Okay, bear with me here.

Okay, trying that again. I had a brief moment of panic that I had used the wrong bear. I hadn’t, but you just can’t be too careful. I would hate to suggest to you loyal blog followers that we get naked. Party naked! Read blogs naked! Boo-rah! 

 Bare with me! Bare it all! Bloggers gone wild!

***Chastely brushing down my petticoat and fourteen layers of bloomers and aprons and chastity belts and all other appropriate chastely stuff***

All together on the same poster. The confusion intensifies. WTF?

So anyway, I have this  conundrum which has recently resurfaced in my mind and I struggle to articulate in a way that doesn’t sound simultaneously manic  and retarded, and yet still drives me nuts.

 

It goes like this: When I was a kid, I was aware of  (but did not enjoy) the Pink Panther cartoons. The Pink Panther, at least as far as I understood/understand it, was a cartoon about a panther that was tall and lean and pink and walked like a man and perhaps solved mysteries and hung around with an actual human being (albeit a cartoon. You know what I meant.) who was a solid foot shorter than him and suspicious-looking and possibly Russian or citizen of another  Cold War nation and wore a tightly wrapped trenchcoat (which is perhaps redundant?)

At the same time, I was aware of a movie of the same name featuring actual (non-cartoon) human beings who talked funny (a.k.a. British accent)  and a theme song that went something like “Da-dum, da-dum, da dum da dum da dum da dum da DAAAAAA da-da-da-dum….” (I could go on, but I realize the da dums aren’t really hacking it nor nearly so compelling as me singing for you. Speaking of which, it occurs to me: What a terrible way to venture onto YouTube. Imagine [to our mutual horror],  me singing the Pink Panther theme while staring blankly at the camera imbedded in my laptop. Perhaps while a barely perceptible but still present stream of drool trickles out of my mouth? And as I think about Elvis and why he loved fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches and whether or not that would actually taste good.)

So to get to the point: What WAS this!?!?

How can two distinct and separate Pink Panthers exist in the same time-space continuum? Doesn’t that violate some kind of law of physics?

Or were they related?

Or the same thing?

And if so, what does a cartoon panther have to do with two guys solving crimes or whatever it was/ is the Pink Panther movies are about?

And why release them at the same time?

Was this meant to confuse young, impressionable children such as myself, forever tainting their understanding of panthers and private dicks and insulation and the color pink? (And re-reading this, I recognize that it could be taken out of context and if you are doing that, then shame on you, you filthy pervert.)

 And in a related note, today I realized that the guy who played Young Frankenstein in (you guessed it) Young Frankenstein is the exact, same actor who played the dad on Everybody Loves Raymond. I, personally, do not and did not love Raymond, but I am somehow astounded by this strange and unexpected coincidence (is this the right word? Probrably not. How about revelation?) Wow.

Color me stupefied.

Last but not least, a not so private message to Geico: Isn’t it time to give up the Cave Man thing?
Is there anyone on earth who isn’t over it?

Word on the street is that newborn babies arrive with an innate sense of ‘anti-Geico caveman gimmick.’

Not judging, just sayin’…

Even though my earliest memories are all nightmares (some so persistent and detailed that my mother can recall  the storylines 30-odd years later), I have a pretty early recollection of Easter.

Although I went to Catholic school, I’m not entirely sure I appreciated the ‘true’ meaning. In fact, let’s just assume I didn’t get it. Case in point: I was 15 before I understood that the communion wine (of which I was a big fan and consistent consumer) was believed to be converted to the blood of Christ. Blech.

That stated, what I recall is that my mother would bust out the baskets (as the same set were used year after year), and I would spend the next week skipping through the house singing, “Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail, hippity-hoppity Easter’s on it’s way…” on a constant loop.

If there are more lyrics to that song, I never learned them, although - in my own defense - I was probably four or five years old.

Along with the celebratory song, most of my joy centered around the imminent advent of candy. Much as Christ would reappear to the Disciples, I knew that candy was preparing to make a rare comeback in my own life.

(more…)

One of the instruments of torture.

Caliente, as you may know, is the Spanish word for ‘hot,’ although I believe the entire phrase is derived from the Latin root meaning, “45-minutes of grueling exercise forged in the fires of hell.”

And to think,  I used to regard myself as an above-average athelete.  Cardio Caliente - only ten minutes in – had shattered my confidence and left it cowering in a corner. My obliques may never be the same.

It started innocently enough: I went to my friend’s gym for the purposes of attending spin class (an hour of riding a stationary bike like a madman). She’d said the instructor was fantastic – so good that we needed to get there 45 minutes early in order to secure a spot. Unfortunately, we soon learned that it wasn’t the instructor she thought, and rather one she wasn’t all that impressed with.  I hoped for the best.

In the meantime, we noticed a class going on in another room, and I heard her ask, “Do you want to do this instead?” The operative word in that sentence was INSTEAD, so I’m pretty sure I heard it right.  I figured she was bummed that the spin class wasn’t going to be taught by the teacher she hoped for, and looking for a quick backup plan.

Sure, they look harmless...but they can and will be used against you.

I agreed – on the condition that it wasn’t a complicated dance aerobics or salsa-type class. I am a terrible dancer. I have no rhythm and am immediately baffled by any and all choreography. I prefer to avoid situations that highlight such shortcomings. The use of ‘caliente’ had me thinking it was either Latin-dance infused or done in a hot room, a la Bikram yoga.

I was right to be worried, I just didn’t catch on fast enough as to why. The first clue should have been the stair stepper thing I had to drag out of a utility closet. It alone weighed 30 pounds.  Then came all the other necessary paraphernalia: medicine ball, hand weights, yoga mat, weight bar, and inflated exercise ball.

If that weren’t enough, it was what we did with all this stuff: Staying in a ‘plank’ position while pumping a weight up and down for TWO MINUTES. Leaping in the air and the crouching down and doing a push up…again and again and again. Jumping up and down on alternate legs onto the stepper while pumping weights above our head (I nearly face planted on this one).

Believe it or not, the exercise ball was commonly used in Medieval torture.

And the stuff with the large exercise ball? Unspeakable.

I can only imagine how much I am going to hurt tomorrow.

I may require medical intervention to even get out of bed.

And yet, despite all this, do you want to know the worst of it? I can’t stop thinking about how I’d like to go again and show that class what’s what. I can beat it. I can triumph over it. I am woman, hear me roar (or moan, as the case may be).

It’s sick, and clearly someone needs to perform an intervention…

p.s.

I neglected to mention that after this, we still went an did an hour of spin! And although it wasn’t awful, the music was sub-par. However, compared with what I’d just been through? It was downright easy.

Makes my blood run cold just looking at it.

I am not an accountant, and I hate doing taxes.

Nontheless, despite my pledges that THIS is the year I hire a pro, there I am on April 14th: installing TurboTax, rifling through mountains of paper, and drinking heavily.

However, along the way, my pain is your gain. I have picked up some tips, and with April 15 on the horizon, I thought I’d share them with you.

1. 2 cats + 1 dog = 1 dependent deduction

2. If you have ever worked or thought about work while in your home, it is now an office. Take a deduction!

3. If you wear glasses, go ahead and click the box for ‘legally blind.’ If they call you on it later, just say you had a fierce case of hysterical blindness that has happily reversed itself.

This is the chia puppy. Get three for a break on your taxes!

4. 2 ferrets + 6 goldfish + 3 chia pets = 1 dependent deduction

5. The adorable bowler hat, amazing new purse, and 4″ green patent heels you couldn’t resist buying? Uniform, uniform, uniform. Deduct it, baby!

6. A tip from my mother with respect to dry cleaning charges: “Claim it until they tell you to stop.” She actually IS an accountant. Seriously.

7. Cook the books! (I don’t know what that means, but it sounds like fun, doesn’t it? Like something Martha Stewart might do! She’s been to jail. She’s not worried about it.)

8. Owner of six or more mammals of any race, breed, species, or creed? Mark yourself down as head of household.

9. Be certain to sign all your returns as “Bozo the Clown.” It helps your tax lawyer get you a lighter sentence on grounds of insanity later on.

Happy FIling!

Brandenburger Tor - the gates marking the opening to the east side of the Berlin Tiergarten where it is possible to get very, very lost very easily!

As foreshadowed last night, the snoring was bad. Baaaaaad. Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.

We all woke up (the other six people in the room) around 2am, realized we were all awake, and tried to figure out what to do about the guy. I suggested someone go downstairs and get one of the cue sticks, and the guy in the bunk above me (FINALLY IN A LOW BUNK!!!!!) could poke him. Although the method was popular, the trip downstairs was not.

Thus, they resorted to verbal abuse. Threats were made, ‘Shut the f–k up!’, was screamed, and general slightly unintelligible yelling could be heard. This did NOTHING. He didn’t even stir. Despite that, I realized that I was happy to have other people to share the pain. See, I’ve dealt with a snoring man before…but it’s just me. I poke, an prod, and whine and sigh, but it doesn’t stop. I’m left to suffer the injustice alone.

This time, however, there were six other guys equally impacted. One of them was ready to kill, saying things like, “I’ve never hated an Aussie so much in my life.” (He’s Australian too, so I suppose this made it an extra extreme insult.) Then they threw water on the guy and woke him up and (get this), he tried to BLAME SOMEONE ELSE IN THE ROOM!?!?

And then he fell right back asleep and started right back up with the hog-like snoring within seconds. The other guys went nuts with rage, and at this point, the situation was so stupid that I started to get the giggles something awful. Somehow everyone else being so mad struck me as the funniest thing ever, so in addition to having this awful racket from the snoring Australian, they had to deal with my laughing fit.

The Berlin Tiergarten. Very Hansel and Gretel.

Needless to say, it was a long night and an early morning, and I’m a bit tired. On the up side, because I was up so early, I pulled out my running stuff and went for a run in the Tiergarten (Berlin’s Central Park). It was a beautiful morning, and I headed from my hostel in the Mitte district down to through Bradenburger Tor (the famous Berlin archway from the 1800s that was trapped in the “death zone” when the wall was up from the 60s to the late 80s). It marks the entrance to the park. I ran to the other end, and then decided to get cute and wind back through the paths. Bad move.

About 20 minutes later, I came up to the exact place I was headed back from! (The Siegessaule – a giant column celebrating Prussia’s victory over France in 1870). This is a typical move for me (getting wildly turned around on runs in strange places), so I have a four-point strategy for coping:

1. Create a mental picture of the map of the city I’m in. Note location of park versus place of origin (i.e. where personal belongings and drink of water are located).

2. Provided it’s not high noon, find the sun and determine east and west.

3. Figure out which direction to start running

4. Run until things look familiar and then breathe sigh of relief

Thus, I ended up going a lot further than I planned (maybe 7 miles?), but I’d rather do too much than none. My legs, however, may not agree. On the full days in cities I tend to walk between five and ten miles just getting lost on purpose and seeing what I run into, and today was no exception. Let’s just say, I’m whipped and the five-hour train ride to Poland tomorrow afternoon sounds good!

One of the few remnants of the Berlin Wall still left A large portion of the original wall and death strip up on Bernauerstrasse