Petty Thoughts

My husband and I finally went to San Francisco last week. We just went for a vacation, and hell, let’s face it; the place looks kick-ass on the Rice-a-Roni commercials. Plus, they have wine there, lots of wine.

We like wine.

As you have probably guessed, we both LOVED wine country. My husband and I went on a tour of Napa Valley on the Monday that we were there. It was beautiful, and it was warm (I’ll get to why this was such a relief later).   We toured five wineries in a limo, with three other couples. Some old people drank us under the table on our wine tour. We quit tasting after the second winery and did not have the champagne in the limo.   I was already on Tum’s at this point, and I had to take a crap at winery number three. If you know me, you know my stomach does not tolerate change well. The older couple, their daughter and son-in-law had two bottles of champagne and tasted at five wineries; plus, they split a bottle of wine with lunch. I would have puked for sure.

All vomit and acid indigestion aside, the Napa Valley is BEAUTIFUL. I want to live there someday. The only problem is for what we paid for our house in Indiana, we could get a trailer in Napa. I shit you not. I actually looked it up. A trailer. For $625,000, we could get a two bedroom, one bathroom shack.   So, I will need to work on winning the lottery before moving there.

As far as the city of San Francisco goes, I didn’t leave my heart there; but I probably dropped a few pounds. Man! Every time I visit a big city, I am glad that I live in the suburbs. I do love to drive my car to where I am going and park right out front. In the big city, this just does not happen. You have to walk A LOT. Don’t get me wrong; I was glad to have the extra exercise, but I don’t think I could live there. It would involve taking public transportation with OTHER PEOPLE, and I just really don’t like other people.

Speaking of other people, my husband and I came into contact with lots of strange folks in San Francisco. Here are just a few examples:

We saw a man with pigtails.

We saw a lot of men wearing Capri pants and sandals. We played a game called “Gay or German” whenever we saw a femininely dressed man. Only once did we have to say “both”.

We saw many, many homeless people. There are 10,000 to 14,000 homeless people in San Fran. Once, we saw two homeless men in a screaming match, outside Walgreens.

We heard a hooker complaining (very loudly and with lots of f-bombs) about another hooker, while walking down the street talking on her Bluetooth.

Our cab driver to Haight-Ashbury spoke Russian on his Bluetooth for the entire trip, except for the two times he said, “Whatever!” Love it!

After seeing many women in heels and short skirts, just hanging out at the tourist spots, we came up with a new game: German or prostitute.

My husband and I did all of the typical tourist things. We rode the trolley twice. It goes really slow and the driver has to pull back on the brake lever really hard on the hills. It was kind of like riding a really slow roller coaster. The trolley is great if you a tourist; but, I doubt that many locals take it to work.

The husband loved the wharf.

We made a pilgrimage to hippie land –Haight-Ashbury. If you know my husband, you know that he is a hippie at heart; but even he was disappointed with Haight-Ashbury. There is a Ben and Jerry’s on the corner of Haight and Ashbury. Corporate America has taken over. You can put all of the Cherry Garcia in there you want; it’s still corporate. Plus, who the hell wants to eat ice cream there. It’s friggin cold and cloudy all of the time.   We know why Mark Twain said, “The coldest winter was the summer I spent in San Francisco” or something like that. I bought a fleece jacket the day that we hung out at Fisherman’s wharf and toured Alcatraz. I kept it on the whole time we were there, except when we were shopping. It’s frigging HOT in all of the stores. I got the warm wateries from all of the temperature changes.

We learned some valuable things on our trip. First, on Fisherman’s wharf, they have public bathrooms that require tokens to enter. This keeps the 14,000 homeless people from living there. We still have our toilet tokens. This way we won’t have to “do the dance” while rushing into a store to request a token.

We learned that it is not a good idea to stand up on top of the double-decker bus because you could get electrocuted and decapitated by the cable car wires. Of course, my husband and I stayed on the lower, enclosed level of the bus because it was TOO DAMNED COLD on the top level. : )

We learned not to ever bring elderly people with us to San Francisco. There was a 13 story hike up the hill to see Alcatraz. Our mothers would not have made it.

We learned to buy the iPhone elsewhere. There was a block long line at all times, all five days we were there, in front of the Apple store.

We learned that we are not as fit as we may have thought we were. My husband and I were completely burned out on day five and retired to our room at 2:30. We are old. J

My husband still has faith in the whole, “miles” thing; but I relearned that it is all corporate bullshit. I STILL have not flown first class. I am 36 and ¾ years old. The husband was supposed to arrange this with “miles” and “upgrade” us; but “miles” were useless. There are so many restrictions etc. Of course, I shouldn’t complain; there are people who have STILL not used indoor plumbing facilities. So, I will stop bitching about this.

It should not be cold in July. Ever.

My husband and I are both happy to be home and ok with the fact that we are “suburb people”. You couldn’t pay either one of us to live in a big city. We do want to visit the San Francisco area again; but, we would like to spend four days in Napa and one day in San Francisco, as opposed to the way we did it this time. Napa is so much more our speed. Plus, they have lots of wine. : )

  The last time I saw my mother alive was about a year and a half before her death.  I didn’t see her after her death either.  We aren’t really an open casket kind of family.  We aren’t really a casket kind of family in general.  She was cremated.  You’re probably wondering why I went that long without seeing my mother.  Maybe you’re judging me for it.  People try to understand others by thinking…

Why I Don’t Want a Funeral

  Don’t worry, friends and family. I’m not dying, at least as far as I know. I could have cancer right now, or maybe some undiagnosed heart condition. From what I can tell without an in-home MRI, I’m not dying. Not now. But, being the type-a person that I am, I like to plan and control everything, including what happens after I die. So, I want to be sure everyone knows what I want.   I’m not an…

Girl, it’s cold outside!

Years ago, when I worked for an online university, I was in Miami for a meeting with my colleagues.  One woman I was sitting with asked me where I lived.  At the time, it was Indiana (I don’t miss that place) so I told her.  She wrapped her arms around herself and pointed out the obvious, that it gets cold in the winter there.  She lived in Miami.

Then she said, “I couldn’t live there.  You can…

Cleaning as a Craft

“Mops ah fah lazy people!” I could hear my Bostonian Italian step-father’s voice in my head as though he were still alive as I kneeled to clean the tile in the kitchen square by square with paper towels and Lysol.  My husband had been doing a lot of cooking so there were spots that had crumbs of whatever ingredients he had used. That along with the big muddy paw prints by the back door, and my…

Tangled Lights for a Tangled Brain, my review of Tangled Lights and Silent Nights: A Holiday Anthology

I’m one of those weirdos who hates Christmas.  I don’t mean in that Grinchy I’m going to steal everyone’s roast beast and presents way. No. Christmas just gives me a good case of the winter blues.  Part of it is due to messed up holiday memories from my youth, and part of it because it is SOFRIGGINGGRAY here in corn country during the holidays.  So, I’m always looking for a way to make the…

Guest Blog Post – Tangled Lights and Silent Nights: A Holiday Anthology By Stacey Roberts

My mother was in a state of high dudgeon.

“SSSSo,” she hissed. (I learned early in life that she was deadly serious when her sibilants extended). “You’re a TOKEN.”

“A what?”

“A token! You wrote a story for a Christmas whatchamacallit—anthology. What kind of word IS that? Sounds Yiddish. Anyway, nineteen Christmas stories from the goyim and one Hanukkah story from you. You’re a token!”

“Come on,…

I guess I can talk about this now since I actually registered for classes. I’m going back to school. No, I’m not getting my Ph.D. in English or anything related. I’m going to the local community college to learn American Sign Language.   “Why?” you ask. Well, I will tell you.   First of all, dementia runs in my family on my Mother’s side. So, I wanted to find a way to keep learning and exercising…

Roommates With my Abuser

    When I was in third grade, Arnold, the abusive step-uncle, came to live with my mother and me in Florida.  From what I could overhear when my mother talked to my grandmother on the phone, Arnold was having trouble in school and was just too much for grandmother and grandfather to handle.  So, the adults thought it would be a good idea for Arnold to live with my mom and me, her eight-year-old…

My Super Picky Food Guide

  The fellas, the husband and the manchild, are both not very picky eaters. They frequently have sushi dates without me because I hate sushi. Yes, I have tried the California roll and hated that, too. It’s the seaweed that gets me with that one. The only sushi I have ever liked is at Fusian and that’s because it was steak sushi rolled in a rice wrap.   Sushi isn’t the only food I hate. When I…

This is an excerpt from my memoir. The names have been changed to protect the guilty.  

  So, in the car we went, with as many belongings as the car could hold.  Mom and I made the drive up to Peoria and moved in with my grandmother, her second husband, Pat and his son, Arnold.  Arnold was about fourteen at this time and seemed nice.  I remember that he paid a lot of attention to me, and I loved…

The Oompah Loompa Gene

    By looking at me, you would never guess how often I exercise. I work out almost daily because I have bad genes. There are heart disease and diabetes on my father’s side and all sorts of cancer on my mother’s side. Anxiety is on both sides. So, I do my best to do cardio five times a week. Sometimes, I remember to do weights, too. However, I still eat carbs and drink wine and vodka (Not…

Fantastic Things About a Breast MRI

This is me with no make-up in my lovely gowns.

Some families have great genetics.  Everyone lives until they’re 95 even though they drink, smoke, and eat sides of beef.  This is not my family.  On my father’s side, we have heart disease, diabetes, and anxiety disorders.  My father and one of my half-brothers died incredibly early.  My father was 49 and my brother was 35.  This is why I exercise…

Screaming Obscenities at Kroger

Dear Generic Suburban White Man who was in the Kroger Parking lot,

Yes, that was me who screamed “FUCK!” in a tone that can only be described as warring tomcats. I appreciate your look of judgment at my choice of language, which is why I gave you the little wave with my unburned hand and the polite, “sorry!”

You see, in my never-ending quest to not have unnecessary trash to get rid of, I said no…

Trump Supporters Like Dogs, Too.

I grew up in a single parent democratic household with many democratic family friends.  I heard a lot about how Republicans were nothing but “warmongers” who would not help the poor.   I was told that they wanted to spend all of our tax money on bombs not food for the poor.  They sounded like horrible people to young Lisa, but I didn’t pay much attention to politics until Ronald Reagan was…

CoolSculpting at the Gyno

Last week, I had my yearly lady garden inspection.  Well, I suppose they inspect they whole structure, not just the garden.  Anyway, as per protocol, I was a wee bit nervous when I got there.  So, I was relieved when the receptionist smiled and only handed me two forms to review and sign.  At least, I didn’t have to write a bunch.  Then, she pointed out a third form, that was really an…

Mama and the Manchild – I got little and he got big Betty Boop edition

When I was little, I used to tell my mom that someday I would get big and she would get little.  I’m not sure if I thought that I would literally get bigger than my mom (I am) or if I would need to parent my mom due to her old age or dementia(no comment).   Today at lunch, the manchild, who is bigger than me, had to parent me.

We were sitting in a cute New Mexican restaurant eating our burritos.