful

Blogging once a month? Is this what I had in mind when I started “The Testosterone Zone”? Certainly not.

Looking over my writing frequency this year, I am ashamed to see how little I’ve written. I guess I got stuck. I was bored with my quotidian rants about Wizard and his nonsense. Bored with my own nonsense. [insert snarky attitude] Bored with everyone else’s nonsense, which was clearly not as important as my own. Lately, however, several topics are niggling my brain, begging to be written.

[go to the next post]

Forsaken Blog and Washer

I’ve neglected this blog so long, I have that biblical refrain running through my head:

“If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither, let my tongue cleave to my palate if I do not remember you . . . .”

(Psalm 137, v. 5-7)

If I forget thee, O Zone, let my writer’s fingers and voice wither. I’ve been exploring the wilds of Facebook. It’s been a learning experience, both good and bad. I am enjoying staying in closer contact with my immediate and extended family across the world. I’ve delighted in re-connecting with high school and college friends. I am annoyed by all the little apps and games, which are a big distraction. Time to get back to blogging and baring my maternal soul.

Many of you will recall the trials and tribulations of my GE appliances. I ditched my GE washer and dryer more than 2 years ago, in favor of Whirlpool’s then-new Cabrio line. I have enjoyed the Cabrios greatly until this morning. When I returned home from coffee with Calvin and Belle, I found the washer beeping an error code at me. Of course, it wasn’t an error code listed in the washer’s instruction book. It was a mystical error code, only decipherable by Whirlpool.

You know what that meant: a phone call to Whirlpool Customer No-Service. Woo. hoo. not. After 10 minutes “talking” to the automated system that didn’t understand my address, I enjoyed  the Whirlpool Easy Listening Concerto in B-flat until an agent answered the phone. She was actually friendly, even though she confirmed that F-1 meant a motor control assembly problem –  verified first by me on the Internet, while waiting, thankyouverymuch — and not what I was REALLY thinking. Ms. Friendly offered to book a service appointment for me, but I declined in favor of my local service company, which has all my appliances under contract.

The service company will come on Monday. In the meantime, I have to pack three kids and myself for a weekend away. We’re going to a Bar Mitzvah in Orlando and a spring training baseball game this weekend. Wizard’s clothes are in the broken washer, and — of course — he has nothing else clean to wear. Gee, when you keep all your laundry and clothing on the floor instead of in the dresser and closet, you never know what’s clean. Wizard didn’t want to wear his suit because . . . wait for it . . . it’s wrinkled and full of cat hair! Why??? Oh, you know the answer:  it was lying on the closet shelf, a cat bed, instead of hanging up in a zippered suit bag. Bravo, you foul child.

Now, I rush to pack my own clothes. Wild Thing claims to have brought all his down to pack. Moose never knows what the hell he has because he subscribes to the Wizard School o Clothing Care (everything on the floor). I picked up a couple things for Moose at Target this morning. As soon as I’m done packing, I’ll race to Kohl’s or Beall’s to get Wizard some clothes.

Oh, everywhere in Florida the sun is shining bright.
The iPod plays here somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere moms are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in The Testosterone Zone — mighty Alto2 has struck out.

(Apologies to E.L. Thayer)

Beach Observations

Wild Thing and Moose do not have school this week. Instead of a big trip to Disney, like we did last year, we’re having fun closer to home, mostly because Wizard does have school. Today, I took WT and Moose to the beach for a few hours. We stopped at CVS for some new beach toys and Subway for some sandwiches and drove the 3.5 short miles to the Gulf of Mexico. It was a glorious day: hot, sunny, breezy, cool water, and warm sand. WT and Moose behaved beautifully and played so well together. They shoveled sand, buried my feet, and played a bit in the “cold” (77ºF) water. While the boys amused themselves, I people-watched and generally ignored my book.

I observed . . .

• Most beachgoers here are fat. Not just pudgy but downright obese. I saw more men with Dunlop’s disease (the belly “done lopped” over the belt”) than I cared to. Most of them were sunburned to a crisp. Unattractive. The one guy with a legitimate 6-pack was 6 feet tall, 160 lbs., and pasty white. Unattractive.
• 98% of women on the beach are wearing the wrong bathing suit for their figures. Big boobs do not belong in strapless suits, ladies. Most women’s bathing suits utterly lack proper support for breasts: no cups, no foundation, nothing. Breasts were flopping and sagging all over the beach today. Yech.
• Many children wear sun-protective clothing but not sunscreen. I watched a dozen little monsters run by with those nylon swimshirts and burnt, red noses. C’mon, people, put some hats and Coppertone on your kids!
• By the preponderance of flat “A”s and really retroflex “R”s wafting across the beach, half of the Midwest is spending the winter here. Thanks for the capital infusion, but when are you leaving?
• Smoking should be banned from the beach.
• Seagulls are mean and aggressive. They must be stopped.