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.

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!

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.

Page 11

Do you ever go googling for something and you just don’t get anywhere? Sometimes simple persistence pays off. Martin thinks I’m paranoid because I’m afraid people I haven’t shared our website URL with will somehow find the page anyway. Of course, first they would have to know we even have a website.

This morning on Google Blog Search I entered a single search term: Martha. On the eleventh page of results, there was a link to my last blog about eating cake and beans for dinner.

Mother’s Day

I saw a quote from John B. Pace on someone’s QuitNet profile this morning: “Death is just Mother Nature`s way of telling you that it`s time to quit smoking.” That’s very funny but googling didn’t reveal to me who John B. Pace is. Anyway, it’s Mother Day so of course, I’ve been thinking of Mom. I won’t call her ’til later this afternoon, which is when I always call her.

But not smoking this Mother’s Day, I figure she already has a present from me. Not really. But that’s how generous moms are, at least mine. If I’d suggested to her that her MD present this year was my not smoking, she would’ve happily accepted that. But I wouldn’t do that to my mom.

A Perfect Weekend in March

I had a fabulous weekend. Despite not winning the lottery, falling in love or eating corned beef hash and eggs and biscuits, I had a fabulous weekend. What made it so effing fabulous? The company I kept and how we spent our time. Saturday night I went to a party where there was a good band, two incredible bond fires (trust me, it was c-c-c-old), lots of fun people and a starry, starry sky. Fun City. But the best part of the weekend was Sunday morning, lazing around with a strong cup of joe in a house with a beautiful bayou view and no hurry to get out and get somewhere or do something. We talked, ate scrambled eggs, did a walkabout of the yard and landscaping, then eventually cleaned up and headed to a local arts fest. But not before I sprawled on the deck and soaked up a few minutes of early March sun.

I need a shower.

Have you ever visited a so-called dating website? I’ve been to several more times than I care to admit. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, is it? Then why do I always feel like scrubbing down in the shower afterwards? I’m a good girl, I am; visiting these sites just seems kind of oily. When I read profiles of men in my age group, trite and somewhat icky patterns emerge. If all the stuff these guys were saying about themselves were true, these 50-something guys would have no problem meeting the 30-something girl of their dreams.