Upgrade time...

This is my old faithful Canon digital camera.  It has 8 mega pixels and takes pretty good photographs.  It's also the last birthday gift my soon-to-be ex-husband gave me and I realized that I thought about him nearly every time I used it.  Silly, I know, but there you have it.  And since he's apparently decided that it's time for an upgrade, I thought an upgrade was in order, too.

Meet my new friend: Canon PowerShot SX130.  He has 12 mega pixels and a 12x zoom lens.  I resisted the temptation to go with the popular Canon Rebel because I don't really have the need for a DSLR camera.  The point and shoot with automatic settings is just perfect for me and my little blogs.  And for photos of Aggie, Peter and our cozy nest.  The best part was a really reasonable price since the newer model is about to be released - more mega pixels, I guess.  You really can tell a difference in the image quality; the top photo was taken with the new camera and the bottom photo with the old one (obviously!).  I haven't had a lot of time to do much experimenting, but soon.  If Aggie and Pete would only sit still!

The paper avalanche...

has begun!  My gang of disorganized, self-employed male clients has begun to drop off their annual bags of crap.  I have fervently hoped, in vain it would appear, that their organizational skills would improve over time, especially when I return their bags of crap all neatly organized into labeled envelopes and file folders.  But alas, that has not happened.  And, if it did, what would they need me for?  So I plan to spend my weekend, sorting through said bags and trying to make sense of their scribbled notes, wadded up receipts and piles of invoices.  At least they're arriving earlier this year...

Just one of those days...

"Deep Down" is a song on Pam Tillis' album All of this Love.

I know exactly what she means.

There's a new cast of characters...

in my head and they're spooky.  Well, not spooky, but Spooks as this show is known on the BBC.  MI-5 is one of the series you can watch for free on AmazonPrime - so obsessive compulsive that I am, I started with Season 1, Episode 1 and last night I just watched Season 7, Episode 6.  Yes, it's habit-forming.  One of the startling things about it, as opposed to American television, is that pivotal characters are killed off with alarming regularity.  Peter Firth is great as Sir Harry Pearce, the head of the British secret service and he is assisted in all things technical and espionage-related by Malcolm Wynn-Jones, played by an adorable Hugh Simon.  I am much more enamored of the older British gentlemen than I am the young ones, but then that's just me.  Matthew Macfayden of Pride & Prejudice fame (he was Mr. Darcy - not as good a Mr. Darcy as Colin Firth, but not bad) is Tom Quinn, the initial protagonist of the story.  He eventually suffers from spy game burnout and is replaced by MI-6 officer Adam Carter, played by Rupert Penry-Jones.  Adam has way too much angst to suit me - but who wouldn't, what with all the personal trials and tribulations he encounters.  When he's blown up by an IRA car bomb, leadership of Section D is taken over by Ros Myers - a super-spy with ice water flowing through her veins.  Can you tell I've really gotten into this show?  Anyhow, Richard Armitage has just joined the team as Lucas North - a spy who has come in from the cold, as it were in all his mysterious, blue-eyed, baritone glory.  And no, he's not as old as Harry or Malcolm, but he has great potential.  Seriously though, if you like the espionage genre of mysteries, check this out.  The last two seasons (9 and 10) are not available online yet, but I am hoping at least Season 9 will be by the time I finish watching Season 8.  Season 10 - the final series of the show - just concluded on the BBC, so I am sure it will be a while before I'll be watching that one.

And wondering: will Harry and Ruth ever get together?

Don't you just love it...

when people make a generalized statement that is completely erroneous?  One of my clients just tried to convince me that there are no good-looking men named George out there.  Has she never seen this guy?  I told her she must live under a rock because I could think of more than a couple hunky Georges just off the top of my head - no research required.

George Eads of CSI fame...

The perennially tan and preternaturally well-preserved George Hamilton...

George Peppard - hasn't she ever seen Breakfast at Tiffany's or even the A-Team?

George Strait...

A young, handsome George HW Bush.  He even aged into a handsome older gentleman.

And well, he may be slightly goofy, but he's another nice-looking George, too.  I'm just saying.

NCIS...

I love Leroy Jethro Gibbs.  It’s too bad he’s not a real person.  He’s kind, caring, smart, patriotic, steadfast and strong – not to mention seriously good-looking, even with that jarhead haircut.  And he’s been known to shoot bad guys in the ass.  What more could anyone want in a man?

Say cheese...

or pronounce gruyere, specifically.  I didn't argue with the guy in the Publix deli about it, but I am pretty sure I was right.  I like Stewart and he loves his job - that's one reason why I like Publix so much.  Happy employees.  Well, except for the Crispers employee who murdered his manager, but I think there were some extenuating circumstances.  But I digress...  I've discovered gruyere cheese.  And I love it.  I don't, however, love the price.  A couple of weeks ago I tried the new holiday sub for lunch: turkey, bacon, cranberry sauce and gruyere cheese.  Interesting combination - but a little dry.

I've been working on my own rendition.

I love cheese.  Real cheese - not the processed stuff.  My husband was raised on Velveeta and Kraft singles - and the only mac & cheese he would eat was Kraft Dinner - the cheesiest.  I admit that I have nothing against Kraft dinner - it will do in a pinch, but I like the real stuff.  The only cheese Tim would eat on a sandwich was yellow stuff wrapped in plastic - or swiss cheese.  He decreed that all other cheese was too strong.  Would someone explain to me how swiss cheese isn't strong in flavor?  I mean, I don't like sharp cheddar so much, but to my palate, open to more cheese flavor than Tim's, swiss cheese is fairly strong.  Anyhow, he did get so he would eat provolone, but only if it wasn't too smoky.  Now that I am on my own, I've been more adventurous with my grilled cheese sandwiches: havarti, colby, edam, monterey jack, muenster, gouda, pepper jack, asiago - if you can slice it, I've tried some on a sandwich.

I haven't been disappointed yet.

And so I have pondered making macaroni and cheese for Thanksgiving with a luscious pound of smoked gruyere.  Which would cost about as much as a turkey - and wouldn't look like a dead bird.  If Squanto had known more about pasta and less about hunting wild birds, the Pilgrims might have whipped up a big pan of mac & cheese and the whole Thanksgiving turkey thing would be a moot point.  I can almost taste the creamy, smoky, gooey flavor of melted cheese and al dente pasta right now...

Or how about a gruyere and tomato tart?  The possibilities are almost mind-boggling - until I try another cheese I like better.

10 Reasons to watch Tooth Fairy...

1.  The Rock

2.  Julie Andrews as the Head Tooth Fairy

3.  Hockey

4.  Billy Crystal's hilarious self

5.  It's a wholesome family movie

6.  Cool special effects

7. More hockey

8.  The Rock - did I already say that?

9.  Tracy the Training Fairy

10.  Hockey

More on the whole hockey thing tomorrow...

The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day...

also known as Wednesday - and it's only getting worse.  If that can even possibly happen.  I feel like Alexander from the old Judith Viorst book (thank you, Judith for the blog post title!) - did you ever read it when you were a kid?  Thinking about that book is about the only thing that has kept me from bursting into tears today - and over a computer!  Honestly, I could just puke.  Something somehow ate my Outlook pst file - and now all of my calendar, contacts, tasks and emails are gone.  I have struggled mightily to even find the hidden file where all of the data is stored!  Once I did manage to find the thing - thanks to help from a client's computer nerd buddy - I am unable to repair it because my MS Office installation is lacking the file needed and I don't have the disk - Tim does.  And while I am sure he doesn't have the disk with him, he is also not patient at all with me when providing computer assistance.  He acts like I am the village idiot even though I actually possess an above-average IQ - and well, I admit that he pisses me off a little when he does that.  Consequently, computer support sessions in which both of us participate do not go well.  At all.  I am at the point where I realize that I am going to have to break down and pay for a utility program that specifically scans and repairs my pst file - which, come to find out, is a problem when your file grows to over 2 gigbytes in size, which mine apparently has.  I haven't thrown anything and my computer has not moved from its spot on my desk, so I am at least trying to remain calm.

Trying.  Really trying.

Since I am partial to dorky men...

like Ray Romano, Vince Vaughan, Ben Stiller - you get the picture - in the movies and in real life,

it only  makes sense that I would enjoy

because Kevin James is about as dorky as they come.  And he's very endearing.  I used to watch The King of Queens even though my husband hated it and I really though Carrie was a terrible witch.  I loved Doug and Arthur.  Oh, and Spence and Danny.  Deacon's wife was almost as bad as Carrie!  Anyhow - if you haven't seen Paul Blart: Mall Cop - and if you love a lighthearted comedy with absolutely no redeeming social value, then this movie is for you.  No profanity, no nudity, nothing suggestive - just funny.  

Aggie and I give it five kernels of popcorn.

Some people...

just don't have a filter in their brains to regulate what potentially hurtful things they say to other people.  Whatever comes into their minds just comes right out of their mouths.  Actually, I know several people like that.  But tonight I was talking to Tim's aunt in Pennsylvania who, for some inexplicable reason, said to me, "Hey, did you hear that Tim's getting married?"  I replied, "Tim who?"  She hesitated a minute.  "You know, your Tim."  Notice her brain made her hesitate only after she had let the cat out the bag, so to speak.  Needless to say, I was taken aback because I am not sure how he can marry someone else when he is still legally married to me, but I am in uncharted waters here.  I've only been married once, so this whole divorce thing is new to me.  I haven't seen nor have I signed any papers.  When I had collected myself, I asked who he was marrying.  "Oh, someone in Erie," she told me.  I asked where she had gotten her information.  She said that her cousin had told her - the same cousin (and her husband) that Tim stayed with when he first went to work in Erie almost two years ago.  When she realized that I was shocked, she apologized and said that she thought I knew.  I mean, who would bother to tell me?  It's true - the wife is always the last to know.  I also thought I was all cried out and that nothing that happened would hurt me anymore, but I was wrong.  It isn't that I held out any hope of Tim wanting to come back, or that I even want him to, it's just that I thought he might have the decency to tell me to my face that he really does want a divorce and that he has found someone else.  Men just don't get it - we may not want to hear the truth if a pair of jeans really does make our butts look fat - but we actually do want to hear the truth about what's really going on in a relationship.

A new career...

I think I am going to start a therapy practice, or at the very least an advice coulmn for love-worn, I mean lovelorn women.  I have a friend (I tend to adopt stray people) who needs to learn that a woman can be complete without a man.  I knew that before I married my husband and I still know it fifteen years later now that he's taken leave of his senses and called it quits.  On second thought, maybe I'm not one to dole out relationship advice...  Anyhow, my friend is a recovering alcoholic.  She's in her mid-forties and has been sober for ten years.  I think that's a wonderful accomplishment and I'm proud of her.  She hasn't, however, learned to make good choices about men.  Number one, she's not willing to date men her own age or older.  Number two, she thinks the only place to meet men is AA.  I've tried to make suggestions about other acceptable places to meet appropriate men, but so far she's not listening.  About three months ago, she started gushing about this guy she'd met (at AA - where else?) and how she wanted me to see him.  "See him?" I said.  "It's not like you want my opinion on a puppy you want to adopt."  She's very superficial when it comes to men - number one on her list of requirements for a man is "hot and sexy."  Therein lies her problem, which I have told her on many occasions.  I mean, when the initial attraction is gone, doesn't she want to have a conversation?  Apparently not.  So for the past several months, all I've heard is about how hot this guy is, how attracted she is to him, he has tattoos and how she just knows that he is the one for her.  By the way, she's 46 and he's 28.  "You're old enough to be that boy's mama," I said to her.  They've been dating: coffee at Starbucks, sunset walks on the beach, a drive-in movie.  But until the other night, she hadn't introduced him to anyone outside AA.  I asked her why she didn't introduce him to her cousin (she lives with him) and she quickly said, "No!  Jack would freak out."  I should have known right then that in her heart that she knew that this guy was wrong for her.  Her cousin is a nice, normal guy about my age and I thought, uh-oh, if Jack wouldn't like this guy...  So what does she do?  She wants me to meet Mr. Wonderful.  I wasn't too enthused, but she's my friend and well, I will have to say that I was curious about just what kind of guy she is terminally attracted to.  So I suggested that we meet at my client Cari's little restaurant.  Safety in the familiar, right?  After all the hype, I'm expecting Brad Pitt or at the very least a Woody Harrelson type (sorry, Woody - you're just not my kind of guy) but I was completely unprepared for the guy who walked through the door and sat down at our table.  Okay, I am sort of a judgmental person and I admit it, but I am not superficial.  I don't care what anyone looks like as long as they are decent, nice, kind, smart or funny.  But this guy - how can I describe him?  Think Aryan Nation white supremacist meets Deliverance.  Black, rotten teeth and all.  Yes,that about sums it up.  And not smart.  At all.  A walk through the ocean of his soul would scarcely get your feet wet.  But was I speechless?  No.  When I am completely freaked out, my mouth runs a mile a minute.  I looked at Cari and got a What the hell? look and a seriously raised eyebrow.  Dinner was interminably long and I couldn't wait to get out of there.  The worst part was when three of Cari's regulars came in to place a take-out order.  You could feel the tension as this guy crossed his arms and glared at these black gentlemen. I was mortified - and even my friend now seemed uncomfortable.  I got Cari's attention and asked for our checks.  Not only did this guy not thank my friend for dinner, he basically just walked out without saying anything at all.  Which was fine by me - I was all talked out by then anyway.  I waited a few minutes, hoping to avoid witnessing a PDA outside the restaurant and then headed for my car.  Before I could unlock the door, my phone rang.  It was my friend.  Yikes!  The moment of truth had arrived.  "What did you think?" she asked.  Does a true friend answer truthfully?  I hesitated and then said, "You do know that those are prison tats, right?"  She was quiet for a minute and then said, "How did you know?"  I guess she really didn't know the difference between artistic ink and a prison tattoo.  I mean, this guy even had a small spade tattooed under his right eye like a teardrop!  If that alone didn't say prison...  She admitted that she could sense everyone in the room staring at this guy; she hadn't really been out in public with him until that evening.  Not that good people don't sometimes end up in prison for stupid mistakes - or that people who've been incarcerated don't turn their lives around - but this guy had attitude and a scary demeanor.  And that whole freaky white supremacist thing.  Scared the crap out of me, that's for sure.

Better with age...

just like Sean Connery, don't you think?  We are having a Sam Elliott film festival at my house right now.  Last night Aggie and I watched Road House for the umpteenth time.  Who could even think Patrick Swayze, may he rest in peace, was even worthy of second look with Sam Elliott around?  The best part of that whole movie was Sam Elliott dancing in the diner with Kelly Lynch.  When she walks away, he's leaning over with that look on his face and says, "That girl has altogether too many brains to have an ass like that."  The quintessential Elliott.  We watched Ghost Rider on Thursday night - I'm not a Nicholas Cage fan, but any movie with Sam Elliott in it, even for a minute, is worth watching.  I've always wondered if he's as nice as he is seriously good-looking - and well, sexy.  It might just be the voice, but he's got that whole silver hair thing going on too.  And the mustache.  And that look.  You know the one.  Sigh.

And that is all I have to say about that...

Remember the saying: The customer is always right?  Wrong.  Maybe I'm just in a perverse mood today, or it could have something to do with the fact that I do not suffer fools gladly, but I have just made a unilateral executive decision and instituted a new company policy:  I am right until satisfactorily proven wrong by any pain-in-the-ass customer.  Contrary to current popular belief, there is only one correct answer to a simple, one W2 tax return for a single person with no itemized deductions.  It does not matter where you go or who prepares your tax return, the tax tables, standard deductions, personal exemptions and new Making Work Pay credit are all the same.  If my software says you're getting back a paltry $600 (as if $600 isn't a windfall these days!), then so will the software at any other reputable tax preparation firm.  If the software didn't all calculate the same results given the same variables, then it wouldn't be certified by the IRS.  It's as simple as that - yet people who are looking for free money want to argue and refund shop.  I almost lost it today with a particularly annoying fellow, who incidentally was born six years after I graduated from college, who wanted to know how long I'd been doing this and if I was sure about his refund.  He said he was going to go somewhere else and see if he could get more money.  I wished him luck.  And don't let the door smack you in the butt on the way out.  I swear, if he comes back I am telling him to get out and shove his $40 up his bum, buck by buck.  I have a feeling my new client price is going to be short-lived - or will only apply at my discretion for normal people who really need some help.  That's why it doesn't suck being the boss.

An affair to remember...

or don't I wish... I was sick all weekend - I don't know if it was the flu or just a miserable sinus problem, but I didn't leave the apartment all day Saturday or Sunday. The dogs and I ended up having a western film festival: we watched The Shadow Riders, The Long Riders, Quigley Down Under, Conagher, Monte Walsh, Silverado - well, you get the picture. And I had this epiphany - I've been in love with Tom Selleck for almost thirty years! If only our paths had crossed... I always liked Magnum, PI but I think he makes an even better cowboy. And a movie with him and Sam Elliott as cowboys is twice as good! Anyway, there's nothing like Tom Selleck (and his gun and his horse) in all his technicolor glory to cheer you up when you're feelin' poorly!

What was I thinking?

I've been sorting through stuff from storage to take to the Salvation Army and I made the mistake of opening this box of cards and notes from Tim that I've saved over the years. This afternoon was not very productive, to say the least. I don't know what I was thinking! I'm going home to read a book or watch a movie to take my mind off things. I hope tomorrow is a better day - I was proud of myself for doing relatively well. Oh well - these things can't be helped, I guess. As my friend Heather and I remind each other frequently: It is what it is.

Today is the first day...

of the rest of my life, or so I told myself this morning as I trekked up the sidewalk from my apartment to my SUV. Get in, turn the key and while the dang thing started, it refused to keep running. So, I called AAA and asked for roadside assistance. "Is it your battery or do you need a tow truck?" asked the oh-so-polite-had-to-be-a-blonde on the other end of the line. I replied that I did not know, but I was fairly sure it wasn't the battery or the alternator, since the car started and the battery was showing charged on the meter on the dashboard. Well, thirty minutes later a battery man arrived and when I described the symptoms, he called a tow truck. Another thirty minutes and I now know that God does indeed have a sense of humor - a one-armed man driving a tow truck appeared and tentatively diagnosed the problem as a security issue with the alarm system. Mind you, this SUV does not have an alarm, but I did not want to argue. Actually, I was more fascinated with how that guy was going to manage to get that enormous SUV on the tow truck. I needn't have worried because he did just fine and I should be ashamed of myself for thinking that his handicap would stand in the way of his doing his job, but I am possessed of a warped sense of humor and I couldn't help myself. I mean, I couldn't have gotten the SUV even remotely lined up to get it on the truck - who am I kidding? I am sure I've been punished for my negative thoughts with the ever-skyrocketing repair bill. Karma, you know.

Speaking of karma, or whatever you want to call it, there is a reason why today was the first day of the rest of my life. First of all, it's September 1st and the first day of a month is always a good day for new beginning. Secondly, I've barely been coherent or able to function like a productive adult since last Tuesday morning, when my husband decided to rip my heart out and hand it to me. He does not want to be married anymore. Consequently, I am not moving to Pennsylvania or anywhere else. Tim has successfully adopted out (with the help of a family who owns a farm) all but six of our cats: Eddie, Sophie, Lucie Bee, Walter, Louie and Berny. I desperately want to bring my fourteen-year-old cat Eddie back home to Florida, but I don't hold out much hope of that happening. Apparently everyone who meets him wants to adopt him - but I've had Eddie around longer than Tim and I just can't give Eddie up. Something told me back in January that I should keep Eddie here with me, but I didn't do it because he's the head boy and the other cats loved him. He was the leader of the pack.
So anyway, I gave myself until this morning to get it together and well, you can imagine how that went. First the car problem - my friend Richard came and picked me up at the condo - we had planned to sort out junk at the office that I could either put on craigslist for sale or take to Goodwill - and then the day just sort of went downhill from there. We went to the storage unit - that tightly-packed abomination you can see above - to take pictures of my table and some other stuff, but after surveying the mess, we decided that we need to get some of the junk out of there first, so in a week or so I'm going to lead an expedition to the wilds of unit E41 and put stuff bound for the office in my friend Long's van and stuff for Goodwill in the back of my SUV. I think we can clean it out twice as fast that way and then I can take pictures of the big stuff that I plan to divest myself of since I won't be moving away.

That is some bad paragraph - and I fancy myself a writer... But you get the gist of this post - my goal today was to get it together (as best I can) and start moving on. I think I made a pretty good start - at least I have some kind of plan. I know this isn't going to be easy, but then, whose life really is?

End of an era...

Well, it's official - I threw my monkey pajamas away today. They were totally worn out and completely unsalvagable. I love pajamas. I have cat pajamas, jammies with clouds, a celestial print, pajamas with hearts and shamrocks, dog pjs, Christmas pajamas - even Halloween. But the monkeys - well, they were my all time favorites. And here's why: Tim and his movie lines. I need to explain. Shortly after we were married, Tim and I started going to the movies every Saturday afternoon. On July 3, 1996, we saw Independence Day and Eraser. Both great movies - and some memorable movie lines. A couple of weeks later, we were in Tampa and saw Multiplicity with Michael Keaton. Anyhow, you know how he clones himself to get more done and ends up with a clone who is a total guy and a clone who is really in touch with his feminine side. Well, the clones end up cloning the total guy and they get they total retard. Of course, I was amazed at how accurately the clones summed up all the aspects of a typical man's personality - but I digress... Anyhow, the third clone does stuff like folding pizza up and putting it in his wallet and calling people by the wrong name - but he does have some great lines, like "She touched my peppy" and "Did you bring me a monkey?" Needless to say, the "Did you bring me a monkey?" line has gotten repeated around our house (and airports) for the past thirteen years at opportune moments. Hence, the monkey pajamas - and other monkey gifts over the years. In fact, Curious George rides around in the back seat of my SUV, along with Jerome the sock monkey and several other monkeys of the stuffed variety. In fact, I got my first monkey many years ago - even before I knew Tim. I'm going to miss those pajamas.