Embarrassing Moment, Number 33,756

My sister shortened the straps on this cami for me
 - but obviously not enough!

THIS is what I saw when I walked by my mirror on Monday afternoon ~ AFTER I'd finished entertaining a new friend, spent about a half an hour talking with two neighbor guys (how could they keep a straight face?) AND waved at several friends who were driving by.

MADONNA meant to show off HER bra, but I was totally clueless.

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

Sweet, Sweet, Music

My mom died in 1999, so why am I thinking about her funeral today? 

Yesterday my friend Ed e-mailed me a joke about a bagpiper. Of course I laughed, because bagpipes are funny. Why?  I don't know; they just are.  That got me thinking about my own bagpipe story, which got me thinking about Mom.

Picture provided by my littlest sister

Before she died, Mom expressed a wish for a bagpiper to play at her funeral. Who EVEN KNOWS a bagpiper? Seriously.  Not me, that's for sure.  I thought she was joking but apparently after I left home the family started attending Highland games and my mother developed a love of the instrument.  So that was that.

Nobody wants to deny their dearly departed mother her dying wish and, miraculously, my sister found someone from a nearby town and hired him. But he got lost on the way.  That really sounds like a set up for a joke but that's what happened.  The funeral went on … no bagpiper.  What are you gonna do, right?

Just as the minister was wrapping up, out of the clear blue sky came the loudest, most horrible squawk I'd ever heard in my life!  It startled me so much that I jumped sky high.  Then I burst out laughing. Because of the noise nobody - except Jerry - heard me.  My shoulders were shaking but Jerry was patting my back, so it looked like I was crying uncontrollably.  The "uncontrollable" part is accurate.  It just wasn't tears. 

At the burial site, the bagpiper stood on a nearby hill and played "Amazing Grace" as they lowered the casket into the earth.  It was haunting.  There wasn't a dry eye among us. 

I still miss my mom and don't think that I would have needed this experience to think of her.  Every time I see a bagpipe though, I re-live her funeral. And, to this very day,  - fifteen years later - I vividly remember that first note. It still sounds like someone choking a very big, very angry bird.

That is why I decided to learn to play the ukulele.

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

The Relationship Specialist

I am so good at forgetting the nonsensical passwords that I create to safeguard my online accounts that I often feel like a teenager who got home after curfew.  Locked out again!

Today a screen came up asking me for my social security number, my card number, my card security number, my birth date and my mother's maiden name.  Pardon me, but isn't that the same information that all those phishers, hackers and other black-hat wearing baddies are looking for? How am I to know if this is a legitimate website or a fake one? 

I decided to call the number on the back of my card.  I kid you not, after the required 'if/then' triaging that we all despise, I was told by the mechanical voice to hold the line for a "relationship specialist."  

Jackpot!  If there's anything I could use, it's a relationship specialist! Isn't this an exciting idea?  To think that a credit card company would hire a customer service representative specializing in relationships.  Maybe they really do care about me!  I marvel at this. I'm getting more excited about this upcoming conversation by the second.  How in depth can we get in a quick phone call?  
Will there be a follow-up session?  I'm pretty sure even the most talented specialist won't be able to iron out all my issues in just one short call.

I started writing a list of topics to discuss and had barely scratched the surface when a sweet sounding Asian guy named Jeff arrived on the other end of the line.  

"I'm soooo excited, Jeff," I began.  "Little did I know when I dialed this 800 number with a credit card question that I would actually have the pleasure of talking to a relationship specialist.  I have so much to ask you!"

Jeff is laughing out loud and says, "I'm not much on relationships myself but I will try to help you."  

To get the credit card problem out of the way and free up time for the good stuff, I explain about being locked out of their website. I'm about to delve into other more delicate issues when Jeff, still laughing, says, "Stop right there.  I'm going to need to transfer you to my boss." 

"Is he a relationship specialist?" I ask.  

"No." He responds. "She's a relationship manager."

When it comes to matters of the heart, I think I'd rather talk to a specialist than a manager, but I decided to stay open minded.  Ms. Manager did efficiently solve my problem but she wasn't strong on bedside manner.  She never laughed once. I thought about hanging up and calling again, but decided to go grocery shopping instead.

As long as he has a forkin his hand,
 Jerry is all smiles.

Nothing improves my relationship with my husband more than supper on the table.  It's like the royal flush of our marriage.  It's such a departure from the norm that it always puts Jerry in a good mood.  It doesn't even matter what the meal is, it could be anything.  Just that it is, is enough. 

Hey, maybe there's a future for me as a relationship specialist!  I wonder how well they pay?

www.StillSwimmingUpstream.com

The Wedding

Satan's Mistress (aka my yoga instructor Mary Ann) married Jason the Giant Friday and the wedding was fabulous! FABULOUS!!!!!!!!  

Why?  Because the bride and groom had the foresight to rent a photo booth to entertain the masses during lulls in the action.  Since I knew a total of three other guests, it was easy for me to corral them all into the booth before they really even realized what was happening.  Sadly, the pictures had kind of a "deer in the headlights" look to them and I just knew we could do better.

I'm an overachiever and that boring, normal, sub-par photo strip just didn't sit well with me.  How to spice things up?  Hmmm... Immediately after we received our photo strip, the woman who'd been behind us in line emerged from the photo booth with a little red feather on her shoulder.  Hey!  There were props in there that we hadn't noticed.  Jackpot!

I was only able to convince two of the original three ladies to get back in line with me for a "do over."  We piled back into the photo booth, this time grabbing boas, hats and a mask.  We were much happier with our photo strip results this time.  We were so happy, in fact, that we began arguing about who got to keep it.  Never the shy one, I asked the photo booth attendant (yes, that appears to be a legitimate job opportunity) if he could make us copies.  He said no, but we could go back in again.  Since he gave us official permission, it was a done deal.  

Luckily, there was now only a short line.  The other adults were off doing whatever ~ listening to toasts, watching the bride and groom cut the cake ~ something along those lines.  There were few kids in attendance so nobody was really competing with us for booth time.  

By now, we were feeling like silver fox models. This time as we were squeezing in, Mary grabbed an adorable flamingo hat and plopped it on her head, Diane donned sunglasses and I grabbed the best prop of all: a tall, attractive man that none of us knew.  I threw a purple boa on him just as the flashing commenced.  At first he was stunned and looked bit confused but soon we were all laughing so hard that the first set of pictures we took were pretty goofy.  We just stayed in the booth, laughing even harder.  We took a second, then a third set of pictures.

And that's how we met Srini, Mary Ann's boot camp buddy and a genuine good sport.  I'm pretty sure that during the ensuing conversation I invited myself to visit his parents in India and I'm certain he volunteered to teach me (and a few of my closest friends) how to cook authentic Indian food.  If that doesn't have potential for a future post, what does?  

Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Rickman!!

PS  Your cake was delicious.  I ate two-and-a-half pieces of it while no one was looking.  Was that wrong?    

Another Charleston Story

Just livin' the dream...

We are back in Charleston again this week and we took the opportunity to do a little kayaking in Shem Creek last evening.  It was a bit choppy but still so relaxing and peaceful.  After Jer had loaded the kayaks back on our car-top carrier, we headed back to the city to meet friends for supper.

As I've said before, Charleston is:    a) a fabulous place to be 

                                                    b) a horrible place to find parking

 

We were running a bit late because of our kayaking and traffic was stressing Jerry out.  Finally he found a parking lot, turning in only to find that it had "employee parking only" signs in every single spot.  Tension was mounting.  Meanwhile I (ever helpful) tried to tell him about a place to park I knew of, but by now he was too annoyed to really hear me. 

There was a parking garage almost directly across the street from the lot that we were currently sitting in so a grumpy Jerry maneuvered the car out into traffic, got in the left-hand lane, positioned himself to turn and waited for an opening in traffic.  While we waited, the traffic situation became unbearable.  The man in the vehicle behind us was laying on his horn over and over and every time he honked, Jer got angrier and angrier.

"I'm not a fighting man, but the traffic in Charleston just gets to me," he said.  "I'd like to just get out and punch that guy behind me right in the nose!" he continued. (He doesn't usually talk like this but the cars and the noise were crazy bad.)

Right then there was a break in traffic and as we turned to pull into the parking garage the man behind us moved on and the honking stopped.  We sighed with relief and at that exact moment heard a loud crunching noise.  It was then that we realized that we'd tried to enter a parking garage with two kayaks strapped to the roof of our car.

Jerry burst out laughing because he realized that the jerk behind him honking was really just a nice guy trying to warn him about what was going to happen.  "I wish I could find that man and apologize for what I was thinking about him" he said.

Our faith in humanity restored, we backed into traffic once again, drove around the corner, parked in a metered spot on the street and walked to our destination, laughing all the way.

Life is an adventure.

                                                   *    *    *          

(To read about the first time we tried the tricky drive-into-the-parking-garage-with-kayaks-on-the-roof maneuver, go to the right side bar, click 2011, click July, click the the post entitled "A Story of Skill, Not Stupidity.")

This is me floating in my pretty blue kayak (which is
now a little scratched up but otherwise unharmed.)