Ha ha, two posts in the same day. It is so like me to jump in with both feet and then fizzle quickly. I will try to avoid the latter but, only time will really tell.
I just put the left over dinner in the fridge. It was so yummy today. I made stuffed yellow and red peppers. They were so good. I filled them with sausage, spices, onions, zucchini, Gorgonzola, mozzarella, Romano and Parmesan cheeses with just a touch of tomato sauce. I tucked the filling lovingly  into each halved pepper and laid them in a bed of yet more tomato sauce. Topping each capacious little pepper with Alfredo sauce and yet another layer of cheese I set them in my preheated oven and let the little beauties bake until the tops were golden brown and delicious. And delicious they were my friends...delicious they were.

The Elderly

What is it about older women? They (or we as the case may soon be) must feel at a certain age it is ok to just say whatever comes to mind and not bother with silly things like someone's feelings.

Imagine, if you will, an outdoor setting. Its a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the flowers are blooming, the breeze is cool and sweet. We are all enjoying a lovely meal prepared by some loving person's hands. A meal for which some older ladies had time and mind to join in. Plates prepared for them by none other than myself. I hear some droll voices behind me to find Old bag #1.

"Your hair looks like its a bad hair day"
Then as if she is stuck on some groundhogs day, mind numbing, skipping recording, she states again and again and again;
"Your hair looks like its a bad hair day."

All of this coming from an old lady whose own hair looks akin to Frankenstein. Brushed down on all sides and in the front. Granted the offending hair was pink and on the head of a punky teenager but, really??

I have a head full of words but none shall escape my lips to keep the status quo. I desire to have her keep her old impressions and fundamental beliefs in her dusty and moth eaten head. I bid her not allow them escape her rotting, corpse-like, toothless, dentured, stinging orifice. No I wont say, excuse me decrepit crypt keeping bitty from my nightmares, but you are in no position to be judging anyone and really you are only one "oops I accidentally pushed you" away from a broken hip. Keep the yap shut before it is shut for you. No I won't say that. I won't say it because I am not a horrible old lady who cares not about how she is perceived. I can keep vile from spewing out of my mouth. I am a lady.

Old bag #2 wasn't much better. An old lady, about the same age as the first sitting prim and proper awaiting unsuspecting passers-by to be taken aback by her "candor". I lean in to join a discussion to be met with,
"You should go on a diet, You don't want to get any bigger than you already are!"

Again the lips out of which so mush could fall upon her head, utter nothing. The utterance of such things might be the end of such an enfeebled creature. The ears of an archaic, crumbling, geriatric, antediluvian woman might find my thoughts on her opinion frightful. The fact that I am happy with the way I look might be enough to send her to the ground. I won't verbalize my disdain for the importance she places on weight. I refuse to imply she is bitter and alone because of an inability to keep such comments to herself. I am met with yet another gem,
"You are a great big beautiful doll."

I am assuming this is an attempt to redeem herself or to feign some thought for my feelings. I mean she is obviously oblivious that calling someone "great big" is never a compliment. To avoid unleashing something vitriol, I simply nod my head, chalk it up to old age, and walk away.

tinkle tinkle little stall

Time and again, it becomes necessary to use a public toilet. I have some reservation about using said toilets because I am not delighted by the notion that I have no control over the cleanliness of said toilet or who has been sitting on it. I will go to some very serious lengths to avoid the mere thought of using a public toilet because I hate them so very much.

It has happened to me that it has been unavoidable to use such facilities and I have given in to using them to avoid using my own pants as an alternative. I always find the experience disgusting but there have also been times I have been super grateful for their existence. On the whole though, I find that its always pretty much the same. Even if it is a "clean" bathroom.

You walk in. The smell of other peoples bums mingled with disinfectant and moldy paper towels hits you in the face. If you are unfortunate, a line awaits you. Some other people who's butts you are surely to smell. A line, you must wait in until a "room" opens up and you are allowed to sit on the previous occupant's warmth. If you are fortunate, no line so then, anxiety over which stall to peek into bubbles up. Will it be empty of debris? Will there be a floater??

You finally decide on a stall and enter, shutting behind you the door that almost entirely conceals your soon to be naked butt. Droplets on the seat, are they tinkle? Are they "spray" from an industrial strength toilet flush? Where are the latex gloves? Or, should I just put 20 paper toilet seat covers on top of them and hope? Hope that the toilet is not self flushing so your seat covers are sucked down into the toilet just as you get your pants down far enough to hover over them thus spraying your naked butt with "water" all while the person next to you is plopping. Come on, courtesy flush! You hope that puddle is......water? Someone farts. Someone tries the door. Someone is having a phone conversation. IS that puddle water? Does that foot thing mean the same thing in a woman's bathroom? The nightmare is complete.

You hurry to wash your hands and hope you can use a towel to touch the door handle. (because not everyone does wash) eeeewww

I will avoid unless I can not. In which case, I will cringe and bear it.

Ode to a sink scrubber

I was on the phone with my mother, the other day, while I was driving home from the gym. We were engaged in polite conversation and I inquired as to the happenings of her day. She replied that she had merely gone to the store. I asked what she had purchased at the store to which she responded that she had "only" gotten a new sink scrubber and that it was not that exciting.
"oh I don't know about that Mom" was my hasty reply.
A new sink scrubber, if your old one is disgusting, can be quite exciting and revitalizing. A new zeal for cleaning can be achieved when one trades in an old scrubber, bristles bent and matted together, rubber grip starting to come loose. The one last bit of food, stuck amongst its bristles, encaged by them so that no matter how many times you put it through the dish washer or spray it with the nozzle of the faucet, pick at it with some utensil, or soak it in the sink, is never coming out. The discoloration from the multiple times it has been used to scrub tomato based sauce from pots and pans or the sheer hopelessness of trying, unsuccessfully, to use it to loosen grime from a casserole dish can drive one to drink.
But a new one, a scrubber so bright and fresh with the enticing promise of a scrub done well, no smashed bristles or bit of food, no funny smell or discoloration. Its a revelation. A new scrubber is in no way "only" anything.................................. if your old scrubber is disgusting.
So enjoy it Mom! I hope it is all you would hope it could be!!!!
oh and Happy Mother's Day Mom! Your the best!