In The Mood

All you Bah Humbuggers out there can hate me if you like, but I really love the Christmas season. Of course, you must understand it doesn’t officially begin until I hear Jose Feliciano sing “Feliz Navidad” on the radio. It’s my rule and I’m sticking to it. I heard it early this year, before Thanksgiving, so I have been jolly for weeks now. It's so cute... most of my friends and family know how I am about this song, and they call and text me when they hear it.

As I was driving home last night and realized that the “elves” (aka husbands) in my neighborhood had worked hard—under protest, no doubt—over the last few weekends. Millions of lights were strung on houses everywhere I looked. I always get a kick out of how people hang Christmas lights and decorate the outside of their homes. Some houses are a work of art; the lights are planned in a well thought out design with no beginning or end. The bright lights define the structural highlights of the house and garden. Some of these outdoor light extravaganzas are such perfection, if I didn’t know better, I would swear Martha Stewart had something to do with it.

And then there are THOSE houses... you know the ones I mean. Lights of every shape and color are randomly twirled around bushes and beams, some strands barely attached within an inch of their lives to the shrubs and eaves. Sometimes there weren't enough lights to finish the whole front of the house, so the illuminated string abruptly stops as if no one would notice. And even worse, if the last strand is extra long, you will see a fairly symmetrically-done display, but at the end there is a frenetic clump of too many lights on the last bush. It’s kind of like if a cake decorator meticulously rendered every frosting rose and each lacy icing edge and then, just because there was some left, put a big pile of frosting in the corner of the cake as a finishing touch.

To assault the senses even further, these cattywompus light displays almost always seem to include one random string of lights that flash on and off like the sign on a diner that lets you know that they have "Good Food". I don't know why these people bother to illuminate their homes. I wish that there was some kind of law that would prohibit people from vomiting Christmas lights in their front yards. I will work on it for next year.

I really do enjoy the kind of unspoken competition that goes on between neighbors when it comes to the big lawn decorations. Lighted reindeer, Santas, choo-choo trains, candy canes all add fantasyland-like dimension to neighborhood lawns. I just love it, but I wish that people would think more about the “big picture” when placing those bigger-than-life props on their lawns. Some stuff just does NOT go together. If I am wrong, then please tell me this: just which part of Jerusalem is Frosty the Snowman from?

I finished the tree in my living room ages ago and it is GORGEOUS! My kids always tease me because they said my tree is TOO perfect. I was told it looks like a display tree at Macy’s and that I am obsessive about it. I have no idea why having a flawlessly decorated tree with precisely placed, hand blown Czechoslovakian ornaments, and perfectly timed, twinkling crystal white lights is a bad thing. My children say it has no “soul”. Soul, huh? I’ll give you soul. Gorgeous is good enough for me.

Back in the 70s I had this brainstorm of having an old fashioned Christmas tree. I painstakingly strung popcorn and cranberries on long pieces of brightly colored yarn. I made ornaments from acorns and pine cones. I spent hours cutting cloth strips and fashioning a patchwork chain to use as a garland. It was a total labor of love. I will tell you without a doubt that it was by far the butt ugliest tree in the history of Christmas.

Well my darlings... I must go now. I have errands to do. I need to order some sugar plums and pick up my boughs of holly.

Until Next Time.

Dough Balls

Few things in life are guaranteed. You’ve heard the saying about death and taxes being the only “sure things” we can look forward to.

In actuality, this statement is completely false. Oh, sure… we all have to pay taxes and we’re all going to die. Those facts are undeniably true. But while we are here, there is one sure-fire reality that exists for all of us, something far more pleasant than death OR taxes, but just as certain.

You probably don’t know about it, or haven’t thought about it, but Fifi will now teach you something that could very well change the way you live your life, so listen up.

If you have trouble remembering things, please make a little note of it. This is very important.

My darlings... Now hear this: there is no such thing as a bad dough ball. PERIOD!

What is a dough ball, you ask? A dough ball is simply any food made primarily of fat and flour. Cookies, muffins, biscuits, bread of any kind, dumplings, waffles, fritters and bagels are all stunning examples. It can be as simple as a soda cracker or as complex as a French GATEAU CHASSEUR (a delicate almond cake drizzled with black raspberry reduction), but it’s all dough balls.

Dough balls can be basic or complicated. The addition of sugar or filling or frosting doesn’t take away from the fact that a dough ball is a dough ball is a dough ball.

Every nationality on the planet has its own version. It doesn’t matter if it is Italian gnocchi, Chinese dim sum, French éclairs, Mexican tamales or English crumpets… they’re all dough balls and they’re all delicious. Shall I go on? Can you name a dough ball that isn’t yummy? I can’t, and I have the butt to prove that I have tasted them all.

Whether it is doughnuts, hush puppies, matzo balls or cupcakes, there are just no bad dough balls. So move over, death and taxes, and make room for something truly fabulous we can surely count on.

Oh, I am so glad I shared this with you; you are just going to love the challenge of dedicating just a little part of your life to trying to find a dough ball that isn’t great. And don’t try to convince me about the fruitcake thing, there are plenty of people who love it.

Now the next time you’re at the mall and you pass the soft pretzel place, you will say quietly to yourself “dough ball” and think of me. And then you’ll pass the Cinnabon store, and say “dough ball” and then Mrs. Fields, and so on and so on.

When I am right I am RIGHT!

Miss Traditional

It’s Thanksgiving evening and I am alone for the first time today. I am tired, and ready for a hot bath and pajamas, but first I thought I would write my article. I am filled with sentimentality and warm fuzzy feelings, so here I go.

Okay, I confess, I never really got the significance of this holiday on a historical level. The Pilgrims and Indians thing is way over my head. But a holiday that gets families together and includes pie gets my vote.

I hope you all had a wonderful day with your families. I did. In case you are curious as to what Thanksgiving like at my house, let me explain.

Do you remember the TV show “The Waltons”? Think back on how mom and dad Walton and all the kids worked side-by-side preparing the traditional meal. Every family member did his or her part with a smile. And to make it even better, Dad always had an inspirational story of Thanksgivings past to share as they worked together in perfect harmony. Got the picture?

Thanksgiving at my house is absolutely NOTHING like that.

Are we the only family in America who always has to send someone to the market at the last minute to get some vital part of the meal? You’d think after spending nearly $300 in the first place that we would have everything we need. But not us, we always forget something and find ourselves at the mercy of the only open market in town. Is $14.99 too much to pay for a carton of whipping cream? Let me know.

Dinner is always good, although no one in my family is very good at carving. They need to teach this at university level, because obviously it is not intuitive. It seems to also be a “man” thing, by the way. My CPA brother-in-law did the honors, and though he meant well, the pieces were a bit large to manage. I honestly could have done a better job by simply just backing over the bird with my car, but I didn’t say anything. It was a really wonderful dinner, and though I didn’t think it was possible to use every dish, bowl and platter in the house, we did it.

I wish I could tell you that we entertained ourselves after the meal with the men teaching the young ones how to whittle while the women worked on a quilt, but I would be lying. The truth is we watched football on television. However the most fun of the day occurred when my mother-in-law discovered that her grandson had pierced his tongue. Now THAT’S entertainment!

I am going to bed now. My heart is happy. I spent the day with many of the people I love, and the ones I didn’t get to see today know that I love them and that they live in my heart every day.

I am off to my bath and my bed, but tradition dictates that I swing by the kitchen and make a turkey sandwich. How else would you end the national day of overeating?

Goodnight, my wonderful readers. Goodnight, my precious family and friends. Goodnight, John-Boy.

Sweet Inspiration

You will not hear me whining about Thanksgiving. I really am looking forward to it. I just wish it wasn’t next week.

I am never ready for these holidays on time, but I am trying my hardest to get into the mood. I just watched a cooking show where the French chef made a roast turkey injected with a white grape reduction and glazed with Jerusalem oranges. It was gorgeous. I was so inspired by his creativity.

The thing that tickles me is that somewhere in America, some family will actually be eating that very meal. Someone watching along with me will be inspired enough to recreate that culinary masterpiece for their loved ones. I miss those Thanksgivings of the olden days when I would prepare the feast for my family. Cooking for my loved ones when they were younger was a whole lot easier. Now I have a vegetarian daughter, one that doesn’t eat fowl, one that doesn’t like turkey and a son-in-law that is dreadfully allergic to onions. I can’t cook without onions. So to make a meal for my grown-up children and the rest of my clan, I would have to make 2 versions of the side dishes, a turkey, a roast beef and a Tofurkey. Then of course there are the older relatives who have dietary restrictions. Just shoot me. We’re going to a restaurant.

OK, I got off track... back to the subject of inspiration. To be inspired is a miraculous thing. Inspiration is what gives us the wings with which we can fly and visit our dreams. Oh yes! I want to be inspired and fly, but I would probably get a middle seat.

All kidding aside, I DO get inspired by the world around me, and believe me, I am grateful. It doesn’t need to be complicated or fancy to warm your soul. Just think about pumpkin pie. Does it ever taste better than at Thanksgiving? Have you ever had a slice in July? It’s good, but not the same.

I am not here to deliver a heavy Thanksgiving message. I just want to remind you all about the delicious things in this world that cost nothing and feel so good. If something inspires you like a song, a flower, a sunset... share it with someone. And keep your eyes and ears open when others tell you what rocks their world. You don’t want to miss anything! It doesn’t matter if you are the inspire-er or the inspire-ee. It’s all good.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving and don’t worry if you over eat a bit; I have a warehouse full of girdles, corsets, slimmers and sucker-inners.

Sacred Grounds

I am an admitted drug addict. Don’t start planning an intervention just yet. I have it somewhat under control. I am not alone in this, by the way. In the U.S. alone, more than 75% of the population shares my obsession.

I love coffee. I need coffee. I would not want to live without coffee. I got it bad and I don’t want to be cured. I won’t go to rehab... no, no, no! It is the last of my vices and I am not changing. For the record, I am half English and my maternal grandmother made certain that I had a rich appreciation for tea. I have at least one cup of tea every day, between my cups of coffee.

I am not a connoisseur by any means, but I know good coffee when I taste it. I don’t have the foggiest idea what the difference is between Arabica and Robusta beans, but I can tell in a second if coffee is swill or nectar of the gods.

Coffee makes the morning special. This is probably way too much information, but I actually get the coffee going before I even go to the bathroom. I am often dancing in my pajamas, but I don’t want to wait any longer than necessary to take that first intoxicating sip. Speaking of dancing, did you know that coffee was discovered because of dancing? It was dancing goats, to be exact. Legend has it that centuries ago in the Ethiopian highlands, a goat herder named Kaldi noticed that his goats became very spirited and began dancing when they ate the berries off a certain tree. Being a good religious man, he reported his findings to the monks in the monastery. The monks made a drink from the berries and found that it kept them awake and alert for the long hours of evening prayer. The rest is history. Let’s fast forward to 2013. There are more than 20,000 coffee houses in the United States alone. There’s everything from mom and pop shops to Starbucks and everything in between.

Coffee is a powerful drink. It’s actually a commodity. Only gasoline ranks higher. It’s important in other ways, as well. People get acquainted over coffee and fall in love. Couples plan their future, business deals are made, tests are crammed for and beautiful dinners all involve drinking coffee.

Coffee is so important to me that a few years ago I invested in a single-cup machine. It’s one of the best things I ever did for myself. I don’t want to sound like a commercial, but every time I brew myself one perfect cup of coffee, I feel like a celebrity. I have my Keurig set to turn itself at 6 a.m. The blue “on” light illuminates my dark kitchen and greets me each morning like my own private sunrise. With a hot cup of coffee in hand, it isn’t long before I am snuggled on my outdoor couch with my puppies, communing with the birds and admiring the great outdoors. Coffee makes mornings an event.

Even though I am a devout coffee drinker, I am not an extremist. There is plenty of great coffee out there without spending a fortune. In fact, some of the best coffee comes from little hole in the wall places. I am not a snob. Good coffee is good coffee, whether it is served in a paper cup or Rosenthal china. My only rule is no Styrofoam. I won’t eat or drink out of that crap and you shouldn’t either. It takes 500 years to disintegrate.

Have you heard about the most expensive coffee in the world? It comes from Indonesia, but more importantly, it comes from weasel poop. This animal called a palm civet eats the soft outer part of the coffee “cherry”, but does not digest the hard inner beans. It then excretes them and they are gathered and roasted to make Kopi Luwak coffee. It is believed that the journey through the animal’s digestive system adds a unique flavor to the brew. I bet! It sells for $600 a pound and sometimes $50 a cup. And I thought Starbucks was expensive.

So now you know about my habit. If you ask me, I consider coffee drinking to be an art. I have included a photo of the LoveFifi.com coffee bar here at the office so you can see where all my dancing goats and I grab a cup before our morning meeting.

And just for fun, in case you haven’t had enough yet... I am including an incredible array of photos from the premier coffee artist of the world. I will never be able to drink a plain cappuccino again! Enjoy!

Myth Fifi

Are you superstitious? Someone asked me this the other day and I had to ponder the point. I don’t think I am, but when I started asking the same question of others, I was really surprised by the answers. It seems like most everyone I know has some hinky little ritual they do to bring luck their way or keep out the bad spirits. I got so interested in the subject, I did some studying to try to understand the whole deal about superstitions and lucky charms. Fascinating stuff, I can assure you. Listen up... I think you will be very entertained.

First of all, so I don’t disappoint anyone out there, let’s talk about me. My only brush with good luck coming my way happened last year in Seattle. My sister and I were walking down the street near the ocean happily chatting and window shopping. All of a sudden, a huge mega-ball of bird poop hit my shoulder and exploded down both my front and back. My sweet sister, always my protectorate, pulled anything that resembled a tissue out of her purse and started the massive clean-up. I didn’t get excited, I just looked the other way while she dabbed and swiped at the huge mess on my blouse. I don’t know what kind of bird did the damage, but guessing by the size and trajectory of the deposit, it had to be a cross between a seagull and a 747. Sister did all she could and we continued the short walk back to our hotel so I could shower and burn my clothes. A man who had witnessed the whole episode approached us just to let me know that what happened to me was considered very good luck. I didn’t win the lottery or become internationally famous after that experience, so I am not a believer.

Sports people are very superstitious. For example, Tiger Woods always wears the color red on the last day of a tournament because in his mother’s Thai culture, red is a lucky color. Michael Jordan wore his University of North Carolina shorts under his Chicago Bulls shorts in all his professional games for luck. Tennis star Serena Williams reportedly bounces the ball exactly 5 times before serving. Actually, the sports world in general has a truck load of rituals and beliefs to keep out negativity. Here’s a quick list for my sports enthusiasts:

Baseball: Spitting into your hand before picking up the bat is said to bring good luck. Lending a bat to a fellow player is a serious jinx.

Basketball: It is believed that the last person to shoot a basket during the warm-up will have a good game. Bouncing the ball before taking a foul shot is considered lucky.

Football: It is considered bad luck to take a new number if a professional football player is traded. Double numbers on a uniform are said to be super lucky.

Golf: It is considered unlucky to start the game with an even numbered club. Using a ball with a number higher than 4 is said to be bad luck.

Tennis: Wearing the color yellow on the court is very unlucky. It is bad luck to hold more than two balls at a time when serving. No comment.

Fishing: It is believed that if you spit on your bait before casting it will give you fishing luck. Here’s my favorite... Fish may not bite if a barefoot woman passes you when you are fishing. If she breaks into a run, she probably saw you spitting on your bait. Yuck!

And how about those celebrities? Heidi Klum carries a bag of her baby teeth to keep her safe. Cate Blanchett has her elf ears from Lord of the Rings mounted and displayed on her mantel. She considers them to be very lucky in her career. Television personality Star Jones never puts her purse on the floor because she believes it will cause her to never have money. Hold on, I need to pick up my purse from under my desk. Ok, let’s continue. It is reported that Jennifer Aniston always steps onto an aircraft with her right foot first and then simultaneously taps on the outside of the plane for good luck. Rocker Axl Rose will not do a concert in any city that begins with the letter “M” because he feels that those places are cursed. I read recently that ticket sales for the last Guns ‘n Roses tour were not as good as expected so maybe he added some letters.

Superstitions have been around since the beginning of time and many of them have become things we do naturally. People long ago believed that putting your hand over your mouth when you sneezed kept the devil from entering your body. In case you haven’t heard, the new sneeze etiquette is to turn your head and sneeze into your upper arm. That’s fine, but where does the devil end up? Please write to me if you know.

Do you know why the wedding veil was created? Back in ancient Rome it was devised to mask the identity of the bride on her wedding day and protect her from evil spirits that are jealous of her happiness. Rosemary has been used for centuries to keep witches away. Does it work on bitches, too? Again, let me know.

And let’s not even talk about the number 13. Are you aware that more than 80% of high rise buildings in the US have no 13th floor? Airliners have no row 13 and hospitals have no room 13. Crazy, huh?

If you look up superstitions, you will be amazed and amused what people find to be lucky and unlucky. This craziness has been going on for hundreds of years and it’s getting worse. If you memorized every one of the myths floating around to keep you lucky and uncursed, you would have to have a memory like a computer and you would be afraid of everything. What if you were superstitious, practiced Feng Shui and were respectful of when the planets were in Mercury Retrograde all at the same time? You could drive yourself crazy. Life has enough stress without all this foolishness. Stuff happens the way it’s supposed to and you can’t really change it by hanging garlic around your neck or kissing a frog. I can tell you the frog kissing thing is bunk. No princes at my front door this week.

Here’s wishing you all a lovely fall weekend, my precious readers. I love this time of year and I have a weekend planned that should be quite exciting. Fingers crossed!

This one's for you, Clover.

Chocolate Made Me Do It

Halloween has come and gone but the remnants of too many “fun size” chocolate bars made me do something on the spur of the moment yesterday. I got up all my courage and went to check out one of those co-ed mega-gyms. It is time to do something about your weight when you take off your jeans and there is a perfect impression of the waistband, the zipper placket and the pockets on your abdomen.

I was nervous about walking in, but I must have been the most beautiful girl in the place, because 3 really cute buff guys fought to have me sit down with them and chat. Hey, ladies, in case you think that there is nothing better than being “carded” for liquor when you are over 45, I can tell you that there is. To walk into a gym and have a guy who looks like Fabio ask you why you are there is pure bliss. I should have said, “because my ass is as big as Texas and if I don’t lose some weight the only thing I will have to wear is my car cover”, but I demurely answered that I was looking to get into better shape to have more energy. It sounded so convincing that I almost added something about an interest in marathon running for good measure, but I was afraid I still smelled like chocolate and he would know I was a fake.

So I signed on the dotted line and went to put on my “workout clothes”. I wasn’t playing. I decided that if I was going to do this, I was going to start today. I then met back with my muscle man for a tour and orientation. He was really nice, but men usually are after you give them a big check.

Tell me this, what is up with everyone else? No one is friendly in those places! There is an aloof attitude that I just can’t explain. I don’t know if it’s the sweat or too much Lycra constricting their brains, but I can tell you that no one was very cordial.

After my fitness god left to pursue another chubby prospect, I decided to try to program one of the machines and get going. The problem is, I wear glasses, but foolishly left them in my locker thinking I probably wouldn’t be doing any embroidery or beadwork while I was there. I couldn’t figure out the digital commands on my machine, so I asked the fellow next to me. You would have thought I asked him to sacrifice 50 –yard line seats at the Super Bowl to help me for 2 minutes. He grunted and groaned and basically set my treadmill at cheetah level when I am clearly just a notch over turtle speed. Well, I DID finally see one of those workout freaks laugh. He was quite amused.

I was actually pretty lost as to what to do, so I just copied others and pretended that I knew what I was doing. Working out is not intuitive to me. I was never into sports except for ice skating when I was young and I was drawn to that sport because the outfits were the cutest. Luckily, one of the trainers took pity on me and showed me around the machines. After an hour, I felt pretty accomplished. I came, I sweated, I conquered! I felt proud.

Well, I survived my workout, showered in some sort of tiled phone booth, put my “civilian” clothes on and headed towards the front door.

Just as I was about to leave, Mr. “Fabio” gave me a wave and said, “See you next time”.

Next time? You mean you have to do this more than once?

This will never catch on...

You Can't Scare Me

October 31st is almost here. I have already done my part and paid $14 for a pumpkin that I will never eat and will pitch in the trash when it starts to decompose and stink. I am officially in the Trick-or-Treat mode.

We are crazy busy here at LoveFifi.com getting your corsets, push-up bras, padded panties, and fishnet hosiery out to you to wear under your costumes (by the way, thank you for your orders…kiss, kiss!). In fact, we are SO busy, that even Miss Fifi is working in the warehouse getting your packages ready to ship. Don’t faint, but I am really not bad at picking, packing, and shipping. I am much better at being queen, but that will have to wait until next week when all the hoop-di-doo is over. As I pack each order (lovingly, I might add), I think about the person who will be wearing the corsets and stockings and all the fun stuff from us that is going into creating their costumes. It's fun to fantasize and try to guess what their costume might look like. I do the same thing at the market when I look at what the folks ahead of me in line are buying and imagine what kind of people they are and what their lives are like. Old ladies who buy 30 cans of cat food, chocolate chip cookies, and the National Enquirer are easy to figure out. You can tell the single guys and health nuts easily, as well. I remember once there was a guy in front of me whose purchases were a bottle of Collins Mix, two limes, and a large container of Draino. I couldn't figure out what on earth was going on at his house. Thank goodness I wasn't alone on this one. When the cashier checked him through and told him the total, he also commented and chuckled that the guy must be mixing up one "hell of a cocktail". It's always good to know that I am not the only one with a sick brain.

I am truly enjoying my adventure in our shipping department and have learned two important things along the way. Number 1: our warehouse supervisor, Christine, is worship-able. The way she runs the place and handles the customers is awesome. She came to us from one of the fanciest department stores in the world, so she knows how to treat people. With her around, you can be sure your order will arrive at your door on time. Thank you, Chris!

And what was the second thing I learned?

Our United Parcel Service man is gorgeous! What a cutie! I loved watching him put all our packages in the truck. Warehouse work has many rewards.

Customer Service just told me a man called this morning and ordered our Belly Dancing outfit over the phone. He spent 10 minutes explaining that it was for his girlfriend. The more he explained, the more we knew for sure WHO would be wearing this outfit. Please, my darlings, you don’t have to explain anything to anyone at LoveFifi. We care only that your purchase will bring you joy. Period.

When my partners and I started this business, we did it with our eyes and arms wide open to our customers. Let’s get this straight once and for all. We don’t care if you are a guy ordering a corset for yourself. We only care that we help you find your size and that you are thrilled when your order arrives. Save your stories, honey. Though amusing, Fifi has been around the block a few times and I know that you didn’t lose a bet with your bowling buddies and have to dress as a woman for a week. The pink bra and panties are for you. So what?

A few weeks ago, a customer wrote to me about the size 2X Maid’s Costume she purchased. She thanked us profusely and then went on to tell us that she has enjoyed watching her husband do housework in it. I had to admire her. She fulfilled not only her fantasy, but mine. A husband that does housework, how divine is that?

Dressing up is good for the soul. Actors know how liberating it is to be someone else, Halloween allows us to live in a fantasy world for just a little while. So let’s do it!

I have to get back to packing now, so I will close for this week. I am ready with my tape and pink tissue and will wrap your purchase personally and blow a kiss to each package as it leaves the building. I know they don't do that at Victoria's Secret, but that's how we roll at Lovefifi.com.

Wishing you all a happy and safe Halloween. Before I go, I am sending you a link to one of my favorite pieces of television. Jimmy Kimmel had parents tell their kids that they ate all of their Trick-or-Treat candy. It's hilarious!

Soul Mates

My sister and I just returned from the 2013 Soul Train Cruise. We are still so electrified by the whole experience; I can’t wait to tell you all about it, as promised. You may recall that last week you got no article, just a lame letter from me explaining that I was so busy packing my dancing shoes that I had NO time to write a real article. Actually, that was not the complete truth. I was just so busy getting prepared at work to be gone for a week and trying to get myself ready, I actually didn’t have much to write about. You should be grateful I didn’t yammer on about what I was doing. It’s not that writing descriptions for the new holiday items and analyzing sales is not fascinating to tell you about or that the tale of my trip to the vet to get my dog her meds for the dog sitter is not interesting, it’s just that I love my readers too much to bore the snot out of you. But I was going on the SOUL TRAIN cruise and nothing I could write about the week before was worth typing.

I don’t think I have had this much fun ever before. I am older now and don’t remember everything I have done, but from what I can recall, this cruise was clearly the most fun you can have with your clothes on. It was a chartered event on the Holland America line and the entire week was all about the music I love most in the world, R&B/ Soul/Funk. Just in case you are curious, my next favorite music is classical, gospel, anything by Edith Piaf, Willie Nelson, or Elvis. OK, I’m weird... but I like to think of myself as eclectic.

“ We always bring 3X the amount of clothing that we would need if we were going on the QE2 for a month.”

Going on a cruise is pure heaven for me. I can be easily contacted in an emergency, but once on the water, there is no phone or computer at my fingertips to distract me. I have to completely concentrate on the tasks at hand: resting, sunning, being pampered at the spa, overeating, sleeping as long as I want, gambling, shopping in port, and being entertained. My cabin guy cleans up after me, brings me fresh towels, and leaves chocolate on my pillow at night. I can see why celebrities become brats when life is like this every day. I think you appreciate it more when it’s only for a week.

I watched Soul Train and American Bandstand faithfully for all the years that they were on. I wanted to go on this cruise because the line-up was so amazing and because losing both Dick Clark and Don Cornelius in the same year was really hard on this old girl. I have fond memories of blasting Soul Train on the TV every Saturday while I did my housework as a young bride. I had to turn it up so I could hear it over the Hoover as I pushed the it down the hallway dancing all the way, the star of my own Soul Train dance line. I would always rest when the groups came on and then go back to “getting down” with the dancers while I cleaned and dusted. You would be amazed how much work I could accomplish in that hour. I was always alone during that time, so the “dance like no one is watching” rule was always in effect when Soul Train was on.

The talent on board the ship was “old school” Soul and Funk. Every night after dinner there would be an amazing concert. Jeffrey Osborne... Earth, Wind, and Fire... Gladys Knight, just to name a few. The music was non-stop and fabulous. I did have a cathartic moment during the concerts, however. The music was intoxicating and it was hard to sit. I jumped up with the rest of the audience and danced my butt off as I have always done. I am a dancing fool. This time it was different. Getting older has given me a funky knee and a troublesome rotator cuff. It turns out that shaking my “groove thing” was painful, at times, but I didn’t let it spoil my fun. Thank goodness I still had enough mobility in my shoulder to motion to the cocktail waiter to order drinks. Ordinarily, I really don’t drink very much, but it is easy on a cruise ship. You don’t have to drive home!

I don’t know if I could ever go on a regular cruise again. Oh sure, there is entertainment, but it’s just not as exciting as having musical legends entertain you. On a regular cruise, the shows are mini-extravaganzas and the talent tries hard to deliver a first class show. The difference is that your waiter at lunch could very well be dancer #7 in the ship's production of "A Chorus Line" after dinner.

On the Soul Train Cruise, the entertainers gave small group private lessons on things that were also their passions. Sister and I attended cooking class with Gladys Knight and a drum seminar with Jeffrey Osborne (he started out as a drummer). Very fun! Gladys was charming and adorable and cooked up a yummy, healthy pudding that she makes for her grandbabies and I am certain that my drum playing has improved considerably since last week. Thank you, Jeffrey!

The best part of the cruise, by far, was the people we met. Sister and I met fabulous folks from all over the world. Our tablemates at dinner will most certainly be our friends for life. Every moment we spent with them was filled with laughter and joy. They are from Trinidad and, the last time I checked, that’s pretty far from California. I have no doubt that our paths will cross again, because we will all work on making it happen. You know what it’s like when you meet people and it feels like you have known them your whole life? That’s how it felt with Gillian and Junior. Love at first site is not just for romance. Hugs to both of you.

Sister and I have been on at least a half a dozen one-week cruises and we haven’t gotten much better at either packing a sensible amount of clothing or finding our way around the ships. We always bring three times the amount of clothing that we would need if we were going on the QE2 for a month. I doubt that I will ever break that habit because I need the flexibility of having my wardrobe choices match my moods. If the day ever comes that I need a walker or a wheel chair on my cruises, I can probably whittle down my clothing to those zip up house dresses and one pair of sneakers with Velcro closures. If that time ever comes, I will probably have cut my long blonde hair short and let it go gray. I have to stop this talk... it’s not making me happy. Until then I am ready for anything from scuba diving to a masquerade ball and the world and the cruise lines will have to deal with me and my luggage.

Finding our way around the ships is still baffling to both Sis and I. I tend to follow her because she is Marco Polo and Christopher Columbus on dry land. On a ship, her sense of directions blows wind, but she still has the courage of her convictions, so I follow. It usually takes us until the last day to get our bearings, but then it doesn’t matter. Even though we study the ship's maps by the elevators and pay attention to the “you are here” arrows, we never seem to wind up at our destination on the first try. It’s probably better that we are lost most of the time. We end up walking off at least some of the calories from the 15 desserts we wolfed down the day before.

So there you have it. We had an absolutely wonderful time. I truly wish all of you were there. Why don’t we all go together on the next one in 2014? Think about it and let me know. For now I will close and wish all of you the same thing it says on the T-shirt I bought. It’s the same thing that Don Cornelius said every week at the end of the show:

Wishing you all...

Fair Game

My adorable grandson turned 6 last week. This is a pretty big birthday for a kid. He is still a little boy, but not for long. He hasn’t lost his front teeth yet, so he still has that baby boy innocence. I know it is only a short time before he shoots up like a weed and is all BOY. Before I can adjust to the rough and tumble years to come, I need to make sure we celebrate the end of his sweet-little-boy period that I have grown to love.

I decided that it would be a great idea to make an especially big deal of his birthday this year. You see, I now have a 16-month-old granddaughter, who at times takes the spotlight away from her cousin. I adore them both and I really felt that commemorating being 6 was the thing to do. Although I am really good at planning parties and creating events to remember, I was running on empty when it came to thinking up something fabulous for my little guy’s birthday. I raised a gaggle of girls and am an official “girlie girl” myself, so even though I have made great strides in grandmothering a boy, I didn’t have the foggiest notion what to do for his birthday. With girls, it’s so easy. You get them a poofy pink dress and a plastic tiara, buy them dolls, stuffed animals and candy and they are in birthday heaven. Boys are way harder to figure out and it doesn’t get any clearer when they grow up, I would like to add.

I have a wonderful relationship with my grandson and I love to have him on weekends, just me and him. It didn’t take me long to realize that little boys are just big boys that are not ripe yet. When my grandson was about 2 ½ and could talk, I learned real fast that what little men like is good home cooking, having the latest toys to play with and watching TV on the couch until they fall asleep on my lap as I stroke their hair.

Somebody was watching over me and I got a random email from one of my credit card companies that told of an upcoming event at our county fair. The MONSTER TRUCK Spectacular was happening on the same weekend as my grandson’s 6th birthday. He loves trucks! When I take him to buy a toy, it’s always some kind of truck. He never seemed to be interested in anything but “twucks”. Damn, I hated it when he learned to pronounce his R’s a few months ago. Childhood is so fleeting...

Not only could I take him to the fair for the first time, but we would top off the day in our grandstand seats seeing life-sized trucks with gigantic tires flip, fly, and do wheelies in dirt. I got so excited and bought tickets for the family. I couldn’t wait to take him on the carnival rides and buy him cotton candy, but not in that order. MONSTER TRUCKS... this was a brilliant stroke of luck. What fun!

So we "kidnapped" him from school early last Friday and headed for the county fair. It was the last weekend of the fair and it was jam-packed with families and daters and a whole lot of idiots. I held his little hand for dear life and my sister was my back up as we made our way through the crowds. His excitement when we finally reached the FUN ZONE turned quickly to horror: there was nothing that wasn’t death defying. What happened to the circus train ride and the cute little caterpillar roller coaster for kids and the boats that went around in a circular pool of water with a bell kids could ring? When I was a child, I used to do all the kiddie rides and then get all my courage up to finally go on the Tilt-a-Whirl with my dad. I was game to go on anything that my grandson wanted to try but at that moment he was trying not to cry. Rides with calibrated neon lights flashing had names like Cliff Hanger, Dive Bomber, Turbo Drop and the Screaming Swing loomed all around us. Since my name is not Fifi Knieval, I found the FUN ZONE to be not even slightly fun. I told my little man that he wasn’t quite tall enough for the rides this year and suggested we move on to the carnival games. We spent a lot of money trying to win stupid stuffed toys that nobody really wanted but isn’t that part of the fun of the fair?

Finally it was time for the show. He still had no idea what was going on. The look on his face when the monster trucks roared onto the field was worth everything. He could not believe what he was watching! These crazy trucks screeched around the track and sped over ramps so they could fly through the air. One guy even drives backwards ONLY. Although I have never been to an event like this and would probably not admit to it ever, I liked it way better than I thought I would. Watching those giant trucks with wheels the size of the moon careen around corners and take flight off of piles of rubbish was really exciting. The crowd was into it big time. The hooting and hollering at all the antics on the track was worth the price of admission. At the very end of the show, one of the trucks went off the ramp and did a complete 360 flip, landed and bounced 10 feet up. If I didn’t know better, I would think my sister was giving these drivers driving lessons. Ha Ha! She will read this and roll her eyes, but if working at LoveFifi doesn’t work out for her, she could have a brilliant future in the monster truck business. She already knows the basics.

My grandson had the very best time, but he is only 6 and it was late. He was tired. As we headed out towards the exit, he wanted something to eat. I tried to entice him into the deep fried watermelon on a stick or a bacon wrapped dill pickle, but he just wanted a cup of gelato.

We were almost out when he spotted a blow up airplane on a stick and a light up plastic saber that glowed in the dark. He looked up at me with those puppy dog eyes and asked if he could choose one. I told him “NO” and then smiled and told him he must get both. It’s his birthday! That’s what grandmothers do. Deal with it. I didn’t even wince when I handed over $20 dollars for 2 toys with a life expectancy of 24 hours. All I could do was be grateful to be alive and know that this child loves me almost as much as I love him.

Happy Birthday, Xavier.

All Stuffed Up

Sadly, I have now reached the point in my life where I own more items than I can manage. I have always fancied myself as a collector of fine things, but I may be overestimating my belongings. In plain English, I love stuff. Old, new, antique, bright and shiny off the press, I love it all. Recently, I began weeding out my things. I felt that by only keeping what I was using, wearing, appreciating and cherishing, I could make my life better. It only takes catching a few minutes of “Hoarders” now and again to sober oneself up to what can happen when you can’t part with anything.

My possessions are organized, but so much is put away in boxes and cupboards because I only have so many walls, shelves, horizontal display areas and floor space. And then there are the clothes. My closets and dresser drawers can only hold so many outfits, shoes, scarves and purses, yet I still can’t resist buying something new and fabulous, especially if it’s a bargain.

“My first collection started when I was very young.”

When I first began de-cluttering my life, I started with my wardrobe. I went through every hanger and assessed whether I should keep the garment or not. I read somewhere that if you haven’t used it or worn it in a year, you should donate it. That is a lovely thought, but what if you couldn’t fit into it a year ago and you might lose weight next year? The same person also said that you should donate garments to charity if they are no longer in fashion. There’s something very wrong about that statement. What kind of conscience, or lack thereof, would allow you to push your old, dated, out of style clothing on somebody who is trying to upgrade their sad life and start over? Do you really think it would help someone who's down on their luck to show up at a job interview in my discarded M. C. Hammer pants? I am very proud to say that I was able to edit my wardrobe to a reasonable amount and now there is actually room in my closet to slide the hangers back and forth. I was on a roll.

Next, I went through my kitchen cabinets. This journey was bittersweet. I was reminded that a single woman living alone probably does not need every size of Pyrex baking dish, multiple sizes of cake pans plus duplicate muffin tins and pie plates. I am no longer requested to make dozens of cupcakes or cookies for the class party or after the game. I haven’t made a pie since Beyoncé was still part of Destiny’s Child and the chances of me baking a sheet cake during the balance of my life are as remote as me climbing Mount Everest. I boxed up a ton of cooking gear and gave it away. It felt good.

The next part was really difficult. I am talking about my collections. For most of my life I have created collections of certain items. I would collect until I was satisfied that my assemblage was complete and then I would go on to the next thing. Each collection earned a permanent place in my heart and in my home. My first collection started when I was very young. I collected poodles. There were a lot of them left over from the '50s and they were easy to find in thrift shops. I had ceramic, porcelain and glass poodles up the yin-yang. My parents bought me a white French provincial hutch/desk combo so I could display their cuteness in my teenage room. When I left home for college, my former room morphed into a guest room; a very poodle-less one, I might add. My boxed up collection has stayed with me through every stage of my life since, but sadly they never fit into the cool vibe of my first apartment or my first home after I married. I could have put my poodles in the family room, but to be fair, they would have had to share space with bowling trophies, so we compromised and used the space for family photos.

My next fixation was on English tea and candy tins. The designs on them were so beautiful and when I was collecting them, they were very inexpensive. I had a shelf built below the ceiling in my dream home kitchen and displayed my gorgeous tins, mostly from the early to mid 20th century, around the entire perimeter of my kitchen. When the nest was empty and the house was sold, I carefully boxed most of them up and stored them with the poodles in the garage of my much smaller condo.

I have gone through the same exercise with decorative bowls, candlesticks, vintage jewelry and antique linens, just to name a few. When space gets tight, I box most of it up, but display and use what I can. Because I am committed to simplifying my life, I took all the boxes down and started going through them with the intention of culling these collections down to only a few important pieces each.

You know how it is when you start going through stuff, it takes a lot longer than you think because you visit each piece as you pull it out and unwrap it. You remember where you found it and fall in love with it all over again. My middle daughter was visiting that day, and as I joyfully showed off one of my favorite floral tins, these words popped out of her mouth instantaneously: “99 Cent Sale when you die!” Very funny, I thought. So I pulled out a stunning pair of embroidered satin pillow cases from the 1920s. “99 Cent Sale when you die!”, she chirped. I pretended that it didn’t bother me because I know that when I DO die, my girls will be very sentimental and want to keep everything to remember me by. Right?

So the end of the saga goes like this. I couldn’t part with anything. The poodles, the tins, the china... I still have every piece. I pulled out some of my favorites from every collection and placed them around my home. I put everything else in a storage locker nearby. The plan is to rotate my collections like the museums do. It’s worth it to me to be able to touch and feel and appreciate these pieces of the past that each has a story. I feel that I have succeeded because I have much more storage space in my house now and my stuff is very well organized.

Although I always said that I didn’t want to burden my children with cleaning out a morass of my worldly possessions when I die, now I do. I like to consider it a part of the Circle of Life.

So for now, I feel very content. I have honed my material world down to a very respectable amount and passed a lot of really good and useful things on to others.

I don’t know what will happen to all my treasures after I am gone, but for now I love having every item within my reach to love and admire when I feel like it. So there! I hope you don’t find me to be too eccentric or whack-a-doo after this article. Oh wait. I forgot... that’s why you love me!

Be watching for another NEW and hopefully hilarious slice-of-my-life episode next week. And here’s a hint: If there is no article and they run something titled “Miss Fifi, In Memoriam”, be advised that there will also be a completely fabulous 99 Cent Sale going on shortly in Los Angeles.

Awesome August

It’s the end of August. Think about this: Every month on the calendar has at least one special holiday. My garage is filled with Santas, plastic eggs, noisemakers, shamrocks and pilgrims. It seems that there is always something exciting to look forward to as each month unfolds. We celebrated the 4th of July not so long ago and September has this week's Labor Day weekend. But nothing at all happens in August. Why?

OK, it IS my birthday month, but that’s about it. I’m looking at the calendar that my dry cleaner gave me, and the only special event in the whole month of August is a bank holiday in Canada.

When the master calendar was planned, there must have been a strike in August. It is baffling that there is nothing official going on with this particular 31-day period. It bothered me so much that I just had to investigate. Surely such a fine month was not intentionally overlooked.

Well, guess what? The 8th month of the year not only has a holiday, it has MANY! The reason you don’t know about them is that they haven’t exactly caught on yet. Shame on me for figuring this all out now that the month is almost over, but I feel that telling you what we missed will get you prepared for next year.

For example, did you know that August 7th was National Mustard Day. I wonder if Hallmark makes cards for National Left-Handers’ Day on the 13th? Watermelon Day (on the 16th) sounds yummy. On August 18th, it was National Bad Poetry Day. Here’s wishing all you bad poets out there my belated very best. I am sad that I missed August 25th is National Kiss and Make Up Day, I'm sure that there's somebody I pissed off, and I do enjoy kissing. Oh well, next year.

And just in case you weren’t already impressed, August also hosts Elvis Week (7th-16th), Kool-Aid Days (13th-15th) and the soon to be popular National Truck Driver’s Appreciation Week (22nd-28th).

By the way, these holidays and observances are real. I could never make this stuff up. Here’s an idea, why don’t we all create a holiday in August that means something to us? A day dedicated to a special event in your life or an activity or even your mate. Think of how flattered your husband would be if you were to declare it “National Brian Day.” He’ll love you for it and the month of August will be forever grateful.

Party Animal

I am one of those crazy people who love when my birthday comes around. I almost always have a party or go somewhere special. I make a big deal of it because I am very happy to be alive and well.

I honestly don't understand people who are content with letting their birthday just be another day. Let me be very clear... I love to celebrate other people's birthdays, too. I just think birthdays are wonderful fun.

So I am planning a really great event this year. I am having one of those huge milestone birthdays in about a week, so I thought I would do it up right. Just about everyone I care about will be there with the exception of some people who live very far away. They will be there in my heart. I really hope to be stupid-rich someday so I can have everyone I love attend my next big one. Crap! If only I had played the Power Ball last night. The pot was $400 million. Somebody won it and it could have been me.

I think it is so much fun to spoil the ones who mean the most. I am having this affair catered so no one, including myself, has to cook. Since the party is in the afternoon, I am doing all appetizers. The caterer emailed me a list of choices. Aren’t my friends and family going to be excited to be dining on such yummies as “smoked almond stuffed dates wrapped in bacon with chipotle brown sugar drizzle”. Will I ever be able to serve them Doritos and bean dip again?

My parties always have a theme. I have asked my guests to wear only black and white. I have no idea what I will wear, but I did have a brief fantasy about appearing in shocking pink and being the only one who was different. It seemed a little too flashy so I abandoned the idea. Black and white are much more slimming anyway. My sister is constantly reminding me that I am not Beyonce, Angelina Jolie or Queen Elizabeth and to reel in my diva-ness. I try, but it’s not easy being me.

I tried to get some entertainment for this shindig, but it seems that there is not much available for grown ups. All the “talent” readily available is more suited for children of drunken bachelors. If I thought my guests would appreciate having their faces painted or jumping on a moon bouncer, I have lots of choices. I did consider the moon bounce idea proceeded by tequila shooters, but rethought the danger and the vomit aspects and decided NO.

If I had wanted to see scantily clad beauties parading around my party, that would have been easy, too. But let’s face it, I can do that at work. While I was actually typing this article, the leader of a group from the agency I contacted called me to talk about the entertainment. I was clear about the type of music I like when I submitted the order and I had my doubts about this group from the beginning of the conversation. He worked hard to convince me that their ensemble could sing many styles. I wanted a R&B kind of group. Try as he could, this man just couldn’t convince me that a barbershop quartet could deliver Motown. No group is THAT versatile.

I have been so busy with LoveFifi, I didn’t start the planning of this party until a few days ago. Trying to throw it all together and make it completely divine isn’t an easy task, but I will do it.

And in case you were wondering do I plan to have birthday celebrations in the years to come? For as long as I have birthdays, my darlings. If I can figure out a way to have parties even after I take my dirt nap, I will “party on” forever. Would you expect any less of me?

Talking Dirty

A few weeks ago, I was organizing my utility closet and was astounded by the number of cleaning products that I owned. Honestly, with all the dirt busters that I had accumulated, my house should be spotless.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I was a victim of clever advertising. I had individual cleaners for windows, floors, walls, furniture, sinks, and toilets. I had “all purpose” cleaners, sprays to make my home smell fresh, foams for stains on the rugs, and liquids to clean my jewelry. Besides all this I had bottles and containers of cleansers to remove rust, mineral deposits, dust and grease. And of course, I had special potions for my stainless steel appliances and treated wipes for my granite counter tops. Ridiculous!

I don’t think of myself as a gullible person, but I had succumbed to the clever tricks of those Madison Avenue advertising agencies. Shame on me… I am smarter than that. My mother kept a clean house and all she had was vinegar, Clorox, Comet and Pine Sol. Sometimes she used lemons off our tree for cleaning, but I never paid much attention to what she did with them.

“I got a late start being Eco-friendly... I have some catching up to do.”

As I get older, I really crave a simpler life. I am also quite committed to being Eco-friendly. I got a late start on being ecologically sensible and am only getting credit from the '80s on, so I have some catching up to do.

As I looked at the endless supply of cleaning products I owned, I realized that all of these damn products must certainly not be good for the environment or me. I immediately sat down at the computer to get myself educated. When I learned what was in the products I used to clean, I was shocked. And you know what else? I learned that manufacturers do not have to list certain ingredients if they are part of their “secret formula”. Holy crap! Think of the poisons we don’t know about!

I learned a lot of great cleaning tips. First off, I learned what my mom was doing with all those lemons! Keep reading…

• 1. Use a half lemon and salt to clean even the most heavily discolored brass (real brass, not brass plated).
• 2. The same method can be used for copper such as copper bottoms of pots.
• 3. You can also shine up your chrome faucets or the chrome on older model cars with lemon and salt.
• 4. Diluted lemon juice not only cleans stains from cutting boards, but helps kill germs as well. Rub the juice full strength onto the stain and let sit until the stain fades. It can be left overnight, then rinsed well and dried. I did this on my butcher block and it was amazing!
• 5. Clean your microwave and remove odors. Place a cup 3/4 full of water with a couple tablespoons of lemon juice in the microwave. Heat to boiling. Don’t open the door for another 10 minutes. Then just wipe away food particles with a clean cloth and dry. This one is superb! And when you are done with this task, throw the rinds in the garbage disposal to freshen it up instantly.

The uses for distilled white vinegar are endless. I found great success in using straight vinegar in a spray bottle around doors and windows etc. to keep out ants. I will admit that the house smells a bit salad-y at first, but ants hate it and stay away. I feel a whole lot better about not using pesticides around my grandbabies and pets. Did you know that you can suck out the caustic smell in a freshly painted room by leaving a bowl of raw onions in the middle of the room overnight with the door closed? It works! I kid you not.

I found out that a cup of hydrogen peroxide in your washer whitens whites and brightens brights better than bleach and it doesn’t pollute. I was so impressed.

I am telling you, it was so exciting to get educated, but it wasn’t until I happened on one particular article that my life truly changed forever! I got so into natural cleaning products and living a non-toxic life that I almost bought a pair of Birkenstocks. I am glad I held off, because what I learned next was tailor made for me, Miss Fifi.

Did you know that one of the BEST natural cleaners you can use is vodka? I am not kidding. It is not only the most glamorous cleaning product imaginable, it has no fumes or VOCs ( Volatile Organic Chemicals).

Of course you can use cheap vodka, which makes it a very economical way to clean. It removes adhesives, stains (even red wine), cleans eyeglasses and chandeliers. Just put a towel down beneath the lighting fixture and spray the prisms with vodka. The towel catches the dirty drips and you don’t have to do anything else because it’s VODKA and it evaporates, leaving the crystals sparkling clean. I love it! You won’t believe the way vodka cleans your diamonds. Did you know that those spray products that make things smell better are super toxic? Just put vodka in a spray bottle and spritz your room. It’s fabulous! So there you have it. I hope you don’t mind me talking dirty to you. You are going to save so much money, but more importantly, you are doing it non-toxically.

I do have a question for those of you who have lived a “green“ life for a long time. When all is said and done and the time comes that they measure your carbon footprint for the life you’ve lived on earth, is it OK to wear high heels? Let me know, will you?

Nothing

I took a few days off recently to try to unwind. Life has been demanding and I found myself running on empty. I didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. I have always had a problem with knowing how to relax, so I decided I would just check out and go underground. I was going to stay at home and veg out. They say you live longer if you know how to take it easy. I had a boss years ago who is now in his eighties and plays golf and tennis several times a week. He believed that the secret to long life was simple. He believed that you should never stand when you can sit and never sit when you can lie down.

I felt it was high time I learned to relax. I took a day off on either side of a weekend. I told everyone that if they needed me I could be reached by text or voicemail. I shopped for food and sundries, did a few chores so I wouldn’t have a thing to worry about, and me and my dogs curled up on the couch without a care in the world. Our mission was to do nothing. It was barely 10 a.m. on a Friday morning and I could do whatever I wanted.

I have always worked. I have had at least a part time job since I was 13. Being at home on a weekday reminded me of growing up and having days off from school. I always wanted to plant myself in front of the TV, but my mom didn’t think that was a good idea and always found ways for me to use my time productively. I did get to watch The Price is Right because mom liked it.

So here I am, in MY home where I live all by myself. I have no deadlines, no commitments. Nothing, nada, zip... until I return to work on Tuesday. The only decisions I have to make are what I will have to eat and what to do with my time. Heaven!

I turned on the TV and switched the channels randomly until I came upon of all things... The Price is Right! It’s got a different host, but it is pretty much the same. It’s fun to play along and try to guess the prices of things, but I am really bad at it. I don’t know where they get the prizes, but they obviously don’t shop where I do. Everything seemed so expensive, but then again I haven’t bought a jet ski or a brass cappuccino maker lately.

I watched back-to-back various crap on TV all day long. I had a huge dose of celebrity news, although I didn’t know who some of the celebrities were. I watched an entire hour of paternity test results to find out who the real baby daddies were. I saw a rerun of Bewitched and snippets of dozens of other shows before I realized it was nearly 5pm. Whew! Where did my day go?

The one thing I learned about daytime television immediately is that the audience is divided into 3 basic categories. Moms that stay home, people who don’t have jobs and people who are WAY older than me.

Funnily enough, I learned about both the absorbency of baby diapers and adult diapers on the same day. Life is crazy, huh? You need them at the start and at the finish.

Throughout the day I was personally encouraged to think about a career in the medical field. The commercials are staged so it feels like they are speaking directly to YOU. It was very effective, indeed. A new career as a medical assistant was only a phone call away! It was thoughtful that these teaching academies were concerned about my future, but I am plenty busy just being Miss Fifi.

As you can see, I was just as fascinated by the commercials as I am with the programming. I was left with some guilt, however. I had no idea that the average funeral costs over $10,000 nowadays. Of course I don’t want to leave the burden of my funeral expenses to my children when for only $33 dollars a month I can leave them 10 grand when I croak. Here is the problem. I don’t want an average funeral, so can they figure out how much it will be with fireworks and a Motown cover band? I will have to find out.

It’s amazing how fast the day flies by when you are doing mindless things. Besides watching junk on TV, I played games on my iPad and read the magazines that have piled up.

I honestly don’t know if I am better off after my day of doing nothing productive. I don’t feel anymore rested. I did learn that when you watch a lot of daytime TV, it gives you so much to think about. It’s actually pretty exhausting. I spent Saturday doing chores and thinking about my day of brainless leisure.

As I loaded the washer, I pondered how I am going to get more fiber in my diet and wondered what else they can possibly do with Greek yogurt. Isn’t it crazy how when something catches on, everyone gets on the bandwagon? Maybe I should come up with a bra that can hold a cup of Greek yogurt between the breasts. What do you think?

After my day of daytime TV and relaxation, I don’t think it is for me. I am a little concerned that I lost a few brain cells so please tell me if you notice a difference in my articles.

Since I am not a stay-at-home mom or an unemployed person, I guess the category I fall into closest is senior citizen. Ugh! BUT... even though I live in a 3 level house, I am not even close to being ready for one of those stair chair lifts that I saw advertised repeatedly. My 10-year-old Malti-poo, Babydoll, would probably appreciate it, however. Nope, the old people commercials were lost on me, but I DO have to admit that those walk-in bathtubs are pretty awesome.

Driver's Education

I don't know if I have ever mentioned it, but I am not a big fan of driving. I must have been an heiress in my previous life because being driven just feels so much more natural. My grown kids know how to get on my good side when they make plans and then ask me if Miss Daisy would like to be picked up. Hell yes!

Unfortunately, I am still doing my own driving for the time being. It's not that I mind being behind the wheel. I have a very comfortable climate controlled car with music and news at my fingertips and a moon roof if I should ever feel sporty. It's what is outside of my vehicle that drives me crazy about driving. For me, driving means that I have to endure an unfathomable amount of stupid.

Let's start with billboard advertising. These big companies spend bazillions of dollars to get their brand across in the nano-second it takes a car to pass by. Wouldn't you think the content would be easy to read and their message understandable? A bit of cleverness might even make drivers-by remember what they are selling. I can't tell you how many times my sister and I have been stuck in bumper to bumper freeway traffic and one of us will point and say " explain that billboard to me". Most of the time neither one of us gets the message in stop and go rush hour traffic so I doubt that many drivers are getting inspired to try the product at 65 miles per hour.

So even if I am not distracted by lame billboards, there is still so much going on to make my drive aggravating. People do crazy things while driving. It is illegal to hold a cell phone and talk yet I see people doing it all the time. What is it about the term "hands free" that is so difficult to understand? I see drivers blatantly holding their phones and talking. What could possibly be so important that you would risk the lives of others and not just pull over? What about the folks that hold their cell phones low in the palm of their hand with the screen facing towards the sky? Now that's a natural looking pose. The only other time a human holds their hand like that is when they are clutching a deck of cards and getting ready to deal 5 card stud. Yeah, I bet the police haven't figured out that you're on your phone.

We all know that we should never text and drive. The public service announcements make a strong point. But how about all the other inane things people do while they are driving that no one ever talks about? In all fairness, I will gender-ize what I have seen. Men first. I have seen guys reading the paper, brushing their teeth, and shaving while driving. As far as the ladies go, we do violate the cell phone rules at least as much as the men, but we tend to do things like putting on mascara etc. at stop lights. I admit to refreshing my lip gloss or reviewing my "to do" list while the car is stopped and I am waiting for the light to change. Women are notoriously better multi-taskers than men, so it is understandable that women may be able to perform womanly or motherly duties safely while behind the wheel, but even the fairer sex has been known to step over the bounds of good sense. Nothing illustrates this better than when my sister was stopped at a signal and the woman behind her rear ended my sisters car. The ladies pulled over and once they assured each other that no one was hurt, the woman admitted that her foot slipped off the brake pedal while she was trying to pump breast milk. True story. I can't make stuff like this up. The girls and cars were fine and they both had a good laugh.

I will continue to do things while waiting at signals. I am good at it and I never have to worry about knowing when it is time to go because there is always some impatient ass behind me who will hit the horn the second the light goes green.

Because there is little hope that i will have a chauffeur in the near future, I have found ways to engage my brain as to make my journeys more like learning experiences. It is increasingly more curious to study the cars and the people who drive them. There are human behaviors attached to what people choose to drive, you know. Vehicles can't speak, but yet....they do.

Big trucks and SUV's are the alpha dogs of the highway. Because they have big cars, these drivers think they own the road. I find it best to just let them have their way. Their bullying egos, rising gas prices and karma will do them in eventually. Trust me. No one needs a car the size of a 747 and those who indulge in the "bigger is better" philosophy will pay the price one way or another.

Some women who drive fancy foreign cars have very much the same kind of attitude. Their car is an extension of who they are. How sad to let your automobile define you. Ok, I need to rethink that statement. I would never lie to you. If I went to my garage and found that the Bentley fairy left me a brand new white one, I would let my car define me without hesitation. I'm just sayin'.....

Don't you love those "kid cars "? You know, the ones made for the youth market. Some of them are really cute. The Soul, the Cube and those adorable Fiats all just scream young and moving on up. When I was in my 20's, there weren't special cars or a niche market for my age group. I was lucky to get my Aunt Helen's Ford Falcon on a payment plan.

See, my time on the road isn't for naught. I have used my drive time wisely but it's still not my favorite thing to do. You can learn an awful lot about this country and it's people by just looking out your car windows. Yes people, and let's DO remember that the drivers seat is surrounded by windows and others can see in. Keep your hands on the wheel and out of your nose. Ladies, keep you skirt pulled down and your knees together. My cousin is a long haul trucker and he has seen more body parts by accident than he cares to share.

Until next time.

P.S. Drive safely. We have a date next week.

Pet Peeves du Jour

Like everything else in life, the things that bug you can change, because YOU change. I am no different. I just might have reached a level of maturity where little things don’t bother me. No... that’s not it. Other things just piss me off more. The peeves that drove me crazy a few years ago may have had on expiration date or perhaps I just found other instances of behavior from humans that seemed more important to try to do something about or maybe, just maybe, I have grown into a more laid back, less critical, more charitable Fifi who turns the other way when people do thoughtless acts. You pick one, I’m good with all of them, but that won’t stop me from venting about what is bugging the crap out of me right now.

Maybe I get easily irritated, but I also work conscientiously to try to make people aware of what is offensive. I try to do it in a kind way. You have to be gentle if you want to change things. Sometimes I wish I were from the South. I love the way Southerners can say something completely insulting while making it sound so endearing when it comes out of their mouths. They can look right at you and say the most hideous thing and end it with a twangy “bless your little heart”. It’s amazing and I wish I could get away with it, but have to have the drawl to get away with it.

Anyway, back to my personal torment. My peeves aren’t in any order and some of them have unfortunately stood the test of time and still annoy me years later.

Let’s begin with this one. I still think balding men with comb-overs are not attractive. I try not to stare when I see them, but I always imagine what their mornings must be like. How long must it take to whip their overgrown side hair into that unnatural hair pattern that attempts to cover up a bald head? Do they really think that a side part right above their ear and the 3 strands of hair over the top that are Aqua Nett-ed within an inch of their lives is fooling anyone? Guys, listen up. I would much rather kiss a sexy bald head than try to deal with one of those crazy comb-over messes.

Next, I believe that wearing sandals is a privilege, not a right. If you don’t have the time to take care of your feet, then you should cover them up. I am talking about men and women. I am honestly not crazy about men in sandals at all, unless you are going to the pool. And sandals with socks? Ugh… it would make me question other decisions a person might make.

While we are on the subject. I just don’t get women who wear these new super high crazy heels when they can’t walk in them. I see it all the time at the mall. I never understood why any woman would torture their feet in 5 inch heels to go shopping. These women may think they look sexy, but they are obviously not dedicated shoppers. While they are hobbling along in their “red carpet” footwear, I hit every store from one end to the other and get all the good stuff wearing my hot pink and lime green Pumas. I sprint from one bargain to another and make the sisterhood of shoppers proud. Could I have gotten my black belt in shopping if I chose to wear pole dancing shoes to Macy’s? Hell no!

As I get older, I realize that I must be more charitable in my judgments. I am lucky to have my readers so I can vent. You know, I really miss PMS. Now that I am past the menstrual years, I can no longer blame bitchy outbursts on hormones. I have to “woman up” and be responsible for what I say. I hate that. I really have a hard time with people who won’t eat outside their culture. I am not just talking about people from other countries. My cousins visited me from the Midwest. They told me they ate Mexican food so I took them to one of Los Angeles’ best Mexican restaurants. I will never forget their look of horror when the waiter was preparing our tableside guacamole. They wouldn’t even try it. I found out later that they had never had an avocado or real Mexican food. Taco Bell doesn’t count. Good grief, you can learn so much about other people by getting to know their cuisine. Being open minded about trying new dishes is a joy. I can guarantee you that my ass is living testament to my international taste buds and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

OK, one of my biggest pet peeves in life is cheap tippers. I never tip less than 15% and usually much more, even if the waiter or waitress was abominable. I have great respect for people who work on their feet all day and deal with cranky customers who want everything NOW. I am grateful that I don’t have to do their job and I show my appreciation for what I have in this life by tipping them anyway. After all, I didn’t have to get the food myself and I can live without the Thousand Island dressing I asked for 3 times and never got. I look at it as my own secret charity.

I think I have hit my “biggy” aggravations for the time being. It always makes me feel better to share these things with you. My readers are my own special anger management team and I love you for it. Think of all the money I save on psychiatrists because I have you. Oh yes, I am talking about you Bob, Marnie, Walt, Laine, Clover, Janice, Vaughn, Myrna and all of you who read me regularly. You keep me sane and give me the ability to know when it’s time to “get over it”. Thank you.

Goodbye for this week, but before I go, let me just mention that I am also bothered by drivers who don’t know how to merge or parallel park. It makes me crazy when babies cry in restaurants and their parents don’t take them outside and I HATE getting texts that LoOk RAndSom nOTeS or use lazy shortcuts like C U L8ter.

Whew! I feel fabulous! Until next time... Kiss Kiss.