One of Lucie’s Brighter Ideas…..Not!!!

OK, People, so whoever said that wisdom comes with age?

 

I never did, that’s for damn sure!

 

Life in draught-stricken Northern CA., lately, has been “drier than popcorn farts and warmer than 2 rabbits screwin’ in a wool sock”, as my Uncle Tony likes to say.

 

So, the Princess and I decided that a trip to see family in the flyover state of fry sauce and minivans (a.k.a. Utah) was in order and stupidly decide that snowshoeing and skiing is a perfect choice for two, menopausal women sportin’ fluffy midriffs.

 

After all, we haven’t snowshoed in a month of Sundays and I haven’t skied in forever and a day, but far be it for me to stop the infamous “Lucy and Ethel twosome” from pursuing outside activities to keep them fit and feeling alive.

 

So, the Princess, my brothers, their wives and my sister all joined me and a family friend on the beautiful slopes of Brighton Ski Resort for a day of outdoor fun and family bonding.

 

Un-Hun.

 

Yep. That’s how it started out, anyhow.

 

Had I known that this “bonding” would have involved a ski trip down “Hell’s Alley” and some serious negotiations with The Man, himself, I would have opted for another way to “bond”.

 

Far be it for me, though, to be labeled a “poor sport” or worse yet, a “candy ass”.

 

We get to the resort bright and early in the morning with the Princess in tow, so she can hang out at the lodge and play “ski bunny” for the day, and four of the seven of us head out to hit the slopes and start some kick-ass skiing for the day.

 

The last thing I remember telling my brother, sister-in-law and sister before sliding off the intermediate chair lift was,

“Don’t lose me. This is my first run of the day and I don’t know where the hell I’m going!”

 

(My fat, dimpled knees and Buddha belly are shaking like a teenager after a six-pack of Red Bull, as I’m eye-balling the ginormous slope that lay in front of me, and I begin to wonder if this is gonna be the LAST of my bucket list items that gets checked off, and not my FIRST!)

 

Uh-Hun.

 

Guess my belly and knees took too long to look at the slope, because the next thing I know, my brother and sister-in-law are swooshing their way out of sight and I never see them again until lunchtime.

 

 

My sister, Carmela (who also hasn’t skied in a month of Sundays) and I, cautiously start our way down the mountain and somehow end up on a slope that has one too many moguls on it to be an intermediate trail.

 

Being the older (and, of course, wiser!) sister that I am, I suggest we stop and look at our map to see if there’s a “trail for old ladies”.

 

Un-Hun.

 

The Last Exit for Paradise and Senior Citizens was about 50 yards behind us, and unless we wanted to be doing some heavy duty mountain climbing with our skis on, we’d best “put on our big boy pants”, ‘cuz we had some serious moguls to “whup”.

 

I look at the map one more time, while trying to stop my knees from wobbling so violently, and yell to my sister (who’s behind me) that we’re on a trail called, “Oh My, Oh My,” and I’m aptly thinking, “Oh Sh-T! Oh Sh-T!”

 

If I’m reading the slope correctly (and map!), I do believe we’re on a black diamond (expert) trail.

 

Carmela, being one of my Mother’s brighter children, looks down the mountain and astutely replies, “No sh-t, Sherlock! Ya think maybe the name of the trail would have given you the FIRST clue?!”

 

Have I told you that my family (and in-laws) all has a keen sense of humor like mine?

 

Most of us have been to therapy for such humor and paid handsomely for it, but far be it for us not to relapse, on occasion, during certain stressful situations.

 

I continue looking down the mountain and quickly conclude that this is one of those “each man for himself” kind of moments and decide my Buddha butt and I are taking the “coward’s way down”.

 

So, I point my skis down the slope, take off down the side of the moguls and end up on my butt in a cloud of snow that frightens the bejeebers outta my sister and sends me into 3 quick “Hail Mary’s” and an “Our Father” praying that Jesus sends us help in the form of a ski angel.

 

Thankfully, my sister didn’t arrive at the same (each man for himself) conclusion and comes to assist my snow-entombed, Buddha butt.

 

 

We miraculously get off the diamond trail and are skiing on an intermediate one, when I stop for a minute to catch my breath, and happen to look up just in time to see that my sister has inadvertently stopped at the bottom of a snow boarder’s jump.

 

Madonna!

 

Before I can mutter a word of warning to her, I see a snow boarder come flying like a bat outta hell (over her head) from behind her!

 

Suddenly, as I’m witnessing what I think is my sister’s last stand, everything goes into slow motion and I think: “Oh my God! My sister just got stamped “Return to Sender” and is headed for the infamous “Pine Condo Estates”!

 

Thankfully, she doesn’t have time to react, and the guy hits the jump and goes whizzing past her, missing her by inches.

 

Cazzo!

 

We’re not even down the mountain on our first run of the day and both of us almost go home feet first.

 

At this point, I’m thinkin’, “Screw the 100 bucks it cost me today to check off this bucket list item! I’m finding the Princess and sucking down some hot toddies for the rest of the morning, until my family catches up with me for lunch!”

 

Playing ski bunny with the Princess and sipping hot cocoa (laced with Bailey’s Irish Cream) sounds good to me and my banged-up, bruised, Buddha butt.

 

Try not to do anything stupid today, People, and God willing, I’ll catch ya next week for another adventure looking at life from my shoes!

 

 

 

I’ll take my California Scramble, Basted, Please!

I knew years ago, as a 12-year-old writing in my diary, that I “wasn’t normal”.

 

I tried real hard to be “like everyone else”.

 

Inevitably, though, I was the kid whose parents always wanted their “psycho kids” to play with, and other kids incontrovertibly found just plain “weird” and avoided like the plague.

 

I haven’t a clue as to why.

 

I thought I looked just as sytlin’ as everyone else did in their lime- green fishnet stockings and white, pleather, go-go boots.

 

But go figure.

 

So, it shouldn’t surprise me (at this age) that weird stuff happens to me on a daily basis.

 

This past weekend, the Princess and I met one of our good friends for breakfast at one of her local breakfast joints on the Peninsula.

 

Unlike other times when I order, I decided to make it easy on the clerk taking my request and choose something directly from the menu.

 

I didn’t want anything “on the side”, “without anything added” or (God forbid!) “on a separate dish”.

 

I just wanted their California Egg SCRAMBLE.

 

Simple enough, right?

 

Uh-Hun.

 

After waiting forever and a day in line at this joint, I get up to the clerk, politely greet her, and place, what I think is a very simple order.

 

“I’ll take your California Egg SCRAMBLE, with a glass of water, please,” I politely tell the clerk while reading directly from the menu that I have in my hand.

 

“How do you want your eggs?” she responds.

 

“Over easy? Sunny side up? Basted? Or Poached?”

 

I know I’m a little hard of hearing in the one ear and I have (on occasion) mistakenly  read the wrong item on a menu, but I know I told the young woman that I wanted a “California SCRAMBLE”.

 

So I give her one of my infamous, Ms. Benedetti raised left eyebrow looks, that basically says, “WTS are you talking about?”

 

She’s a quick read and correctly interprets my facial expression and emphatically (and ever so slowly) responds with, “Ma’am, people like their eggs prepared differently. Some people like them scrambled. Some people like them over easy. And some people like them poached”.

 

“So (long pause), how do you want yours?” she scornfully continues.

 

Not wanting to create a scene and conscious of everyone impatiently waiting behind me, I politely respond, “Thank you for graciously pointing that out to me. I’m sorry. Could you please give me a California SCRAMBLE, scrambled, please?”

 

The Princess, who is waiting in line behind me, and badly in need of her morning caffeine fix impatiently mumbles under her breath, “Lucie, for Chriminy sakes, I thought you were gonna order something simple this morning? What’s the problem? People need their morning coffee before lunchtime, ya know?! Just order some pancakes and eggs and if they put your eggs on top of the pancakes, I’ll give you MY plate for your eggs, so you can have your eggs SEPARATE from your pancakes! Just order, already!!!!”

 

Madonna!

 

I thought the whole lot of them was wacked on Saturday morning (including my testy partner), but apparently, I was being my usual inconsiderate personage.

 

Shoot me for being such a demanding customer. I actually thought a California SCRAMBLE, came SCRAMBLED!

 

But what do I know? I wore lime-green fishnet stockings, as a 12- year-old, and have never been what others call, “normal”, don’t ‘cha know?

 

God forbid I actually ordered pancakes and eggs and asked for a separate dish for my eggs! I have in past breakfast outings, and, as the Princess and my friends will attest to, they haven’t been some of our more pleasurable breakfasts, to say the least.

 

What can I say? I’m a purist. I don’t like my egg yolk on my pancakes.

 

Like my pancakes with just butter and syrup, don’t cha know, and strongly dislike egg yolk co-mingling with my blue-germs and blueberry compote.

 

Go out and have a good one today, People!

 

And remember, we’re all a little “weird” sometimes. Some of us just more so than others.

 

Catch ya next time looking at life from my shoes!

Hillary’s Femininity – A plus or a minus for the next election?

OK, People!

I’m not one to watch the TV show, “The View”, that often, but yesterday while I was waiting for my nasty oatmeal to become the texture of a more palatable, wall-paper paste, I turned on the tele to see what the girls on “The View” were up to since Barbara Wawa departed.

As I’m stirring my congealed oats (that have now become an appealing texture of sidewalk concrete), and  adding some apple sauce to it, so my Buddha belly can actually stomach the pig slop of healthy oats and flax seed that my Doctor considers a healthier alternative to my personal choice (and all time favorite!) of New York bagels, scrambled eggs and bacon; I  hear the discussion turn to Hillary Clinton’s announcement (surprise! surprise!) that she’s running for president in 2016.

The comments were rather mundane and innocuous and everyone was being relatively non-committal, considering each of the co-hosts are staunch defenders of their individual political parties.

I then hear little Candace Cameron-Bure (of D.J. Tanner’s, “Full House” fame) make some kind of comment about how she hopes Hillary doesn’t hide her femininity during this presidential run, as opposed to the last time she ran, and I start choking on my oatmeal!!!!

Cavolo!!

Did sweet, innocent D.J. Tanner just say something so totally sexist and stupid that I just choked on my oats, or is my “bad ear” not correctly hearing things?

Nope.

My bad ear heard just fine!

Uh-Hun.

So, am I to assume Ms. Cameron-Brue is concerned with Hillary’s ability to state her political agenda on the economy, world affairs, environmental issues, etc. with her legs closed while seated and her hands in her lap with her legs crossed at her ankles?

Or does she want to make sure that Hillary knows how to correctly use her “pinky finger,” whilst holding a cup of tea and answering questions related to the current ISIS crisis?

Please D.J., clarify yourself!

It’s important for me to know this when I go to vote for my next president.

The last election had me (and a number of my friends and relatives) very concerned with how the candidates “opened doors” for their female relatives and constituents.

And I don’t know about you all, but I certainly don’t want a female president leading this country unless she’s comfortable “being a female” and knows “her place/role” in society.

Who cares what this woman thinks about education, the economy, immigration, energy, the environment, equality, world affairs, etc.?!

It’s decidedly important that when she’s answering questions dealing with these topics that she looks sweet and nurturing and damn well doesn’t chew with her mouth open!

Seriously?!

Is that what educated, enlightened individuals are looking for in their next president?!

Take me, Sweet Jesus, to those pearly gates in the heavens, ‘cuz if that’s what mainstream society is looking for in a president for next election, then my sorry ass is in MAJOR trouble!

Go out and have a good one today, People!

And vote for whom you wanna vote for come election time in your city, state, or country.

I don’t care.

I just sure as hell hope, when you vote, you don’t judge someone by how they “sit in their saddle” and “drink their cup of tea”.

But what do I know?

I’m a fat, old, gay woman with a Buddha belly who hasn’t ridden “side saddle” in as many years as I am old!

Catch ya next week, looking at life from my shoes!

Lucie and the Princess head for Snow Country!

In February of this year, the Princess and I decided that draught-stricken, sunny California’s mottos of “if it’s yellow, let it mellow” and “if it’s brown, flush it down” needed a rest and we needed to head for a state not overly concerned with how many times you showered and flushed your toilet.

 

The two of us decide that some outdoor fun in Utah is the perfect anecdote for two, outta shape, Buddha belly old farts needing to clear out the old cobwebs of our menopausal minds and bodies.

 

After all, the Princess has been avoiding her company’s infamous elevator and climbing 60 stairs every day to get to her office, and I’ve been walking 30 minutes a day in the neighborhood.

 

(I’d say both our Buddha bellies were in kick-ass shape and ready to do some serious damage on those mountains!)

 

As luck would have it, we start our trip getting stuck in a traffic nightmare on the way to the airport that has the Princess using her iPhone every 3 minutes for updates on traffic that only gets worse with each passing minute, and gives me major back spasms that coincide with said traffic reports being disseminated by something called WAVE or WAZ or WTS on her nifty, new iPhone.

 

I’m not the “techie” in the family and have no idea who or what the Princess is “communicating with” – I’m just trying like hell to avoid playing “bumper cars” with the BMW-drivin’, butt-head on the side of me who’s decided that he wants to sit in traffic in front of me, instead of on the side of me.

 

So, while I’m busy racing with Mario Andretti going 2 miles per hour, something (or someone) on her iPhone, named Siri or Sherri (or who the hell knows what!), annoyingly keeps informing us to avoid the roadways that we were currently using and to absolutely not (under any condition!) use the bridge we were idling on – not, not, not!!!

 

At this point, I’m ready to test “Sherri’s” ability to swim the SF Bay, and the Princess instinctively and protectively decides that maybe we need to shut her up and discreetly slides her nifty, new (soon to be drowned) iPhone into her purse.

 

Noticing my obvious stress with the fact that we are more than likely to miss our scheduled flight time, she decides that a little diplomacy and soothing reassurance are the way to go and lovingly (and calmly) states, “Hun, it’s no big deal if we miss the plane. We book a hotel for the evening by the airport and we fly out in the morning. No biggy. Relax, ok?”

 

“Yep, “ I’m thinking to myself.

 

“That’s certainly a comforting suggestion. Just what I want to do with my limited retirement monies – spend an arm and a leg on a hotel “sleeping” in a city known more for it’s criminal activities than it’s lovely skylines and sunny, warm beaches.”

 

“Uh-Hun.”

 

As luck would have it, OUR plane was late landing, so everything worked out and we make it to SLC – late, a little tired and full of jelly bellies and Cheez-its, but none the worse for wear.

 

No biggy.

 

These two Buddha bellies are doing some kick ass snow shoeing up Donut Falls in the morning and the jelly bellies and Cheez-Its will serve us well as nutritional supplements for the day.

 

Yes–siree!

 

That’s exactly what I was thinking, the next day, as I watched the Princess pirouette over the front of her snowshoes, do an aerial that would make even Alisa Camplin (the Australian aerial skier who won gold at the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympic Games) jealous, and end up with a full, frontal face-plant in the snow bank.

 

Yep! Those damn jelly bellies!

 

(She should have stuck with just Cheez-Its. At least she would have had some protein from the cheese in the crackers.)

 

I don’t know whom I felt sorrier for – the Princess with her face buried in the snow bank or my shocked, dumbfounded sister-in-law looking down at her and wondering what the shit just happened?

 

It was something that even I (with my uncanny ability to weave a story) cannot accurately describe to an unsuspecting reader.

 

Let’s just say that the Princess is somewhat of an “athlete wannabe” with the heart of a lion, but the midriff of a Crescent Dough Girl, and that it wasn’t a sight for the faint of heart.

 

Oh well.

 

We may be old and slightly “fluffy” in the midriff section, but far be it for anyone to ever tell us that we can’t do something that maybe we shouldn’t be doing!

 

Life is good in our shoes today, People.

 

Be kind to one another and remember: It’s not always HOW we do things in life, but simply that we show up and TRY

 

Catch ya next time for another adventure looking at life from my shoes.