March 31, 2014 by gn0mel0ver

Keepin’ It Real March 2014

My brain seems to have turned to mush in the month of March. Is that how the saying for March goes? “March Madness” or March Mushiness”? I keep making foolish mistakes in my posts. I have been catching them before they actually go up (hopefully). But, for example, in two posts, I found these two sentences:

“The hotel also sent up a sweet gift of chocolate covered strawberries for are anniversary.”

” I thought this was the picture that best depicted the link of the skirt.”

I brought a $10 bill to dinner when I thought I had grabbed a $100. I have been making silly blunders. Everywhere in life. It is odd and I hope it ends in April!

In my Keepin’ It Real posts, I like to share things that went on in the month that I never got around to posting about. Or photo snafus. It is my monthly random (or at least, more random than usual) post:

I love the nail color I painted my nails this month. It is a gel nail finish. I will have to get them redone this Friday.

Photo outtakes.

A Murphy photo outtake.

Okay. Here is another one. He deserves it. He is quite ornery.

I have been reading this romantic fantasy book series as a wonderful escape.

I thought this was a funny item waiting in our hotel room bathroom at The Wynn hotel.

If I were to describe March in a sentence, I would say it was the month I became obsessed with Nutella.

Trader Joe’s has super cheap daffodils right now.

I was at a club with my friends and had to take a picture of the tile around the toilet. It was so unexpected and pretty. I want to do this in my master bathroom as the toilet is in a separate stall.

Have you tried a hamburger from The Habit? Oh. My. Gosh. Yum! : )

Found a new italian restaurant in town that makes their pasta from scratch. Mmmm. So good!

We have an authentic wood burning Italian pizza place right around the corner from us. The pizza is amazing. My son and husband have started adding french fries to half of their pizza and declared it the best thing ever. I tried it and it is surprisingly good. Have you tried french fries on your pizza?

My son is a gentle soul. We have long since learned that rough sports are not for him. He also did not like the yelling involved in martial arts. So, we found his thing in golf.

I love to go with him to his lessons. It is so peaceful. I thought this tree branch looked like an evil hand trying to pluck the hawk from the sky.

Have you ever read Jenny from The Bloggess’ recount of the time she purchased a five foot tall rusty rooster? If not, here it is. She does curse. This does not bother me. But I thought I should add that before you click over. However, she is the funniest person. Ever.

Anyway, in honor of her, I had to snap a picture of this huge rusty rooster I found whilst driving around. Again, there are so many people in this world I must meet!

What was something cool you saw or tried this month? Please share!

March 18, 2014 by gn0mel0ver

The Time I Met A Fairy Tale

I am about to tell you a tale.

It is up to you to decide what to make of it.

Everything in this story is true.

And for the past seventeen years there have been moments where I have questioned the validity of my memory. Thankfully, it has remained the same after all of these long years. However, it does not make the story any less strange:

When I was nineteen I worked as a hostess at a little steak restaurant in town. The owners were a really cool laid-back couple in their thirties. Every girl that worked in the joint had a crush on the owner. We’ll just call him Derek*. He had long dark wavy hair that caressed the collar of his button-down cowboy shirt (the type of buttons that snap… And unsnap quickly, if you get my drift), a Brad Pitt smile, brown gleaming eyes, the sexiest whisper of a voice, and he wore his jeans well. Sorry for all of the sordid details. I wanted to get the details right for the story’s sake, of course.

Well, actually, Derek had nothing to do with the story, but I thought it would be fun to throw him in. For my your dreams tonight. It will make the story I am telling a little less disturbing.

You’re welcome.

So, there I was. At the hostess counter. The restaurant was extremely busy. The bar was full. We were operating on a short staff. We had an hour and a half wait. And us two hostesses were being swarmed with customers. Hungry customers, who after ten minutes into their hour and a half wait, would be coming up to us demanding to know where they were on the list. This wouldn’t be so bad if just one person did it, but it seemed that many folks parading around under the title of “adult” were terrible at time management.

And would come up every ten minutes to check our magic list. Because time must work differently on it.

This is why we always gave a wait time longer than we expected it to be. And, beside each name, the time we had given them to expect to wait was written.

That’s a little hostess trick I’m givin’ ya. And my second gift in this post.

Again, you’re welcome.

I might have also been slightly irritated that the white crayon I had been whittling with a steak knife had had to be put away to deal with the crowd. And also why today, there is one less whittler and one less crayon sculpture in the world.

This is where my gifts to you end.

Somehow, in the midst of all of this, in through the crowd, stalked a short little old man.

He is the center of our story.

He was as real as you and me.

He had a long white beard. A face full of leathered wrinkles. A large hawk nose. Beady little eyes. And a scowl larger than the whole of his entire body.

He also could not have been taller than five feet. In my memory he was as tall as the bottom of my rib cage, but that seems entirely impossible. And so for you I say, “under five feet.” In my head I say, “as tall as my rib cage.” You may choose to believe whichever you choose. It is just a small part of the story. He was not a “little person” as we know them today. He was just a very short…Very grumpy…Very odd little old ~~imp~~ man.

He came up to the hostess booth and asked me how long the wait would be. I asked him if he was by himself (this is because parties of one are quicker to seat). He was.

I told him his wait would be an hour.

Then I asked him for his name.

And he told me.

And I stared at him.

I asked him again.

And he told me.

And I laughed.

I could not believe it. It was the best joke of the night.

The little old man’s cheeks flushed red with anger. In my memory, he stomped his wee feet. But this is the part I think I might have exaggerated. For this story’s sake, though, we will say he stomped his feet in a mad little rage. He asked me why I was laughing.

And this is what I said, “Your name. Why, that can’t possibly be your name!”

He just stared at me. And stared at me. Until I picked up my pen.

“Okay. How do you spell that?” I inquired. It was at this point I began to suspect he was quite serious. And it was at this point I began to wonder if the air in the restaurant had been drugged.

“R-U-M-P-E-L-S-T-I-L-T-S-K-I-N,” he sharply spelled out, all the while giving me a stare that would have shriveled straw.

“Okay, Rumpelstiltskin. I will call you when your table is ready.”

The little old man stalked off towards the bar.

Our hostess desk continued to be bombarded. And I put the strange man out of my head for a time.

Until his name was the next to he called.

“Rumplestiltskin, your table is ready.”

No answer.

Snickers from the impatient crowd.

Two more times I called his name and two more times there was no answer.

For the last time, I said, “Final call for Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestiltskin, this is your final call.”

I never imagined that those words would be uttered from my lips.

I really never imagined any of the situation would have have occurred to me.

And that it would indeed be not an imagination.

Rumplestiltskin never did answer my call.

Maybe he had heard we had a magic list at that hostess desk and he was disappointed to learn the truth of it.

I think he left, because he was upset that he told me his name.

Either that, or the fact, that I cannot spin straw.

But it is definitely one of those two.

There really is no other explanation.

My having laughed at the poor man being entirely out of the mix.

* Derek is the only part of this story that is made up. The name, that is. The man, well, he was oh so real.

Sweet dreams.

P.S. This absurd and 100% true account was written for The Daily Post’s Weekly Writing Challenge: Power Of Names.

February 18, 2014 by gn0mel0ver

“Oh”

I was thinking the other night of stories. As I often do. Alone in the dark. Mind racing.

The night was dominated by Silence. It became a casual audience to the rustling of my inner thoughts.

And I remembered a story my mother once told me of helping an old lady with her groceries. But the thing with stories, is there is often more than one variation of the same happenstance. I happened to be there for this story. In my version, seen from the eyes of a child, I remember my mother hopping out of the car. This was after one our trips to get my sister her bee shots. I am sure we still had the remains of chocolate croissants on our breath.

I vaguely remember there being an elderly lady. And something happened that had my mother and grandmother crying with laughter all of the way home. I believe my mother was helping the older woman with her groceries. The lady did not want help. My mother insisted. When she went to give the woman back her groceries, she handed them to her unevenly weighted. The poor old lady fell over. I am sure she appreciated the help. As a child, I just remember it being scary. My mother jumping out of the car. The unfamiliar neighborhoods. The energy of the city. A living breathing terrifying thing to a country girl.

As I lay awake, I thought, I will just have to ask my grandmother her side of the story. I had heard it before. But I loved to hear her tell it, because it always invoked big gales of laughter.

And then I remembered that I could not ask my grandma. The time for questions has passed. The big weight of the words “never again” settled down into my chest at the same moment my heart realized what was happening and bellowed out the word, “OH.” But it felt like “OHHHHHHHHHHH.”

When your heart speaks, you must listen. It is usually the mute organ in all of your orchestra of feelings. Which is funny if you stop to think about it, because it is the only organ we ever really hear. The constant, “bumping” a distant reminder of its baritone of melody.

It rarely speaks. It aches. It twinges. It might fall or drop. It might even break. But speaking is rare. It is not the most articulate of body parts. Usually just making one syllable words. Its favorites being, “Why?” “No.” “Yes.” “Stay.” “Go.” “Please.” But tonight it simply said, “Oh!” It was surprised. And then it wasn’t. All the words I was feeling wrapped up into those two letters.

My body quivered with the weight of the words in the dark. The echo of my heart’s last cry still vibrating through my body. Through my soul. My heart began to “bump” once more. But it was with a sadness. A funeral drum.

“Oh.” My soul simply said. “Oh.”

My tears answered their chorus as they ran down my cheeks and hit my pillow. Pit. Pat. Pit. Pat. They performed a solo symphony of their own.

Silence bowed and stayed heavily by my side through the stillness of the night. Only moving to rustle the covers. Or hum with the fan in the evening air.

My broken choir lay in a wet weeping mess.

Each instrument felt broken. Ruined. The strings severed. The keys twisted. This particular song would never be played again. At least in the chord of memory that had shattered my being that night.

Yet Silence still quietly applauded. For its favorite tune is sadness. It is when Itself can actually be heard.

Only the broken hearted can hear it.

And learn to call its name.

“Oh.”

* This was written in response to The Daily Posts Weekly Writing Prompt, “The Sound of Silence.”

February 1, 2014 by gn0mel0ver

Overheard in January 2014

January is over. It is now time to post all of the conversations I have heard this month that are interesting. This month was also unique in that I saw quite a few facial expressions that could have spoken a thousand words. Such as this one:

The man behind me at Trader Joe’s. I honestly did not notice he only had two items. If I had, I would have let him go in front of me. Always.

But I did not notice until the cashier was halfway through ringing up my items. I apologized, twice, but only got a tight lipped smile. Then, and this is the best part, as I was loading up my car, I saw him jump onto a motorbike and slip onto his head a Star Wars X-Wing Fighter helmet. I guess I was making him late for fighting The Empire.

I was at Trader Joe’s and I was listening to the cashier behind me exclaim over the food that was in the woman in her lane’s cart.

“Oh I love this!”

“This is so good.”

“I’m eating this for lunch. Today.”

“This brand is the best!”

Then she laughed and said sweetly to the woman whose food she had been admiring, “Your palate and my palate are friends.”

My sister banged her elbow on a table. Her son (my sweet almost three years old nephew) came over to give it a kiss to make her feel better.

When she told him thank you and that he indeed had made her feel better, he replied, “It’s all part of the job, Mom.”

So cute.

My husband and I were at Costco. We were browsing the books. You might not know this, but, um, we don’t have enough of them.

There was an elderly couple leafing through a hardcover book next to me.

The husband said to his wife, “Let’s check. Nope. No pictures. I all ready have this book on my Kindle. There’s no point in buying the paper copy if it ain’t got no pictures.”

I never thought of it that way before. I thought it was amusing. But now I wonder, has there really ever been such a thing? A paperback copy different from the Kindle version?

This story was told to my husband this week. Thankfully he doesn’t make it a point to hang out in men’s restrooms. The story is so good. I just have to share it:

My husband’s coworker was in the restroom at a pizza parlor with his buddy. They had finished their business and were washing their hands.

My husband’s coworker started drying his hands with one of those new Dyson hand dryers.

He commented to his buddy, “I have got to get one of these for my house!”

Just then another man also finished his business.

He walked by them towards the door, without stopping to wash his hands.

So the coworker said to his buddy, “Or I guess I could just not wash my hands.” And you can probably imagine the tone and conjecture that was used there.

The man left, but came back one minute later. I guess it took him that long to figure it out. Let’s also take a moment to notice that they are still standing there admiring the hand dryer.

The man approached my husband’s coworker and said, “Do you have a problem with me not washing my hands?”

This is where we must also pause to visualize this actually happening in a men’s restroom. And this conversation actually taking place. And we must chuckle.

Okay. Moving on.

My husband’s coworker responded, “Well, actually, yes I do have a problem with it. You just went to the bathroom and then you touched that door on your way out. Then you touched that door again on your way back in. Now I am going to have to touch that door when I leave. It’s disgusting.”

The man said, “Well, what do you want to do about it? Take this outside?”

My husband’s coworker responded, “Sure. But you’ve got to wash your hands first.”

The man got flustered and left.

I will now never not wonder if a hand washing fight is breaking out in a men’s restroom whenever I walk by one.

I watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I know. I know. I have cut all of the rest of them out. Although, I might watch the New York version. The drama and just extreme petty nonsense gets to be much too much. But I love the New York setting.

Anyway, this week, my husband took me to a nice relaxing romantic lunch. While we were sitting, an extremely loud woman decided to take it upon herself to recount the previous episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I heard all of this from five tables away.

This will probably only amuse you if you watch the show. I condensed the conversation quite a bit.

“Oh my gosh! Did you like see the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills last night?”

Without waiting for a reply. In fact, there was not another person who dared to speak at that eight party table during her entire monologue.

“It was like the best episode of my whole entire life.

There is like a whole new cast this season.

Taylor is gone. She like left with a lawyer. But, like Lisa is still on and she is like fighting with Brandy.

There is a new girl, Carlton. She’s like English, too. But like she is not classy like Lisa. All she says is, ‘Bloody Hell.’ Oh, and she is like totally a witch. I know, right.

So, her and Joyce, this other like new girl. She has like really long hair and anyway she like told Carlton she didn’t believe in witchcraft.

And then Carlton went off on her.

And Brandy like held up her hand and was like, ‘Oh my gosh. Carlton just cast a spell on Joyce.’

But then like Joyce told Carlton she just like wanted to live her life in peace. And she didn’t believe in like that stuff.

So Joyce went home. And they like cut to next week’s episode and Joyce’s husband got totally sick that night! And not like real sick. But like sick sick. And like she is totally going to confront Carlton about casting a spell on her.”

This is where she like totally paused for breath and I like totally started listening to my like husband.

At a winery, I watched a mother who had brought her two year old to the winery (and yes, there were long moments of screaming throughout the tasting room) make her two year old stand outside the doors and wave good bye to the winery.

“Say good bye to the winery.”

“NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“We’re not leaving until you say, ‘good bye’ to the winery.”

“Grbe. Enery.” Big wave while holding a giant Mickey Mouse doll.

Don’t judge.

That’s how I say good bye to wineries, too.

Did you overhear anything good this month? Are you ready for February?

Gnome Lover

Stumbling through life while still having fun

2014

Keepin’ It Real March 2014

The Time I Met A Fairy Tale

“Oh”

Overheard in January 2014