My Universal Mischief Rod......

I had a friend who swore I had a "universal mischief rod".....she claimed funny stuff always found me....as if the universe threw out amusing odd situations.....which headed straight for me.

Fortunately, my mischief rod was dormant the day I did my recording for NPR (perhaps the fizzy red wine dampened it) because I can honestly say everything seemed to go well. I was less nervous than last year....and I had a wonderful producer. He seemed genuinely into my story. He made me repeat lines and monitored the "energy level" in my voice...as well as my mispronunciations. He let a few of my Chicago dropped th's and s pass..."for color".....but he absolutely disliked the way I said "perfume".....so much so....that at the end of the session...he made me practice saying "perfume" and then recorded me saying it 5 times...so he could replace good perfumes with my bad perfumes in the essay.

But if the mischief rod was dormant yesterday......it was on full power today as I made my way back home.

I knew something was up when I hit security at the airport. I had placed my bag and my purse on the conveyor belt....went through the metal detector and looked for my bag.....the security person waved a manager over to peer at the screen.

"Oh shit," I thought,"what could I have put in my overnight bag? " Too much shampoo? A suspicious hairbrush? The manager nodded to the security guard and off we went to the stainless steel operating room table at the end of the line for an inspection. The woman looked very serious....and was headed for something specific.

She pulled out my little silky nightgown with the cute dancing bears..... my black panties...and my black lacy bra.....and my small bag of cosmetics.... everything spread out and on display so all the other passengers could walk by and smile.........and then she found what she was looking for a green plastic bag....I could see her eyes sparkle....

"You're looking for my cheese?"

Her eyes narrowed......yes apparently my speciality hunk of cheese I had bought at the gourmet deli....was the offending item.

"It can look deceptive." That's all she said....she returned my underwear and my nightgown and my cheese back to my bag. Who knew cheese could be dangerous....or even deceptive? Perhaps they were afraid my Holland Gouda was pretending to be Swiss?

My Deceptive Cheese

~

When I arrived home.....I found my next surprise....but it was a good surprise. My block and my house had been transformed...all the dogwood trees had bloomed and the azaleas were beginning to open....A few days ago nothing was open....and now it was like a fairy village... with all the little trees like white clouds and all the shocking colors of the azaleas.

For this surprise I was grateful....it made up for the last surprise of my day.

The doorbell rang. It was the new woman postal carrier. She looked like she had seen a ghost.....but it was worse than that....."You've got a snake in your mailbox." I was going to ask her if she was kidding but I could see by her face she was not.

"What kind?" She didn't know. I'll save my snake stories for some other day....but let's just say they still make me scream....and for self-defense I have learned about local snakes....because we have Copperheads....aggressive beautiful venomous snakes that will bite you.

We gathered at the mailbox and looked........sure enough under the flap...there was a snake inside. She pulled the flashlight out of her car....we could see its eyes....and I wasn't happy to see a triangular-shaped snout...which is common with Copperheads....my son brought over the hose and we tried to flush it out....no success.

I waved the postal lady on....and stood there pissed ....looking at my snake.....oh I wasn't angry the snake was there....it was actually a clever hiding place....but I was angry because from now till winter.....every time I go check the mail....I'll wonder if a snake is going to jump out of the mailbox!

Hub came to the rescue and put foamy insulation in the gap.....the snake might still be able to get in that space.....but he was not going to be able to stick his head out....at least I hope he can't....

Where a Snake Can Hide in Your Mail box.

So now I'm going to have a snack of deceptive cheese and probably head off to the post office because I have some bills to mail....and if you think I'm sticking my hand in the mailbox at night......uh huh....because if my universal mischief rod is working....who knows what will happen.

~~~

Sex in the Bookstore.....the End of My Day.

The After-Church crowd has arrived. It will be non-stop busyness until I leave in a couple of hours.

I race up to the cashier stand to leave a book for a customer and find Claire managing a cash register. Customers usually come in waves to purchase books....and this must be a dip. I pick up a Cosmo and wave it at her. "Have your read this......10 new all time incredible sex secrets....right here Claire....waiting for you on your lunch break." I wink at her and smile. She laughs and shakes her head at me. "How about 10 tricks for hot hot sex??" courtesy of Men's Health. (Men's magazines are more inclined to use the word HOT...whereas women's magazine are more prone to SECRETS.) She shakes her head again and waves me off....I return to info chuckling.

Popular magazines always have a feature article or two on sex each month. The real kicker is....they find at least 10-20 sex secrets a month. That's a lot of sex secrets. You have to wonder if there's some conspiracy to hide sex information....since there are so many secrets....and who....who is storing all these secrets? Is there some underground vault in Nevada where sex secrets are hidden and doled out per month? Is there some secret society, much like something from out of the Da Vinci Code, which hides and protects sex secrets and carefully releases a few every month? By my rough calculations.....20 sex secrets a month x12 months....means magazines "discover" at least 240 sex secrets per year....and since I feel as a bookseller and a woman it's my duty to stay a breast of this information.......it means I've been exposed to over 1200 sex secrets since I've worked at the book store! Factor in all the Kama Sutras, sex tips, sex books, sex manuals I've shelved....I should be a sex expert!!

In fact, sometimes I think I am. Many times when I work, my book selling partner may be a guy....so women...who are looking for sex anthologies, sex information, or relationship books often seek me out. I have recommendations in sex anthologies ....and I've read the Mars/Venus thing... Why Men love Bitches....and He's Not Into You books too.....and I can do a fair job of recommending books based on your level of experience and where you want to advance to in your sex life. I think part of my comfort with sex comes from my nursing background...especially since I worked in cardiac nursing... before a patient could be discharged we had to address sex issues, activities levels, and exertion levels....we also had to remind certain heart patients to limit their sexual experiences to their wives post-heart attack.

I also think I'm just one of those people....who is comfortable with sex. In college, I choose to teach basic contraception as my senior nursing project. Planned Parenthood loaned me their little black suitcase....which contained condoms, IUD's, birth control pills, etc. I taught impromptu classes in our dorm...opening my little suitcase of contraceptive wonders....and explaining how to use them......I felt like I was providing a service to my fellow dormies......and it wasn't uncommon for someone to come to my room privately to ask me a question.

Unfortunately, my sex education days were limited. A Resident Advisor of the dorm...called the nursing department chair....to inform her I was teaching contraception....(a no-no for a Catholic university)....and I was asked to return the "suitcase." I did....but I asked Planned Parenthood for a few supplies and till I graduated.....I kept a little stash of items....in case someone needed them.

As I said, women usually come up to me in the bookstore.....but on a rare occasion a man might ask for help....usually it's because his wife/lover/girlfriend has sent him to the store for a specific title which he's suppose to retrieve and bring home. A few months ago.....a very handsome man came up to me and asked me for a copy of "The Secret Garden." The Secret Garden is an old classic children's book....I checked the computer to see how many copies we had....and then led him to the children's department. When I handed him the book, he looked horrified.

"Isn't this the book you want?"

"I don't think so."

I look at him. He looks at me. Then it hits me.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHH.........you mean MY Secret Garden."

"Do I?"

"Yes you do....."

I lead him to the sexuality section...take The Secret Garden out of his hands and replace it with a copy of My Secret Garden....the classic erotic fantasy book written in the 1970's. Apparently, a ground breaker in female sexual fantasy at the time...it's now considered tame by Internet standards.

"I think this is it." He grins.

"Have fun."

I watch him walk off and sigh.....hey...this is a great job.......sending off a tall, dark handsome man with a sex book and a smile........

Someone is going to be very very happy tonight.

~~~

My Life as a Bookseller....part 4

"You're an idiot, is there anyone else around who might be competent?"

I'm holding the phone to my ear. I can feel my heart hammering. It's amazing how in a few seconds, the shot-in-the-dark insult, can affect your heart so quickly.

I have three choices at this point: fight (nasty comment back), flight(hang up) or savoir-faire.

"I'm the only person at Information right now so it appears you'll have to take my word on this."


The phone clicks.

He was looking for Quick Claim Deed Forms. We don't carry them. Had he been a decent guy, I would have given him an online suggestion. But he wasn't a nice guy; so he'd have to figure this out for himself.

Although I've been in retail for 5 years now, I'm impressed how an insult affects me. I feel like I'm punctured......and now all the negatives of my past week....swarm around this wound....like hornets round a can of soda in summer. Mis-communication with someone, self-doubt, a small hurt....they all play ring-a-round-the-Rosy over the wound.

The next two customers receive extraordinary service. I practically carry them to the check-out counter..... but the insult still sticks....as if it has it's own length-of-stay criteria....no matter what I try to do to forget it.

"Do you ever feel bad for a long time after a customer insults you?" Claire nods. She's an extraordinarily calm and self-assured young woman and I'm a surprised insults stick to her too. She identifies with the punctured-feeling. Kathy does too. I actually feel a little better knowing other people feel the whiplash from insults. I wonder if customers who lash out ever release how this stuff sticks....and perhaps it sticks more because we are strangers.....if I was arguing with a family member or friend...we would kiss and make-up and he/she would say......"Of course you're not an idiot".....but there's no reaffirmation with a stranger, no one who comes and places a band-aid over the wound.

It's break time and time for spiritual medicine. I head towards Self-Improvement and grab one of my favorite books..."How to be Happy, dammit." It's a little Buddhist-positive thinking-affirmation-new age-philosophy-type book. I'm so fond of this book...it makes me chuckle...just to hold it.

It's a book with a history....and you gotta love a book with a personal history.... A couple years ago when I was in Minnesota, I had this really bad day. I remember it so well.....an uber pile-up of misery...as if the universe was playing mad scientist and said...."Let's experiment....how much can she take?"

I had a friend, who was having emotional problems, she started screaming at me in the middle of a restaurant when I suggested she needed professional help. I left. On my way back to the hotel, I escaped a major car crash on the icy freeway by literally a few inches. Safe in my room, I opened my laptop and found an extremely painful email. I staggered to the chair and fell into it.

"Ouch." I had sat on a plastic bag with this book and a trinket I bought for my daughter. I opened the book and read for hours....just kept turning the pages over and over again.....almost afraid to look up and away from the book.......until I could fall asleep. Sometimes the key to surviving emotional trauma....is the blessing of sleep.

" Lesson #24....When you become calm and serene on the inside, the world becomes more calm and serene on the outside. Your enemies=your teachers. Your failure=your wisdom. Your undesired endings=your desirable beginnings....." and so on and so on.

As break time ends..... I see a red Cosmo book on sex positions laying on the table across from me. I open and study and laugh and think.....there are way toooo many positions in this book where you have to be up-side down.

Back at information, the Sunday Transvestite passes the counter. A 6'4" man/woman with a long frosted wig, arched eyebrows so high and perfect it looks like she used a jar lid to trace the shape, black skirt, black suit jacket, fluffy white blouse.....good heels......and god love her/him.....46 DDDDDD implants/or bra? Oh honey, I think....you could be such a good looking man/woman if you kept it down to a D or DD........because really DDDDDD is just way too much....even for a bookstore.




(Bookseller names/fiction...Booksellers/real)

My LIfe as a Bookseller.....Part 2

It's 9 am and the manager unlocks the door. Already the chess guys (a couple of guys with boards and clocks) and newspaper people (people who run in to buy the New York Times) are waiting and looking at their watches.

I find Martha Stewart's newest household hint bible out of place and hidden on a lower shelf. I guess everyone has their weak spots....guys hide Playboys....and professional women (?) secretly scan Martha's hints?

I like to take a random peek inside books as I take them back to their proper places. So I flip the bible open and find this helpful suggestion for hospitable living,

" I like to keep a basket of slippers by the door for guests."

This stops me in the aisle. I read it again. There's even a picture of slippers in a wicker basket. Now this is why you gotta love working in a bookstore. Did I know it's in supreme good taste to have slippers in a basket for my guests? Obviously, I have missed some kind of boat, a slipper boat, a look-at-how-cool-I -am-boat.

And what kind of slippers would I buy for my guests? Terry cloth ones with an embroidered logo like you would see in a fine hotel? Dark felt ones that shout...Gina is so classy she's making you wear Millionaire-type togs? Listen..... if I ever had a basket of slippers for my guests....I would fill it with furry Elmos, huge Bart Simpson heads and of course the traditional lion, tiger and kitten heads. At least this way, slipper-picking would be like a personality test for your guest....a tall handsome man choosing kitten head slippers could mean....I'm good looking but warm and loving, I'm gay, or my mommy would never buy me these when I was little.

The phones start ringing and the first person is looking for "The Secret." Yes, this new Oprah mentioned book is hot on the sales list and long gone from our bookstore. I feel a tiny ittty bitty urgent to be snotty and say something like "Well we don't have the book, but I'll tell you what the secret is.....drink raw eggs in a cup of coffee twice a day.....or never waste your money on books trying to tell you secrets." But I'm nice...it's too early...to be mentally snotty.....and I need to save my energy for the rest of the day.

Mental snottiness is an art. When you first start in retail....you actually care and hurt every time a customer treats you poorly. But with time, you learn to protect yourself from unreasonable, silly, obnoxious people by telling the customer off mentally....while you smile sweetly. At first, just like a child learning to read, new people in retail might move their lips. They're youngsters and still learning. But pros like us....who have been in retail for at least three years....can smile and say to you....."Oh let me see what I can do for you".....while we are mentally saying....."YOU big ugly jerk....you festering pustule of a human being.....you ......." Well you get my drift.

Just last week, I was in a store and complaining about something when I RECOGNIZED the smile I was GETTING. Hmmmm.....I had to do a quick assessment to see if I was being a jerk.

A nice soccer-looking mom comes up to the information desk with a scribbled note in hand. "I'm looking for......Thighs on Fire." I don't even raise an eyebrow. Sounds like a sexuality book....I'm way cool with that...and type it in.....in a business-like manner.

"Did you mean....Set his thighs on fire: 86 red hot lessons?" I look up from the computer and the woman has turned white. OOOPs.....she mustn't have the right title.

"Okay....let me help you find the right book." Her embarrassment is so palpable I want to pat her hand and say honey its alright....it's between you and me."

"Tell me more about the book you're looking for........" Through a jumble of clues....I finally get the right book....Edie: Girl on Fire.....the story of one of Andy Warhol's cosmopolitan friends that died at age 28 from a fast life. The woman is relieved.

A customer asks me a question about a magazine and I head for the stacks. While looking for this particular mag, a woman sitting on the bench with a cup of tea in her hand starts complaining.

"This tea has been too hot to drink for ten minutes."

I am stunned by what a pure idiot she is....and what does she expect me to do about it? Take the lid off off her cup and blow on her tea?

For this....I should get a medal in customer service.....I smile ...the SMILE.....and calmly and sweetly say......."Perhaps an ice cube from the cafe might help?"

Where is the president of my chain bookstore when I should be given an award for restraint...because really I should of grabbed a magazine and smacked this woman over the head.

~~~~~

My Life as a Bookseller.........Part 1

I work in a bookstore, a chain bookstore, and have for the last 5 years. People often ask me if working in a bookstore is fun....I can't lie....it is.....especially if you love books and love working with interesting people.

Surprisingly, a fair number of folks hand me their application for employment and confess they don't read a lot but hang out at the store and think it would be a "cool" place to work. Occasionally management has hired people who either faked an interest in books or openly lied about their reading habits. They usually don't last too long. Other booksellers begin giving pseudo-bookies the evil eye and our customers, many of them with a shark-like ability to detect a lack of literary knowledge, will circle the poor hapless creature and devour him or her.

I usually work Sundays. I complain about going to work on Saturday. It's a tradition. How can you work every Sunday if you don't complain about it Saturday evening? But when the alarm goes off at 630am Sunday morning, I'm ready to go. I start at 8am.

What can you possibly do at 8am on a Sunday morning in a bookstore? Lots. I'm the morning newspaper person. I arrive to find a stack of 100 or so newspapers either outside the door of the store or waiting for me in the front lobby. I actually enjoy newspaper prep. It's a physical and rather ritualistic job that requires counting the papers, stacking them in appropriate places, and stripping and counting out-of-date newspapers. It takes about an hour to complete the job. The lugging and hauling of papers, wakes me up and I'm ready for our wonderful customers by the 9am opening. I also enjoy taking a peek at some of the stories in the newspapers. It's good to get a glimpse into the life of people in Oklahoma or Atlanta and of course, those wild and crazy folks, in New York.

This past Sunday, I hit the bookstore in an evil mood. I was running late and left the house without my cup of coffee. A power outage zapped us for a few hours on Saturday and every clock in my house was reset at different times. I thought I woke up at 630, my husband's clock said it was 645, my bathroom clock said it was 7am. Was I smart enough to flip open my cellphone and see what time it really was? No...so I rushed out of the house, sans JAVA.....and cranky. When I looked at the time in my car....I was actually running a few minutes ahead of time...great....but it was too late to get the coffee going now.

The ritual of the newspapers calmed me down. I hit the backroom to strip, toss, count, and file the papers and noticed someone had left two magazines on the work table. One was a magazine called MEN, the other was a PLAYBOY.

In our bookstore, especially on Friday and Saturdays, it's not uncommon to find copies of sexual magazines hidden and scattered in various places in the store. There's always the funny customer who hides a Playboy in Cooking or Christianity. The men's bathroom is also a favorite deposit area. Customers will come out of the bathroom and report abandoned mags. We send in one of our guys to retrieve them. Soiled, wet, crumpled mags are greeted with a yuck....and escorted ......via latex gloves...... to the backroom for proper disposal.

The magazines left on the work bench were in pristine condition. Someone probably slipped the plastic wrap off (they must be sealed because of their content) and the closing crew found them while tidying up the place after hours. I've looked through many of the major magazines in our bookstore.... from travel mags, to cooking mags, to sex mags. I expected MEN to be a gay advocate magazine. When I opened it, I discovered it was not a typical soft gay mag. The entire middle section was devoted to positions..... interesting positions... the men were gorgeous....many of them were pouting...some had Angelina Jolie-type lips .......which I found fascinating. (What you think I'm going to admit I found other things besides their lips fanscinating?) I realized I was VERY AWAKE now, even without my coffee. I finished my newspaper duties and did a quick glance at PLAYBOY....one should always keep an eye on the competition. As expected, the women were all perfect, so nothing new there.

I glanced at the clock, the store would be opening in about 5 minutes. I decided not to trust the buzz from MEN magazine. I hit the cafe for a cup of coffee.


~~~

I'm Going to ...Slovenia ....Really!

I'm going to Slovenia in June.

I'm going to pause here for a few seconds....so you can finish laughing...and then say...."What...is there such a place?" Those of you who are compulsive may feel the need to dash to Google....so go ahead. I'll still be here when you return.

Talk about life turning on an innocent email. That's exactly what happened....I opened an email from a former Professor who teaches at a local university. He teaches at an MFA writing program in the northeast during the summer. Apparently, the grad school writing class had a few open spaces after the students had registered and he was sending out feelers to some former students whom he thought might qualify.

When I read the program was in Slovenia....I just laughed. Slovenia?...."Where the hell is that?" Google said it was tightly sandwiched between Italy, Austria, and some other new Slav nations and pronounced it legitimate, quaint, interesting, picturesque and peaceful. Me go to a peaceful pretty country instead of one that required knowledge of AK47s? The concept of traveling someplace safe and secure was mind-boggling.

In a rather spooky coincidence, a couple weeks ago, I remember sitting in my reading chair late at one night. I was thinking about how much more work I had to do on the Africa book....when this very interesting thought arrived....isn't it time... Gina..... you went someplace pretty? Isn't it time you considered going someplace where an overactive adrenalin pump and a freshly updated will weren't the prerequisites?

Africa slapped me around. I know I have an edge now....I know I have limitations. I had to learn how to receive in the Sahara....me the tough woman on the block who carries her own 50 lb mulch bag, cuts down a tree, and goes for lessons on how to fire a semi-automatic rifle. I had to depend on someone to be my guardian angel to keep me going...."Gina ...get up, get your backpack and get in the car." " Yes Diana." "Which car?"

So here comes Slovenia....Slovenia.....A country whose name you can't say without laughing.....a country who has a writing program in the Alps in a beautiful lodge on a lake...where the only tough circumstance you have to face outdoors is fending off mosquitoes which take a little blood and don't insert deadly diseases as a thank you gift.

This is almost as terrifying as crossing the Sahara desert .....comfort, beauty, intellectual conversations, good food, reasonable temperatures, a soft bed........

Oh My God what have I gotten myself into?

~~

I Don't Know How Old I Am.......

They say blogs become confessional. So why fight it? On this cold winter night here in the south...I'm ready to confess.

I can't remember how old I am, I often forget how old my children are...and I haven't a clue how old the pets are or how many years I've been married. I'm an intelligent, fiesty, interesting woman...but it appears I have a genetic break in some DNA sequence that creates age amnesia.

A couple days ago, I went to the doctor because I mangled my shoulder. Not being a patient person, I didn't wait for the men folks and cut down a tree limb which was too big and too ambitious for a pole saw. The handsome doctor looked at me ( I was not wearing lipstick) and asked "How old are you?" I knitted my brow. "How old does the chart say I am?" He read off a number. "Well, I could be. " He gave me a funny look and probably thought I had damaged more than my shoulder in the Gina-versus-the-tree saga.

This age-amnesia also applies to my children. When they were little, I could report their age to the exact year and month. Now they are all "teenagers"....although my daughter reminds me she is legally drinking. It seems when they grew into adult-type bodies, my brain could no longer distinguish the difference between 15 and 16 and simply gave up. They will probably turn 30 someday and I'll still tell people I have three teens.

And the pets? Who knows how long I've been battling dog hair.... Dog #1 is the oldest animal, followed by Cat, followed by Deaf Dog. When I call the vet, I first call my husband. He is quite annoying and will say things like..." We got Mike (Dog #1) right after the championship basketball game when the Chicago Bulls played the Indiana Pacers because you named him after Micheal Jordan because the Bulls won... which makes him...... (Wait one second while I ask him......) .....he says, "Mike will be 10 years old this May." I am quite sure this is why I married the man... his Mensa-certified brain remembers exactly this type of stuff.

My husband is sometimes alarmed that I don't remember how many years we've been married. He is not exactly a celebratory person so anniversaries can come and go without a lot of hoopla...but when I ask him in complete honesty to tell me how many years we have been married.....HE knits his brows at ME. I suppose this works to his advantage because I would never remember if it's a paper year or a china year or crystal year.. ......all presents are, therefore, appropropriate.

Sometimes when people ask how old I am....and they notice me struggling...trying to come up with a number....they assume I'm coy...or trying to hack off a few years as woman are wont to do....

So I quite struggling...I often ask them, "How old do you think I am?" I have found this much more interesting than providing them a number. And I have found the spectrum of numbers refreshing..... one day I'm 40....the next day I could be 45.....I accept all reasonable numbers.

And who's to say I'm not that age? If I'm working at the bookstore and a 20 year old guy thinks I'm 40....maybe I am.....because it fits his image of what a 40 year old woman should be.....same with a woman who guesses close to my chronological age.....she somehow has pegged me as her contemporary and ...it's important that I am the age she ascribes to me...because she's trying to establish a common bond or background.

I once met an interesting woman who changed my perspective on age. I was taking a yoga class.. I assumed ...AT MOST....the woman was 45. After class one day, for some reason, she confessed that she was actually 56 years old. My mouth fell open. She looked at me and said ...."This is exactly why I don't tell people how old I am." If I tell people I'm 56 and going off to hike solo in the mountains, they begin a litany of warnings. AT YOUR AGE, should you be hiking alone? Should you be going off to do this or that AT YOUR AGE?......So she quit telling people her real age. She takes care of herself....and lives a life which is in tune with her mental and physical age rather than the number on her birth certificate.

I can agree with that....I like that.....live the age you feel...or the age someone thinks you are....especially if you can't really remember how old you are anyway.....

~~~

Two Way Too Funny Video Clips.......

Thanks to fellow blogger RK2 for posting these on his blog....

I've got to share these two.......

Really......




http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXRH50fvHWA



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRbyNgVqmXk


~~~

Why is Rachael Ray in my Kitchen at 1am?

It's late, I need a snack....I've been thinking and reading.....and the night owl wiring is fully activated. So I pull some crackers out of the cabinet, grab some cheese, turn and almost scream. Rachel Ray is staring at me...from both cracker boxes. A double-barrel shot gun effect. I rummage around in the cabinet and find a different type of cracker and ahhh! she's there too...on the front, back, side....and even the top flap of the box....Were the marketing folks so fearful I wouldn't notice her huge picture on the front and back of the box that they had to make sure there wasn't a surface on the box that didn't have a little reminder that RACHEL RAY was being featured?

Why is this woman on every box of crackers I own? Who invited her into my house? Especially late at night when her Cheshire cat smile is so disturbing....imagine if I had a couple glasses of wine before I saw her.

Even though I don't cook, I'm not totally out of the cooking world. I know she's on the Food Network....so??? What am I missing? Apparently a lot...



Time magazine listed her as one of the 100 most influential people of 2006 on the same page as Pope Benedict, Al Gore, Arianna Huffington and Condoleeza Rice. At least I could see her paired with Condoleeza ....since we talking Rice .....but really she's in the same category as the Pope?

The Time magazine article stated that she "radically changed the way America cooks dinner." Really? How come I'm still cooking a spaghetti dinner by boiling water, throwing pasta in, and then adding sauce? Did I miss something?

I checked her website but I guess you have to be a Ray fan to get it. She has t-shirts labeled "Yum-O " and "Got EVOO." (If you're out of the loop like I am, that translates into extra virgin olive oil.) She sells music Cds... (Rachel Ray picked ten songs for a road trip and songs for Christmas which you obviously play while baking her cookies.) And like Oprah, her website tackles tough women's' issues....her feature this week? Talking about a "woman's worse nightmare".......abuse? poverty? ......no.....cellulite. Really. Cellulite.

Apparently there are some folks who actually don't like her. There's a blog called --the Rachel Ray Sucks Community---and apparently according to an article I read...Anthony Bourdain, another TV chef, called her "a bobble head." Well bobble she may....but she's certainly the Queen of Crackers.

My solution to Rachel Ray's reign of terror on my boxes? I emptied all my crackers into a big ol' plastic bag and threw the boxes away. Better to face naked crackers in plastic than Rachel Ray at 1am in your kitchen.

One of 2000 Bloggers

Well....ain't life interesting...sometimes when you least expect it...like on a quiet Saturday night.

I was working on my children's book (the one I submitted to the publisher for consideration a couple weeks ago) and was researching the mosque in Agadez, Niger. It's an amazing building.... a tall reddish-orange mud tower with dark wooden logs sticking out of it at crazy angles....it looks like a giant came along and stuck dark toothpicks into an ant hill. It's old (16th century) and beautiful (despite my description) and I just couldn't focus on it...so I started wandering around and reading blogs....I checked on the 2000 Blogger project and found I was on it!!

The 2000 Blogger project is a brilliant idea (You think I'm prejudiced because I'm in it?) by Tino Buntic. Out of 55 million blogs he decided to showcase 2000 blogs....gathered blog pictures, names, and linked us all together on one big "poster." It's really cool.... you can go down the rows and click on faces and enter blog worlds you would never discover on your own. The first blog I hit was totally in French....but looked hilarious...I'm going back to that one although this time with a French-English dictionary on my desk.


I wanted to see who my neighbors were on the poster....after all we might be linked together for eternity..in cyberspace.....on one side I have the blog "Good Brownie" written by Mat Brown out of Indiana (that's the picture he's using for his profile.) Since I'm from Chicago, and we're Midwesterners... you think we'd be good neighbors....but Mat had an entry that turned my heart cold...GO COLTS.....well of course, he's from Indiana....but everyone knows..its DAH BEARS for the Super Bowl. He might be a nice guy, if Chicago wins, I'm sure we'll get along.

My other neighbor is another guy with a blog entitled "Harmonious Josh." He states he "finds new ways to fail every day." Josh is an artist and I copied one of his more unusual pieces--skull flower-- here. He says he's a school photographer and I noticed in his profile pic he's wearing a baseball cap with a skull and bones on it....I would too if I had to take pictures of squirming kids for a living...then you could threaten them and tell them they'll all be walking the plank if they don't sit still.....lol.


So now that you're all excited.....about the living wall of bloggers...here's the addy:

http://www.trade-pals.com/2000-bloggers.asp

I'm 6 rows up from the bottom..... have fun.....

but don't blame me if you don't get your work done!

How Much Snow it Takes to Shut Down a Southern City

Here's the amount of snow it takes to shut down a city in the south. Snow events down here still surprise me even though I've lived here for 10 years. When I first moved here and witnessed the weathermen become celebrated prophets of the apocalypse on the local TV stations... I felt like an outsider at a tent revival. "Oh it's gonna snow...Oh expect an inch MAYBE more"....the locals were whipped into a frenzy--wondering how many days school and work would be closed, wondering how many bags of salt might be left at Home Deport and wondering if there was any milk and bread left at the store.

Milk and Bread are serious issues down here when there's a snow forecast. Southerners immediately rush to grocery stores, gas stations, and convenience stores to buy MILK and BREAD BEFORE ITS GONE AND THE SNOW AND ICE ARE HERE. Every native southerner seems to be tagged with this set of instruction in their neurons....GET THE MILK AND BREAD BEFORE THE SNOW AND ICE COMES.

Growing up in Chicago, I don't have this intrinsic neural tag stamped into me. In fact, I've actually experienced and lived to tell the story of not having MILK and/or BREAD for a 24 hour period and surviving. I've shared this knowledge with southerners--I've told them they too can and could survive without milk and bread....but they give me a glassy-eyed stare because what I'm saying is incomprehensible to them.

But you know what? The longer I live here...the more I join in....why not? It's actually fun....I send my husband emails.....STOP AT THE STORE AND GET BREAD AND MILK ON YOUR WAY HOME BEFORE THEY ARE ALL OUT.... I stop at the video store and fill the movie prescription: one romance, one comedy, one really stupid comedy, one action adventure. I make sure we have cookie dough and hot chocolate....I pull out the "WINTER BOX"...the one that has our entire stock of gloves, hats, and scarves.

And let's face it...there are advantages to southern snow....you don't have to shovel it. You just sit in your house, look at the pretty view, drink your hot chocolate, and wait for it to melt.

It's almost noon here...and that's exactly what happened. But the weathermen are frothing on TV right now...trying to sustain the movement...put the fear o'snow and ice right where it belongs in our heart.......saying in about 3-4 hours we're going to get SLEET.....Lordy what could be worse than combining SNOW AND ICE!....My teen boys, both home, are estactic. Another day off from work/school....I'm sending them forth to grocery store and to the video store to replenish our supplies in this window of opportunity....after all we want to make sure want we don't run out of...that's right...you know it...come raise your hands and shout it.....BREAD AND MILK!

What I Thought About When I Sat in My Closet

So as promised, I sat in my closet tonight to see exactly what I would think about if I had the time, a soft chair, and the inclination to sit in a closet.

The first thing that I thought about was shoes. Whew....hub needs deodorant in those things (he's not gelling; he's smelling)....then I looked at my own shoes ...mostly black....lots of walking shoes...and only a few high heels. A totally proper wardrobe of shoes ...which was...depressing. What woman wants to admits she owns mostly practical shoes?

I did have a much more eclectic collection a couple months ago. It included clear plastic high heels which I never wore (it looked like I stole them from Cinderella), shiny silver flats ( what was I thinking?) and some really naughty looking spike black high heels...which sadly didn't fit anymore (I now regret I didn't save them because I think they were involved in the conception of my last child.) These fun shoes are probably sitting in a Goodwill warehouse waiting their turn to be loaded on a cargo ship headed to Africa or the Far East soon. (You did know charitable organizations sell a lot of your donated clothes which end up in Third World Countries? )

Note to self: Liven up the shoe collection.

The next thing I thought about was money. A few years ago, I decided it would be a good thing to have a hundred dollar bill around for an emergency. Of course, with the kids, I thought it would be best to keep it out-of-sight.....so they stumble upon it and go off on some Pizza hut binge. Of course you know what happened....I hid the bill so well I 've never found it. I can't remember if I stuck it in a shoe, or in a purse, or under something. Even when I cleaned my closet out, I never found it. Yet it was in there someplace. Oh well, some day some woman at a Goodwill store will open a small secret pocket in a purse or pair of pants and have a nice surprise.

Realizing I was being very superficial and would have to admit that in my blog. I tried to think of deep thoughts....something like world-peace, uranium depletion, custom motorcycles. I was staring at the carpet...when I remembered! I revised the first story I ever got published right here on the closet floor. Really. My kids were having friends over, I was nervous because the submission deadline was the next day, and the story didn't read right. So I laid on the closet floor and read it out loud, revising it as I went along. Its something I still do...(read out loud not compose on the floor.) So I can honestly say.....I came out of the closet and started my freelance writing career.

But if I'm to be totally honest.....you know what I thought about the most? Yodelling. Really. A friend of mine who is a freelance writer, sent me this phrase earlier tonight:

I have had to take up yodelling for relaxation.

That was a startling thought and sentence. Where does one "take up" yodelling and why? I googled yodelling and found myself on one of those search engine black holes. Did you know yodelling is featured in Germany pornography? (But dang, I couldn't find any.) Did you know the most popular yodellers are Tarzan, Heidi, and Julie Andrews? Yodelling is more popular in the United States than in Europe. Have I missed something....do you folks in bigger cities have ads running for yodelling schools? or yodelling conventions? or yodelling meets?

Of course, I found ...what else? Yodelling videos.

http://www.metacafe.com/watch/178160/incredible_11_year_old_yodeller/

and a deeply disturbing 4 minute video with puppet clowns yodelling....I wanted to hate it...really I did....but at the 3 minute mark....I was laughing so hard....well I was almost....yodelling.

This video is rated D for disturbing and I won't be responsible for bad dreams, wet dreams, or any other negative impact this may have on a viewer.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-3119238096845809676

It's time to get out of my closet.

What's in My Closet

Hey....let's be fair....I thought I would take you on a tour of my closet. I admit I have a chair in my closet too....although I've never sat in it. For as long as I can remember ( and we have lived in this house for 10 years) my husband's pants have rested in this chair. Not the same pants, thank god, but every other day, one pair of pants gets moved to the laundry basket and another pair of pants takes its place....kind of like the circle of life....although Elton John might not have found pants as poetic to sing about...

I am not sure where I got this chair ....it's been in my life forever...I know I painted the chair black ( it was white originally...I guess to be more ice cream shop-ish)...and I know my daughter painted the stars and moon on it....but I've never had an ice cream shop....and its a bit too cutesy for me....but there it is.



This is what I call cute and scary. The little doll is Thumbelina. Really. Thumbelina. I got her when I was a little girl. She was in an Easter basket. I still remember going to church Easter morning and coming home and seeing her tucked into that funky green plastic grass. I wasn't too fond of dolls.....because I found playing house a bit boring....(I still do...lol)....

Thumbelina sat on my bed ....little girls were always supposed to have some type of doll anchoring their pillow on their bedspread. Thumbelina was a fine anchor. It didn't matter that I caught fireflies, grilled worms on our bbq, roller skated with the boys on my block or played cowboys and Indians....No one could accuse me of being a tomboy.... I had my obligatory doll on my bed.

Thumbelina nearly came to a bad end when my kids were little. Even though she was stored out of sight....my daughter found her and carried her off to play.....Suddenly, my daughter and son were screaming at each other....I found them having a tug-o-war ....with Thumbelina in the middle! I screamed at them to stop ....but Thumbelina's arm had already been ripped off. I almost cried....all those years I've saved her....and protected her....and there she was armless.

I found a big upholstery needle and some tough thread and sewed her arm back. Since I can't sew......I can tell youThumbelina looks like she visted Dr. Frankenstein for her reconstructive surgery. But I put her dress back on....stored her way up on the closet shelf....and now that my kids are teenagers....she seems to be safe.

The scary cow comes from my grandparents. It was in my grandmother's house for a long time even when I was a kid. It scared me. Look at it's feet. It never could stand upright even with those plastic shoes. There was a older man in my neighborhood who had a big metal and leather leg brace--my mother told me he had polio. I didn't know what polio was but I was sure scary cow had it too.



These are my free-range shirts. They don't live in a glass-enclosed cabinent. They touch one another, share lint and appear to be colored-challenged.

Tomorrow I'm going to sit in my closet and see what I think about. This will be a first.

You ain't from Around Here--or Yes, You're right I'm not a Southern Woman

Lordy lordy....I don't want to talk about Yankees and Southerners....or as we now politely call ourselves--Transplants and Natives. Oh no, to start a conversation on the differences between Northern and Southern women....would be very unwise.

~~~

But I need to make a comment here.....I was reading an old copy of the home style section of a newspaper when I found a small blurb about what one woman considers her most cherished personal space.

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The Woman is a stay-at-home mom and lives in a ritzy neighborhood. When asked what's her favorite personal space the woman answered....her closet. Really....it's right here in print....I have proof.

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Apparently the woman's closet has "three crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, a French armchair and ottoman sitting in a corner and plenty....of glass doors that keep the dust off my clothes."

Okay you read that right......the woman has 3 chandeliers in her closet....crystal chandeliers and what's worse.....she sits in a big chair with her feet up and what? Stares at her clothes??? There is a picture of the woman draped over this elegant chair with an afghan tucked under her and her glass-enclosed cabinets with her blouses hanging in them in the background. Glass-enclosed cabinets....so dust won't touch her blouses. Looking at the picture, it appears there are lights in those glass-enclosed cabinets....so she obviously can see her blouses....because obviously when you have 3 chandeliers in your closet....you don't have enough light.....perhaps she sits there with a good book (or a Nordstrom catalogue) and reads by the soft light reflected off her clothes.

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And when she was asked by the reporter how she would improve this space...you know what her answer was? She would have a professional come in and organize her closet so she could find things more easily. Yes, I bet its real hard to find your blouses in glass enclosed cabinets with the light shining on them. Truly a job for a professional...but a professional what?....Is there such a thing as professional closet organizer? And how does one know the difference between a professional closet organizer and an unprofessional closet organizer? Might an unprofessional closet organizer allow her sleeves to touch? Or her hemlines to be arranged in a random fashion? Might her bras and panties touch?

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And finally, the zillion dollar question...what do you think about when you sit in a closet? Please someone tell me......

Caught on Camera: Her Secret Late Night Forays to Wal-Mart!

Caught!

I didn't think anyone would be up .....of course, that's when I go....when my family is asleep....this way they don't know how long I'm gone...and what I've bought....I mean what I've really bought...I don't tell them the truth in the morning....in the harsh reality of daylight......I can't tell them about the speciality potato chips which are now hidden in cabinet (the one above the microwave) or about the cache of superfine roller ball pens.....or the peaceful donuts...which in all honesty ....I bought for them.

~~~

I don't go very often....I usually don't even understand the trigger. It just happens....like it did last night. I was reading....got up to get a drink of water.....and then it started....this drumming in my brain:

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"You need to get superfine roller ball pens to work on your manuscript tomorrow.....You need to get....superfine roller ball pens....now.......Don't look at the clock....it's really important for you to have those superfine roller ball pens... you need ...right now...it's logical to make a trip at 12:15 am to Wal-Mart....you're up ...you're awake....this way you won't have to get up early tomorrow...you can do it now....go to Wal-Mart now...Gina ...right now ....right now."

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That's how it starts....and it seems logical....and oh.... it feels so good to slip into my trailer trash outfit.....to blend in with the night crowd at Wal-Mart.....tight tight black leggings....old black athletic shoes....my son's sweatshirt....my other son's extra large bulky hooded sweatshirt....no primping ...no make-up....a scarf over my hair...(in the ethnic 'hood I grew up in--- we would call it a babushka)...and the car keys.....it's like traveling incognito....tasting another life......and when a Backstreet Boys song begins on the radio station.....I don't switch to another station.....I sing along.

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And let me tell you something about Wal-Mart late at night...It becomes a fantasy land. It's never that interesting in the daylight. There are products in their aisles....you see only at night when you're not in a hurry and there's this vast wide open canyon feeling....and the night staff actually has an old YMCA song on the overhead....(It's fun to be at the YMCA>>>)

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I linger over the wonders of capitalism....a humidifier shaped like a basketball...faux silicone to fill "your unsightly wrinkles and laugh lines".....I walk slowly through the aisle of broken and 80% off Xmas items.. and stare slack-jawed at pots of live blooming daffodils and begonias..I stroke Teddy bear bellies in the Valentine aisle....and I buy weird food. Stuff that I would never buy in the daylight.

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Every bit of nutritional knowledge you have stored away in your brain fades away in Wal-mart after midnight. It's not your fault though....they have special subliminal messages slipped into that clever funky music that's blaring...they have machines ...ionizers they call them...supposedly cleaning the air....but they're not....they're blocking all the Heart Association warnings and every newspaper article that warned you about nitrates, fitrates, ritetraites and of course partraits...(or was that partridges?)

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I'm strong enough and smart enough to know I need decoys...should I be questioned in the morning as to why there are Wal-mart plastic bags in the garbage or on the counters....I have to be prepared.

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"I bought pens and fruit and milk and yogurt icecream."

What I told Them I Bought

I can look them in the eye and say that......I usually leave the grapes or the banana around to further cloud the trail.

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I don't tell them about the other stuff. The two cans of diet energy drink. The new "WEE-BIT" cheese which I bought because it looked exactly like the stuff I ate in AFrica...or the superman doll I bought on sale (way too kinky a story for this blog) or the butter cookies.....complete with a small tub of milk chocolate frosting....(it was a recipe suggestion on the back of the package...I was just following orders!)

What I didn't Tell Them About

And then....I must have gotten out of range of the ionizers and the music....because at the check-out counter....I started to QUESTION what I bought......was the frosting necessary? Did I really need to try goat-cheese sprinkled chips with sun dried tomatoes?.....and those donuts.....they started making me nervous.......but that's when Wal-mart pulls out its secret weapon....a sweet young cashier.....an innocent-looking blonde-haired blue eyed girl probably making her way through college or graduate school or beauty school.

" I don't need these donuts.....maybe I should put them back."

"Oh, don't worry about the donuts.....how can anyone resist?.....they look so peaceful." (Note: actual qoute from cashier...I wrote it down in the car so as not to forget it.)

"Peaceful?"

"Yes, they're peaceful."

In today's world ...could I really not afford to buy peaceful donutss?

Peaceful donuts

So I brought them home.....and just as I was hiding things.....and leaving out the nutrional decoys ....my son walked down the stairs....and that's how I was caught.

I'm so embarrassed.....what if people knew? I guess I would have to limit my trips to Wal-mart to daylight shopping hours only......when they turn off the ionizers and play suitable music ....and I wouldn't even see the diet energy drinks on the bottom shelf....(I'm wondering if this blog has been originated by the consumption of just that type of beverage.)

Now that I'm exposed...I guess I better behave.......I won't go to Wal-Mart after Midnight.....I'll reform.....I'll dress southern nice in my dockers and oh so cute sweaters.... with all my jewelry on......I won't wear trailer trash outfits accented by babouskas.....

but wait.....there's something I won't give up........... I can't give up.......Something I bought on one of those late night trips to Wal-Mart......

MY PINK PLASTIC FLAMINGO! ~~~~

Don't Worry Be Happy or..........

You Can Sleep When You're Dead

I hate when I do this.....but it can happen when you do a lot of work from home. I OVERSLEPT...big time.....I hit that little button on the alarm turned around and said to myself, "One more minute." At 10AM, I opened my eyes, groaned, and covered my head with the blanket. Bad Bad Girl.....and now Bad Bad Girl will have to work all evening to make up for it.

~~

With a huge cup of coffee (some of my mugs look like small pails), I sat down at my desk and pulled out the above calender. Holy Sheet! How can the first week of the New Year already be so filled up....(and don't be saying, "It's because you didn't finish you're work from last year." The thought did cross my mind.)

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I actually felt panicked. My manuscript due to the publisher next week and columns and columns of stuff needing to get done. Oh what's a Bad Girl to do? And then out of nowhere I remembered this story. A travel story....(my favorite kind of course...)

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When I was traveling Asia... or if you prefer....Once upon a time when I was in Asia.... I had a guide, Outai, who was a former Buddhist monk. He had the patience of an angel....or should I say a Buddhist Angel. We were traveling with a Dentist from California and his Ohh-so-pretty-blond-cutesy-social worker-wife who needed to have hours of prep time in the morning to "put on her face" and needed time during the day to "maintain her face." (I won't argue about her maintenance time ...trust me if you saw what the heat in Thailand did to lipstick, mascara and foundation by mid-afternoon... you would grant her this time too)

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She whined....no....correction.....she whined about never having enough time....time to put on her face, time to maintain her face....time to shop and time to do this or that... One particularly whiney day....she even got to Outai. She whined about something and he turned around and snapped...."Just do what you must do....You can sleep all you want when you're dead!"

~~

I can still see his dark eyes glaring at her for that long minute.......then he suddenly relaxed, smiled, his beautiful mahogany face once again a study in composure.

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So it's a do what you must do day.....and how's your calender looking for the new year already?

~~~~~

Hmmmmm........Do I hear Whining??????

A Toy Boy for Xmas

Yes...finally a most useful gift....a toy boy for xmas....thanks to some funny guys at my bookstore who felt I deserved to take none other than Josh Groban home for the holidays....and though there is a slight problem (his personality is a bit flat).... I think he's cute enough to overlook that particular flaw....I placed him by our tree so he could enjoy a care-free night of festivities before becoming my personal slave in my computer room the day after Xmas.

```

Early this morning, I came downstairs and was horrified to discover that either Santa or the bearded man I live with had obviously messed with my baby.....(and hey.... that's my new Victoria Secret's bra!) .....the changes appear to be temporary but Josh was visible shaken....(his cardboard knees were askew from his stand)....poor thing....I'll have to run my hands all over him and rearrange his parts....and then I'll take him to our little nest....yes...Josh and me together at last.....

I Don't Think Someone Liked My Baby

My shocking discovery Xmas Morning

Gina's Got Legs! Nice Legs!

I've gotten a couple emails over the last couple months....asking me if I have legs since I always seem to be posting mug shots....so I thought I would post a pic of my legs.....in jeans doing some kind of twirly dance on the beach at Cape Cod.....yes the girl does have legs.

On the Road and In Another Scary Hotel Again!

Well...this ain't Dogondoutchie....but maybe I'd be more comfortable there than here. I'm on the road again and found myself in one of those weird situations were you accidentally get yourself into a scary hotel....near a big city....even though the rates would suggest that you should have a NICE place.

~~~

I'm somewhere near Lagaurdia airport in a Ramada Inn that was supposed to be next to the airport (but it was a 10 minute shuttle ride away !) and at the stroke of midnight will become a Holiday Inn. There's a light bulb hanging from the lamp.....and there's a couple next door...who have been.....huh.....how shall I say this delicately.....having intimacies like rutting pigs for the last hour....plus somewhere down the hall there is a dog.....a yipper barking....needless to say I have bolted my door calculated how many hours I have before I have to leave the place and fly out tomorrow to Boston.