Jessica Simpson Moments

I know it's hard to believe but I have been known to have "Jessica Simpson moments".
For those of you not into pop culture, Jessica Simpson is a blond-haired, recording artist, actress, fashion designer and reality personality. She came onto the music scene in the late nineties and was everywhere you looked in 2003. Unfortunately, her fame has steadily declined since.
In 2003, she and then-husband Nick Lachey were featured in MTV's reality show Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica. It was at that point that I became quite fond of her. She became real. It was exposed that she was a real girl that had real issues and said really dumb things.
One of my favorites was when she questioned whether a can of  "Chicken of the Sea" contained chicken or fish. The scene goes a little like this...
Jessica: "Is this chicken what I have or is this fish? I know it's tuna but it says 'Chicken...by the Sea'. Is that stupid?"
Nick: (thinking "I can't believe I married this idiot.")
The poor girl took such a social beating for this one simple misunderstanding. Saturday Night Live and MAD TV both did parodies of the episode and you know you've made a boo boo when that happens.
I made a similar slip the other night while watching the Detroit Tigers v. New York Yankees game. The game was being played in Detroit and in the outfield there was a sign for University of Toledo. Now, I know that Toledo is in Ohio. I'm not sure how I know that but at least I know that much.
The next sentence that came out of my mouth was Simpson-esque. The scene goes a little like this...
Trish: "Is Detroit in Ohio?"
Mike: (thinking "I can't believe I'm dating this idiot.")
I knew it sounded ridiculous the second it came out of my mouth but there was no going back. Mike denied that the city of Detroit was located in the state of Ohio. He reminded me that Detroit was, in fact, located in Michigan. This fact floored me because not only was Michigan not my first choice, it wasn't even my second choice. I was convinced it was in Ohio...or Illinois.

All I have to say is that I'm thankful that no MTV cameras were following me watching my every move. Had they been present, NBC would've caught wind that I was a complete idiot and Aidy Bryant (with help from Bobby Moynihan) would've made the country laugh at my expense.

Back To The Future

I'm apparently stuck in the past. Housed in my old school entertainment stand, I have a multitude of classic movies - Grease, American Beauty and Annie, just to name a few. Unfortunately, quite a few of them are on VHS tapes. I have a VCR so watching these hits isn't an issue but a recent episode reminded me that, perhaps, my movie-watching method could use some updates.
I recently carted two boxes of VHS tapes around in the backseat of my car after Mike's sister's tag sale. She had asked if we would mind dropping these tapes off at the local library as a donation. I happily agreed as Mike rolled his eyes and made a few jokes about it being 2012 and the fact that we might as well be donating eight tracks.
Once arriving at the library, we illegally parked out front, hazard lights and all, and schlepped in the two heavy boxes of tapes. Approximately 30 seconds later, we were shown the door and advised that another business across town might take them but that VHS tapes were so outdated that they had moved on to renting DVDs.
I completely understand this but I find it very hard to believe that no one watches anything on VHS tapes anymore. I mean, what about nursing homes or the older generation that just can't figure out the new technology? Hell, my own mother can barely figure out the television remote.
I felt too guilty to throw them away so I drove to one of those donation boxes on the side of the road. The bin was labeled "Books - CDs - DVDs" but I didn't care. I threw the 40+ movies in the bins and made my way.
I donated the tapes. If they decided to toss them in the trash after going through them, laughing all the way, that will be hanging over their heads for years to come.

You're Getting Very Sleepy

What is it about reading that makes me so sleepy?
It doesn't matter whether it's first thing in the morning, in the middle of the afternoon or just before bed. I can be on the beach with sand in between my toes or cuddled up on the couch under a blanket with a creamy, rich hot chocolate by my side. I can be snacking on complimentary honey roasted peanuts while thousands of feet in the air or with my feet firmly planted on the ground. Without a doubt, by page 100, I'm using my finger as a bookmark and I'm a goner.
I can honestly say that I don't know if I've ever read more than three chapters of any book in one sitting that wasn't interrupted by a ten-minute power nap...and I majored in English in college!
It doesn't reflect on the content or the writing style of the author. I could be reading anything and I'd have the same reaction.
Frecklejuice - It's naptime. King Lear - Adios, consciousness. The Natural - I'm off to LaLaLand.
Perhaps it's because reading relaxes me so much it just "zonks" me out...or because it tires out my eyes and they need some quick relief...or perhaps it's the way I'm sitting when I read. Now that I think of it, I almost always read reclined. Maybe my body is confused and thinks it's time for a little snooze.
Regardless, thank you, Warwick Public Library, for allowing me, yet again, to renew my recent read because I can't seem to finish it within the time frame allowed.

Make It Meaningful

As a budding blogger and photographer, I wholeheartedly appreciate the arts. The one form of artistic expression that I don't quite understand, however, is graffiti.
I guess I just don't understand why people risk their lives crossing highway ramps or hanging from bridges to write words that no one can even understand...AND I've noticed that many times the same word/message is written several times in the same area. Really? I got the point the first time. You didn't need to write it on every concrete slab down Rte. 95.
I've only been to Philadelphia, PA once but the lack of typical graffiti was a breath of fresh air. Instead of, well, whatever that is above, they have gorgeous murals on the sides of buildings, columns and overpasses.
After returning from the City of Brotherly Love, I did some research.

According to the Philadelphia The Mural Arts Program website, "the program began in 1984 as a component of the Philadelphia Anti-Graffiti Network, an effort spearheaded by then Mayor Wilson Goode to eradicate the graffiti crisis plaguing the city. The Anti-Graffiti Network hired muralist Jane Golden to reach out to graffiti writers and to redirect their energies from destructive graffiti writing to constructive mural painting."
WHY ISN'T THIS DONE IN EVERY CITY?
Next time you see a ridiculous, nonsensical "tag" (as the kids say nowadays) on your way through town, think of how much better your city would look with these true pieces of art.
Who wouldn't love to discover a mural of a sea turtle on the way to the beach? Or a painting of an orchestra with musical notes coming to life on their way to the Veterans Memorial Auditorium? Or a picture of Del's frozen lemonade hand-in-hand with an Iggy's doughboy while sitting in traffic on 195 East?
The arts should make you think, spark a conversation and encourage a smile. The arts should not confuse the heck out of you and require a team of men in neon yellow shirts to paint over you during rush hour.

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.