I have been wrestling with reading glasses for the last couple of years. It’s a real pain in the behonkus. I can’t read directions in the car without them or even idenify an incoming cell phone call, but then again, I can’t wear my reading glasses and sunglasses at the same time either. Grocery shopping, clothes shopping, etc. — better have those reading glasses but it’s awkward walking around in magnifiers. So…I went for my first eye exam in about four years. The eyes are good, except for needing those magnifiers. I decided I wanted to try contact lens.

Talk about teaching an old dog new tricks. Wow, they know me intimately at Lens Crafters now. The first night I couldn’t get it out of my right eye, so I had to drive over the next morning and have the Lens Crafters folks get it out. I let my eyes rest that day. The next morning I got myself set up…and spent the next hour putting in two contacts. I had a headache all day — I think I’d traumatized myself and my eyes. The following day I got the right in — with the contact the wrong way — three times. I just resorted to glasses that day. Next day I went back for a lesson in how to put them in. Seems the key is to do it BEFORE you put any moisturizer on your face. Okay. Then I had an issue with my right eye — well, I’ll spare you the details but it turns out it wasn’t an eye infection — just the eye unhappy with all the trauma but the doctor told me to check the contact for any small tears. No need, when I started to put them in the next morning, it was obviously torn almost in half. That meant another trip there to pick up another pair. Saturday and yesterday went well…until I couldn’t get the left eye out last night.

Let me just go on record as saying that I hate everyone, especially small children, who can pop their contacts in and out at will.:-[ I am also determined to master this. In the meantime, I am undoing years of Oil of Olay Regenerist cream as I tug bags I could use at the grocery store beneath my eyes in an attempt to get these suckers in and out.

And thus concludes my ongoing saga of contact lens wear…or the pathetic attempt. I suppose outside of just wanting to whine about it, I need encouragement that I too will one day manage to pop these in and out without it being an ordeal and without tugging ten years worth of lines around my eyes.:-S

No…I’m not talking about my kid, I’m talking about my car. I love my kid, but I love that car too. I used to be ashamed to admit how attached I was to four wheels and some metal/plastic combo, but now I just own it. I love my car. I was proud as punch when I paid it off in March and the title came in the mail. It was truly mine, no longer mine and the bank’s.

Can you imagine my dismay when my transmission went in May at 107K miles? Getting any kind of mechanical repair done as a single woman is intimidating…but a transmission? We’re talking high, high dollar repair. We are talking Jen on a tight budget. We’re talking about if I make a mistake it’s going to be very costly.

I finally made a decision on where to have the work done. It was a good decision as it turned out that mine was one of the most complicated transmissions they’d worked on, but this company had GREAT reviews, specialized in transmissions, and were good to work with, returning calls promptly and keeping me informed every step of the way. Yesterday I picked my baby up and brought it home. It was so nice to drive my car again.

You know what was even better? I now know more about a transmission than I ever wanted to know. Thanks to an online tutelage, I knew EXACTLY what the repair guy was talking about when he called. Am I a transmission specialist? Not hardly, but I can now carry on a semi-intelligent conversation about it. I am also determined to take a class on under-the-hood basics.

I know how to check my oil, tire pressure, and coolant. It’s not enough. I need to know how to intelligently converse about what’s going on under the hood of my car. This is not particularly information that I want to know but it is stuff that I need to know.

I know that the mechanics of car care is not a particularly glamorous post. That’s okay. Those that know me know I’m not particularly glamorous. I’m a down-to-earth, pragmatic, romantic dreamer. But, as women, we need to be aware of what we’re dealing with. And if you want to tell me that your husband always handles that…I’ll caution you that he might not always be there to do so.

So, my ending comment is part question/part challenge. How much do you know about your car? How much are you willing to learn? And in a weird way, this totally fits in with the Blaze sentiment. The Blaze heroine loves her man but she can take care of her own.

So, I challenge you today to become a Blaze heroine –a woman who knows her car underneath the hood and can follow a mechanics discussion.

I am so proud of myself. Historically, I don’t have much of a green thumb. I don’t know that I’ve magically developed one as much as I now live with great lighting. My loft apartment boasts enormous 7 X 8 foot windows. In a fit of optimism this spring, I planted some window boxes with herbs. Basil, dill, oregano, tarragon, chives, cilantro, rosemary, and parsley.

I’m tickled. My herbs are so happy, which means I’m happy.

It’s truly delightful to cook with fresh herbs right on hand. Breakfast yesterday was a slice of fresh tomato topped with fresh basil and chives, a poached egg, and feta cheese all stacked atop one another. Lunch? Angel hair pasta tossed with olive oil, sea salt, pepper, basil, dill, oregano, chives, tarragon, and gorgonzola. Nothing tastes quite the same as tossing in fresh herbs.

I am somewhat confounded, however. My parsely isn’t happy. I mean it’s seriously unhappy as in I’m not sure it’s going to make it. I don’t get it. It’s the most common herb. It should be the easiest to grow. Anyone got any suggestions as to what it takes to grow happy parsley?

Anyone got a favorite recipe/use for fresh herbs? Is herb a friend of yours?

This is a shout-out to all the mother’s out there whether your ‘babies’ be two-legged or four-legged or any other variety. Motherhood isn’t a biological state, in my opinion, it’s an attitude and a caring. And oftentimes it comes with a craziness all its own.

When my daughter was in kindergarten she said to me, “Mom, you’re not like all the other mothers.”

I’ve never been one to follow the crowd so I had to preen a bit when I asked, “Oh, in what way, honey?”

“You’re more like a witch,” she said very sincerely and as if it was a great thing.

Maybe she meant I was kind of magical. I dunno. I thought it was terribly funny at the time and nine years later it still makes me smile.

So, Happy Mother’s Day and if you’ve got any goofy mother’s day tales to share, let’s hear’em.

It’s true, I’m afraid. I am living in the technological Dark Ages. Prepare yourselves, people, for some frightening lack of electronic sophistication.

I have the world’s oldest, ugliest cell phone on the planet. It doesn’t flip or slide or any of that cool stuff — it’s just one of those oldies with the screen right above the keypad. Ring tones? Bwahahahaha. I think not. Camera? Nope. Whilst the rest of the world is clicking photos left and right and sending them hither and yon on their cellular contact list, yours truly doesn’t have that capability.

Over dinner the other night a friend was telling the rest of us how she has to “toss off” with her new cell phone. Not wanting to look any more pathetic than I already do, I said nothing but I was lost. I have no clue what “tossing off” is. Actually, it sounds like something…never mind, probably best not to go there.

Yet another friend was talking about setting the alarm on her phone rather than the alarm on her bedroom clock. I…uh, am pretty sure my cell phone doesn’t have an alarm. If it does I am dead certain I don’t know where/how to find it.

Bluetooth? Hands free chatting? Y’all know, I don’t even have to say it.

Okay, so let’s hear it. Where do you fall on the technological spectrum?

I couldn’t come up with a specific blog theme so today I’m going to treat you — hahahahahaha — to a consortium of random musings concerning my current obsessions. I know…try to contain yourself.

1) I’m obsessed with the weather. I probably blog more about the weather than any other author on this loop. What can I say other than it was a freakin’ wonderful 70 degrees Farenheit yesterday in Atlanta, GA? What I can say is that I’m sick of being cold. I know some of you live in a veritable winter wonderland where snow drifts are higher than your cat/car/house (pick one of the aforementioned) and I hate that for you. However, I’ll tell you what I hate even more…I live in a really cool loft apartment that is over 100 years old complete with huge factory windows that are single-paned. When I say it’s a cool apartment, well…take that both figuratively and literally. I’ve frozen my behonkus off this winter. When I finally decided to up my heat (and we’re not talking balmy here, folks — I’m still in a long-sleeved shirt with a sweatshirt over it), well, I got that gas bill. And had a heart attack. I’m trying to decide if I want to hock my dog on Craig’s List to fund my payment.

2) I’m not quite there yet, but I’m close to obsessed with working out. I did two classes back-to-back last night. Although the first one didn’t really count because it was a Step class and I’m so spastic I couldn’t get any of the steps down other than the basic up on the step and back down again thing.

3) Musicals. All of a sudden I’m planning to see Fiddler on the Roof and South Pacific within a four-week time span. I’d kind of forgotten how much I like musicals. Wonder when I might be able to catch Okalahoma?

So, that just about covers my current obsessions. What about you? What’s caught and held your attention lately?

Wait…it is your birthday!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BRENDA CHIN!

You got it folks, the Queen Bee of Blaze is…wait…I haven’t totally lost my mind. I’m not about to divulge an actual number. Just suffice it to say that Brenda isn’t another year older…simply another year better!

So, please join me in wishing Brenda a Happy Birthday…and many more!!

Yes, I apologize up front for blogging about, of all things, the weather, but unfortunately since I’m freezing my… everything off, that’s about all my brain is capable of thinking about right now.

I live in the South for a reason. I don’t like the cold. I have my weather page set to display my weather, Lakeville, MN (one brother), Frederick, MD (another brother), and Toronto, Canada (beloved editor). It’s as cold in Atlanta as it is in freakin’ Toronto and Maryland (yeah, still not as cold as Lakeville, thank God). What’s wrong with that picture? I’ll tell you what’s wrong — it’s not supposed to be that cold down here. And now we’re set to get snow. Do you have any idea what that means in Atlanta? Simultaneous freak-out and shut-down. Grocery stores are packed. School are already closing. Oy.

And to add insult to injury, MSN home page had pictures of a Carribean beach up yesterday.

Now, I know it’s just my particular makeup that I prefer warmer weather. The fact that millions live in the frozen hinterlands is proof of this. I almost asked if you’re a coldie or a hottie but that really doesn’t sound right. How about this — do you prefer a colder climate or a warmer climate? (Sounds so much more stilted but accurate nonetheless).

Admittedly, I am always the one whose ears perk up when the word “party” is mentioned. I’m not so fond, as in I HATE, a huge annonymous soire but give me a group of good friends getting together to celebrate and I’m all over it.

So, I had this blog planned around Christmas trees — as in real vs. artificial trees. The bottom line is that I’ve never had an artificial tree. Most of the people I know have artifical trees — nuthin’ wrong with that. I’m just a hold-out. Hey, I figure someone’s got to keep the tree farmers in business. I like me a real tree — and yes, I do recycle it to the mulch pile afterwards.

Anywho, I had this blog planned but then something truly exciting and party-worthy happened — Romantic Times announced their nominees for Best Blaze of 2009!!! Hel-lo. Being the Blaze blog, how could we possibly bypass this opportunity to celebrate the nominees and party down?

So, the champagne fountain is flowing, the martini bar is open and chocolate-dipped fruit is available to all. Pick your toast of choice and join me in saluting the RT nominated Blaze Babes (y’all do us proud!):

A LONG, HARD RIDE
Alison Kent (Mar.)

MAKE ME YOURS
Betina Krahn (Jul.)

SHE’S GOT IT BAD
Sarah Mayberry (Apr.)

LETTERS FROM HOME
Rhonda Nelson (Jun.)

HOT UNDER PRESSURE
Kathleen O’Reilly (Aug.)

And a special toast to Blaze Babe Leslie Kelly for her RT Lifetime Achievement Nomination.

So, join me in the party and in offering congratulations! (And hey, I’m still interested in whether you do a real tree or not )

It is my sincere hope/prayer/desire to never write a heroine who is TSTL (too stupid to live). However, sometimes my heroines certainly manage to do some off-the-wall stuff. Unfortunatley, they come by it naturally because off-the-wall, dingy moves seem to be my norm.

Let’s go back to Saturday afternoon. I need a pair of jeans. I wore shorts and skirts and capris all summer but summer has come and gone and we’re back into blue jean season which is cool but I only have two pair of jeans — one to wear with flats and one to wear with heels. Sorry, but you simply can’t wear two pair of jeans seven days a week which necessitated in a shopping trip for Yours Truly.

So, I’m walking along the sidewalk when my friend calls just as I’m entering The Gap. We talk as I’m pulling blue jeans to try on. I head to the fitting room, still on the cell phone. We’re talking and I’m trying on. First, let it be known that Gap (and I’m not picking on them) sizing is traumatizing in that it’s all over the friggin’ board depending on the cut. I don’t need any additional stinking trauma. I’ve gained ten pounds. Two went to my boobs, the other eight is parked on what used to be my waist. About the time that I try on a pair of jeans which fit through the derriere but which prominently showcases my muffin-top from HELL, my friend has her own mini-crisis and has to go. No problem. I put my phone away and continue shopping. At one point someone else actually takes over my original dressing room. Fine. I take the one two doors down.

I finally find a pair of jeans that kind of, sort of fit and haul them and myself up to the register. That’s when I ask the only person in the store (they were short-handed) if these jeans are going to stretch out. She assures me they will. Wrong answer. If they stretch out, it’s going to look like a family of gypsies moved out of my pants. Great. I try on the size smaller and once again I’m plagued by the MTFH (muffin top from hell). Only this time it’s a gazillion times worse because this is the smallest size that’s ever been on my body and the insult to injury is that part of it actually fits. Well, it all fits, but it just looks disgusting with that mid-section spillover.

Nope. I’ll make do with two pair of jeans for now. I head out of the store, looking on my way out for my cell phone. It should be right in the front pocket on my purse. Nope. Must’ve tucked it in the inside purse pocket then. Nuh-uh. I rifle through my purse. Nada.

Now I’m starting to panic. I retrace my steps. No phone. I have the lady behind the counter ring my phone while I listen intently. Nothing. I call and leave a message so the message alert will go off. Once again, nothing — no sound. I’m not proud of it, but right there, in the middle of Gap, I started crying. That phone contains at least four years of contact information. All I could think was that the person who went into the dressing room after me found and absconded with my phone. At this point, I promptly burst into tears. The phone is mega-cheap and I pay by the month, but it has ALL of my contact numbers on it. I no longer have a home phone. My lost cell phone is my only link to friends and family and I was careless and put it somewhere stupid where it was promptly stolen.

I went home, communicationless, and decided on Sunday I couldn’t stand it and would have to replace it. However, on the way to the phone store I ran by The Gap. They had my phone. Apparently, I’d stuck my phone in the pocket of a pair of try-on jeans. I was SO relieved to have my phone back but I’ve got to tell ya, I felt like a major nimrod.

So…make me feel better. Share something equally stupid you’ve done lately, because at this stage of the game, quite frankly, I scare myself.