WINTER'S OUT, SUMMER'S IN

I packed away all my winter clothes yesterday. I hate switching out seasonal clothing. I always feel the necessity to throw stuff out. I mean really...did I ever wear that ugly brown sweater with the horses all over it. Well, maybe once, but it is definitely ugly and I should put it in the Goodwill bag, but what if it's not ugly next winter? What if next winter, poop colored brown sweaters with horses charging across the front of them is all the rage? It could be you know. Not likely, but hey, why take a chance? I put it in the bin with the two tone green sweater that makes my complexion look ghoulish and the baby pink heavy knit one that belongs in Chicago weather and the yellowish brown one with leather buttons which quite frankly is rather manly. I just can't seem to let clothes go. I'll deal with them next winter.

I opened the summer buckets and began unloading all the short sleeve and sleeveless tops (need to lift heavier weights to firm up those underarm wings), the capris (time to start applying the sunless tanning lotion to my bone white legs), skirts, dresses...and things I didn't even know I owned! I put the shorts in a drawer (like I'll ever wear those with the cellulite explosion on my thighs). The bathing suits made me cringe. I was glad to find my full length cover-ups. Everything is either hung in the closet or neatly folded in drawers. I still need to switch out winter shoes for summer sandals. That's really the only part of this process I enjoy. I LOVE my sandals! My feet are probably my best feature right now, so I want to be sure to show them off!

I love summer. I love the smell of meat sizzling on the bbq, birds chirping, kids laughing, the warmth of the sun on my skin and the scent of blossoming flowers. I'm not too crazy about summer clothing anymore though. Winter clothes make me look so much better. Thank God, the style right now is loose and flowy. I can do loose and flowy!

Off to the store to stock up on sunscreen and sunless tanning lotion. Maybe I'll treat myself to a nice spray tan when I get up the nerve to actually don some of the summery stuff I've got in my wardrobe now. Sigh...I remember my 30's with such longing this time of year.

I WANT IT MY WAY

I can really be a pain-in-the-ass when I go out to eat. I've seen waiters and waitresses, I've had in the past, slip a ten or twenty to the hostess, when they see me arrive, so I won't be seated in their area.

I'm Sally, from When Harry Met Sally..."on the side please". I'm Burger King, "have it my way". I just want, what I want and how I want it. After all if I'm paying for it shouldn't it be something I'll enjoy? Don't get me wrong. I'm not uppity or sticking it to the wait staff just for laughs. I'm always polite. Hell, I even smile, but I still want things served in certain ways.

It always starts with my drink. I like LOTS of ice. And when I mean LOTS of ice, I mean like an ice cap or massive glacier formed in my glass. I always want lemon too. When my drink arrives...that's the first clue on whether this waiter or waitress is going to get a good tip.

Salad dressings should always be 'on the side', hot foods--hot and cold foods--cold. If I order meat well-done, then I don't want to see a hint of pink. If I want wilted salad, I'll eat at home with greens from a plastic bag. Hold the sauce, go light on the sauce, sauce on the side...I'm never sure which way I'll go, but I like the server to be able to keep up.

I don't believe a tip is a given. I always tip according to service. The nice thing is for all the waiters and waitresses out there who might stumble across this blog...if you are polite, smile and are even fun...then you can screw up my order over and over and I will still be leaving you a good tip. If you are rude, grouchy, sullen or a drag, then even serving everything perfect won't get ya a decent tip.

I'm going out to lunch today. Maybe I should take a copy of this blog along with me. NAH, let's just play waiter roulette and see what happens!

HURRY UP

Just when I think my Northern blood has been totally "Southernized"...I run into some sort of snafu. Yesterday I went to the grocery store. I wanted seven simple items. I figured "I'm in, I'm out". Yeah...not in the South.

I got on the line of a talker. Or as we say in New York...a tawker. I'm not talking about the customer. I'm talking about the cashier. She was learning all about why she shouldn't be hiding "real" eggs for her kids to hunt, but should be buying the plastic ones to hide. REALLY...really? You're gonna hold up a line of four people so you can get a salmonella lesson?

When I first moved South of the Mason Dixon line, about twenty years ago, one of the first places I had to visit was a grocery store to stock our new digs. I was so frustrated with how slow the line moved through the check-outs. The cashier was all friendly, with smiles and comments on customer's purchases. COME ON!! I just want the New York...bada bing, bada boom...I'm outta here. Over the years though I've learned to appreciate the slow Southern style a bit more and I thought I was over my hurry, hurry ways.

Not so yesterday. Ms. Talker not only yakked too much, she screwed up the customer's total (and of course the customer was writing a check) and had to have her rewrite check. She offered to give her change for the difference, but the difference was $26.00 and they were only allowed to give out $25 in cash...yada, yada, yada. Suffice it to say...I was ready to scream by the time I finally got my items rung up and out to my car.

I talked to myself all the way home about it. So any of you drivers who might have seen a crazy lady on New Hope Road around 3:00 yesterday talking to herself...YEAH, that was ME and I had issues I need to deal with!

Today I've been singing the song "slow down, you move too fast, you got to make the morning last.........." I'm about to go out to eat. I wonder if my waiter will be a talker? "slow down, you move too fast.....", keep singing Debe, keep singing.

YUM, SMELL THAT CUP 'O JOE

Anyone who truly loves coffee needs to stay away from the brew I produce. I actually had a dream about my coffee last night. In my dream I was hostessing a party at our house (pretty normal stuff). I walked into my kitchen and two people were standing there, coffee cups filled and getting ready to drink. I grabbed the cups and said, "Oh no, you can't drink that...it's way too weak!"

I like my coffee see-through. I love the taste of the creamer and the two teaspoons of sugar I add, but I just want the water "coffee flavored". I've been teased mercilessly by my coffee connoisseur friends, but I don't really care. It's how I like it. If I go to someone's house and they offer me coffee...I have to pour half or even a quarter of a cup and then add water, microwave, then add my cream and sugar. Most true coffee admirers look on in horror at this process, so I usually just say "no thanks" and simply enjoy the wonderful aroma the coffee produces.

I love tea, but there is nothing like the smell of coffee in the morning to wake me up and get me feeling perky. I don't think there's any law that says the coffee has to be pitch black or has to be consumed without any additional flavorings. Is there? Speaking of flavors...I also love flavored coffees. If it's not flavored, then adding some vanilla or hazelnut creamer makes me a happy camper.

I make two pots of coffee when I'm entertaining. One is a 12-cup pot which I make as dark as possible and the other is a 3-cup...just for wimpy ole coffee drinker me or any of my other friends who might simply enjoy the "idea" of coffee. Not that I've found any friends like that yet...but I'm lookin'. Any takers?

CRASH, BANG, BOOM..........

I'm not a big fan of thunderstorms. Maybe this is one of the reasons it's difficult for me to write Gothic romances. I can't imagine my heroine waiting for her prince charming, standing on the moors with the wind whipping around her, lightning blazing in the sky, thunder rumbling as she gets drenched in cold soaking rain. (see how that little scenario just went downhill) Not a fan! Not a fan at all.

Last night we had a doozie of a storm pass through. My hubby is out of town again, so I didn't even have him to cuddle up to. As I lay there quivering, heart pounding in my chest after the first huge BANG shook the house, I wanted the dog to crawl up on the bed with me. I thought at least I could hold onto him. He had his own problems though. He also hates storms and he was under my bed, trying to dig a hole through the floor to hide in.

His antics did take my mind off the noise outside my window. I was too busy yelling at him to stop digging at the carpeting and banging on the side of the bed in hopes of scaring him into coming out, to pay too much attention to all the racket outside. I finally had to resort to getting out from under the covers, including the one covering my head...lift the bedskirt and try to coax him out. It didn't work. He just stared at me, wide eyed and shivering.

I finally gave up on the dog, crawled back under my covers, grabbed my hubby's pillow, threw the sheets up over my head and wrapped my arms around the pillow. Not exactly the stuff that Desire romance novels are made of, but at least it made me feel a little better. The dog just kept digging till everything finally quieted down.