Silly adult…Dreams are for kids!

For some reason, this idea seems to come up often.

Not that anyone has ever said that to me…they haven’t.  But they have thought it. Yes, I can hear thoughts. Remember that.

And if the idea is that dreams are not meant for adults, I want no part of that. Adulthood that is.  You can keep it.

Once you stop dreaming, then what? Isn’t that one thing that keeps us getting up day after day?

With the recent racecar driving incident, I’ve made mention how I would love to be a racecar driver. Seriously. A few people are super-supportive (love you guys!) and others…not so much.  I think they feel it’s a “crazy notion”…a “silly dream”.  Is it? What would the world be if everyone thought that when they had an idea?

Donald Trump? You want to own hotels?? That’s just a silly dream…

Steve Jobs? A company called “Apple”? You’ve got to be kidding.

See the point is- they had crazy dreams. And so what? What if they had failed? So what? The only true failure is that in not trying.

Driving with my daughter the other day and I casually mention, “Geesh, I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.”

“Uh, Mom, you are grown up,” She responds.

My jaw drops. I give her my ‘astonished’ look.

“Seriously Mom, you are not normal,”.  I nod. “You are 35. You are married, with kids…and a house. You are already grown up.”

“Because I have those things I am grown up?” I ask her.

“Yes.” Her eyebrows are raised.

“What if I give up the house?”  She shakes her head.

“Wait! Did you say I was 35?”Her head bobs up and down, while rolling her eyes at the same time. A perfected pre-teen move.

I think about this. Halfway to 70? Officially mid-thirties? Actually, since my birthday was a couple weeks ago, I am closer to 40 now than 30. (Gulp). Wow. Better keep those dreams moving.

Truth be told, I want no part of a world where we become too old to dream. I won’t do it. I refuse.Say what you want. Think what you want. (just remember I can hear you).

In fact. I have recently begun thinking about becoming a professional surfer. Maybe after I hike Mt Everest.

I will dream a little dream, anytime I want.

Sweet dreams friends!

 

 

The day I drove for Nascar.

Well, not exactly for Nascar. But I did drive a legit Nascar, on a true Nascar owned track.

Pitt road: I had the car in the far lane.

Leaving pitt road, heading to the track, praying I can shift into each gear (without stalling) to make it onto the track. I did.

My friend, “B” got to race the cool Jack Daniels car!

My friends and I are in our awesomely cool racing suits.  (Not my best pic, it was one of those really rare cloudy and gloomy days at the beach). Oh well.

This is the racing suit I want to wear. Not Danica Patrick’s, but the one of a real life racecar driver….Ahhh…someday.

I am so going racecar shopping this weekend. If you have one for sale, let me know. Must. Make. This. Happen.  It’s not like I am getting any younger here folks.

Once again: Stay Tuned.

Pretty soon I will be a racecar driver. Pretty soon.

Many a moons ago, I wrote down my bucket list.

Not because of the movie. In fact, I think I was the last one left on earth to see the movie.

Rather, the bucket list was such an interesting concept, and I’m an extreme advocate of living life to the fullest at all times, that is just seemed like something I should do to document my goals… my desires…my dreams. There could be a whole post on this process alone, but not today. Today is about racecars.

On my bucket list (#9 in fact, right behind meeting Nicholas Sparks), is the dream to drive a racecar. Ultimately, the dream would be lived out within a true race. While there may not be a “real” race, you know the one where the winner actually…wins something, I do get to become a racecar driver. For a day.

It happened very accidentally. While visiting Nascar offices for work, I ‘nonchalantly’ mentioned that I really, really, really wanted to drive a racecar. I know, I was supposed to be talking hotel rooms.  But come on, this business is all about “building relationships”. So I was. Building relationships. And silently, and not so silently, praying for a chance at driving a racecar.

So, Mr. Nascar man says, “Sure, we can set you up with that.”

What? I am speechless. And y’all know that never happens!

Nascar man: “We can let you drive a car.”

Me: “Like, in a car? A real racecar?”

Nascar man: “Umm…Yeah…”

Me: “Like, for real? A real racecar?”

He stares at me.

Me: “Will someone ride with me in the car?”

Nascar man: “Do you want someone to ride in the car with you?”

Me: “Well, not really…”

Nascar man: “We’ll fit you with a headset, we’ll have a spotter talking to you on the headset.”

I’m pretty sure I was about to hyperventilate. I figure I better get it together, if he gets any inkling at all that I am unstable, he may not let me behind the wheel. It’s probably a law or something. The little bit of acting I must have done in the past pays off, as I am able to continue through the conversation normally, thus showing no signs of instability to Mr. Nascar.

Unless they have cameras in the parking lot….

So, I will be driving a racecar. I received confirmation email with instructions today, making this all so real. I will wear a driver suit. It’s the rules. I will have a headset. And, I will be behind the wheel of a racecar, on a Nascar sanctioned track.

And the thing that worries me most? Not hitting top-notch speeds. Not those highly banked turns. Not crashing into the wall. Nope.

My biggest fear is getting into the car through the window. I’m just not as limber as I used to be. I’m pretty sure that will be a disaster.

I guess some bucket list items come with a price.

And if I need assistance to have someone shove me through that window, so what. Hopefully, no YouTube videos will surface. But, it’s a risk I must take.

Stay tuned.

What would George Washington drive today?

Did you ever wonder…”If only George Washington could see the world as it is today, what would he think of it?”

I have.

Today, on our drive from Ohio to South Carolina, while winding our way through the beautiful and majestic West Virginia Mountains, I was watching the cars go by when it hit me. 

If George Washington were around today, what kind of car would he want to drive.  I asked the question out loud.

“A lincoln” my husband answered.  Hahaha…such a funny guy.

Then, the discussion evolved into a game. Remember the old game, “I’m going on a picnic, and I’m going to take…blah blah blah…” 

Well, we played, ‘What if _________were alive, what kind of car would they drive?’

Here are our answers:

LEWIS & CLARK:  Ford Expedition

CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS: Lincoln Navigator

MONTEZUMA:  Aztec

POCAHONTAS:  Jeep Grand Cherokee

ALBERT EINSTEIN:  SmartCar

PILGRIMS:  Dodge Journey

PAUL REVERE: Ford Mustang

PATRICK HENRY:  Jeep Liberty

MEGELLAN: Ford Explorer

THE DEVIL: Kia Soul

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY: Hummer

GENERAL GEORGE CUSTER:  Dodge Charger

GENERAL SHERMIN:  Chevy Blazer

ROBIN HOOD:  Ford Escape

ULYSSES S GRANT: Jeep Commander

GALILEO: Ford Galaxy

BILLY THE KID:  Jeep Wrangler

BEN FRANKLIN:  Ford Lightning

LEIF ERIKSON:  Plymouth Voyager

HELEN KELLER: (After modern day lasik surgery which would allow her to see enough to drive)  Ford Focus

There you go- a new family game to play while driving through majestic mountains.

Otherwise, this is absolutely useless information that consumed up an hour of our time. Although, I think that ‘perfectly useless’ information might just be my favorite kind.

Points for Heaven

All of my friends who will possibly read this have varying degrees of religious beliefs. I considered that before posting, at least for a few seconds.  Some of you are anti-religon. Some of you are devout church go-ers.  All in all, this post isn’t about religion. Or God. Not really, anyhow. It’s about systems and rewards.

While doing the dishes, I had an interesting thought. I know how shocking that it. Me, doing the dishes. But I was. Some of my best thoughts come while doing the dishes.

I wondered if perhaps God has a “Point” system for heaven.

Say that you need 100 points for every year of your life. You couldn’t set it to the same number for everyone, because someone who dies at 20 is at a severe disadvantage to someone who dies at 80.

You earn points by doing good deeds. Some deeds are worth more points than others. Alternatively, you can lose points. Everytime you say a bad word for example, you lose a point.  Rob a bank? Lose a bunch of points.

It could be that there are different levels of Heaven. Are you a Hilton Honors member? You will know what I mean. Maybe if you reach Diamond status, you’ll get extra perks. If you are a Blue level, you’re just lucky you’re there.

If God was a businessman he would run the point system. This way, if we lose some points, we can still work to redeem ourselves.

I ran this by my husband today. He muttered something about “The Golden Castle”. He grew up Catholic. I had no idea what he was talking about. Ultimately, I don’t think he was as impressed with my point system as I was. As I am.

I still think it’s a great idea.

If you want to get into heaven, start earning those points now. We have no idea what the levels or minimum point requirement there might be, so I suggest earning as many as you can.

Insurance points at the very least.

 

It’s just a…bee.

Pink Yogurt Lid Licker

Are you a lid licker? You know you are. Better yet, I know you are. I have so much to say about yogurt lids. So much.  (Did you know that according to spell checker, “licker” is not a word…)

In doing research on this topic, I asked my mom today,

“Mom, do you lick the yogurt lids?”

“Of course I do. That’s like a whole spoonful of yogurt on there.”

And really, if you buy those small, 100 calorie yogurts, you want that extra spoonful. Most of the time, it’s worth dealing with that slight metallic taste, just to get that little blob of yogurt.

What I really have a lot to say about though, isn’t the lid-licking itself. It’s the pink lid licking.

We’ve all seen that marketing campaign where a certain brand of yogurt will donate ten cents per lid received back to the Susan G Komen Society. Now, I’m all for that, however, there seem to be some glitches in this process.

If you have seen the print ads, you may have noticed the small print at the bottom claiming they will donate “up to one million dollars”. Fantastic. A million bucks!

This tells me that they have already budgeted to donate this money. If you have already budgeted it, JUST DONATE IT.

By making everyone mail the lids back to them, we have a few issues.

First, that’s gross. We know everyone licks them. So their saliva and germs are ingrained on the lid. Sure, some people probably rinsed them off. But, did they scrub them with anti-bacterial soap? I didn’t think so.

Second, what a waste of paper. Envelopes. Stamps. Time consuming waste of time.(Yes, “A”, that sentence is an example of ‘redundancy’).

Third, does someone actually sit and count the lids when they come in? If so, I sure hope this company provides them with rubber gloves and face masks. (Some people are really germy, okay?).

Now, this last point leads me to a problem on the other side of this debate. (Is this a debate? I don’t think so, the political season has made it’s grasp on me…sorry).

If people are employed to do this, and we stop mailing them in, and this company just donated the million dollars like I said they should in the first place, does that put the “licked lid counter’s” out of a job? That certainly wouldn’t bode well for our economy now, would it?

And, do they ever have to do a recount? How accurate of counter’s do they have to be? What if the counter’s are located in Florida? They must have a backup group ready to do a recount when necessary.

Then,what do they do with the counted licked lids? Trash can? Recycle? Hazardous waste?

Perhaps, this company should eliminate the whole process, and donate that extra they would save on labor to the Susan G Komen Society. But, I don’t want to see anyone out of a job…even a licked lid counter.

Oh yea. One more thought. If they donate up to a million dollars, how would you like to be that person that does all the work to lick lids, wash lids, and mail lids back in to company, only for them to be thrown out because they have gone over their quota? I sure wouldn’t appreciate that very much.

Weird, but interesting (to me) facts:

1. A quick google search tells me I am not the first person to write about yogurt lid licking.

2. There is a facebook page dedicated to lid licking:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Licking-the-lid-of-your-yoghurt-before-eating-it/192621394643#!/pages/Licking-the-lid-of-your-yoghurt-before-eating-it/192621394643?sk=wall

3. You will find strange pictures if you look for “yogurt lid licking” on google images.

Seriously, does anyone mail their lids back in? If you do, do you wash and disinfect them first? I gotta know…

(I used the “?” 18 times in this post. Now that is ridiculous.)

All for donating!Visit the website for more info:  http://ww5.komen.org/

 

 

 

 

 

 

A tale of lost creativity…

After writing these words over and over, they now don’t look right at all. We’ve all had this happen where a once “normal” word suddenly looks, sounds and seems…off.

And I am struck by how “creativity” is sounding and looking more and more like “cavity” to me. Coincidence?

This word jumped in my head today at random points. The idea of being creative. Having to create. Brimming with creativity.

By tonight I am overwhelmed with all this “creative-ness”.

Once upon a time, way back in college days (yes, you know, when Beverly Hill 90210 was still on television- I am that old), I thought I had creativity. I had so much creativity, I took a creative writing class. For fun.  Who does that by the way? Take a college class…for fun? I did. I also took Art History for fun, but that could be a whole other post.

My creative writing class was interesting. Honestly, I don’t know that I learned that much, but I always felt like I was in a sitcom when I was there. Class full of characters that had to be cast. Including the professor. There was absolutely no way all these..um…unusual people ended up in the same class. I don’t know what that says about me, but I can say the class was at least interesting.

Back to the class. Or rather, back to me. I thought I was creative. I was a writer. I used big words, exclamation points and even quotation marks. I edited. I wrote. My head was bursting with ideas. Great ones, and not so great ones.  All these stories fell onto the computer screen (yes we did have computers when I was in college, I am not that old) with wonderful ease. I was a writer. I was creative. And, I got an “A” in the class.

I thought about publishing stories back then. Maybe some short stories in a magazine or something. One day, I thought, I might write a novel.

But, my logic told me that would have to wait, I had no time at that point in my life to devote to writing. Clearly, I had no idea how much time I really had then, and how little time I would have in the middle of my adulthood.  The idea of writing left me. Partially due to my logic. ‘you can’t make a living as a writer’. Partly because of my ever-changing interests. (I am self-diagnosed with ADD).

The problem now, is that creativity has left my brain. Zip, zap, zoomed…right out. And in its place? Work, bills, family, kids schedules…life. No room for creativity.  A little while ago, I reread some of the blog posts I have written in the past year. Something I have never done. I cringe. No creativity.

I have lost the ability to create. Those wonderfully worded sentences that could create an image in the reader’s mind…gone.  Left behind are simple words, repeated over and over. Simple thoughts and ideas. No creativity. Painfully worded blog posts, left for the world to read (or at least, both of my readers).

I even used to be quite good at making up words. I often thought they were very good words. Fun to say, and with a great meaning behind them too. Alas, I haven’t made up a good word in…well, I can’t remember when.

Ahhhh, my creativity. Where have you gone? You have left me, high and dry, and stuck in the land of short sentences and common adjectives.

I may try to find it again. I might delve into the deep ‘cavities’ of my brain for some of my lost ability to create.

I may do this. If I can find the time.

But, who knows what I will find there? Dark and hollow spaces? Or the lost words of a writer from days gone by?

Time will certainly tell. Yes, time will tell. (Sorry, did I just repeat that same, simple boring sentence?)

Sea Mint

I love my southern friends. I just can’t understand them.

First, I may need to get my hearing checked. Second, I need to learn how to interpret things here.

This has come up on several occasions in the six months that we have been living in the south.

For example:

On the first day of school, my son came home telling me about his spelling pretest he had to take.  The teacher said “Evergrain”, so that is what he wrote. Except, what the teacher really said was “Evergreen”. “A” got that one wrong.  That was my first clue we may have some struggles in school. (And if at their age these kids need to learn to spell Evergreen~ we might have a problem).

My daughter then tells me that the teacher told everyone the first day to “Put up their booksacks.” Well, how is Little A supposed to know what that is? There are NO bookbags or backpacks  here. They are booksacks.

This of course isn’t limited to school.

At work one day I foolishly mentioned that I needed a “pop”. After a funny look, the girl I said this to busted out in a gut-busting laugh. From them on out, it was funny to say “pop” when I was around. Pop is something that happens to a balloon. Not something you drink. I told her if she asked for a “Soda” in Ohio, she just might get a glass of bubbly, club soda.

If you drive down the road, you will see signs that say “Burn your lights for safety.”  Another words~ turn on your headlights.

Now, everyone takes this all very well. I marvel at the new language, and they laugh at mine. We are all okay with that.

Just when I thought things were becoming normal, and we were learning the new lingo, someone asks me about Sea Mint.

Another mother asked me if my son had any Sea Mint for which he could play basketball. Huh? I look at her desperately trying to figure out what Sea Mint is and trying not to look like I am clueless. But I am.

“Yeah, he plays basketball at home.” I say this, hoping this will satisfy what she is asking. Why would he need Sea Mints to play basketball?

“Oh so you must have some Sea Mint. We have a little patch of Sea Mint for “S” to play on too” she says.

Patch of Sea Mint?

At some point, I do realize she is saying “Cement.” Who would have guessed?

Really, I love the southern accent. In fact, I have walked around the last few days at home talking as southern as I could. My family has stopped rolling their eyes at me. Now, they just ignore me.

But, when they come running to me to translate something, it is I who will have the last laugh. Because I will understand it.

I speak it.

P.S. I know you are wondering what the picture has to do with Sea Mint or Southern Language. The answer to that is…nothing. I don’t even know what that is a picture of. It just looked interesting.

Taking to the Sky

 

No, it doesn’t say talking to the sky, it says taking. You know, flying. Not like, for real. Like, in a jet. A full out Boeing 747. Or whatever it might be.

My new position will require me to travel. Quite a bit. And, while I have flown before, it has not been on a regular basis.

Last week, I flew out to Washington D.C. for some….work-stuff. I won’t bore you with those details, but generally speaking we’re talking numbers. Revenue. Statistics. Reports. Graphs. Oh my God my heart is racing thinking about it. Exciting stuff.

So, back to the flight. I haven’t flown in four years, and this flight I would be taking solo. For the record, I don’t mind flying. I complain about it. I complain about a lot of things I guess, but I complain about having to fly. I think people misconstrue that as a notion that I hate flying.

Not true. What I hate is….a)Crowded Airports, b)Long lines, c)Trying not lose to boarding pass and ID, d)Stuffy airplanes full of people breathing the same air as me (yuck), e)Security checks where TSA agents look at you like you’re a terrorist.

I’m pretty sure the TSA-thingy gets me so outta whack, that it raises red flags with them. Then, you know what happens,  “Female Assistance behind curtain #1″.  Great.

If only the jet could pull up to my back door, I could run out, hop in, and take off. Then I’d be happy.

While flying last week, I did have many other flying-thoughts. Not that my thoughts were flying. They were about flying.

For instance, when you purchase your ticket, you can pick your seat. After a few flights, I have realized, it isn’t the seat itself you should worry about picking.  It’s the person sitting next to you.  Perhaps you could have choices:

1.  Chatty Cathy. (No offense to the “Cathy’s” out there). You know the type. The one that doesn’t stop talking about themselves, about you, about the flight, the weather, whatever. They just go on. And on. (I can almost see my husband nodding his head at this one- Caught you!)

2. Uptight businessman. This man is so stuffy it’s uncomfortable. They sit rigidly, almost unmoving. Serious. No talking. Makes you afraid to move in any way, or risk bumping into ’uptight businessman’.

3. College kid. This one happens to be my pick. Usually friendly enough for a nod or two. Then, they put their earbuds in and get lost in their Ipod. Or plug into their laptop and watch a movie.  Ahhhh….no one chatting non-stop, and no frozen in time businessman.

I know part of my flying issue is a control thing. At least if I am driving I have control. Control of my truck. Control of when I stop. Control of where I stop.

And, airport workers are (generally speaking) not very friendly. They probably deal with crap all day. I get it. I might be crabby too. Except I’m not a crabby person. I can’t even be mean when I try to be. It usually ends up being funny.

Except that time in McDonalds when they were out of diet coke. How can McDonalds run out of diet coke? Yeah,  I was mad. And thirsty. I think I got a little “testy”. And embarrassed the kids. Oh well. They’ll live.

In one of the airports,  I was sitting amongst the crowds, with crabby employees, and a variety of  Chatty Cathy’s, Businessmen, and college kids, I am finally relaxing. Then it’s boarding time. Sure. Handicap and young children first. Then the attendant calls for military.

When an upset patron asks her why military gets to get on first as opposed to first-class, the attendant tells her, “Because they are carrying guns.”  Now, I had no qualms about letting military go first. But, now I am thinking. They have their guns, and I had to throw away my water bottle. The thought made me chuckle a little. I wonder if they could get a water bottle through security?

In any case, it was an uneventful flight. Well, considering I had four flights all together, I can say they were all uneventful.

And, should a video ever make it to you-tube of some crazy woman who looks like me trying to walk on the moving sidewalk unsuccessfully, I can assure you it is an imposter. It most definitely is not me.