If you've ever seen a lamp trying to walk, you've seen me dance. It's just one in a long list of things for which I have NO aptitude.
Back in the 6th grade, the last hour of every Thursday was Square Dance time! We'd all move our desks in a wide circle to form a dance floor. We alternated between boy-ask-girl & girl-ask-boy.
Square dancing was considered just as corny back in 1963 as it is today. I don't understand why they forced us to do it.
Worse, the son of a multi-millionaire happened to be in the same class. My mother went bananas when she discovered this! According to my mom, I had been handed a gift. I was encouraged to flirt and be extra special nice to him. "It would pay off when we got into High School," she assured me.
This boy looked like husky version of Howdy Doody. He was hardly a little girl's dream prince. I had zero interest in him and vice-versa.
But every Thursday when I returned from school, my mother waited by the door inquiring if HE had asked me to dance. "I want to tell everyone a multi-millionaire's son asked you! Why hasn't he?" she complained.
I told her, "Just forget it!" Doody was one of the popular kids. He never once looked in my direction. Plus when it was my turn to ask, boys often just ignored me. I was left standing there until the teacher forced them to get up. None of the other girls had this problem. I was that unpopular!
I had no desire to dance with any of those boys, either! However, I would never have publicly humiliated anyone that way!
I did NOT tell my mother that part! She would have blamed me for being such a pariah.
Half-way thru the school year, a boy named Walter would drag his desk clear across the room to be beside me. Walter was also an unpopular kid. But unlike me, he knew how to fly under the radar. Walter and I danced only with each other.
Due to numerous issues, (I will spare you details this time.) the following year I ended up in what they call a "Special School" in West Palm Beach. (It was for kids with physical or emotional problems.) This is where I spent my 1st year of Junior High.
Since we lived in Stuart, my parents rented an apartment. (My family was still affluent then.) Mom & I stayed there during the week. We came home on weekends.
My mother instructed me never to admit I was going to THAT school. When asked, I was to reply that I attended the local junior high. I went along with this for the 1st month, before refusing. The kids at the "Special School" were nicer to me than what I was accustomed. I'd already made lots of friends! I SAW NO SHAME IN GOING THERE.
Often, rude people asked WHY I went, because I didn't look handicapped. I was always tempted to cross my eyes, wag my tongue in their faces and loudly declare, "I am crazy!"
Quickly my mother would reply, "She's a slow learner!"
Early in the school year, my mother signed me up for dance lessons at The Grace A. Thomas Dance Studio in Lake Worth. It was every THURSDAY evening! This was unwelcome news, to say the least! Mom swore it was only a 6 week course. -- She lied! It was closer to 6 months.
My mother seemed to think I would be attending formal dances when I returned to "normal" school. After all, the future Mrs. Doody needed to know how to dance.
We had a screaming fight! My mother slapped me! I was ordered to shut up. In frustration, I turned and kicked the screen out of the door!
My mother was clueless in more ways than one!
The Dance Studio taught only Ballroom Dancing. In 1964, it was already out of fashion with the young crowd. Only dorks & squares still did it. Everyone else just got up and shook their booty to the music.
Now that I am old, Ballroom Dancing has become popular. -- Go figure!
The only dance I managed to learn was the Waltz. I could never remember the steps to any of the others. So I just created my own! Naturally, I received strange looks from my partners. But I was the kid from the "Special School" so no one was really surprised.
After about 12 weeks, the owners of the studio phoned my mom and offered to refund her money. Usually, they didn't give refunds, but in my case, they were making an exception.
When I returned to regular school, I never attended a single dance! I didn't even go to my Prom. Walter was long gone. And I'm sure Waltz music was never played!
Fast-forward to October 2012, I went to the Zombie Formal with my great friend Rose. All tarted-up in zombie make-up, I took the dance floor and shook my booty with wild abandon! It was a memorable night to treasure. At 61 years old, I was having more fun than I ever did in school! -- No one did the Waltz. I've forgotten how, anyway.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Saturday, April 20, 2013
THE UNLOCKED DOOR
Back in 1962 when I was 11 years old, my cousin (the religious one) spent his honeymoon in our guesthouse. He and his new bride were Northerners, Florida seemed an exotic destination to them.
Late one afternoon, my mother pulled out crinkled photos of her sister back when she was a young girl. Mom instructed me to go fetch my cousin.
I ran over to the guesthouse and grabbed the door. To my surprise, it was locked. Otherwise, I would have walked right in! "Mom wants to see you!" I shouted.
"We're taking a nap!" he hollered back. "We'll be over in an hour." Even at age 11, I knew they were doing more than napping.
Fast forward to New Year's Eve 1986, I was 35. My cousin (now a single man) and I went out to celebrate the holiday. I mentioned that particular afternoon back in 1962. He recalled it as vividly as I did.
"Praise the Lord the door was locked!" he exclaimed. "I was on top of "Emma" when you showed up!"
Locks exist for valid reasons. They should always be utilized!
Recently, a friend took photos of me for use in a budget beauty/ healthy lifestyle book I am co-authoring with April Sampson. My friend shot the photos in a spare room with unflattering fluorescent lighting.
In an adjoining office, sat a man about 10 years my senior. He kept quietly to himself. We never acknowledged one another.
Between shots, I ran into the bathroom to change my jewelry and comb my hair. On one of these trips, my friend called out, in an attempt to stop me, only too late! When I flung the door open, the man was inside. I got quite an eye full! Embarrassed, I apologized and quickly closed the door.
Later, I emailed my friend. The evening before, I enjoyed a marathon of the TV show, 1000 WAYS TO DIE. I inquired if she had seen the episode of the man who duct-taped the kielbasa sausage to his thigh, put on tight pants, then went to a dance club to impress the ladies. He expired on the dance floor because the duct-tape cut off circulation to his heart! -- She had not. But I could almost hear her laughing thru the computer.
Then I asked, did she catch the one with the sculptor who boinked his statue. His ding-dong got stuck inside. In his struggle to free himself, he fell on the floor with the statue on top, crushing him to death. -- She had not seen that one either.
"That reminds me," I said. "Who was that man in the office? The one whose pecker I saw while he was taking a whizz."
"That my dear," she replied, "was my uncle. I planned to introduce you. However, after your awkward encounter, I decided to wait for another time when everyone's privates are covered...I hope you weren't traumatized," she added.
I reminded her that during my father's last year of life, he couldn't take himself to the bathroom or bathe himself. Seeing an old man's junk is nothing new for me. It's also one more reason I never want to marry.
We both agreed that should her uncle and I ever meet, I was to pretend I saw nothing. -- However, I will have no control over my blushing.
Late one afternoon, my mother pulled out crinkled photos of her sister back when she was a young girl. Mom instructed me to go fetch my cousin.
I ran over to the guesthouse and grabbed the door. To my surprise, it was locked. Otherwise, I would have walked right in! "Mom wants to see you!" I shouted.
"We're taking a nap!" he hollered back. "We'll be over in an hour." Even at age 11, I knew they were doing more than napping.
Fast forward to New Year's Eve 1986, I was 35. My cousin (now a single man) and I went out to celebrate the holiday. I mentioned that particular afternoon back in 1962. He recalled it as vividly as I did.
"Praise the Lord the door was locked!" he exclaimed. "I was on top of "Emma" when you showed up!"
Locks exist for valid reasons. They should always be utilized!
Recently, a friend took photos of me for use in a budget beauty/ healthy lifestyle book I am co-authoring with April Sampson. My friend shot the photos in a spare room with unflattering fluorescent lighting.
In an adjoining office, sat a man about 10 years my senior. He kept quietly to himself. We never acknowledged one another.
Between shots, I ran into the bathroom to change my jewelry and comb my hair. On one of these trips, my friend called out, in an attempt to stop me, only too late! When I flung the door open, the man was inside. I got quite an eye full! Embarrassed, I apologized and quickly closed the door.
Later, I emailed my friend. The evening before, I enjoyed a marathon of the TV show, 1000 WAYS TO DIE. I inquired if she had seen the episode of the man who duct-taped the kielbasa sausage to his thigh, put on tight pants, then went to a dance club to impress the ladies. He expired on the dance floor because the duct-tape cut off circulation to his heart! -- She had not. But I could almost hear her laughing thru the computer.
Then I asked, did she catch the one with the sculptor who boinked his statue. His ding-dong got stuck inside. In his struggle to free himself, he fell on the floor with the statue on top, crushing him to death. -- She had not seen that one either.
"That reminds me," I said. "Who was that man in the office? The one whose pecker I saw while he was taking a whizz."
"That my dear," she replied, "was my uncle. I planned to introduce you. However, after your awkward encounter, I decided to wait for another time when everyone's privates are covered...I hope you weren't traumatized," she added.
I reminded her that during my father's last year of life, he couldn't take himself to the bathroom or bathe himself. Seeing an old man's junk is nothing new for me. It's also one more reason I never want to marry.
We both agreed that should her uncle and I ever meet, I was to pretend I saw nothing. -- However, I will have no control over my blushing.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
JUST CALL HIM CHEATER
Ah tax time! I'm always happy when it's over. I'm not smart enough to prepare my own taxes, so I'm forced to pay a professional. However, some tax professionals are less professional than others.
After my father's death, I was forced to deal with this for the first time. I went to H&R Block. Back then, they handled my investments, so I thought this was the perfect place. I received my inheritance outright. However, my brother, who is now 73 years old, is a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic. He has been institutionalized in a mental hospital as well as in & out of the psychiatric ward of federal prison. Our father set up a Trust of which I am the Trustee.
H&R Block insisted that I was NOT responsible for the Trust. I insisted that YES I was, since I'm the Trustee! My brother was the one responsible, they claimed. I explained that my brother was mentally disabled and irresponsible! Our father made me Trustee for valid reasons! H&R Block continued to insist none of that mattered. I was advised to just ignore it! We argued back and forth.
I called the attorney who set up the Trust. He phoned H&R Block and explained a few things for their edification! Block sent the paperwork to be prepared in another city. My attorney told me never to use them again because my taxes were too complicated. He advised me to get a C.P.A..
There happened to be one down the street from my subdivision. I brought my info to his office in early February of the following year. When I returned later to bring more papers, the C.P.A. was standing there in shorts and flip-flops. He introduced himself.
The deadline was fast approaching, my taxes had yet to be prepared. Soon we were into the 2nd week of April. I was angry and complaining! The C.PA. called and said he would file for an extension, if needed.
I didn't understand why that was necessary since they had all the info months ago! I put a fire under him and my taxes were completed on time!
About 2 weeks later, I received a call around 9:00 P.M.. To my surprise, it was the C.P.A.. "I had to tell you, I think you are very beautiful," he said. He went on to say how proud he was of himself for earning over a million dollars. (The guy sounded a bit tipsy.) Then he went on and on about his life. Eventually, he asked me for a date.
"I'll have to ponder that a bit," I told him.
"One more thing," he added, "I think you should know I'm married."
"What!" I expostulated. "You shouldn't even be calling me!" -- I don't date married men! Who did he think I was, my stepmother!
"Well, technically I'm separated," he continued, "my wife is Catholic. She doesn't want me anymore. But, she doesn't want anyone else to have me, either."
"Do you still live in the same house?" I was curious.
"Yes, in fact you've seen her. She's the blonde who works in my office," he replied.
Oh, I remembered HER well! -- Glancing over my completed taxes, I asked her a question.
Blondie gave a loud sigh of exasperation. She answered me in a condescending my-god-you-are-so-stupid tone of voice. It was then, I decided never to return! -- AND THIS WAS BEFORE HER HUSBAND STARTED HITTING ON ME!
A few months later, I received a disturbing letter from the I.R.S. stating money was owed on the Trust! -- I wanted nothing more to do with that C.P.A. or his office. But I had no choice.
He swore it was a mistake and he'd take care of it. -- But then I received another scary letter from the I.R.S.! This time, he claimed the correction had not been registered. I continued to receive letters! "Their right hand doesn't know what the left is doing," the C.P.A. stated. He advised me to ignore them, insisting the Trust owed nothing, despite all the letters I was receiving.
The following year I found a happily married C.P.A.. This man was sharper and more professional, too. Actually, the Trust DID owe the I.R.S. money! Plus I now had to pay a penalty on top of that!!!
After my father's death, I was forced to deal with this for the first time. I went to H&R Block. Back then, they handled my investments, so I thought this was the perfect place. I received my inheritance outright. However, my brother, who is now 73 years old, is a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic. He has been institutionalized in a mental hospital as well as in & out of the psychiatric ward of federal prison. Our father set up a Trust of which I am the Trustee.
H&R Block insisted that I was NOT responsible for the Trust. I insisted that YES I was, since I'm the Trustee! My brother was the one responsible, they claimed. I explained that my brother was mentally disabled and irresponsible! Our father made me Trustee for valid reasons! H&R Block continued to insist none of that mattered. I was advised to just ignore it! We argued back and forth.
I called the attorney who set up the Trust. He phoned H&R Block and explained a few things for their edification! Block sent the paperwork to be prepared in another city. My attorney told me never to use them again because my taxes were too complicated. He advised me to get a C.P.A..
There happened to be one down the street from my subdivision. I brought my info to his office in early February of the following year. When I returned later to bring more papers, the C.P.A. was standing there in shorts and flip-flops. He introduced himself.
The deadline was fast approaching, my taxes had yet to be prepared. Soon we were into the 2nd week of April. I was angry and complaining! The C.PA. called and said he would file for an extension, if needed.
I didn't understand why that was necessary since they had all the info months ago! I put a fire under him and my taxes were completed on time!
About 2 weeks later, I received a call around 9:00 P.M.. To my surprise, it was the C.P.A.. "I had to tell you, I think you are very beautiful," he said. He went on to say how proud he was of himself for earning over a million dollars. (The guy sounded a bit tipsy.) Then he went on and on about his life. Eventually, he asked me for a date.
"I'll have to ponder that a bit," I told him.
"One more thing," he added, "I think you should know I'm married."
"What!" I expostulated. "You shouldn't even be calling me!" -- I don't date married men! Who did he think I was, my stepmother!
"Well, technically I'm separated," he continued, "my wife is Catholic. She doesn't want me anymore. But, she doesn't want anyone else to have me, either."
"Do you still live in the same house?" I was curious.
"Yes, in fact you've seen her. She's the blonde who works in my office," he replied.
Oh, I remembered HER well! -- Glancing over my completed taxes, I asked her a question.
Blondie gave a loud sigh of exasperation. She answered me in a condescending my-god-you-are-so-stupid tone of voice. It was then, I decided never to return! -- AND THIS WAS BEFORE HER HUSBAND STARTED HITTING ON ME!
A few months later, I received a disturbing letter from the I.R.S. stating money was owed on the Trust! -- I wanted nothing more to do with that C.P.A. or his office. But I had no choice.
He swore it was a mistake and he'd take care of it. -- But then I received another scary letter from the I.R.S.! This time, he claimed the correction had not been registered. I continued to receive letters! "Their right hand doesn't know what the left is doing," the C.P.A. stated. He advised me to ignore them, insisting the Trust owed nothing, despite all the letters I was receiving.
The following year I found a happily married C.P.A.. This man was sharper and more professional, too. Actually, the Trust DID owe the I.R.S. money! Plus I now had to pay a penalty on top of that!!!
Thursday, April 4, 2013
WHEN PLANTS ATTACK
I was viciously assaulted in my own yard, in broad daylight, by my Oleander! I was watering it, when a sharp branch went straight for my left eye! Had I not been wearing sunglasses, I would have been blinded! As I pushed the branch away from my face, it scratched my forehead. Immediately, I washed the scratch. Oleanders are poisonous!
The Oleander may have been mad because I had recently uprooted and replanted it to make way for my new hedge. Plants are living entities, who knows what goes on inside those stems!
I thought I was doing it a favor by watering, because the leaves were looking kind of droopy. But after my encounter, the damn thing can die for all I care!
As an ex-florist, I shouldn't admit this, but I've always had a gangrene thumb when it comes to live greenery. That's why the plants inside my house and on my porch are all silk!
At our previous house, I recall the big Century plants and their numerous long, spiked leaves with needle-sharp growths on the ends. They were formidable looking. Everyone kept their distance!
As a small child, I fell into a cactus, backside first! My family gathered around pulling thorns from my behind! -- I also sat on a scorpion! But that's a story for another blog.
Around the age of 10, I wanted a Venus Flytrap. They were way cool! I could picture myself bonding with it while feeding it dead bugs. On special occasions like Christmas and other holidays, it would get meat scraps from the table. My own little plant pet.
My father however, nixed the idea. He refused to have a carnivorous plant in the house! He told me I was liable to lose a few fingers. Of course if the thing ever clamped onto me I would have just pulled it out by the roots and stepped on it!
Too bad, I really wanted my smaller version of AUDREY from THE LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS. -- But I doubt I would have named mine! People I know, do name plants. To me, that's as silly as naming the shrubbery on your lawn. Plants may be alive, but until they can bark, meow, talk, or walk they shall remain nameless. And I refuse to eat mammals!
However, if TRIFFIDS were real, and I owned one, it would have a name! It would also be kept in a locked steel cage. I would never approach it without an electric cattle prod or a stun gun! I would even allow scientists to perform experiments on it! -- If you have never seen the movie DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS, they are large, walking carnivorous plants and their favorite meal is humans!
If I ever look outside my window and see my Oleander trying to walk, I'm getting an axe!
The Oleander may have been mad because I had recently uprooted and replanted it to make way for my new hedge. Plants are living entities, who knows what goes on inside those stems!
I thought I was doing it a favor by watering, because the leaves were looking kind of droopy. But after my encounter, the damn thing can die for all I care!
As an ex-florist, I shouldn't admit this, but I've always had a gangrene thumb when it comes to live greenery. That's why the plants inside my house and on my porch are all silk!
At our previous house, I recall the big Century plants and their numerous long, spiked leaves with needle-sharp growths on the ends. They were formidable looking. Everyone kept their distance!
As a small child, I fell into a cactus, backside first! My family gathered around pulling thorns from my behind! -- I also sat on a scorpion! But that's a story for another blog.
Around the age of 10, I wanted a Venus Flytrap. They were way cool! I could picture myself bonding with it while feeding it dead bugs. On special occasions like Christmas and other holidays, it would get meat scraps from the table. My own little plant pet.
My father however, nixed the idea. He refused to have a carnivorous plant in the house! He told me I was liable to lose a few fingers. Of course if the thing ever clamped onto me I would have just pulled it out by the roots and stepped on it!
Too bad, I really wanted my smaller version of AUDREY from THE LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS. -- But I doubt I would have named mine! People I know, do name plants. To me, that's as silly as naming the shrubbery on your lawn. Plants may be alive, but until they can bark, meow, talk, or walk they shall remain nameless. And I refuse to eat mammals!
However, if TRIFFIDS were real, and I owned one, it would have a name! It would also be kept in a locked steel cage. I would never approach it without an electric cattle prod or a stun gun! I would even allow scientists to perform experiments on it! -- If you have never seen the movie DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS, they are large, walking carnivorous plants and their favorite meal is humans!
If I ever look outside my window and see my Oleander trying to walk, I'm getting an axe!
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