blue girl

Repeat After Me, I Say Na Na Na

This weekend, if I wasn't singing "...I want to love you --pyt-- pretty young thing, you need some lovin'--tlc, "I was singing, "...gotta be startin' somethin', gotta be startin' somethin', gotta be startin' something', I said ya gotta be startin' somethin'."

And if I wasn't singing that, I was singing, "...gotta get down, gotta get down, gotta ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh" or "...shake yo groove thang, shake yo groove thang, yeah, yeah!"

Oh, yeah, yeah! I just threw that one in to throw you off.

Couldn't stop singing this one either...

"...Come on, girl! I think I love ya! No! Get up, girl! Show me what you can do! Shake it, shake it, baby...c'mon now...shake it, shake it, baby, ooh, ooh...shake it, shake it, baby."

Then there was the unfortunate moment I started singing "Ben" ala Beveral Sills while doing dishes Saturday evening until I heard my son yell from upstairs, "Mom!"

Geez. I was just showin' 'em what I could do! And you know this girl can do it! Oooh, oooh!

Baby.

Def Leppard, I Salute You

The Skimmer and I were in the car last night, on the way to dinner. I was telling him about the Cheap Trick/Poison/Def Leppard concert.

"Those people really do that thing with their hands and their tongues."

Then I did the heavy metal...what would you call it? Salute?

"What surprised me even more about the crowd was there were people there of all ages. Lots of people older than me. You know that nice older lady who works down at Starbucks? There were hundreds of people there just like her, doin' the heavy metal salute! It was killin' me."

Then The Skimmer and I did the heavy metal salute at each other.

Then I continued, "Ok. I've got something to tell you."

"What?"

"Never mind! I'm not telling you."

"Tell me!"

"Ok. KJ never got the tickets."

"Figures."

"I met her and D at the box office and her first words were, 'Stupid drummer didn't get us the tickets!' You know, I shouldn't have been surprised. Totally KJ's MO. Free tickets! Backstage passes! So, I had to buy my ticket."

"How much?"

"I am never telling you in a million trillion years."

"How much?"

"Oh my God. Let's just say it was...too much."

"How much?!"

"I'm never telling you! More than I paid for Bruce Springsteen. Let's just say that. Let's just ponder, for one second, that I paid way more to see Cheap Trick, Poison and Def Leppard than I paid to see Bruce."

"How much did your Springsteen ticket cost?"

"I'm not telling you that! Then you'll be able to do the math."

"C'mon, tell me."

"Ok. I paid $80 to see Bruce Springsteen. $80.00! What a deal."

"How much for last night?"

"Ok. Ready?

"Yes."

"One hundred..."

Silence.

"...thirty..."

Silence.

"...nine dollars! Onehundredandthirtyninedollars!"

"OH MY GOD!!"

"OH MY GOD!! One hundred and thirty nine dollars to see Poison! I am still stunned. Stunned!"

"Oh man. That's crazy. Who can spend that kind of money now?"

"No one except the 15,000 to 20,000 people who were there doing the heavy metal salute all around me, I guess."

"Well, that's ok. I spend too much golfing."

"It's not ok. It's unbelievable. I used to be out at Blossom four times a week. I'd see the Doobie Brothers, Linda Rondstadt, Eric Clapton and I don't know, Southside Johnny all in the same week. Every ticket five bucks."

"I remember when they were $4.00."

"Bud Lights were $11.00 last night! T-shirts were $45! Oh my God. As soon as we got inside Blossom last night it started thundering and lightning. I told KJ and D, 'Great! No only are we at a Poison concert, we had to pay get get into a Poison concert and now we're gonna die at a Poison concert!' And then Cheap Trick couldn't land their plane at the airport because of the horrendous weather. So, I was like, and now we're not even going to see Cheap Trick! It kept getting better and better."

Which it did. I was with two great friends who I hadn't seen in years, and we laughed and joked around all night long. It stopped storming and the sun came out. Cheap Trick finally showed up and sounded great. Poison was not my cup of tea. But, Def Leppard was something. Their stage show was outrageous. I was like the Memorex guy.

Completely blown away. By the ticket prices, my lasting friendships and Def Leppard's solid wall of sound.

Thrilled Her

My best friend and I shared an apartment when we were both 20. We had to scrape money together every month for rent, for food, for gas. Once, my BFF only had fifty cents to put into her gas tank. The gas station attendant felt sorry for her and gave her another fifty cents out of his own pocket. We were dirt poor. And we had a blast. Especially when we were able to scrape just enough money together to go to the Bucket Shop. Sort of a divey-type bar in Akron that was packed to the hilt, shoulder to shoulder, every Thursday night.

Remember when weekends actually started on Thursday nights? The way all weekends should but don't anymore because you're all grown-up now and life is boring?

I do.

BFF and I would get all dressed up (with money we had somehow scraped together to go shopping) and head down to Market Street. We'd get there between 10:00 and 11:00pm.

Remember how you used to start the night around 10:00pm but don't anymore because you're all grown-up now and are asleep by 9:00pm?

We'd wait in line then walk into the packed bar. Get our drinks. Talk, mingle, flirt.

Remember when you'd get your drinks? Say your Sea Breeze or your Gin and Tonic and talk, mingle and flirt in a packed bar at 11:00pm all dressed up on a Thursday night? Kicking off your newest weekend adventure?

I remember it well. The music would be blaring. We'd be drinking, say, our Sea Breezes, and we'd be mingling and flirting and then midnight would strike. And the whole bar would go pitch black. No lights. Everyone would stop talking. We'd all stand motionless there for a minute or two in the dark silence, waiting for it to begin.

And then that heavy beat would start.

Then in a few seconds, the strobe lights would start flashing. Pulsating to the beat. Bedlam would break out.

The dancing would start. Whoever wasn't quick enough to jump up on the bar or on top of the nearest table, had to dance right where they were standing on the plain old floor.

My BFF and I were always quick enough.

Remember when we were quick enough every Thursday night when Thriller had just taken over the world? I sure do.

Thanks Bucket Shop. Thanks BFF. Thanks Michael Jackson.

It's one of the best memories I have.

I'd Love You to Love Me

Surrender

Out of the blue, I received a text message from a good friend last night. KJ and I haven't seen each other in years. We were very close in high school and also in those post high school years before we both settled down and got married. During that time, I became very good friends with her younger brother, too. KJ, Doug and I spent almost every waking moment together, out on the town, or sitting in each other's apartments listening to music, analyzing album covers and discussing The Beatles.

Last night her first text read:

D and I r going to the Poison Def Leppard Cheap Trick concert tomorrow nite.

I wasn't only shocked to get her text, I was shocked by what she wrote. Poison, Def Leppard and Cheap Trick? What? This coming from the two who had to drive over to my apartment when they found out I bought a Poco album, just so they could break it in half over my head? Two bigger music snobs, you will never ever meet.

My text back: What?! Should I meet you guys?

KJ: Yes!

Me: OMG. Def Lep. Have the two of you lost your minds?

KJ: LOL Got free tix

Me: It would be fun to see u guys!

KJ: Come!

Me: Ok!

Then, she text'd me a photo of some big hair band member.

Me: Who the heck is that?

KJ: Joe Blow. One of the guys in Def Lep. I met him!

Me: Rock on!

Then I sent her a photo and wrote: Take a look at me now...

KJ: LOL

Then I sent her another photo and wrote: I want to b yr sledgehammer

KJ: Lol so kewl. Don't even thnk of wearing white capris

Me: Why not? I'm gonna!

KJ: Don't! Don't wear those clown pants.

Me: I won't. If I'm goin 2 c Poison n Cheap Trik im wearing heels and a black lether mini skrt

KJ: Don't do that either!

Me: Why? I want you 2 want me!

So, it's on. I'm leaving here shortly for the concert. It's 9,000 degrees outside and extremely humid. We, of course, are going to see Poison, Def Leppard and Cheap Trick at an outdoor venue. I have no idea where our seats are. At one point she said she might get backstage passes. But, I don't really care about any of that. I just can't wait to see those two. And discuss what our 20 year old selves would have thought about our 40 year old selves at this concert.

I've got a feeling we're gonna think we're all all right, while laughing our heads off.

That Hair. That Smile. That Poster.

Nancy Nall has a nice write-up about Farrah Fawcett.

Farrah was blot-out-the-sun beautiful and sold a million blow dryers to a million women who aped her haircut, but she was never really threatening...

...It was the smile, of course. And the fact that nothing but the hair looked excessively fussed-over. Since every woman fusses over her hair, it bound her to us, instead of pushing us away...

...You know what that poster says? Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful. It wasn’t something she could help.

Read all of Nancy's post here.

The Ferocity of Feeling with Total Abandon

Brenda remembers long distance love affairs...

...it was the almost unbearable intensity, "the ferocity of feeling" that I recall so clearly now. The exquisite poignancy of waiting (does anyone remember, waiting?) and the expectation... Jet propelled across the ocean towards the unearthly beauty, the embrace of Paris, training across all of Siberia and Russia for a rendez vous in the cold, stone city of Stockholm, clutching the rails of a ferry on the English Channel with that taste of salt in the wind and the white cliffs of Dover ahead. Always enroute to the romance of other lands, other lives...

These were the years of my own joyriding. Of living with total abandon.

Beautiful.

Read the rest of Brenda's post here.

Words Fail

Trying to find some inspiration to write a new blog post tonight, I clicked on "How To Write a Better Blog Post" on Typepad's homepage. And they listed the usual stuff. Like always use spellcheck.

Like I haven't already had that sort of inspiration?

Millions of times over my blogging career?

Also, don't use tired cliches. Never thought of that. Live and learn.

Like, DO edit yourself:

Once you draft your post, read through it for redundancies, irrelevant anecdotes or anything that isn't vital.

The word "vital" jumped out at me.

VITAL.

Anything I've ever written is VITAL.

Not catching my face on fire with hot peppers? VITAL.

My pitching wedge? VITAL.

Being completely ignored? I cannot stress to you how VITAL it is that you know how unacceptable that has always been and will always be.

But, here's the tip that really caught my attention:

DO use lists. Most blog readers skim copy rather than read it all the way through.

MOST blog readers SKIM copy rather than read it all the way through?!

So, I have a question I thought I'd run up the flag pole.

Are there other Skimmers reading Blue Girl other than The Skimmer who is nearest and dearest to my heart? (Never mind his LIES.)

It is VITAL that I know.

Goes without saying that time and time again, I try to knock your socks off. With every fiber of my being, I try to come up with every idea under the sun, and you're skimming? Talk about the kiss of death. I mean, this blog is a labor of love. It's like butter. This ain't no fly by night operation!

Needless to say, I will leave no stone unturned trying to find out which of you skim. I need to know the score.

In a nutshell, let the cat out of the bag.

Are you a Skimmer?!

Go ahead.

Make my day.

A Recipe for Disaster

“Isn’t this just Beefaroni?”

That is the question I got after I spent hours last night, slaving over a hot stove, making a nice dinner for my husband. Well, it didn’t take hours to boil the Cavatelli, brown the ground beef and toss it all together in a saucepan with Paul Newman’s Tomato & Basil Pasta Sauce.

But, I had to stir that Cavatelli for 15 full minutes. My arm got tired.

“No. It is not just Beefaroni. It’s much more than Beefaroni. It’s Cavatelli!”

“What’s the difference?”

“The fact that I made it. From scratch!”

“You didn’t make it from scratch!”

“Did I open a can? No. Eat it and praise me!”

Which he did, by getting a second heaping helping and then lying on the couch moaning for the next hour and a half because he ate too much of my Cavatelli because it was so good.

I love the idea of cooking more than I actually like to cook. Because every time I do, I do not get the appropriate recognition. I am not the martyr type. I do not spend my life running around doing things for other people in order to make myself feel good. Because I learned a long time ago that when you do that, all you get are questions like, “Isn’t this just Beefaroni?”

Or, “Uh, ew?”

I do things that make me feel good. Like whacking on a jar lid with the handle of a butter knife, opening a jar of pasta sauce. I love doing that! I don’t need no man to open my jars. Although it would be nice if one would step in to stir the pasta every now and then so I could get some rest.

That’s not to say that I don’t like making some things from scratch. I do. For myself, apparently. Last year I made an apple pie from scratch and ended up eating the whole thing myself right out of the tin. Because I learned, after I had made the pie and after years and years of family life, that The Skimmer and Blue Kid don’t like apple pie.

Not only are they horrible people. But, they are un-American.

Same thing!

Right now, I am growing hot peppers in my garden because I was thinking of making my own hot sauce at the end of the summer. Not for me. I’m not a hot sauce fan. I hate the stuff. It's too hot. I’m doing it for Blue Kid. He’ll put hot sauce on anything. Steak, eggs, potatoes. Anything I've slaved for hours making for him. I don't like what I've found reading the recipes, though.

This one says...

Tabasco lets them ferment in a wooden barrel for three years but most of us don't have a constant temperature salt mine to do this.

Not only do I not have a constant temperature salt mine. I don’t even have a wooden barrel.

And this...

You will have to keep a sharp eye on the chiles to avoid mold. To make it easier I put 1/3 cup white vinegar (5%) on top of the chiles after the first week, helps to fight mold and/or mildew.

If there’s one thing I like less than cooking, it’s cleaning. My arms get even more tired scrubbing off mold and/or mildew from the shower walls than they get from stirring pasta. An utterly thankless job. So, I’m not fighting off mold and/or mildew while cooking.

And, may I ask, 5% of what?

This is my favorite one.

...Funnel the sauce into an old pint liquor bottle, then let your imagination run free as to what whopper you can lay on your guests regarding its origins. If you're having trouble, here's a start: "One day in Jamaica I was in this dingy bar and met this old guy who..." and you take it from there. Mix all the ingredients together and stand back. This will keep, covered and refrigerated, until the year 2018. Be careful, though: If it spills, it will eat a hole in your refrigerator. If you ever want to dispose of it, call the local toxic waste specialists. WARNING: Hottest sauce in North America. Use this to enhance dull and boring food. Keep away from pets, open flames, unsupervised children, and bad advice. This is not a toy. This is serious. Stand up straight, sit right, and stop mumbling. Be careful not to rub your nose, eyes, or mouth while working with habaneros. You may actually want to wear rubber gloves while chopping and mixing -- these babies are powerful.

But, it's my favorite only because of the writing. The thought of me trying to avoid my nose, eyes and mouth while preparing this sauce scares me. If anyone would set their face on fire with a bunch of hot peppers, it would be me. I forgot about my klutzy ways when I decided to grow hot peppers to make my own hot sauce that I would never touch because I hate hot things.

And there's this one. I got excited. Looks so easy! As long as I'm careful and can wait until I retire for my son to be able to get a taste of it.

3 c Distilled white vinegar
2 lb Cayenne OR jalapenos Seeded and chopped
2 ts Salt

Simmer vinegar, salt and peppers at least 5 minutes. Process in processor. Store in a glass bottle. Put in a dark cabinet and let age at least 3 months.

Three months? Three months?! There’s no instant gratification in that! The Skimmer and Blue Kid may be horrible and un-American, but I am not. I want what I want when I want it. Which is usually now or sooner. And if that’s not the true American spirit, I don’t know what is.

It takes 70 days just for the peppers to grow! I am showing the patience of a saint by that alone.

So, let me get this straight. I’ll have to wait 70 days for the peppers to mature, then wait at least another 90 days for the concoction to do whatever it is it does in some dark cabinet. At least 160 days. At least five months! And on top of that, it might grow mold and/or mildew?

No, thanks. I’ve decided to stock up on Tabasco®. They’re the ones with the constant temperature salt mines. They’re the ones with the wooden barrels. They're the ones with all that time on their hands.

I'm not going to go through all of that work, possibly burn my face off, then wait at least five months for Blue Kid to look at me and say, "Isn't this just Tobasco?" That would be so far from the appropriate recognition, "Praise me!" would be only the beginning of the words and phrases I would use that end in exclamation points.

Plus, Tabasco's got those cute little bottles! And I can twist off those caps without even having to use a butter knife.

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy

Back at the end of May, the proprietress of Notes from the Grove asked, "What makes YOU happy?" So, since May 28, every time I've run across something that makes me all a gaggle and a giggle, I've made a mental note. And it's only taken me three weeks to come up with 10 things. So, here goes.

One.

I love when I'm doing laundry and I check the dryer vent and it's massively full of lint. Like a rug of it. Like carpet. I hate when there's only a tiny bit. I love when I pull out the vent and there's enough of a thick layer that I can roll it into a huge ball and throw it away. I feel a sense of accomplishment.

And it's so soft!

Two.

I love when I decide to take the long way home, like I did last night, driving through the park at dusk, and the perfect song comes on the radio.

Makes me even happier when that happens while I'm eating a single scoop mint chocolate chip ice cream cone. And you know what? I was!

Three.

Funny conversations at the grocery store make me happy. Which anyone who has read this blog at all should already know.

Yesterday, as the cashier began to swipe my frozen Weight Watcher Rigatoni with Broccoli, she said, "How are these? Good? How much sodium?"

Well, I know there's too much sodium in those things but eating them for a few weeks always helps me to stop eating junk and kick start a decent diet.

She was analyzing the nutritional chart and I said, "How much?"

"660 grams."

"Eh, that's too much, I know."

"I have to watch my sodium, so I can't eat these. I'm pretty good at avoiding what I need to avoid."

I said, "What all do you eat?"

"Oh, you know...chicken. Love chicken. And pork chops. Anything on the grill. Ribs. I love dinner rolls. Any kind of bread. Love bread, honey! Last night I had the best french fries! Let me see. I try to eat my vegetables. Ever put peanut butter on celery? That's good. I'd dip anything in peanut butter. And I usually do!"

She rang through my baked potato chips and continued, "I love potato chips. I like the rippled ones though. And French onion dip. Doritos. I like to buy them little bags and keep them in the car with me...."

And on and on she went. God forbid she'd ever buy a frozen weight watcher meal!

Nothing but happy times at the grocery store, I'm tellin' ya.

Four.

My best friend's laugh makes me happy. Heard it when we were talking on the phone a couple of weeks ago. We were discussing all the millions of ways kids can drive you crazy. She said, "Well, Blue Kid's always trying to find himself. Remember when he wanted to go to church all on his own and then he did?"

"Yeah, well, he's an atheist now."

And she broke into her precious laugh that makes me laugh just thinking about it. Starts out soft and grows louder very quickly. I knew she was closing her eyes and scrunching her shoulders and sort of nodding her head up and down. It's adorable. And one of those things in life I will be forever grateful for.

Plus, the girl can swear like a sailor. She's got it all goin' on.

Five.

This is made of 100% happy, Tonto.

Six.

The way Steve Kuusisto can create bits of magic in the air that I try to grab like lightning bugs, makes me happy. Blue Wren once said that Steve has a lyrical heart. And indeed he does.

Seven.

The absolute fact, Jack, that the tomato plant I planted last month has already grown more than a foot makes me happier than I can even tell you. And the sweet basil that I planted in the same large pot? Growing. Makes me so happy.

My once beautiful pots of petunias are dying though. Yesterday they looked like they were dying of thirst. Dried out, crusty, rigid -- like I hadn't watered them in weeks even though I water the every single day. Just a little. Not too much. Because if you do that the leaves turn yellow. Which they did. Today. I can't win.

But, let's not discuss my petunias that now look like something from the Adamm's Family garden.

Let's only rejoice in the tomatoes and sweet basil!

Eight.

Black Cherry Kool-Aid in the fridge during the summer. It's so horrible for you! A whole cup of sugar per pitcher. But, Blue Kid loves it and I think drinking Kool-Aid in the summer helps one develop a lyrical heart. Something that bottled water could never do.

Nine.

Jeff Bridges.

I mean, how cool is that last name?

Ten.

A vodka martini, straight up with three olives. And a side of water.

That's all I got. Maybe I'll have more three weeks from now. But, in the meantime, what makes YOU happy?