My sign ...

My dad died on January 3, 2016. Yesterday was his memorial service in my hometown of Northville, NY. My stepmom, brother and sister did an amazing job, from what I hear. Cancer kept Robin and me from attending.

Even though I wasn't there, I have been quite emotional for the past couple days. I even feel physically worse than I have been, and I'll chalk it up to stress.

This morning I decided to hit the treadmill to see if I could shake some of it off. No big whoop, just three or four songs, or 15 to 20 minutes.

I have a picture of my dad waving in front of my treadmill and I talk to him while walking. This morning my mind was like a channel surfing marathon, flooded with snip its of memories of my dad. Big memories and small. Memories from him and Paula attending my college graduation and staying with my mom and Nelson, to once when he made me mow the yard knowing I'd hit his liquor cabinet the night before. One memory was a glimpse of hm being proud of me in my performance of the musical, "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown". I was 17 years old and I was Charlie Brown, and yes, I had to sing.

As I was approaching my fourth and final song, I made a deal. I wanted to know that my dad was good, happy, peaceful. I also wanted a sign that I'd be OK. So I asked for a sign that everything is good with him AND I'd survive cancer. I wanted that sign to come to me in the next song.

The next song that played was "Happiness", from Charlie Brown.

It was rather amazing and I happily accept that all is and will be well.

"Happiness is everything, and anything, at all that's loved by you!".

You were happiness to me, Dad.

Silver Lining

Everyone knows what I'm about to say.

The silver lining to cancer is weight loss.

I've lost a nice chunk of weight - 40+ pounds - since discovering I have cancer. I cannot personally take any credit whatsoever. It's all because of chemo.

When this all started, I swore I would keep up with drinking a lot of water and walking.

I've done neither. But because of my lack of appetite, the weight is falling off. (Boo Hoo, I know.)

However, there happens to be a down side to my silver lining. Yesterday I was dead heading my geraniums while wearing a sleeveless top. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw what appeared to be my arm fish tailing. Upon closer observation, it was the fat of my upper arm flailing in the wind as I tossed the little dead leaves aside.
I've had body image issues very single day of my life, so really not much rattles me. Cellulite - check. Wrinkles - yep. Age spots - uh huh. Gray hair - what I'd give for hair right now!!!!

But this was different. Ew! I debated as to whether or not to tell Robin. She's seen me at my worst, but technically we are still considered newlyweds, so maybe I should just keep this to myself.

After another minute or two of dead heading, I couldn't keep it in any longer.

"Robin? Come here. I want to show you something. But don't judge me! It's only temporary. When I feel better, I'll figure something out. But come look at this! God, I probably shouldn't let you see this. Just come here and look at this!"

"What? The fat under your arms? You have it on the back of your legs too."

February 4, 2016 - WORLD CANCER DAY

How did YOU celebrate? That's probably not the right word. Honor it? No. Recognize it? Maybe. Remember it? Surely now for the rest of my life.

I love festivities. I'm that person who puts their Christmas tree up before Thanksgiving. And right after it comes down, my Valentine's Day tree goes up.

But this February 4, 2016, the festivities went a little too far.

I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer on WORLD CANCER DAY! Had this been a Christmas lights decorating contest between the Griswald's and us, we would have won.

I'd been having a lot of pain last summer and fall. When I finally went to the hospital on Friday the 13th (see how I am about the special days?), 11/13/15, I recall saying something to Robin about at least it being my gall bladder and not my ... "Oh and the MRI showed a mass on your pancreas too. We're gonna need a CT scan."

No problem. Like sometimes a baby's ultrasound shows a weewee when really it's a hoohoo? I knew there was a mistake. A shadow or something.

No mistake. It was there.

They took care of the gall bladder and said we'd have to keep an eye on that mass. Come back in six weeks for a repeat CT scan.

I was still in constant pain and exhausted all the time. I ignored it. I was thinking menopause. I figured when they took out the gall bladder, they stabbed my uterus or something.

No biggie. Let the dust settle from the gall bladder and surely the pancreas stuff will have gone away. Had it been, they would have been all over it immediately, right? Six weeks seemed leisurely. Cancer is not a leisurely thing. It's a scary thing. That fact that they were waiting six weeks was a good thing. It was clearly a matter of them just covering their heinies thing.

But on January 5th, we learned it had doubled in size. My dad had died rather unexpectedly on January 3, so the timing was perfect. I'd had about 40 hours to get over his death.

Still not to worry. I was not jaundice and I certainly did not have inexplicable weight loss. I was certain it was just pancreatitis. They wanted to send me out of town for a biopsy. Wake Forest. A cancer place. A cancer place that specializes in pancreatic cancer. Well, they were just going to rule cancer out. Then I'd continue receiving treatment locally for pancreatitis or whatever it was.

Then on WORLD CANCER DAY, the doctor called. The nice looking, clean cut doctor, whose socks matched his shirt because he probably grew up with Granimals doctor. He called to tell me that I had pancreatic cancer and I was to go back to Wake Forest on February 8th to meet with the surgical oncologist who specializes in pancreatic cancer. We would then formulate the treatment plan.

That's where we are right now. I don't know if it's going to be chemo then surgery, or surgery then chemo. (It feels strange writing these words.)

I spend a little time on the FACEBOOK, shocking to you, I know. (Robin hates when I put the word "the" in front of words, like, "Wanna go to the WalMart?" So the this and the that it is!) I've seen my share of memes, the little postcard thingys. If they don't pertain to me, I just see the gist and move on without a lot of thought.

Within a month and a day, the memes about your dad being in heaven and being your guardian angel and the ones about sharing this rose if you know someone who's been touched by cancer have an entirely new meaning to me.

There isn't anything I can do about my dad being gone, but I can ask him to watch over me and make this less awful than it has to be. And he will.

Pumpkins and cider and wings - oh my! But the best part of the day ....

was visiting Robin's client in the hospital.

I've heard a lot about Leroy.  Robin's phone rings at all hours of the day and night, and she gets annoyed by that, but not when it's Leroy.  I felt like I knew him.  He's an old black man with 22 kids by eight different women.  He spent most of his life in prison.   He uses the N word like nobody I've ever heard before and swears even worse.  But he was homeless and Robin found him housing. 

I know she loves him a lot, so when she asked me to go to the hospital to see him before we began our day, I said I would.  When we went into his room, my first impression was a weak little old man lying in a hospital bed.  The nurse looked surprised that he had visitors.  He looked asleep, or maybe permanently asleep.  But his toothless little face lit up when he saw his boo, Robin.  She hugged him with more love and warmth than I think I've ever seen her demonstrate before.  He looked like a cute little smiling old black man baby. I half expected her to  blow a raspberry on his belly.  To which, I later learned, he'd say, "Lower, Boo!!!"

Robin introduced me to him as her wife.  The first words I heard this sickly little man say, "Oh, Miss Kim.  YOU IN HELL!" and he laughed and laughed and held Robin's hand and I was in love with him too. 

I learned quite a bit in the short hour we where there.  He can't keep all his kids' names straight, so he referred to a few of them as Double L (Little Leroy), Big Leroy, Little Leroy and Dumb Leroy.  Four of his kids were named after him.  One of his sons has an old lady the size of two elephants and he can't figure out how his kid can "find it".  ("No offence. Miss Kim")  And few of his daughters are apparently heffers.   Oh, and his mama was a devil whore, but she had her good points too.

He loves to cook but isn't eating well these days.  He can barely take a shower by himself.  He has a couple kids who stop by to supposedly check on him, but he knows they're just there to get a meal and take a shower.  He knows he's being used and he admits it hurts.  You'd think that with 22 kids, someone would step up.  The whole thing made me sad.

But you can't be sad for long around Leroy.  He has a joke for everything and even though they're not that great, the joy he gets from telling them is that great. 

He asked me to give him a sponge bath.  After giving it some serious thought, I declined.  Then he asked me to give Robin a sponge bath.  I played along and promised him a raincheck.

I've always thought that a good attitude is more than half the battle of anything.  Leroy is proof of this.  He's a sickly old man scared to die because of things he's done in his life and is afraid of going to hell.  He has a huge family, none of whom care about him.  If he gets out of the hosptial, he's afraid of winding up back on the streets, knowing he can't take care of himself as it is.  But he was able to find joy in seeing Robin.  She made him smile and he was happy.  

And that was the highlight of my day!      

Yesterday I posted about having my last drink without knowing that it would be my last drink.

This is because I had no intentions of quitting.  I just wanted to lose one pound a week by not drinking two days a week.  As much as I consumed (2000 calories a day, remember? - more than what's allowed in a daily diet), it was all night drinking.  That doesn't sound right -  I basically only drank at night.  Even while unemployed, I waited until 5:00.  Sure there were exceptions, but I wasn't a wake up and need a drink lush. 


April 8, 2013 was a Monday.  I resisted the urge to drink because it was my new diet plan.  I figured I'd skip Mondays and Wednesdays.  I didn't like it, but I didn't drink.  5:00 came and went and the hours passed on.  I was annoyed and uncomfortable, but I did it!  When we went to bed that night, Robin informed me she was proud of me.  I told her there was nothing to be proud of, that I was counting the hours until 5:00 (p.m., thank you) Tuesday. 


I did not fall asleep easily.  No surprise.  I was accustomed to drinking until I was about to fall asleep, a/k/a pass out.  Every.  Single.  Night.   For many many years (decades) I would be able to socialize with people and drink like a normal heavy drinker.  But what nobody knew, except Robin, is that it didn't stop when the party was over.  I was literally just getting warmed up.  I'd come home and pour some more.  I typically drank out of a 24 ounce plastic cup that would have some meaning to me.  Like when we went to Myrtle Beach with Ingrid and Deb, I wound up with a few Fat Tuesday cups.  Or Halloween cups.  Or Christmas.  The point was it was the biggest size glass I could justify without going straight for the  Big Gulp.  I'd fill it with ice, then fill it with vodka, give it a little swirl and ... voila.


By 3:00 a.m., stuff started to happen.  I'd only dozed on and off and suddenly I found myself sweating, full of anxiety, headachy, and nauseous.  My chest was tight.  I woke up Robin at 5:00 because I was scared.  We thought I had the flu.


I started throwing up and could not keep even the slightest sip of soda down.  This went on for a few days.   A few very long days.  I was in full blown detox and was too sick to even go to the doctor.


In order to feel not dead, I did try sipping on vodka.  Like everything else, it came right back up immediately.  I wasn't sleeping, I was constantly throwing up, had a terrible headache, every time I went to the bathroom, it was black, and I had an awful pain in what I imagined was my liver.  It felt like someone had wrung it out very very tightly and it was slowly unraveling.  I wondered if I was dying of liver failure. 


I felt sorry for Robin.  She was scared and didn't know what to do with me or for me.  I'm sure I was unpleasant to be around, to put it mildly. 


Luckily I wasn't working at this time.  Everything in my system was messed up.  I kept telling myself that I deserved it, because nobody can drink like that for so long and get away with it.  What did I expect?


In the back of my mind, I knew that if I made it to the other side and started feeling better, I'd want to drink.  But for days and days, going on weeks, I wasn't feeling better.  I finally had to face the fact that if I survived, I would have to not drink.  I could not ever go through this again.  This was a warning.


I finally started feeling physically better.   I drank some milkshakes and ate some mashed potatoes.  Yogurt became my best friend.  Toward the end of two weeks, I went to the doctor.  "Kim!  You were detoxing!"  She lectured me about how dangerous it was for me to quit like that, how I should have been hospitalized, and how I could have died. 


Then the hard part began.  The constant pounding head and vomiting was the easy part.  Now I had to deal with NOT DRINKING.  When I was sick, it was a breeze.  Now I was feeling better, and ready to start living again.  Drinking was part of my daily life and had been for over 30 years.


But I couldn't drink.  Not allowed.  Nope, can't drink.  What I'd been through was truly a wake up call for me.  It was my rock bottom.  I'd never been in trouble with the law, nobody ever broke up with me over my drinking, I never lost friends or family, I never really even made too much of an ass out of myself while drinking.  I'd never lost a job, never even called in sick with a hangover.  Sure my liver numbers were terrible and I couldn't lose weight, but it wasn't enough for me to give it up.


My wake up call, my rock bottom, was the two week period starting April 8th, 2013 when I was forced to see how fully addicted I was to alcohol.  Without it I felt like I was shriveling up and dying. 


I tried stopping before.  One time I went three months.  Other attempts included weaning down, just drink on weekends, no vodka, but anything else, and AA.Years ago in Miami I went to a shrink to help me stop.  After six months and thousands of dollars later, I'd had made no progress whatsoever.  We were both frustrated with each other.  In the final session, she told me I would never stop drinking - that I was the worst type of addict to treat.  I guess I'll never know what she meant by that.
 
It's always on my mind.  I miss it terribly.  I miss the buzz, the nightly mini vacations from reality, the relaxation, the bliss, the happiness, the warmth, the surge of energy, the forgetting, the taste, the smell.  I miss it all, and know that I cannot ever have it again.  I've cried because I can't drink.  I'm jealous of people who can drink like a normal person.   My heart has beaten out of my chest at the thought of never again.  Sometimes I can't believe it ...I don't drink ... I quit drinking.  I dream about it an awful lot.  In those dreams, I know I'm slipping, but make promises that I will just get right back on track.  I am always so thankful when I wake up from those dreams. 


Yes, I miss it, but I'm not tempted.  And that's huge.

I took my last drink two and a half years ago today.

And I had no idea at the time.





With a just slight hangover, nothing too bad, because let's face it, seasoned drinkers don't get bad hangovers, I decided I needed to curtail my drinking for the sake of losing weight. 






We were at friends'  house.  They were good friends - real grown ups - they always had a big bottle of Smirnoff  Raspberry Vodka on hand for me.  (And to any snob who may be reading this, I quit following the stats, but for many years Smirnoff won all the vodka contests.)  I humored them and let them think that I actually mixed it with diet lime tonic, which they also always had, as well as limes.  The good thing about clear mixers with vodka is that you can't tell how strong the drink really is.  Clear is clear.  If you muddy it with cranberry juice, the amount of the vodka will be revealed for the world to see. 


They made my drinks in the appropriate glassware for cocktails.   As the ice cubes clinked in the short glass, and the little pieces of lime pulp loosened up, we took pen to paper.  I knew it all off the top of my head.  They say if you ever want to know how to lose weight, ask a fat person.  I knew my stuff. 




Not counting the more than once in a while glass (bottle) of wine while making dinner, or a beer (or three) at a restaurant (never wasted money on watered down drinks out, unless it was a top shelf margarita with two extra shots on top),  I would go through a 1.75 bottle in two days.  That's about 59 ounces at about 64 calories an ounce.  This equals 3776, which is about 4000 calories, or 2000 calories per day.  To lose one pound, you have to burn off 3500 calories.  If I gave up drinking just two days per week, one pound would just melt away each week. 


Just two days a week!  In a year, I'd be more than 50 pounds down! 


I had no idea as I was perfecting my diet plan du jour that I would be enjoying my last cocktail.  I certainly didn't think that 912 (but who's counting?) days later I'd be writing about it and telling friends who are struggling that "it's just a feeling and it will pass." 


But here I am!

Ruffbeachday: Maybe it's time to make fun of my own family instead of Robin's...

Ruffbeachday: Maybe it's time to make fun of my own family instead of Robin's...

testing -- just playing with my blog

if you don't use it. you lose it

it appears i've lost my blog touch.  plus a lot has changed.  plus i'm doing it one handed because i'm eating a fudgcicle with my other hand.  it's not a bad fudgcicle.  it came from gnc.  via go.  go is the store robin hates.  it's like a soon to be, hurry up and buy it, outdated items store.  i bought a box of these fudgcicles for a dollar.  got in the car and ate one and sent robin back in for more boxes,  she and the cashier watched me - i didn't know it - and the girl told robin something like, boy they must be pretty good, look at her. now i'll be embarrassed  to go back in there.  no, i won't.  i'm 50 now.

anywho, if a fudgcicle has gnc on the box, it's a healthy choice.

let's see if this'll post.

love this pix of the heathens.  they look like they're posing for a dramatic, comes on at 10:00 pm, dog series .  they all look like villains.  except brady.  he just like he's about to pounce on my healthy gnc fudgcicle.

check out my blog at ruffbeachday.blogspot.com

Do you do anything?

If you watch "The Real Housewives of the O.C.", this will be familiar to you. And after reading this, you may likely think poorly of me, or in some cases, poorlier.

BUT ...

Here's the situation: You know someone who isn't exactly a person who you'd consider a friend. You have friends in common, are cordial to each other when necessary, but friends you are not. So not friends that you prefer when she is not around. You just don't click. There's tension there.

This non-friend's significant other is rumored to have cancer. There are also rumors circulating that that person is making up having cancer.

You know the name of the person's cancer doctor.

Do you do anything?

Backing up - Vicki is the non-friend and her boyfriend (who may or may not have cancer) is Brooks. You are Meghan.

A good friend of mine texted me after watching last week's RHoOC. Told me how she was disgusted with Meghan's behavior, what an a-hole, who does that, etc.? I watched it the next moring while on the treadmill and saw that Meghan actually called the cancer doctor's office to see if they treat cancer patients. As I watched, I didn't think what she did was awful. The more I watched, the more I realized that I would have done the exact same thing! Who wouldn't? Was I missing something?

Later that day I asked Robin, who had also seen it, "I don't get it. What did Meghan do that was so wrong?"

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No - what's the big deal? She made a phone call to a doctor's office."

"It's none of her business!"

I won't further bore you with the details of our elevated voices and colorful names thrown back and forth, but we disagreed.

The next day I asked a friend at work who is like minded to me. "No. That's crossing the line." (What do you know?)

Asked two more friends at work - who basically told me to get a life - who cares - and mind your own business. (Well you two suck.)

Texted Ingrid. Asked her if she'd call the doctor - "No, but I wouldn't throw a fund raiser for that guy either." (Gee, thanks for tossing me a bone.)

Called my mother, "No, I don't think so. Not really any of your business, is it?" (Well, no, but that's not the point, MOM.)

I thought about putting it on Facebook, but Robin told me that with my present poll score being 7-0, I would look like a psycho. "People don't need to know how you really are. Just leave it alone." Riiiight.

I finally texted a friend in Miami with whom I hadn't spoken in a year, other than to send her a wedding picture, and let's face it, that was purely fishing for a compliment. She did agree with me.

But it took asking eight people to find one person to agree with me.

On the show, Meghan dug a lot further. She called an ex girlfriend and really did go out of her way to get to the bottom of it and she did look like an ass. I wouldn't have gone to those depths, but a little tiny phonecall? I do NOT see a big deal.

Does anyone else agree with me? Somebody? Hello?

((( I asked Robin to proof read this for me. She said, "It's fine. You're gonna lose every friend you ever had, but post it. )))

I'm turning 50 soon. And these blogs aren't gonna write themselves.

I have two life changing pieces of paper right now that I didn't have this morning. Nor did I ever really think I'd have them.

One is a marriage license.

The other is my AARP application.

If you're not a personal friend of mine or a Facebook friend, you probably don't know that Robin and I are getting married on my 50th birthday on April 14th.

Some warn us not to rush into anything. We've only put up with each other, I mean been together for a dozen or so years. But we're going for it on a beach on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. A very small, very simple ceremony. At first nobody was going to be invited. Then a lot of people. Then no people. Then just dogs. We have finally settled in on a few people who can make it. It's really going to be perfect!

I'm hoping to hone my writing skills - again - and what better place than right here? I'm settling in quite nicely to the second half of my life and I want as few regrets as possible as the years keep passing. I don't want not ever having written that book to be one of them.

Who you calling crazy, Crazy?

Even though I didn't want to because of female stuff (won't bore you with the gory - literally - details), we went to a few garage sales in Iris and Joe's development yesterday. Before I even got out of the car, I knew it was a mistake. Joe came running up to the car yelling at Robin for something that he told her about Iris that he shouldn't have, Robin and Iris subsequently got into a little spat, Robin brought it up and Iris was now pissed at Joe for telling Robin and now Joe was pissed at Robin for telling Iris. Got that? So it was 7:30 a.m., everyone's mad at everyone and I reluctantly got out of the car wondering if today's the day that I will bleed to death.

My purchase of the day was a PED EGG. Not used, thank you. As I gave the 147 year old my $4.00 (they go for $10 in the store...bargain - yeah...steal - not exactly), she informed me how well they work but when she quit walking, she didn't need them anyway more. There's an idea! Preserve those expensive pedis by not walking. Then the fun part was explaining to Joe what it was. "Kimmy, vhat chu buy?" "It's a PED EGG, Joe." "A PED EGG. Oh. Vhat is this PED EGG?" "It's for your feet." "Oh. For your feet. You put eggs on your feet? Vhy you put eggs on your feet?" I had to get this over with. "No. It's got sharp little metal teeth that you scrape your heels with and all the dead skin flies off." That did the trick. He waved his hand in disgust at me and walked away to look at the jigsaw puzzles.

We managed to get out of there within a half an hour and went WalMart for some pool chemicals. I was going to wait in the car but remembered that I needed to get a couple Father's Day cards. I got a phonecall from a friend and was still on the phone with her as we checked out and got back in the car. Started driving home and the car swerved into GO Grocery. Handed the phone to Robin as I went inside. Robin hates this store because she's a snob, but I have come to LOVE it!!! Did I pull a fast one? Perhaps, but I came out of there with two bags full of goodies for $15.00. I'm talking International Delight coffee creamers for $1.59 and Velvetta blocks for $1.79, just to name a few.

Came home and we both relaxed in the Honey Boo Boo Pool. Robin informed me that I talk incessantly and that I am crazy. Not in a "girl, you so cray cray" way, but she said I am a scary type of crazy because it goes down deep to the bone and most people aren't aware of it, but it's spookily subtle and it's very there.

I disregarded her comments. Afterall, she's always telling me I talk too much. Just Friday night, as we (she) was dozing off, I was talking and she told me that I talk too much. Fine. It was 8:47. (OK, it was 8:07.) 8:07 and I decided that I would not speak to her again for 24 hours. Drove her nuts! Within THREE minutes she was apologizing and within FOUR minutes, she was BEGGING me to speak. Within four and a half minutes, everything was back to normal and I was telling her what a cute name Schatzi Suess (my work love, the owner's dog) is.

But the crazy comment must have stuck with me because I dreamt about it last night. I dreamt I went to a really famous psychiatrist who threw his hands up in dispair and referred me to his mentor. The second shrink , an older Sherlock Holmes looking gent, talked to me for hours and took all kinds of notes. Then, as I sat there, he researched all his books like a mad man. No google in this dream, I guess. Finally he was calm and composed and said very quietly that I have "Rolling Eye Syndrome". But given my love for the booze, he'd be unable to prescribe anything for me. He went on to say that maybe if Robin wanted, he'd be able to give her a lil sumpin sumpin for her nerves. Well, that hardly seems fair. WTH??!! If I have the syndrome, I should get the drugs.

I cannot think of a better time to start blogging again; Iris and Joe arrived in NC today.

For those of you who don't know, they are Robin's parents. They spend half their time in FL and half their time in NC. And it's now NC time.

Right now I am making that noise that one does when backseat driving and the driver gets too close to the car ahead of them. Or when seeing someone with a new really bad hair cut. Or when Iris just called and said they can't find their house key and Robin had to stop what she was doing to go give them hers.

It's not a good happy sound - the sound of grimacing and sucking in air.

I'm not grimacing because she had to leave. I'm grimacing because she will soon arrive over there. And by there, I mean Iris and Joe's - "Home of the Dead Plant".

It's true. They had one plant and it's now dead. Iris will not be pleased. Every single Saturday for the past six months, I have encouraged Robin to, "Let's go water your mother's plant." "Nah. I'll do it next week." You know the ending.

Today Robin replaced said plant with a completely different type and said her mother probably won't notice and if she does, she will just have to get over it. "It's a plant," she said.

Little did she know that she would be there when Iris arrived in NC. Surely she thought she'd have some time. Time is a good cushion. Heals wounds, blah blah blah. As she left I heard her mumbling things like, "This is not good." And, "Why didn't I just go over there and water that damn plant?" And, "I HEAR YOU LAUGHING."

How many days until the week before Thanksgiving?

A little dream of mine

It's not a life long dream, like having a cottage on three (must be fenced in -- but nicely done) acres on the coast of Maine with 12 rescued dogs who live together in harmony with Robin and me and a penthouse in Manhattan for long weekends when we need a break and/or when my publisher wants to see me with news so good that it must be shared in person. (Check my yearbook - living in Manhattan really has been a lifelong dream of mine. It was easier to dream that before turning into a crazy dog lady, but hey, where there's a will, there's a way.)

This dream is rather young. About an hour and a half young, born this afternoon when we took our first batch of homemade bagels out of the oven. The dream grew roots when shortly thereafter we made a jalapeno popper dip. I hadn't intended for the bagels and dip to go with each other. They were both recipes that were introduced to me this week that I simply wanted to try. But when Robin walked around one corner gnawing on a bagel and I rounded the other corner testing the jalapeno dip, we collided and this creation simutaneously combusted. So did my dream. OK, well I stole that visual from the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup commercial, but this combo is equally as good. (Oh that reminds me - their Easter eggs should be out soon! Yay!)

So here's what. I am going to find a pink vintage Shasta (ham can looking old trailer for those who don't know), hopefully redo it to complete adorableness under the guidance of our friend, Kat, whose fault it is that I want one of these in the first place, and travel from Asheville to the NC coast to the coast of FL, selling fresh homemade bagels and schmears in a pink outdoor cafe setting. We'll be like hot dog vendors or lunch truck people! We'll stay as long as we want in an area, then move on to the next town. The town folk will HATE to see us go and word of mouth will spread faster than, oh wait, no more Iris jokes.

Do I have some details to work out? Sure. Should I put some more thought into it before we quit our day jobs? I guess. But a girl can dream and I think this is a swell idea. Right up there with opening a worldwide chain of tanning salons in airports. (Think about it. You want a tan before you go on vacation to get a base. And on the way home, you can get that extra boost of sun that you're not getting naturally because you're now flying back to Detroit. It's a good plan. Seriously.)

Here are the recipes. Hope I wasn't not supposed to share. If so, oopsy.

BAGELS: Go to allrecipes.com and type in Boiled Bagels. Per my friend's suggestion, we made six instead of whatever they said and boiled them for two minutes on each side.

JALAPENO POPPER DIP: I don't usually measure when cooking. Just guesstimated the following. Used reduced fat cream cheese and mayo and it was still delicious.

2 pax softened cream cheese
1 C mayo
1/2 C shredded Monterrey Jack cheese
1/4 C canned chopped green chili peppers
1/4 C diced jalapeno peppers
1 C Parmesan cheese
1/2 C Panko bread crumbs

Mix and bake in a shallow dish for 30 minutes at 40*

One step forward, two steps back ... used to be my way of life ... not any more.

I'm just going to ignore the fact that (again) I haven't posted in months and pretend that I haven't horribly ignored my blog.

Last year was my personal best. I accomplished a lot. Lost a chunk of weight, walked like a mental patient (as in a lot , not as in around in circles while drooling) and got a jay oh bee. But those things added together and multiplied by a bazillion don't begin to compare with giving up drinking. Enough about that. To me it's the best and biggest thing I ever did. To someone else it could be like not ordering fries with that.

Robin and I went for a little walk today. Not a long one. Not a hike. Not a short but intense walk. Just a normal walk around a small lake a few times at the Carl Sanburg Estate. The point is that we got out and got moving. Then we went to a highly recommended bakery and got something that a friend had recommended to me earlier this week...a big warm doughy pretzel wrapped in BACON and barely drizzled in a light maple syrup. Been thinking about it all week and prepared myself not to get my hopes up. Was so happily satisfied that I almost smoked a cigarette afterward.

So the little walk didn't offset the bacon salty doughy little touch of maple deliciousness. Not my goal today. Today, I did take one step forward and two steps back. But if I strive to, on most days, take two steps forward and one step back, then next year at this time I will be as happy with myself for personal accomplishments this year as I am now for last year's. (Huh?).

On one hand, 2013 is when I made up my mind to quit drinking. It was the ending of a too long chapter in my life, so the year is notable. (BTW, that is what anything boils down to...making up your mind.) April 8, 2013, to be exact. But I made up my mind not to drink on April 9th, June 18th, August 2nd, December 24th, today, and every other day between then and now, so every day is a victory since I choose it to be. THAT is a feeling better than any buzz I've ever had.

I passed!!!! (with flying colors, I might add)

We've all been there. That point in a relationship where one person will say, "If you love me, you'll _____."

That fill in the blank can be anything from "take out the trash" to "spend all of Saturday at my mother's house" to "crave Chinese for dinner" (again). ETC. Sometimes the blanks are serious, like "never speak of this again" to silly like "stick a cigarette in your ear and let me light it".

Or in my case, it could be, "GET THE EFFING WART FROM THE DOG OFF MY FOOT NNNNOOOOWWWW." Robin just went to take a little power nap and all of a sudden I heard screeching. Not blood curdling though. More like, well, she'd seen what appeared to be a wart from the dog between the sheets.

Bodi, our girl dog, has had a little wart like thing dangling from her front left elbow since she was born. Vets said it wasn't anything to worry about. I always figured that one day I would have it removed because she felt self conscious about it. That day hasn't come yet and I noticed that she'd been gnawing at it lately. We've had friends suggest we tie a string around it to cut off the blood supply and it would fall off. One friend even offered to do it (her brother had done it to himself, afterall) and we declined. Seemed so - barbaric.

So I was happy to just let nature take it's course to see if Bodi would chew it off herself.

Well, the thing did get smaller and smaller and I thought she just kinda drained it. Looked healthy enough for a deflated wart and I assumed all's well that ends well.

Until today. When Robin screeched. I ran in there and asked what the issue was. She'd thrown down the sheet and demanded, "WHAT'S THAT?" Clearly, I had no idea and said, "Doo doo?" Worth a shot. Robin went on to tell me that it's MY dog's effing wart and I needed to remove it at once. Not having my glasses on and assuming she knew what she was talking about, I put my hands over my mouth, threw up a little, backed up and said over and over, "I can't." She then reminded me of all the gross things she has retrieved, disposed of, wiped up, handled - blah blah blah - and I finally said, "FINE!!!!! Lemme go get my glasses." Came back, not without giving poor Bodi a filthy, "I've now gotta go in there and pick up YOUR wart, Prima Donna. Couldn't you have for once just acted like a dog and just eaten the damned thing??" look and walked toward the bed armed with paper towels, Chlorox Cleanup and Walmart bags. Got closer and closer and then I realized - it was merely a dried up jalapeno pepper. Picked it up and pretended to lick it and walked away.

Who was throwing up a little now?

You may be wondering why we had a jalapeno pepper in our bed. Not the point. My point is, I love Robin enough to pick up a would be dog wart. That's a beautiful line - may have to incorporate it in to our wedding vows - "I, Kim, love you, Robin, enough " ... you know the rest.

Since it's been almost six months since I last posted, I figured I'd catch up for a minute.

Let's see.  This morning I got up and cleaned out the freezer.  FYI - if there's ever a world wide boneless/skinless chicken breast shortage, I'm your girl.

Yesterday Robin and I spent the entire morning junking and came home empty handed.  That's a first!  So we went to Fresh Market and spent all the money we didn't spend on crap and bought some beautiful fresh shrimp.  Then we wound up having turkey and swiss sandwiches for dinner.

What else?  We're gonna bathe all the heathens today.  Supposed to be a beautiful day after a record breaking rainy summer.

I got a FITBIT last week and today I will get in 10,000 steps (for the first time since I put this thing on) if it kills me.

Seems like there was...oh yeah...I lost over 40 pounds, got a job and QUIT DRINKING since I last posted.  Noooooo stories there ----  

When did you lose your glam?

The other day, out of having nothing to do and all day to do it (I refuse to use the word 'boredom' because Marylu Henner recently said on "Anderson Cooper", "If you're bored, you're boring), I invented a little game to play with Ingrid.  I texted her asking her to share something she does in the privacy of her home that she wouldn't want anyone on earth to know.

She complied and then so did I.  Then she went again.

Last night I thought of something else.  I will share this one because it greatly reflects my class, elegance and sophistication.  I recently went through my Facebook friend list and unfriended some people who either I don't really even know, didn't like that much or who just bored me.  A few are on the fence right now.  One "friend" changes their FB profile picture a lot.  Like twice a day.  It annoys the bejesus out of me.  Keep them around just to love to hate.  Whenever they change it, I literally flick the screen.  I'm usually on my Kindle Fire and do this from my chair.

This is how the text went down:

Me:  Another thing I do  - whenever so and so changes their FB picture, I flick the screen.

Her:  ROFLMAO!!  I can see that too...in the brown chair...one leg thrown over the side, upper teeth pressing into lower lip.

Me:  OMG!  That's exactly how I'm sitting!!!

Her:  Hair pulled back.  Ratty slippers on.  It's burnt into my retina.

Me:  It's like I'm on a webcam!

A few months ago when she was here she called me on my cellphone first thing in the morning and asked me to come to the guest room.  Got in there (all the way from the living room) and she asked me, "Kim?  When did you lose your glam?" 

Offended, I have not let her forget this.  She recently asked for a list of some of my favorite make up and lotion and stuff like that.  Told her about Rapid Lash, Oil of Olay In Shower Body lotion, lip plumper and a few other things.  I let her know, under no uncertain terms, that although I shared a few faves, I draw the line at sharing my health and fitness tips with her.

Last night she pointed out that that vision of me in the chair, leg flung over, ratty slippers and hair up was the catalyst to that pertinent question..."When did you lose your glam?"

Sad to say, I get it now.

For you, Celeste & Jack

A friend of mine had to send her beloved dog to doggie heaven yesterday and it got me thinking about my own heathens. Started going through old pictures and came across this one. I've posted many of these types of pictures in the past. Probably a dozen or so. And I realized something.  After Bailey died five years ago, Buddy was our oldest dog. When we'd come home and find these disasters, I'd blame everybody except Buddy. By blaming, I mean I'd say, "Bodi? Did you do this?" or I'd look at Baxter and say, "Bad boy". And that was the end of it. Nobody ever suffered any consequences so it didn't really matter.  Buddy was never questioned.  But now that Perfect Dog Buddy has been gone for over a year, it dawned on me...this has not happened once since he's been gone!! Buddy!! You got us!!

Everyone loved that dog. Can't put my finger on it, (just like I can't put my finger on why (to me) Lisa Vanderpump looks way older than 52 - is it her hair? The way she dresses?) but Buddy just had "it".

The first time I had to put a dog down was in October of 1999. Sir Spankford Vahn Doolittle (a/k/a "Spanky") was my first pet as an adult. I had just moved from Orlando to Jacksonville to be with my girlfriend at the time. After having lots of friends in Orlando and going to just the two of us, I decided a puppy was in order. Well, that and a few chicken wings and a pitcher of beer. OK - two pitchers. This was before "google", so we got a newspaper and found someone who was selling cocker spaniels on the "west side". Some people say 'the west side is the best side' (of Jacksonville), but I'm not one of them. So we got to the trailer park, found the right trailer, and were invited inside. There must have been ten cocker spaniel puppies running around, each one cuter than the next. How would I ever choose? Then I saw him. My dog. He was sprawled out on the little air vent with the AC blowing back his little ears. It was love at first sight! His eyes said, "I'd love to show you more of me and how cute I am, but is it worth losing my spot?"

That dog was the light of my life for ten years.

We (new girlfriend and I) got Bailey when Spanky was about six years old. Bailey is a whole 'nother story. Swear we were mother/daughter in a former life. She took it very hard when Spanky died. My partner and I went away to visit friends in the country for a long weekend about a month after Spanky died. Bailey had been depressed. On the ride over, we discussed getting another dog from the shelter when we got home. We agreed it was time and it'd be good for Bailey.

The next morning I was telling my friend about it being time to get another dog. She said that there was a cute black stray who ran with a pack. Said he seemed very sweet and she wanted to keep him, but her husband put his foot down. Long story short, the dog showed up alone, I patted my thigh and said, "Here Buddy", and that's all she wrote. He was with me from 11/99 through 01/24/12.

There are many Buddy stories I could share, but my all time favorite is this: My partner at the time and I decided to take Bailey and Buddy to Jekyll Island, GA. We were the only ones on the beach for miles (except for the sand dollars of which there were hundreds). Decided to go to town one afternoon and took them for a ride (the dogs, not the sand dollars). Stopped at a gas station at a very busy intersection and my partner pumped the gas. I decided I wanted something from inside and when I got out of the car, Buddy escaped. He was running wildly all over the place and I was freaking out thinking that he'd be hit by a car. Strangers helped us corner him by a bread delivery truck. By the time I got close to the truck, Buddy had run up into the truck. I finally got to the truck just in time to see Buddy lift his leg on the driver. All I could see was pee running down the leg of his black polyester pants. He was very tall black man talking on a cell phone. As I slowly looked up and met his eyes he said to the other person on the phone, "Ima hafta let you go. A damn dog just peed all up my leg."

I'm sure I fumbled an apology, got Buddy in the car, and I went inside to get my stuff. I felt something piercing the top of my head and when I turned around, it was the bread man staring down at me. I tried to apologize and he gave me the "talk to the hand" wave.

So, my friend, as much as you're suffering today and the days to come, please know that one day you will be able to remember your Schatzi girl with more smiles than tears.

RIP Schatzi - and give smooches to Buddy, Bailey, Spanky and all the other puppies. We'll all be together one day. You'll see. And tell Mr. Buddy that his mommies know about all those dog beds and pillows.

~~~ THREE LITTLE PIGS ~~~

If you are a friend of mine on Facebook, you're probably tired of me talking about my dog, Baxter. If you're not a FB friend, Baxter has had some medical issues lately, but I am confident that he will be just fine.

2013 is, so far, just as I had hoped it would be. I have a positive attitude about this being a good year for Robin and me. She is about to start a new job and Baxter is good. I know there is a perfect job for me out there and I am anxious to find it. I have been working out on a regular basis and eating healthier. Until yesterday.

Baxter's specialist is about an hour and 20 minutes away. It's in South Carolina. In Florida, the most popular grocery store chain is Publix. There are no Publix stores in NC, but there SC has them. Other than Popeye's, Publix has the best fried chicken. There are no Popeye's in NC. So when I saw that there was a Publix on the way to the vet, my mind immediately went to fried chicken. It wasn't an impulse stop. I planned it. For a while. I told Robin I wanted to stop on the way home from the vet yesterday and get some chicken. She was all for it - at the time.

One thing you probably don't know about Robin is that her taste buds change on a daily basis. One day she hates chocolate, the next day she'll eat two candy bars. One day she can't handle spicy food, the next day she's putting half a bottle of hot sauce on macaroni and cheese.

But Robin's food swings would not stop me from getting my chicken. As we pulled in, she announced that she hates fried chicken, that we'd be getting it just for me. Yeah, soooo? I was half way to the entrance and she was still talking about hating chicken.

Got my box - looking back, I could have gotten just a piece or two - paid - got in the car. There was a McDonald's in the parking lot and I have always gotten my dogs a cheese burger after going to the vet. Told her to go there and order a burger with nothing on it for Baxter. Pulls up and orders that, plus a Number One. Asked her what she was doing, told me she was hungry, and asked if I wanted anything. Told her no, I had chicken.

Honestly - I kind of wanted a burger. And fries. But I had this box of chicken and there's no way I could have been such a pig. Well, that's not true. I so could have. But the chicken was bad enough and I am blowing my "plan" as it is. I did the responsible thing and ordered nothing. I had my chicken for when I got home.

She got the food and drove away from McDonald's. She stopped somewhere to eat. I wasn't paying attention because I was too busy breaking off Baxter's burger into small bites for him. Got done with him and noticed how good her fries smelled. Tried to ignore it and just cracked the window and looked out. I am bigger than those fries.

Then I noticed the smell of my fried chicken. Before I realized it I had a big ole chicken breast in my hand and was going to town on it. Little pieces of crunchy skin peppered my pale pink hoody, but I didn't care. It was so good - I hadn't had fried chicken in forever - I deserve this - been through so much with Baxter - this is comfort food and damn it, I need some comforting.

She was wolfing down a Big Mac and fries, Baxter had had his burger, and I was chomping like a savage on a piece of fried chicken. Looked up from my feeding frenzy and realized where we were. In the parking lot of a really nice and really big GYM.

The words SO WRONG don't begin to describe...

Now I am stuck with all this chicken that Robin won't help me eat. Oh well, today's a new day. It's Tuesday and maybe Robin will love fried chicken. And we do have a friend who never ever cooks, so maybe we'll give it to her. Yeah right. Who I am trying to fool?