Whooopta! ¡Feliz Cumleaños to da Bubble Wrap!

Time to bake a cake, eat a cookie, wear a hat and toot a horn.

We have a fifty year old in the house. Oh yes we do!

Don’t be shy, come forward and take your praise.

Oh Bubble Wrap, you are the best.

Always there when I need you, protecting fragile things.

Providing endless fun and stress reduction with your pop-popping sound as I squeeze the beejebus out of your little bubbly parts.

And when the world went cyber tech, you came along, giving me a faboo iPhone app that lets me pop your virtual bubbles whenever I darn well feel like.

You've carefully covered precious cargo and you've provided hours of fun.

You are useful, bubble wrap, and I for one can't imagine my life with out you.

Now, let's all raise a glass.

Cheers! To bubble wrap's fifty years. May we have another joyful 50 ahead!

*sigh* It just ain't the same

While visiting with my godkids last week, I had occasion to lament how fast they are growing up.

The oldest of the two is soon to be ten. TEN! Wow. I remember when she was just a little preemie baby, yowling when the wind blew across her little face. She was adorable, tiny and rather sour of disposition.

Now she's a bright, effusive ten year old, full of life and energy and fun.

She's been facing some rather grown up issues at school, which breaks a Nina's heart. I'd like to go to that school and give some folks the what-for.

Seeing my little girl growing up so quick made me think about a lot of things that change, drastically, as you age.

For example, I recall when goddaughter #1 was going through potty training. Her folks worked with her quite a bit to get that going. (pun sort of intended)

One evening, there were several friends visiting at the house, and goddaughter #1 came racing out of the bathroom right to the middle of the crowd. She had not a stitch of clothing on, threw her arms in the air and yelled, "I pooped in the potty!"

Well, we all applauded and congratulated and hugged her. It was a very proud group of adults.

This doesn't happen when you are 40.

If I came racing out of the john naked, right into a dinner party exclaiming my poopy prowess, well...for sure I'd not be invited back to the party. They might even see about having me talk to a "special" doctor.

Ya get no applause for bodily functions when you get past the age of, oh say, five.

How about birthdays? When you are five, you get a pile of fun presents to unwrap, your friends come have a sleep over and when they put the cake in front of you, first you blow out the candles and then everyone giggles when you put your face right down into your cake.

RIGHT down into the frosting!

Nobody thinks it is funny when you have cake all over your face when you are a grown up. People just look at you like you've lost your marbles.

It isn't fair.

Oh! And how about naps? When you are a kid, naps are required! Oh yes, much enforced! Must nap, do it now! Here is your special blanket and stuffed friend and a kiss on the forehead.

Today? A nap is a luxury. Stolen moments. Time I could have used to do something more productive.

The ubiquitous "they" say that being a grown up is a good thing.

Generally I might agree, but sometimes...........

When they let me rule the world

You know, I'm sure those people in power are doin' the best they can, but I think...there could be improvements.

My "to do" list when they hand me the scepter and carte blanche to run the universe.

1. Butter, heavy cream, sugar, simple carbs of all stripe and marbled red meat will become health foods. Vegetables, fruits, and fiber will be "forbidden" and will make you pale, wan, and cranky.
   
   On this plan, I will be supermodel skinny.
   
   
2. Supermodels will be made illegal.
   
   
3. Legal disputes will be handled using parenting styles from the 1950's. "Shame on you for punching your brother and shame on YOU for telling." Both parties get a swat on the 'tocks and are sentenced to digging postholes (or digging trench, judge's discretion).
   
   
4. Teachers will make the salaries that current professional athletes make. Professional athletes will make the salaries that current teachers make.
   
   
5. Joe Buck will get a sense of humor. Also Joe Buck and Tim McCarver don't get to call any more games. Ever. Any game. Regardless of sport or level. Ever. And I get to be the one to fire them. On the air. In the most humiliating fashion possible. And then they both have to go dig postholes and string a mile of barbwire fence.
   
   
6. The knobsack at work who uses the Sharpies in the supply room, thus dulling the tip, then slips them back into the stack with the new pens will be *severely* chastised, up to and including termination. This is unacceptable behavior.
   
   
7. The media will be held responsible for what they report. Fear mongering, blowing things out of proportion, and more than one mention of Brangelina (or similar) in a single day will result in severe disciplinary action.
   
   
8. Work weeks will be two days long and weekends will be five days long. And we all get all the holidays off work. Cinco de Mayo? Yup. Yom Kippur? Indeed. Secretary's Day. Of course.
   
   
9. If people need to take a sick day, they can take a sick day. No harm no foul, only support and backup. People are expected to take the time to take care of themselves.
   
   
10. Wars and world disputes will be fought and decided by lining up plastic green army men behind dirt and sand "bunkers" on a playground located in neutral territory. Battle will continue until 1) all army men are lost in the sand, 2) the players are tired and hungry, after which a designated "mom" will make spaghetti for everyone and there will be a sleepover, and/or 3) both sides erupt in giggles and decide instead to play flag football.
    
    
11. "I agree to respect your beliefs if you agree to respect my beliefs" will be the world religion. This will be mandatory.
    
    
12. Anyone who is hungry will be able to eat. Anyone who is broke will be able to find a job. Anyone who is a knobsack will be ostracized until they can figure out how to treat people with respect.
    
    
13. Cancer will be cured. HIV won't exist. Parkinson's will be dunzo. MS, over! Lou Gehrig's gone. COPD and Pulmonary Fibrosis, fughtettaboutit. And all other debilitating, unfair and unkind illnesses will be at thing of the past.
    
    
14. Everyone gets a slice of cake, every day. With real buttercream frosting. And anyone who wants a corner piece can have it.
    
    
15. This list will be subject to revision and change, by me, at any time, with no prior notice by the party of the first part, this agreement supercedes all previous agreements, Force Majeure is in effect, caveat emptor, ad hominem, e pluribus unum, carpe diem, and let's all have some fun, ai'ight?
    
    

This one goes out…

…To the one I love.

A special post today dedicated to The Good Man.

Happy One Month Anniversary, love!

And they said it wouldn't last…hee!

I can hardly wait to get home tonight.

Oh, to see my handsome husband, sure…

But mainly for:

CAKE!

Tonight we get to eat the top layer of that galldamn delicious and oh so heavenly wedding cake that neither one of us got to eat much of just one short month ago.

No having to beat the crush of our wedding guests. No fighting the servers to get a big slice of heaven.

Nope.

You. Me. Eight-inch diameter crème filled cake. Naughty!

Remember how pretty it was:

I personally think we should just cut that top layer down the middle, put half on one plate and half on the other and let the feeding frenzy BEGIN!

W00T!

Is is wrong I'm this excited about cake?

Well if it's wrong, I don't wanna be right.

Happy Anniversary Good Man!

I believe one month is the cake anniversary…right?

Feel the burn

You don't have to know me very well to know that I'm less of the track shoes and elevated heart rate kind of girl and more of the cake following by a generous portion of cake kind of girl.

Exercise and I are acquaintances, but not really friends.

Oh sure, I exercise occasionally. I walk to the train station to commute to work. I walk to the nearby grocery store sometimes. But as a structured activity, no.

A few years back when I was working hard to lose weight, a fit and fanatical friend of mine got me to participate in a 5k. She ran and liked doing 5k's as a way to keep on track.

Let me be frank, my friend is one of those spin class in the morning, yoga at lunch and windsurfing for dinner kind of people.

So when she suggested I 5k with her, I resisted…hard.

But all 90 lbs of her is charming and a good negotiator, so she won me over.

I signed up to 5k. Needless to say, she ran, I walked.

That first 5k I did, I came in just under an hour on time, but dammit, I finished!

Since then, I've sort of gotten into doing the occasional 5k. Ever since The Good Man started hanging out with me, he'll come along too.

TGM is 6'2" with a MUCH longer stride than mine. So 5k'ing with him is all about me almost jogging to keep up. But he paces me, and that's good…I think.

Yesterday we did a really fun 5k, the highlight was that part of the race route took you onto the field at AT&T Park, around the warning track and across home plate.

"That's the same home plate Barry crossed," exclaimed one of the breathless vendors at the race.

That was definitely the fun part. The hard part was that the race started at 9:00 and you HAD to be across home plate by 10:00.

Now, think back. My first 5k was just under an hour. I haven't done a 5k in some time. So I was pretty worried I'd miss out on this fun chance to be on the field.

So I went all out on the walk. I was pumping my little arms and legs and huffing and puffing.

And I made it. I stomped on homeplate with some glee.

Sadly, I still came in the lower-middle of the pack with a paltry time of 47 mins…but I did get to scoot across home plate right behind the good man and we saw Giants pitcher Jack Taschner walking on the warning track. He'd gotten "caught in the herd" as he said and couldn't have been nicer when I said hello. He went on to have a crappy middle-reliever outing in the game that followed, but oh well.

It was a fun day and it was PACKED. People really came out for this even and everyone was fired UP to make it across the plate.

A few lessons I've learned:

*There are those who believe they'll make better time by intermittently jogging along the 5k trail. I find they will usually pass me, then they run out of gas and I pass them, then they see me pass and rev it up, then ten minutes later I pass them again and usually we finish about the same time.

So generally speaking, a nice even pace is probably a better bet.

*The body is less forgiving of random acts of exercise as it ages. I find this not amusing in the least.

*Ballpark nachos taste a heckova lot better when you know you already exercised that day. Hell, they taste good even when I don't workout first. Ok, to be clear: ballpark nachos are nice. Maybe I already knew that lesson.

And finally:

*Man do I sleep good when I've worn myself out.

(yes…THAT homeplate)

Thoughts at less than a week to the "big day"

I promise to get back to regularly scheduled snarkery soon, but I just gotta get through this week.

We are down to less than a week until I get…(holy crap) married.

Here's the thing, I feel pretty calm. It seems like everyone around me (mostly work folks) desperately want me to display full-blown anxiety. Like my freak out would somehow validate them?

Oh, I'm sure that this calm feeling won't last through the weekend. We're down to where the "small stuff" gets sweated. Where you find out if the people you paid a not-insubstantial amount of money will actually step up to the plate.

So far, I've managed not to be a bridezilla. Ok, to be fair, I was *prepared* to lose my shizz on Saturday for my latest dress fitting. The folks just don't seem to be getting it. The seamstress had the audacity to tell me that the top wasn't too large, I was just "not used to wearing a strapless dress".

I informed her, in no uncertain terms, that I would NOT be spending my wedding day tugging at my dress. So they fixed it.

On this past Saturday, I was prepared to take the dress home, but for this weird pucker in the seam at my hips. I said "that needs to be fixed" and the lady helping me said "oh no, you just need to smooth it". I said no, she said smooth. This went on for a while.

After a bit, the owner came over (she hadn't been privy to the no/smooth conversation) and said "hey, it looks like this fits great…oh, except for THAT" and pointed RIGHT at the pucker-in-contention.

Then she ordered her minions to fix it.

Heh.

No need to bridezilla when the owner of the shop (who puts her name on my dress) can do my dirty work!

And that's not the half of it…

Am I worried that the lackadaisical new owners of the reception location will not pull it off? Sure. But there is little I can do about it at this point. We have to, as The Good Man says, "play through".

Will I feel the intensity of the event when, starting Friday, our nearest and dearest start arriving? Sure. Family always ups the ante.

But included in those nearest and dearest are my best friend and my two goddaughters. For how ever worried I could be, I can look into the faces of my two baby girls and smile. Because being with them is what matters. And having my best friend to hold my hand. Oh, and having her help me into my bustier and Spanx.

I already promised her I'd try not to be too sweaty. I'm a real good friend, huh?

I'm not going to jinx myself by saying "oh everything is perfect!!" It can't be.

But The Good Man and me…we'll just play through.

It's the foundation of our relationship.

And at the end of the day, if I end up married to him, then the day was a rousing success. No matter what else happens.

Oh..and cake! That always helps…

I want to be the girl with the most cake

In all the insanity of planning a wedding, The Good Man and I get to "the good part" tonight.

Cake tasting.

However crappy this day is...it still ends with cake.

My personal National Holiday

June 10th, a glorious day to be celebrated.

The Good Man was born on this day.

Feliz Cumpleaños my beautiful Gemini love.

I can hardly wait to celebrate today (and every day) with you.

Special thanks to the parents of The Good Man for creating such a genuinely good man.

I'm a very lucky girl….

Observations

Subtitled: The World According to Karen

On the CalTrain this morning coming in to work (commuting always the best place for random observations of human behavior):

A very mild mannered looking Asian man in tweed coat with elbow patches was seen white-knuckled-clutching a thick stack of bright red paper slips. I wondered what they were.

As I passed the racks holding maps and schedules, I saw the red slips. "Customer Complaints" they said at the top and featured several inky black lines down the page.

I wondered. What did that quiet well-dressed man have to complain about? In quantity.

I envisioned him at home angrily scratching out all his perceived failures of the CalTrain system, feeling better as each slip is completed, shaky hand taking a drink of a whiskey neat as he does so.


At the Semi-Well-Known sorta Italian chain restaurant on Sunday:

A schlumpy dressed man escorts a *gorgeous* leggy woman dressed to the nines through the front door. His eyes dart around the room. When the hostess asks how he may be helped, he says, "It's busy here…we're going next door, they have a bar!" To her credit, the hostess just smiles and says, "Have one for me…"

As The Good Man and I had our dinner, we observe the place next door is having a special night and is *packed*. More so than the place we're at. So schlumpy man and hot chick (clearly dressed for a date) wouldn't have stayed there either.

I envision them darting from place to place, schlumpy man never satisfied with the situation. This one too bright. That one too loud. That one over there has a funny smell. An evening long quest.

Woman's feet are now tired in her four-inch platforms. She thought she'd be sitting more, sipping a nice Cabernet. Schlumpy man finally settles on International House of Pancakes and calls it a night. Beautiful and usually well-kept woman calls it an early night.

I envision that Schlumpy man's phone doesn't ring, no email in the inbox. And he wonders why.


At the local chain drug store:

A large man of what appears to be the Italian persuasion walks through the store, talking to himself. At first I think he's on a mobile phone. He is not.

He's got all the stereotypical accoutrements of a Guido from Joisey. He's wearing dark sweatpants with rounded boiler belly pushing at a stained button down shirt worn under a nice looking navy blue blazer. With gold buttons. I can't tell, but I think little anchors are imprinted into those buttons.

Hair is slicked well back. Tarnished gold-rimmed dark-lensed sunglasses in place over his eyes. It is early evening.

He toddles off to collect his requirements. I forget about him.

We find him again on line behind us. I have to return an item. When I got in line, there was no one else. Now there is a long line. Clerk is confuzzled about the return process. So everyone waits. On me.

Guido has set down his purchases on the rolling belt. It consists solely of a large bag of potato chips and two fo'ties (fourty ouncers of Coors. I'd have placed him as a Miller or Bud man. Maybe Coors was on sale.)

I'm currently reading a novel about a guy who is a hit man for a "made man". This colors my outlook. I'm thinking, "I'm gonna get popped for making this guy wait." My eyes go shifty.

Guido cracks a joke. About the cake mix on my pile of purchases waiting on the cashier. He says, "That takes too much work, you can just buy that already made!" and laughs a too-loud belly guffaw. I laugh nervously. My Brooklyn-born fiancée kibitzes with Guido. They laugh together. Guido isn't mad, just impatient.

I discover Guido is probably just another lonely guy in suburban California. Happy to have had a few moments interaction with some other people.

I envision him driving off in a battered black Lincoln or Caddy, body in the trunk thumping as he whips around the corner on his way home to watch Sopranos reruns.

I remind myself not to take the fiction I read so literally.


At the well-known trendy natural and organic foods market:

The muzac is playing over the PA system. On this day they've chosen 80's hits. Clearly appealing to the Gen X crowd that makes up much of their clientele.

Loverboy is in the air. "Only the Lucky Ones"

Soon to be middle-aged Girl remembers how her sister used to LOVE that band. She had the album on vinyl. The cover replete with the buttocks of Mike Reno clad in red leather pants with crossed fingers. Album titled "Get Lucky".

Girl used to borrow her sister's album and play it over and over and over. All those burgeoning teenage giggly thoughts about gazing at Mike Reno's arse come bubbling up in her soon to be middle-aged mind. She remembers.

And she begins to sing along. In public.

She finds her mate. And decides to entertain him by doing a full air guitar solo while singing along.

And people walk by…unnoticing. Intent on finding their steel cut oats or their Kombuchi drinks.

I envision the Girl and her mate having a long happy life together.

Mainly because The Good Man is tolerant of my antics.

I love making character studies from the world.

You can't make this sh*t up.

An ode

To the humble cupcake.

Not all cupcakes are humble. Just mine.

Recently, for whatever reason I can't rightly explain, cupcakes have taken on a certain caché, especially with my fellow Gen X'ers.

And there is a big trend toward really pretty cupcakes.

Many folks are even having these pretty cupcakes for their wedding cake. (no, not mine...)

A really powerful, domestic and "womanly" woman at work makes cupcakes with some frequency. She proudly walks in the office with a trendy cool container full of lovely pink treats.

*sigh*

I detailed recently about making a birfday cake for my ownself, and since then, I've been pondering better icing recipes.

So yesterday I decided to make cupcakes, which gave me a chance to whip up some frosting.

The cupcakes? Well. They taste good, anyway.

The Good Man and I ate plenty.

But pretty? No. The frosting turned out an odd consistency. Yummy, but weird.

So when TGM and I had eaten our fill, I packed up the rest and brought them to work.

These wolves will eat anything.

Although, I have to say, there *is* something uniquely satisfying watching people eat my sad little creations. Something weirdly "female" to make good eats that people enjoy.

The reviews so far have been "tasty, not too sweet, but yeah, the frosting looks weird."

Oh well.

Martha Stewart need not worry about giving up her crown to me…yet.

Here's a blurry iPhone photo to give you the idea.

And I soldier on…

It should be a National Holiday*

(with all due deference to NewMexiKen's decision that today *isn't* a candidate for National Holiday. Damn Domenici for busting up my day!)

And on this day, a Karen was born, and it was good.

Until she grew up a little and her family would beg to differ…

So when I was little, my mom was always willing to make whatever cake or pie the birthday kid wanted. I usually chose a cake, a chocolate chip cake. My mom would whip it up out of a box and it was oh so yuuuum. It felt special to have the cake made just for me.

In honor of the kindness my mother showed me all those years, I decided to make my own cake for myself this year.

Mom, you'll note my layer cake is about as even as all the ones you and I made over the years.

Though in my defense, The Good Man and I have discovered our home on a hill built in the early 1940's isn't exactly level anymore. Doors don't stay open (or closed, depending) and my two layer of cake came out of the oven looking less like a square and more like a right-angled triangle. Can one work a Pythagorean theorem on a cake?

But as I've learned over the years, frosting can make up for a multitude of sins. And add a few too.

Last night on Birthday Eve, I endulged in a slab of cake. Not a piece, a slab. And it was gooooooood. Chocolate with vanilla frosting. Yes please!

And I am planning to celebrate even more. I've shaken off the birthday blues and enjoying the day. I even scored a few presents at work. How 'bout that!

Looking forward to the surprises The Good Man has in store.

¡Feliz Cumpleaños para ME!

_______________________________

Oh, an update for the folks who have asked about the progress of Plastic Surgery Kitty.

She's healing really well.

Here's a photo from this morning:

The last of the scab came off last night and the wound has healed nicely, is pink and healthy. Looks like she's come through it just fine! Much better photo than the last one I posted, huh?

Let the celebration begin early!

Ah yes, I'm a firm believer that celebrations of one's latest trip around the Sun are more than just a one day event. Oh noooo, there is way too much celebrating to get done that just 24 short hours cannot contain.

So though the actual anniversary of my birth (29 and holding and holding…and, uh, holding!) is tomorrow, the celebrations began Friday.

Tasty dinner and drinks with friends. They were in a bit of a scrap, nothing fatal. It just served to remind me that the greatest present I'll ever know is the love of The Good Man. Oh, sure, we scrap, but not that night. We held hands and enjoyed the warm evening sitting outside.

Saturday we took a road trip up to wine country. I'm starting to actually enjoy wine country more, despite the hoity aspects of it. The Good Man and I have found ways to enjoy it on our terms. I may not be able to "taste undertones of black cherry and moist fern covered flat stone" in my wine, but I'm starting to circle in on what I think tastes good to my personal buds. Fruity better than dry. Light rather than heavy.

Last year for my birfday, The Good Man and I spent time in Calistoga and visited a small winery, on the advice of my boss (and took in a Cinco de Mayo parade). The place is called Vincent Arroyo Winery and they are a pretty small operation. Mr. Arroyo is a retired engineer who decided to take up winemaking, and he does a fine job of it. They don’t yet sell their product in retail channels, selling most of it by subscription to members.

This small winery has one open house a year where they pull out their odds and ends (called Library Wines) and sell them to the general public. This open house just happens to be the first weekend of May. Works out well as a nice place to celebrate roundabout my birfday.

TGM and I were a bit shocked this year to see how much the event has grown. Last year, the winemaker himself was pouring tastes and patiently answering all my questions. This year it was a really big event with cars parked down the gravel road and many of Napa Valley's snoot out to play. About that I was displeased.

However, it took a few pours of wine to dramatically change my outlook.

And there was free food, so really, I can't complain.

It was a gorgeous spring day and the drive was wonderful. We did just a day trip, but yes, oh yes…a good time.

Sunday we went to Maker Faire. I'd heard about this in years past and was emboldened to go this year, because My Personal Jesus, The Crafty Chica was going to be there.

She gave a talk on one of the stages that morning and I not only got her autograph on my book, she was very patient as I TOTALLY geeked out and asked her a sampling of my millions of questions. She gave me amazing advice that I will use.

I'm currently working on a project that someone is actually paying me actual real money for (photos when completed, I promise) and of course doing this "on commission" makes me nervous. The goddess that is Kathy Cano-Murillo reassured me, gave me hints and sent me on my way.

Yay!

And just because I could, I took Monday off. I mean, Cinco de Mayo oughta be a national holiday, am I right?

With all that running around over the weekend, my Monday off was nice and quiet. I even baked up a cake (from a box) and made up a batch of frosting (from a recipe found on the 'net) that I plan to eat slabs of later today.

And tomorrow for the actual day? Dunno yet. TGM has sumptin' up his sleeve and in our time together I've come to know that his surprises are ALWAYS worth waiting for!

So all in all….I got NOTHING to complain about. Even that whole being a year older thing.

Oh, this past weekend I even got to take out my camera and try out a few things. I'm a bit rusty, to be honest, need more time at this, but a few came out well enough that I'm happy when I see them…mainly for the memories.

Here is something I call "Soon"…as in soon enough those baby grapies are gonna be big grapies and will be squashed into wine and enjoyed fermented out of a bottle. YUM! Such anticipation!

Also, lately, I've been playing around with the black and white (or…monochrome) setting on my gear.

The wine tasting was in full gear and there was this HUGE pile of corks and open bottles in various states. I was endlessly fascinated by the whole scene and many folks wondered at the peculiar chick taking photos of, you know, the table. To them I say FEH!

Screeeeeeeech

: cue the sound of screaming brakes :

Today I flipped the page on my calendar. Yes, I know it's the second of May. I'm always a tad behind on such things.

And in flipping the calendar, I had a mental hundred car pileup on the heavily trafficked highway of my mind.

I have a birthday next week. No, not a major milestone, but getting *awfully* close to a milestone.

Generally I tend to get real dramatic about a birthday well in advance. Not so this year. Maybe I was subconsciously trying to forget. But nooooo! Time marches on. B*tch. Won't let you forget.

I guess age is one of those things you can't do anything about. One can fight about it. One can also shout in a hurricane. Neither is gonna do a lot of good. But it may make you feel better.

I suppose it all comes down to something about not going gently into that good night…with all apologies to Dylan Thomas……

Ah well, I face plant into a cake with buttercream frosting and forget my sorrows. Until the next day when I'll lament my waistline.

For today, someone done broke the cake: