Mamma Mia!

Abba was popular when I was young. I never really got into them. I swear I never owned an Abba album. A few weeks ago, a friend invited me to the movies. She suggested a title and all I had to hear was Colin Firth and I was in. We saw Mamma Mia and I sat through the entire thing with a silly grin on my face. A couple of weeks ago, after yoga and lunch, I went to see it again with friends. Again, the silly grin. Before I went on a road trip, Abba Gold found its way into my basket at Target. Wth? I’ve listened to that effing CD at least 100 times. I need help. Now.

Not having my cake

At a work luncheon today, there was a gorgeous sheet cake for dessert. The gal who made it is a pro. I’ve had her cake before and it was fabulous. In fact, I boldly took a corner piece, not worried about how that might look to my co-workers. Chocolate cake with white icing. Mmm mmm. I took a bite and immediately my mouth was confused. The icing wasn’t buttercream. It wasn’t that whipped cream stuff either. What the hell was it? I don’t know but it didn’t satisfy my sweet tooth. If I’m going to indulge in the corner piece of cake, lathered in frosting, it damn well better be worth the extra calories. This wasn’t. When the opportunity arose, I placed my napkin over the cake and buried it in the trash can. Dang it — what a waste.

I’ll tell you tomorrow

You won’t believe this but I started this post weeks ago. And guess what? I put off writing it. Hmm. Why is it that someone who loves to mark completed tasks off a list or plow through a month’s worth of housecleaning in one morning cannot write a simple blog about procrastination without procrastinating like hell? I’ll tell you tomorrow.

Bad food, bad me

An online friend of mine recently told me to chill when I gave him a hard time about the unhealthy food served at a social event he attended. I guess that in some circles I’d be considered a health-food fanatic although nothing could be further from the truth.

The day I flew home after a vacation to visit family, I had a hot dog. A big, meaty dog on a white bun. Then later a slice of sausage pizza. Ugh. I didn’t feel so well last night after my bad eating day, mostly because my body doesn’t like too much salt. And it’s used to lots of fruits and veggies. Occasionally, I am lazy about eating. Having the right foods in moderation involves some planning.

I heart MySpace

Tonight I was looking at the web page that shows me all my MySpace friends. I was marveling at the technology and ingenuity that makes it possible for me to be virtual friends with a Louisiana Cajun who now lives in Kuala Lumpur, a published novelist, a doctoral student in Washington state who grew up near my hometown and a sweet gal from Ohio who’s a non-smoker like me. There are other interesting characters, including some of my 3-D friends. Technology rocks sometimes.

Dirty, lousy smokers

I spent Saturday night with a friend visiting here on business who’s got suite at a beach hotel. She stays there so much they give her these fabulous rooms at a government rate. We sat on her balcony overlooking the busy pools and jacuzzi with a fabulous view of the Gulf while we had rum and cokes. Then we walked down the way to a local bar and grill where a band was about to begin playing. Seemed like every other person there was a lousy, dirty smoker like I used to be. Ha. Friday after work I went for a walk downtown and as I passed by a restaurant and bar that has sidewalk tables, someone hollered at me. It was an old friend. He was smoking a cigarette so that’s what I called him: a lousy, dirty smoker. When he guessed that I’d quit he held out his lit cigarette and said Here, want a puff? To which I replied, HELL NO. He and the friends he was with all smoked but were congratulatory about my quit. I’m coming up on the six-month mark this week!

Lesbians and tofu chicken salad

At happy hour Friday, I brought up a discussion I’d had at lunch. My lunch companion said he wondered why some lesbians are attracted to masculine women. If they like women, why wouldn’t a lesbian only be attracted to feminine women? So at happy hour I was talking with a vegetarian friend about my mom’s tofu chicken salad, which contains no chicken, and realized it probably didn’t sound good to a person who doesn’t eat meat. If you’re a vegetarian, why would you want to eat something that tastes like some kind of meat? Kind of like a lesbian being attracted to a masculine woman, right? I know it’s not that simple. And my happy hour posse seemed to think the connection I’d made between lesbians and tofu chicken salad was a bit of a stretch. But it was fun to discuss, regardless. And Mock chicken salad is actually the name of Mom’s recipe. It really is yummy. And tastes like it has chicken in it. HA!

I owe Kelly Clarkson an apology

The other day, I was blogging about music and heartbreak. I was going to cite a song by American Idol winner Kelly Clarkson as an example but it turns out I totally misunderstood her chart topper Because of You.

I had never really paid attention to the lyrics outside of the chorus. Duh. I thought she was accusing an ex of leaving her insecure and distrustful. But no, as probably everyone but me already knows, it was a song she co-wrote about the anguish of her parents’ divorce when she was teenager.

I don’t want David Spade in my dreams

Someone posted today on the QuitNet about having a smoking dream, which reminded me I woke up crying this morning. It was one of those endless, convoluted nightmares: During the day, I’d gone to a fair of some kind and my car was parked at the far end of a cornfield and I didn’t want to walk to it alone in the dark. So I went back to the motel room I’d checked out of and David Spade was in there on the floor in the closet talking on the phone about some guy he thought was hot. I was crying and trying to tell him about how I needed someone to walk with me to my car and then I really started sobbing when I told him I was supposed to get married the next day but it was to the wrong guy. In the dream, it was a guy I went to high school with but never really paid attention to — like my brain picked someone at random from the year book. And I told David Spade I was not going to go through with the wedding. I couldn’t remember going out with the guy let alone agreeing to marriage. There was a lot more to the dream but when I woke up, I was still crying and then came to my senses. Whew. What a nightmare. It had smoky bars (I didn’t smoke), shady men and the part I can’t remember at all is who I *thought* I was getting married to. Anyway, I’m glad to be awake now.

A new definition of insanity

Most everyone has heard Einstein’s definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Well, today I’ve come up with a better one. How about this: A woman buying a swimsuit without trying it on first and then expecting it to be a keeper.

Yes, it’s true. A friend of mine thought she could find a suitable swimsuit simply by judging how it looked on the hanger. Yeah, I know — I couldn’t stop laughing either.

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