"Bubble Baths With Patrick Dempsey"

     I want Ellen Pompeo's job.  Think about it.  The fortuitous Ellen gets to snuggle with Patrick Dempsey, take bubble baths with Patrick Dempsey, and kiss Patrick Dempsey, all the while getting  paid oodles of money to engage in all of the above.  Talk about injustice!  I sit at a desk, my neck aching from staring at a computer screen all day, my ego bruised and patience tested as customers chew me out relentlessly, eight hours a day, five days a week.  Oh-and did  I mention the minimum ten hours per week I spend commuting?  (Commuting is a joy in and of itself.  Don't you agree?) On a positive note, "extreme customer service" will look better on my resume than "making out with Patrick Dempsey" does on hers.  Still, I'd gladly trade places...

     A few weeks ago, I was seeking a television series to stream on Netflix, wanting one that was more than a half dozen shows, like Happy Valley, but not as many as Breaking Bad, which has sixty two.  I decided on Grey's, which has...one hundred.  I am ridiculously hooked on the show, and continuously get sucked into watching episode after episode as, in typical soap opera fashion, the end of each show leaves me dangling, impatient to see what happens next.  Do you know how long it takes to watch one hundred episodes at forty three minutes each?  I'm embarrassed to admit that I've already invested more hours than an average work week, time spent commuting included.

     The other day I was speaking to my son on the phone, and I indicated I was puzzled because sirens were blaring all morning in my neighborhood, which is typically very quiet.  It was only later that I realized the sirens were...background noise on the show!  Duh...  I have yet to disclose that revelation to my son, who loses patience with me when I get caught up in my incessant streaming.  In my defense, I have not been watching any other television shows.  I have abandoned my (former) favorite show of the past five years, The Good Wife.  I pondered my likes and dislikes about the series, and came to the realization that I was dissatisfied by many of the story lines,  for example, Calinda's criminal husband, and her extreme toughness.  I hold Peter in utter contempt, and I cannot tolerate the fighting and yelling that has become characteristic of the show.  What did I like about it?  I liked Alicia's cleverness, and her professional demeanor.  I admired her strength in rebounding from her husband's very public indiscretions. I relished the unexpected humorous moments, like when Alicia stood atop Owen's SUV to access phone service while out in the wilderness.  And I liked Will Gardner.  I liked Will Gardner with Alicia.  When they killed his character off last year, in the ultimate shocking episode that single-handedly usurped "Who Shot JR?" in shock value, I pretty much knew I was done.  The course that the show has taken, and many of the characters, no longer charm me.  In comparison to the classy Downton Abbey and ever popular Grey's Anatomy, shows which also killed off main characters, I continue to be fascinated by their various compelling characters and story lines. For The Good Wife, however,   I believe that killing off Will was the beginning of the end.  It certainly was for me.

"Living My Life in Reverse"

     So, it has been more than a month since I have written a blog post.  I am so drained at the end of the week, after working, commuting, studying, and blogging for my class, that a lot of the time I can't bear to even turn the computer on when I am home.  About all I have energy left for is streaming from Netflix.  Since it has been so long since I have written, I will be switching gears rapidly throughout this post as I have a lot to say.

     "What do you mean you don't watch Grey's Anatomy?  It's the hottest show on television!"    That is what a friend asked me in astonishment-in 2006!  Well, I couldn't have envisioned it then, but I am now in the midst of streaming the series-all one hundred episodes!  Grey's Anatomy is my new Breaking Bad.  I am hooked.  Last weekend, while studying for an exam, I alternated between watching episodes and studying in 45 minute intervals. I have very little to eat in the house, and my apartment needs to be cleaned, but I got a "B" on my exam, and I find binging on  Dr. McDreamy to be very relaxing.  I need to repeat what I did with Breaking Bad-do a marathon of viewing so that I can get through it and actually have a life again.

      I am now halfway through my government and politics class-the mid-term exam was last week.  I really am getting too old for this s....stuff!  I feel as if I am living my life in reverse.  For the first time ever, I have a long, arduous commute.  I am learning a new job with a complex product line,  I am a college student, taking courses at night after a putting in a grueling day at the office and bucking the Jersey traffic for a few hours.  I am very nearly sixty!  People live like this in their twenties and thirties!  Thank goodness I am no longer of child bearing age, or who knows what could happen.  (Of course, a significant other would be required, but who's got the energy?  Or the time?) 

     Speaking of significant others-I am stiiiiiiiiiill looking for something online.  I don't exactly know what.  I imagine I will know him when I see him.  One fellow made me laugh with his profile comments today.  He's looking for someone to get him off  "this damned internet dating sight"!  Touche!

     Enough with the cell phones already!  It has gone too far when surgeons are taking selfies with their unconscious patients!

      I know I am getting older, because each successive generation becomes more irritating to me.  I'm sorry, but I have no patience for "New Millennium Yuppies", those dressed up kids in their fancy cars, with their slimline laptops and Smartphones.  Call me old fashioned, but I do not consider a day's work to consist of posting comments on social media while streaming the ridiculous Sharknado... (I know it's ridiculous-because I watched it (not in work).  Not all of it-I couldn't get through it. I just had to see what all of the hoopla was about. I went from the ridiculous to the sublime and watched the classic Jaws instead)  My son came to visit that day, and commented that never in his wildest dreams would he have envisioned me watching Sharknado.  To me it was more of a nightmare...

     Speaking of the younger generation, I don't know who finds today's "cantaloupe cleavage" attractive, but they obviously have never seen the exquisitely beautiful Elizabeth Taylor wearing a full slip in the movie Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.   Her attire wasn't open to her waist, with two bulbous masses exposed.  All that could be seen was an inch or two of feminine softness, which was mysterious and alluring.  There is nothing either mysterious or alluring with today's offensive lingerie ads, or movie stars wearing distasteful apparel.  Mystery and romance seem to be a thing of the past.  I know-I am dating myself.  Oh well, no sense in being old unless you show it.

"Younger by the Day"

       You know the phone obsession has gone too far when the meteorologist is posting comments on Twitter instead of providing the weather forecast...

      My sister theorizes that if one is heavier, he or she will tend to look younger.  The way I am gaining weight-I must be looking younger by the day.

     Why do I keep a travel size bottle of hairspray when I never travel?  More importantly, why do I store it beside my bottle of eyeglass cleaner?  You guessed it-I grabbed the wrong bottle when I decided to clean my glasses (I couldn't tell the difference because...I didn't have my glasses on!).  So now my $800.00 glasses have a new kind of scratch coat on them.  Too bad I can't see through it...     

      Have you noticed lately that the only "stars" on DWTS are the professional dancers?

     My friend and I were discussing the importance of the opening line in a book, story , or article.  She then cited Moby Dick, to which I replied "Call me Ishmael".  She was visibly impressed, until I explained that I merely knew the line from hearing it in the movie Matilda...

"Haircut Free"

     So why do I have my hairdresser's telephone number programmed in my phone when I cut my hair every eighteen months? 

      The following event was not my original intent, but a result of the past "haircut free" year and a half:

     I am suffering from a new kind of separation anxiety.  I am missing my long hair.  I recently had this brainstorm that compelled me to cut my nearly waist long hair and donate it.  I love(d) my long hair.  I have worn it long for the better part of the last twenty years. (I'm a bit backwards, folks.  I sported short hair in my youth and decided to grow it long when I was in my forties!) 

     Before leaving for my appointment, I held onto my long curly locks and bid them farewell.  Shortly thereafter, my hairdresser asked me, as she held my still attached ten inch braid in her hands, scissors perched, was I sure.  My hands were shaking, and my lips trembled.  Unable to speak, I solemnly shook my head yes. In one felt swoop, off it came.   My sorrow subsequently turned to joy, however, as I perused the Locks of Love website, knowing my sacrifice would help a child in need.  

     The next day, when I went to work, many people were shocked.  Some even did double takes when I walked in sporting  hair that barely covered my ears.  One friend indicated that cutting my hair "took ten years off".  "Wow", I replied, "now I look like I'm fifty!"  (I'm not sixty yet folks-just getting myself mentally prepared...)  And don't get me wrong.  I really did appreciate the compliment.

     In all seriousness, this is a great organization.  Please check it out:

http://www.locksoflove.org/

"Fall Semester 2014"

     I'm returning to school this week for the fall semester.  I suspect I should be in the Guinness Book of World Records for taking longer than anyone else in history to attain my Associate's Degree.  In reality-I'm just trying to hold onto my student discount until my senior citizen discount kicks in.

     The course I'm taking is "American Government and Politics".    Now, anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely despise politics.  Obviously, I don't have a choice, or I never would have chosen this class.  A number of people have expressed what an interesting class it will be.  I asked all three of them to take the class for me, but I didn't have any takers.  So alas, I will go in with an open mind and try to absorb all I can.  Two years ago, when I took Fiction and Film Studies, the theme of the course was-you guessed it-politics.  I was dismayed upon hearing that, but ultimately, I was pleasantly surprised.  We read and watched All the President's Men, & Primary Colors, and I truly enjoyed both.  We also viewed a classic film-Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.  I am hopeful that this upcoming course will go so well.  I doubt it will include movies, however...

"Malamute"

     So I'm back on that damned internet dating site-again!   What's wrong with this picture?  Am I a glutton for punishment?  For one thing, I know they manipulate the system, and consequently, me.  And I fall for it every time!  It never fails-when my membership is about to expire, the messages and page views  all but stop.  However, the minute my membership does expire, voila!  Tons of messages magically appear in my in-box.  Of course, I can't read them or even see who they are from unless I pay up.  Needless to say, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I fork over the dough.  The messages are always disappointing.  Almost exclusively, they are from people who do not have a photo displayed.  I suspect they are phantom members put in place by the site to entice fools like me.  Every time my membership is about to expire, I swear that I am going to call it quits.  I am lacking resolve on this issue, however.

     Quite frankly, in the last two years I've done very little dating and have spent an awful lot of money.  That is mainly because I am so fussy.  I am easily turned off by age (too young/too old), a look, a picture in a distasteful location (bar), or an offensive screen name.  Most of these guys do have screen names, some of which are downright revolting.  Others are original, some clever, or conversely, dumb, and some, shall we say-intriguing?  One fellow calls himself "malemute".  Now, I don't know if he is trying to say "Malamute" but doesn't know how to spell it (an automatic turnoff for me), or if he is a male who is "mute", which, as far as I am concerned, is the best kind.  I am attempting to come up with a discreet way of making that determination, as I spend another evening with the main man in my life-Buddy!

"Designer Dog"

      My neighbor recently purchased a gorgeous puppy, and I do mean gorgeous-with a capital G.  And yes, I do have puppy fever!

     The dog, however beautiful, is rather unusual looking.  He is on the small side, weighing in at no more than ten pounds.  He has long shaggy hair that is variegated shades of brown, and a rather long body.  I inquired about the breed, because, for one thing, I've never seen anything quite like him, and also, I've seen the dog's brother, and they look nothing alike.  In fact, the other dog has very short, dark brown hair, nearly black.  The only commonality is the somewhat extended torso.  Well, the exquisitely beautiful puppy is a Dorkie.  That is-a cross between a Dachshund and a Yorkie.  ( I find this kind scenario somewhat like mixing chocolate and cayenne pepper.  They too, mix unexpectedly well.  I don't know who thought either one up, but kudos to him or her anyway...)  Personally, I'm not crazy about either breed of dog, but the unusual mix  produces adorable pups, quite appealing, and with great potential of becoming  a second pet for me and Buddy.  I was discussing the puppy with my BFF, who is familiar with the breed.  She indicated to me that it is a "Designer Dog".  I had never heard the term, so I googled it.  A "Designer Dog" is a cross between two purebred dogs, and is distinctly, not a mutt.  A mutt is of uncertain ancestry, whereas a "Designer Dog" has documented purebred ancestry.  Curious as to where I could buy one, I googled that too.  One site I found indicated the following: "Designer Dogs Shipped Worldwide".  So, in this day and age, dogs are bred by design (and imagination) and shipped anywhere, rather like a mechanical toy dog that is built, stuffed in a box, and shipped to a toy store. What the fudge!?!?!?!  Gone are the days when your neighbor's mutt had an unplanned litter of puppies and they were farmed out to whomever wanted one.   That's how we always obtained our pups when I was growing up.  At that time, dogs were rarely "fixed", and were kept in the yard most of the time (hence the numerous unplanned pregnancies).  They ate one can of Alpo dog food per day, had annual rabies shots ministered by the city for free, and went to the Vet once or twice in their lifetime, most often when they were quite old...(I don't necessarily agree with all of that.  It's just how it was...)  I imagine I have really dated myself now, but I do long for the good old days, when life was so much simpler.  I think that, after I order  my  "Dorkie" online and receive him in the mail, I will pull down the shades, disconnect my Internet, and curl up on the couch with an old fashioned paperback book, my "Designer Dog" on my lap.