Lucie’s Buddha Belly is Outta Control!

 

All righty!

I just finished scarfing down a grilled, medium rare, quarter pound, grass-fed, angus ground beef (no hormones or antibiotics added!), cheese burger; loaded with sweet onions, home-grown tomatoes and lettuce, mustard, ketchup and mayo on a (Northern Ca.) Dutch Crunch roll with a freshly picked ear of white corn smothered in butter!

And I’m thinking that I sure as hell hope my doctor doesn’t read this week’s posting on my blog.

Cazzo!

My Buddha belly has gone berserk and is totally outta control.

I happened to be listening to Dr. Oz’s T.V. show today, while I was doing my daily wifely chores, and heard him mention something about asparagus being a really good food to eat to maintain weight (or some such health nonsense).

For some reason, though, my Buddha belly and I couldn’t get our head around grazing on a grilled asparagus sandwich, minus the Dutch Crunch roll and cheese, when we were already salivating on the strong possibilities of devouring a grilled, quarter-pounder, encapsulated in Havarti cheese, bedded-down on a Dutch Crutch roll.

No siree, Bob!

I may be from health-conscious California, but don’t be messing with my angus fed, cheese burgers.

I don’t care what people claim – a vegetarian/soy burger is not the same as a grass-fed, angus cheese burger!

And besides, People, if you really think about it, isn’t the grass (as in grass-fed angus beef) considered a type of vegetable?

MY logic certainly says it is.

It’s green.

It grows from the ground.

And individuals, on occasion, have been known to fertilize it.

Sounds like a vegetable to moi!

Now understand, People, I have no problem eating asparagus.

I just don’t personally view it as a suitable substitute for a grilled cheese burger.

Once I figured out, years ago, that the odiferous after effects of eating said vegetable weren’t indications of some God-forsaken  weird disease, especially concocted for curing closeted homosexuals teaching special needs children in Northern Ca, I actually started to enjoy the veggie – as long as it had a titch of mayo on it.

It wasn’t until years after I left upstate New York, and had one of my first teaching jobs in inner-city Oakland, that I naively discovered the lovely attributes of said vegetable.

As I was apprehensively walking out of our classroom bathroom, one day, after lunch, my loyal, and highly astute instructional assistant, says, “Girlfriend, you look like you’ve been rode hard and hung up to dry! Wuz up?”

Well,” I reluctantly and ever-so-anxiously start, “I don’t know how to delicately say this, but my urine has the most peculiar smell to it, and I’m not too sure what to make of it.”

“I think something is wrong – something is SERIOUSLY WRONG with me,” I emphatically continue.

Uh-Hun.

At this point, Lea Joy is doubled-over, coughing with laughter, while I’m skeptically staring at her with a raised left eye-brow that says, “Woman! Have you lost your mind, today?!”

Still laughing, but aware of the fact that I’m earnestly concerned with the situation, she slowly and thoughtfully composes herself, and says to me, “Girrrllll! This one of those peculiarities that’s special to YOU, or are all white people from upstate New York one tit short of an utter?!

Did I tell you that Lea Joy was a transplant from the South and had an uncanny ability, at times, to make an otherwise intelligent woman look (and feel!) quite stupid?

Yes-siree, Bob!

Din’t you just eat some spare-gus with your lunch today?” she continues between fits of laughter.

Un-Hun!

I learned a lot, that first year, working with Lea Joy in inner-city Oakland.

And I’ll always…..always be grateful and indebted to this dear, dear woman for taking on one, very naïve, dumb, (highly educated!) white woman from Upstate New York.

Have a great week, People, and may your day be filled with the joy and laughter that comes from knowing you may be one tit short of an utter, but thank goodness you’re not ME!

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

Advertisements

Lucie Needs a Program!

Alrighty!

This weekend the Princess and I were out shopping and I told her that I needed some more socks and undies.

Now for those of you that intimately know me, you know I’m OCD about good socks and underwear.

God forbid if my undies have a tiny hole in them or are “stretched out and baggy” in any way. I don’t mind wearing ratty sweatshirts and painted sweat pants, but I draw the line with baggy, holey underwear.

No siree, Bob.

And don’t start me on socks.

I DETEST stretched out, holey socks.

As I mentioned in one of my previous posts, I don’t do the “Pippi Longstocking” look.

Drives me batty when I see people walking around in public with flimsy, stretched-out sport socks flapping around their ankles.

Che schifo! (How disgusting!)

I don’t do “CHEAP, flimsy-looking” socks, either.

Especially sport socks.

And have you priced a pair of thorlo sport socks, lately, People? You need a second mortgage on your house, to purchase a pair.

I don’t have expensive clothing and jewelry, but if I get into an accident and get taken to the hospital, with my sport socks and undies still miraculously attached; at least the medics will be cutting into quality, well-made underwear and socks, to get to what’s remaining of my menopausal, puckered, (slightly) fluffy body parts.

So, anyway, I told the Princess that I needed some more of the Nike no show socks.

I didn’t like the look of the low cut socks that I was wearing with my new sneaks, and I needed more of the “no show” kind.

Uh-Hun.

So, the Princess gives me one of those “you gotta be kidding me looks” and sternly says, “Lucie, you’ve got 4 drawers of sport socks! You’re telling me you don’t have ANY low cut socks in those 4 drawers of socks?”

“No”, I innocently answer. “I didn’t say that. I said that I need more of the ‘no show’ kind.”

Uh-Hun.

“Lucie, she patiently responds, “I KNOW you’ve got the ‘no show’ kind. Have you gone through your sock drawers, lately?”

“Ma, che sei grullo! (How stupid are you?)” I answer.

“Who the hell has time to go through 4 drawers of socks to look for a particular kind of sock, for Pete’s sake?” I continue.

“I’m retired, not bored.”

Uh-Hun.

Well, I’m bored and decided to “organize my sock drawers” today, after buying 6 more pair of “no show” sport socks, People, and I shamefully stand before you a woman acutely in need of a sock intervention!

Yes, I can’t believe it, but I’m the Imelda Marcos of sport socks and desperately in need of an intervention program.

I’m sitting in the middle of 97 pair of multi-colored, various-styled sport socks that can be used for biking, hiking, skiing, snow shoeing, walking, gardening and a host of other activities, and have ONE (yes, you read correctly), ONE pair of nylons that I’ve had so long that I think they’re actually coming back into vogue, again.

Help!

Is there a 12-step recovery (sock) program for people like me?

Oh well, as my 99-year old Aunt Molly likes to say, “Cazzo, what ‘cha gonna do?”

Hope your 4th was filled with good food, the company of good friends, and much laughter.

Have a good week, People, and I’ll catch you next time, with another adventure, looking at life from MY shoes!

Boo’s a Pig! (or Maybe a Turkey! YOU Decide!)

Alrighty.

Boo slept through the night.

No yowling, hissing, growling, crying, chirps or caterwauling every 2 hours last night, so she can get fed.

No playing soccer with the pens, forks, plastic tape dispensers and other noisy items that we inadvertently forget to put away, and she knocks to the wooden floors to play with most nights.

And more importantly – no “jimmy legs” (a.k.a. “restless leg syndrome”) keeping me thrashing about in bed last night.

The Princess and I actually got to sleep like babies last night, and are feeling grand this morning; feeling just grand, don’t ‘cha know?

Uh-Hun.

“Right,” I’m suspiciously mumbling to myself.

Usually, I’m greeted by a yowling, tenacious, hungry Boo-Boo Kitty, as soon as she hears my feet hit the floor.

Today, though, I notice she’s nowhere near me and is actually quite contently sitting on the couch smugly licking her fat belly and paws.

I’m not  totally awake yet, but awake enough to know that “something’s not copasetic” with this cat, when I notice a slice of turkey meat, surreptitiously sticking out from the side of her cat dish.

Cazzo! (WTS!)

I look on the counter, and notice that when I went to bed last night, I inadvertently left-out the pound of sliced turkey, that I bought for the Princess’s lunches.

Cavola! (Holy crap!)

No wonder we slept through the night.

She fed herself!

Boo was chowing down on the expensive sliced turkey that I bought special for the Princess and we slept through her entire feast.

Madonna!

There’s only 4 slices left and the Princess already had her lunch made before she went to bed.

So, either the Princess made a sandwich with a pound of sliced turkey  in it, or this little bugger of a cat, licking her belly and paws, ate it!

Che Cazzo!

Oh well, at least she quietly took the slices out of the package and left 4 for the Princess.

What can I say? She’s a considerate cat!

Looks to me like she even used her cat dish to eat it in.

Who says cats aren’t discerning??

My little Boo Boo Kitty has class, which is more than I can say for her sister, Molly, who drinks with her PAWS!

It disgusts Boo and me, but like my 99 year old Aunt Molly always likes to say, “Cazzo! What ‘cha gonna do?”

I’ve got to go shopping, again, and stock up on more turkey meat, so I don’t hear any caterwauling or yowling from the Princess, when she sees she’s out of sandwich meat.

Have a grand day today, People!

Catch ya next time, looking at life from my shoes.