My Big Birthday

February 13, 2009

It’s always a little hard to have birthdays away from family and friends. (It was the 11th) Even though I don’t make a big deal out of it, secretly inside, I hope that everyone will somehow miraculously know without me telling them and that they will make a big deal out of it.  Yes, I am secretly narcissistic.

Being that I am in Sarasota, I didn’t expect much.  Well, my roommies had other plans.

I finally crawled out of bed at the late hour of 8:30 (that’s sleeping in for me now) since I had a late start at 11:30 (and only 6 hours of rehearsal!!! That was a present indeed).  I opened my door to find that I had been imprisoned by toilet paper and pink streamers…yes. Pink.  Can we get any more girly?  Upon my gasp, both roommates’ doors opened and their heads popped out with huge, girly smiles plastered on their faces.  I think I even heard a squeal from one of them (pretty sure it was Candra).  After tearing my way through, I found a clue taped to the mirror leading me to my present complete with a wax seal (we’ve become quite the fans of The Tudors, and have all decided that we really are living as Henry and Anne Bolyn as our monarchs.  We, of course, are members of the court).  Several clues led me to 2 books by my new favorite author, Jen Lancaster (her books are basically a collection of essays similar to my blog entries, though hers are much funnier, wittier and she’s making money at it). Naturally, since I have now confessed my narcissism, I love her.

The day continued with a birthday card overnighted by my husband with a Starbucks card (he’s learned well. Men, take note. You must do whatever it takes to get the gift to your wife on her birthday, anniversary, Christmas etc…even if you have forgotten to take care of it in a timely manner).  I also received some presents from my parents.

And just when I thought things could not get better, at the end of rehearsal for Don Carlos (for those of you who are not well versed in the opera world, Don Carlos was written by Verdi which equals big a** voices), the maestro cued up probably one of the loudest, most well sung “Happy Birthday” in the history of earth.  50 opera singers at once is quite impressive.

The night ended with a serving of gelato at Cafe Jolly before I put my tired, old head on my pillow.


Mr. President, please help

February 10, 2009

As most of you know, I’m not in favor of big government. It gets in the way, it makes terrible decisions, it’s arrogant, it’s inefficient, it’s expensive…need I go on?  But I realized the other day that there is an area of private life where they need to get involved.

Workout clothing.

I mean, really?  Look, if you’ve decided to get in shape – Honey, I’m all for it.  Work it girl (or guy).

But for the love of Pete, there are certain things on your body that were meant only to be seen by you and God!  Those of us running down the street or workin’ it on the treadmill were not meant to see what you keep hidden under your clothes.

Case in point.  You may remember my entry last year about the man running in a thong in New York. Well, I didn’t think I could really top that.  Alas, I was wrong.  Top it? Maybe not. Perhaps just match it.  Just a few days ago, I drove down to Publix to pick a few items while on a short hour furlough from the chains of the opera house.  As I walked into the store, an elderly gentleman (of whom there are a million in Sarasota a.k.a. retirement-ville) walked in next to me.  Normally, this would not be of any particular consequence except for the fact that the instant I looked at him my eyes were accosted not only by bright teal spandex biker shorts, but bright teal spandex biker shorts stretched to the point of explosion over a Depends!  The man was wearing biker shorts over an adult diaper! Really?  Did you look in the mirror before you left the house? Did no one mention to you as you walked out of the house, “Hey grandpa, your diaper is showing!” I mean, a person who would have the gall to wear such a thing in public is probably of the mental state to require that they not live alone.  Who would have the heart to let him leave like that?

After continuing to avoid looking at him like a train wreck, I pulled myself away down the baking aisle to try and cleanse my eye palate.  The image is still burned in my mind.

Mr. President, I don’t ask for much. I don’t want any money from you. I don’t care about your darn stimulus package, but will you please do something about spandex?