USA - USA - USA (Everybody now!)

In the early 1990s, I was a young girl with crooked teeth. I was also an Olympic champion in training.

You may not have heard about my incredible gymnastic abilities because girls like Kim Zmeskal, Shannon Miller and Kerri Strug stole the sports news spotlight but I was a part of it all...in my own mind. I mean, I did take a year or two of gymnastics at Louise Noel's School of Dance!

My training facility was located in West Springfield, MA...almost in my backyard. Okay, fine. It was my backyard.

Around the in-ground pool, my parents had installed wooden beams to section off the patio, contain the landscape, and enhance the overall atmosphere of our seasonal living room. Being a creative youngster, I doubled these beams as Olympic balance beams and even downed trees. (Shout out to all Troop Beverly Hills fans!)

I'd throw on my bathing suit, which was as good as any leotard, and leap, twist and dismount with my hands in the air and everything. I'd also get slivers in my feet and fall into the fence. Perhaps it's a good thing that my career was short lived.

From experience, I know how much blood, sweat and tears goes into being an Olympian. Now that I've retired from the sport, the least I can do is watch the current athletes compete and, hopefully, make history.

I guess I'll be glued to NBC and NBC affiliates for the next few weeks. "USA - USA - USA..."

Headed In The Right Direction

My father has always been there for me to help guide me through life.
He helped me onto the school bus the first day of Kindergarten and followed the bus to school so he was there when I arrived. He was great for helping me with math homework during my stint in elementary school. He taught me how to drive a stick-shift in a Downtown Springfield parking lot. He has always given me great advice about choosing a college, dealing with a car accident and purchasing a home. He is great for developing budget spreadsheets so I don't overdraw my bank account...again.
But this time...he's really outdone himself. He has purchased me a Garmin GPS.
For those of you who don't know, I've been teased and mocked for years for being Ms. Mapquest. I've been told that with the technology these days, there is no reason to have print-out Mapquest directions on the passenger seat.
I wouldn't say I've been resistant to this new technology but I typically go to and from the same places. If I don't know how to get there by now, I have bigger issues to deal with.
I will admit that there have been a handful of times where I've, simply, had a mental block and have just driven in the wrong direction to get some place.
There was this one time in college where I was driving from West Springfield, MA to Newport, RI and I looked at the Mapquest directions and quickly skimmed down....90 East...blah blah blah...146 South....yeh yeh yeh...95 South... I instinctively drove on the Mass Pike to 95 South, adding approximately two years onto the trip. Not smart!
Another time, also in college, I drove from Framingham, MA to Marblehead, MA by going on 290 through Worcester. Don't ask...crazy college days?
Well, my friends, never again. Thanks, Dad, for always pointing me in the right direction.

Not One Drop

I've said for years that going to Fenway Park is like a religious experience for me. I'd venture to say that the walls of Fenway contain more faith than St. Thomas the Apostle Church. When I walk through the gates of Fenway, a special feeling comes over me that I can't quite describe.
Some say that God won't give you more than He knows you can handle. Although you might think that you can't take any more of Bobby Valentine...or Matt Albers...or Nick Punto, God knows your limits and He takes special care of Red Sox fans. I mean, haven't we been through enough?
He certainly took special care of me & some special people a few weeks ago.
Uncle Tom, Jill, Sarah, Dad & I set aside a Friday in early June for Dad-Daughter Day in Beantown. The Florida contingent was in town and we decided to spend the day visiting some of the city's most valued institutions and houses of worship...Harvard, the "Gah-den" and, of course, Fenway.
The weather forecast had looked decent in the days leading up to our adventure but as days were checked off the calendar, it started to look...well, not so great. In fact, I brought an umbrella and a fleece jacket.
We took a driving tour of Harvard so Jill could recruit a boyfriend (unsuccessfully) and then we headed, by way of The Harp for a few beers, to the TD Garden, home of the Boston Celtics. As we sat in The Harp, I recounted some stories of dancing to Jessie's Girl while wearing pink corduroys and stealing a lollipop from the DJ booth on "that very dance floor" as we watched the rain start to fall.
We paid our tab and as we walked towards the exit, I faintly heard a choir of angels' song and the rain instantly stopped. We crossed the street safely and made our way from the dark into the sunshine that was the Garden.
From there, we got into the car and headed towards the light...of the infamous Citgo sign. We were Lansdowne bound.
We walked from Dad's super secret parking spot to...where else?...the Cask & Flagon for an early dinner. Without a wait, we were seated at a table away from the crowd but near the excitement. As we settled in, we watched the rain pour down upon the Green Monster. Because of the impending storm, fans were escorted out of their seats on the wall and ushered to safety. A wise man once told me that "it never rains that hard for that long". Words to live by.
He was right.
Just as we were getting ready to head out into the storm, the clouds parted and the sun returned to the sky. It stayed clear until we reached our seats - covered, of course. Unfortunately, the Sox lost the game but, hey, you can't win them all.
You may think I'm crazy but it's not just me that believes that Fenway is a sanctuary. As we turned onto Lansdowne Street, Uncle Tom showed me the goosebumps on his forearm and said, "I feel like I should genuflect".
It must be in the genes.

A Pinch Of Hostility

During my Nantucket vacation, I've spent a good amount of time window shopping and, much to my bank account's chagrin, spent my hard-earned dollars on special items. One of my most memorable shopping experiences took place at The Nantucket Gourmet.
As a tourist, I assumed from the street that this establishment was a deli or a bakery...some place to grab a quick snack to hold me over until dinner. I was WAY off. Apparently, this establishment specializes in "What just happened?" moments.
For starters, the first thing I noticed after walking through the doors was that it was more of a kitchen supply store - similar to Le Gourmet Chef - than a deli. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I did notice that there was a food counter in the back of the space. I asked the boy at the counter if the sandwiches were any good. The young boy at the counter, with his left arm in a sling, responded (after a long pause) with, "Eh...I eat one every day."
I wouldn't say his greatest strength is sales...and it's clearly not skateboarding either...hence the sling.
I made my way over to the food area in the back and looked at the hanging special menu. The #1 caught my eye - chicken, pesto, mozzarella & tomato panini. Yes, please! I ask the foreign man in the white apron doing absolutely nothing where I place my order. He pointed to the other side of the counter...so I make my way over there.
Once over "there", I asked again. "Where do I place my order?"
The main lady snapped back with, "Did you fill out a form?" Did I fill out a form? What in the world?
Apparently, they don't speak to customers at this establishment. Not exactly the sales model I'd go with, especially in a touristy town.
The form asked what you wanted on the sandwich, your name and whether you want a half sandwich or a whole.
I filled out the appropriate form and asked where to drop off said form. I'm not a complete idiot but there is no signage anywhere and, clearly, no one is interested in helping me. The woman just pointed to the top of the counter and I did as she requested.
I successfully placed my order. Finally.
While I was trying to figure out how to order a sandwich a woman walked in...straight from a J Crew catalog...and verbally ordered a #1 panini. She had great taste of sandwiches and clothes. After a short while, the main lady asked the woman if she had filled out a form. Uh oh!
She said, "No, I thought you only needed to fill one out if it was a special order." After my fiasco with the form, I just knew that the next sandwich up was mine and that J Crew would be sent to Nantucket Gourmet jail.
A paper bag made it's way to the top of the counter and I extended my hand to it. "No, you weren't the first #1. You were the second #1."
I turned to my friend and gave her the "Am I crazy?" look. As it turns out, I'm not crazy. Mrs. J Crew, without officially ordering her sandwich, walked out with my sandwich (probably with my name on it) and I am left next to packets of herbs and spices rolling my eyes.
I took the second #1 sandwich and headed towards the boy in the sling to be cashed out. I placed...okay, let's be honest...threw my sandwich down on the counter and muttered something like, "This place is a shit show." Another friend of mine says, "She doesn't go to restaurants often" to which I respond with, "This is NOT a restaurant."
Sling boy responded with, "Well, maybe next time you should call ahead ten minutes to place your order."
You mean to tell me that in the center of Nantucket, your company expects people to just know how to order a freaking panini with your secret special forms and, if they don't have faith in themselves that they can fill out the forms on their own, to know enough to call ahead?
You're lucky that the sandwich tasted good. Fine...it was amazing.

Trapped...For Just A Little While

On my way out of the building yesterday afternoon, something happened to me that has never happened to me before...and I hope it never happens to me again. I got stuck in the elevator. As it turns out, I'm not great under pressure.
Let me start from the beginning...
I've started taking the bus to and from work to cut down on the mileage that I'm putting on my leased car so I left work a little later than normal. I'd hate to leave at the normal departure time and then stand in the brewing storm until the bus came. I'd be a lightening magnet for sure with this polka-dotted umbrella!
On the way out, my co-worker, Sandy, and I joined three other ladies in the elevator on the 7th floor. Sandy used to work with one of the gals so she was asking about her daughters on our descent to the ground floor. Apparently, one of them just got engaged to her boyfriend of 11 years. My response, "Whoa! That's a long time!" Well, it is.
The woman...let's just call her Jean...had just started to say that the couple was going to wait until 2014 for the nuptials so that the bride-to-be could finish school as she was just....GASP! Oh great...the elevator stopped.
We all look around at each other with our jaws on the floor. I break the ice with, "Thank God there aren't more people in here!" Another woman chimes in with, "Thank God I'm not alone." And a third woman says, "Thank God I just used the bathroom."
The number on the elevator changed from "4" to "- -", which can't be good. My first thought is that the building got hit by lightening...this damn polka-dotted umbrella!
Jean pushes the alarm and the phone button, which goes right to the useless security office in the office. As she's telling them that we're stuck in the elevator, we start to move but the floor numbers never appear. After a few seconds that seemed like several minutes, the elevator doors open and we're at the ground floor.
We all safely exit and I say, "Ladies, we just bonded!" Don't ask...I was nervous.
The security officer at the front desk doesn't even give us a second glance. Thanks, sir. We're fine.
We didn't have enough time to coordinate a perfectly timed jump to trick the elevator or talk about what we were going to do if we ever got out, like in You've Got Mail. I was just hoping I didn't miss the bus.
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Thanks, Panera!

Picture this...I'm sitting at my desk at 12:30pm when my tummy begins to growl. I didn't have time to make a lunch this morning so I look through my change purse and find approximately $2.50. Oh great. What's a girl to do? I lean towards credit card debt.
I place my sunglasses atop my head and head for the door. On my way to Panera Bread for the second time in six days.
I walk in and, to my surprise, there's no line. This is amazing because this location is always busy.
I walk up to the happy girl behind the counter (on uppers, no doubt) and place my order - You Pick Two w/Caesar salad and half a grilled turkey panini. The girl, who is, clearly, not interested in making the store any money tells me that they have this coupon flyer and that if I pay $2 for the flyer in one transaction I can use one of the coupons for the meal I just ordered and I'd just have to pay for the drink.
Score!
I take out my two folded dollars and hand them over. I take the flyer thingy and rip off the bottom right hand corner and hand it back to the girl. I also hand over my My Panera Member Card. (For those of you not in the know, the My Panera Member Card is, more or less, a frequent buyer card. The clerk simply swipes your card with every purchase and, in return, you get surprises and offers when you least expect them.)
I  pull out my credit card so I can pay for my iced tea...lame, I know, but it wouldn't be the first time I used my credit card for something under $3. Ms. Uppers gasps and says, "You have a free beverage on your account! Would you like to use that today?"
Clearly, I would!
Thank you very much for a $2 lunch, a free power breakfast sandwich (for another day, of course) and a free coffee for my boss. I don't like the taste of coffee.

Bad Boys

I was running some errands on Route 2 this evening and I saw the most bizarre thing.
I was at a stop light and I saw a biker (motorcycle not bicycle) coming towards me at a reasonable pace (on the other side of the road, of course). On his tail was a Warwick police cruiser with his lights flashing and siren "woo-woo"-ing.
The biker was forced to stop because there were cars in front of him waiting for the light to turn green. From where I was sitting, it looked like the biker was talking with the police officer in the cruiser. When the light did, in fact, change to green, the cruiser attempted to corral the biker into a nearby parking lot by taking a right turn.
The biker...let's call him Butch...wasn't having that. He sped up and swerved around the cruiser and started, what I'm sure was, a police chase through Southern Rhode Island that could be featured on COPS.
Here's where I'm confused. Did Butch honestly think that he could get away with evading the police? Even if the cop didn't catch him tonight, there's a super slim chance that they can't find the guy in the days to come. I mean, I imagine that they have his license plate number and a description of the vehicle/guy. The cruiser probably had a video camera mounted to his dashboard for scenarios just like this!
For the love of God, Rhode Island is such a small state you are bound to run into the last person you want to see at some point!
Also, I can't imagine that the initial offense was SO bad that adding "Resisting an Officer" wasn't a big deal.
Sidenote: I do realize that this story would be 20 times better if Butch was a cyclist in a Spandex ensemble.