Not a whole lot has changed since I was in college—other than my waistline—but that’s another story.

A group of 15-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner.Finally, they agreed to meet at the B-town burgers next to the Ocean View restaurant because they had only $6.00 among them and Jimmy Johnson, the cute boy in Social Studies, lived on that street.

10 years later, the group of 25-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at The Tin Room restaurant because the beer was cheap, the restaurant offered free snacks, the band was good, there was no cover and there were lots of cute guys.

10 years later, the group of 35-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at The Tin Room restaurant because the cosmos were good, it was right near the gym and, if they went late enough, there wouldn’t be too many whiny little kids.

10 years later, the group of 45-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at The Ocean View restaurant because the martinis were big and the waiters had tight pants and nice buns..

10 years later, the group of 55-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at Angelos restaurant because the prices were reasonable, the wine list was good, the restaurant had windows that opened (in case of hot flashes), and fish is good for cholesterol.

10 years later, the group of 65-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View restaurant because the lighting was good and the restaurant had an early bird special.

10 years later, the group of 75-years-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View
restaurant because the food was not too spicy and the restaurant was
handicapped-accessible.

10 years later, the group of 85-years-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View
restaurant because they had never been there before.

Earlier in the summer, when the boys were home general chaos was the order of business in our house. Every Wednesday evening there was a concerted effort to pick up the accumulated “stuff” sitting in piles everywhere. Marsha (long suffering housecleaner) arrived promptly at 8:00 a.m. for the Thursday morning crackdown. Many cleans past, she had threatened to fire us if we left the house a mess for her to “clean”. This was the one-day the house was clean, and I relished the one hour . . . until accumulated books, bags, stinky socks, retainers and dog biscuits started to pile up again, and my “to do” list grew increasingly longer, IF (duh) no one picked up their stuff at the end of each day.

“To do” lists have never worked for me.
1.Change Dr. appointment
2.Pick up prescription at pharmacist
3.Find a babysitter for last weekend of this month.
4.Write my birthday thank you notes from AUGUST birthday. (It is only November and I have a year, right? Or is that wedding gifts?)
5.Wrap and deliver long overdue gift to friend.
6.Sign up for organic vegetable delivery.
7.Have business cards made up.
8.Hang up doggy picture in bathroom.
9.Plant Costco-size bag of bulbs in garden.
10.Write to sick friend in hospital.
11.Mop us water on floor and call refrigerator repairman.
12.Find “10% off” certificate from Honda dealer and take car in to have oil changed.

The above chores do not require a lot of thought, well, maybe the thank you cards, but for the most part an efficient person should accomplish this list in a few hours or so. Right?

While in the bathroom hanging up the doggy picture, I noticed the toilet paper roll was empty. (Don’t get me started.) I sat down on our 1920’s toilet to load the roll of paper (T.P. within reaching distance for the person who left roll empty, but apparently not within loading distance.) The antiquated seat had been sat on one too many times and I fell halfway into the toilet, the seat was missing a bolt. Anyway, I completed my job, but soaked the sleeves of my sweatshirt, conveniently tied around my waist.

Not wanting to wear “eau de toilet bowl” sweatshirt for the rest of the day, I then went to the laundry room. Once in the laundry room, I started a load of wash, completely forgetting about the picture-hanging chore. Washing laundry was not on my list.

Back upstairs, I glanced at my list again, and walked back to the bathroom to hang the doggy. Having hung the hound picture up, I realized that he (the doggy) had smudges on his face, or on the glass frame, so I took down the frame to polish it. No Windex in the bathroom, a walk to the kitchen remedied the matter. Doggy picture waited on the bathroom sink, neglected, again. My daughter and husband were in the kitchen having a leisurely lunch, when asked about the empty toilet paper roll, both change the subject. Left in a huff and marched to the bathroom.

The doggy picture now sat happily on the wall, sparkling from Windex and looking fetching.

Time allotted chore number 8=5 minutes.
Time taken to accomplish chore number 8=45 minutes, including shaking fist at lazy daughter and husband.

I felt extremely frustrated with my lack of efficiency and decided to plant bulbs because it was a glorious blue bird day. Amazingly, I found my spade resting in its spot and the bag of bulbs in the car, still unloaded from Costco.

I briefly wondered where I planted last year’s bulbs but decided it didn’t matter; the squirrels or some other creature had probably nibbled on them anyway. The spade required a lot of digging so I got out the shovel. One quick dig, throw the bulbs in the hole, and blanket the hole with more dirt.

In reality, one coffee-powered dig left me with one broken irrigation pipe. Fortunately, the plumber comes tomorrow for the leaky sink in the bathroom with the broken toilet seat. I called the plumber (not on my list of chores) and asked him in my most pathetic voice to “do you happen to have tools to repair an irrigation pipe that I just broke?” he wasn’t happy, but said he might be able to jimmy something together. He declined to fix the toilet seat.

Time allotted chore number 9=20 minutes
Time taken to accomplish chore number 9=1 hour after calling plumber.

Fifteen minutes remained from my 2-hour chore window. I came to the realization that nothing on my list could be accomplished in fifteen minutes that I had left before I picked up the dogs from the groomer. I ran out the door to pick up the dogs from the groomer, toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. Brushing my teeth was not on my list.

One particular set of instructions concerning the "title of the work" completely baffled me. I tried all sorts of

entries and nothing worked. In desperation I jotted off a quick note to "help" people. I noted

I the response time of two to three days.

The response came within a matter of hours making it that much quicker to get my sitcom proposal in the right hands!

> Sent: Tuesday, March 06, 2012 6:12 PM
> To: ctoinfo
> Subject: eCO technical help 
> 
> Hi there,
> 
> I am very frustrated with this program. I can't get my 'title of work' to register. My case number is 1-731477601
> 
> Can you help me please?
> 
> signed 'annoyed'
> Shawn

Hello,
You selected "Series Title" for the title type.
You have to select "Title of work being registered" at least once for the title type.

If you need further technical assistance, respond to this email with your case number or contact us at 202-707-3002.
Regards,
U. S. Copyright Technology Office - FM
Library of Congress
101 Independence Ave S.E. 
Washington DC 20540
(202) 707-3002
www.copyright.gov

We have several “latchkey” dogs in the neighborhood. Two of my favorite latchkey dogs are, Tuffy 1 and Tuffy 2. The two Westie’s are the spirited neighborhood mascots. They go everywhere together, paw in paw. I have spotted them chasing their suburban driving owner in a frantic attempt for a car ride. Most dogs love car rides, who wouldn’t want to hang their head out the window with the wind blowing your ears back? Tuffies 1 and 2 have been know to frequent “The Bean”, our local coffee shop, perhaps partaking in a “bow wow” so to speak with the other customers.

Another four-legged visitor to The Bean is a yellow lab. He trots about a mile up Maplewild hill for his biscuit and water. He is often seen with his boyfriend, who he picks up on his way to the coffee stand. His boyfriend is a friendly fetching Irish setter.

Jason, the owner of The Bean always stocks a good supply of doggy biscuits so perhaps this is part of the doggy allure. I have not seen any cats in the coffee area but then this story is not about the neighborhood cats.

The wandering canines also have human company at The Bean. A group of men from Maplewild meet at The Bean everyday at 9:15 and 3:15 on the dot. While the gentlemen yap, yap, yap, the dogs, nap, nap, nap. The two legged species at The Bean are of an indeterminate age, meaning they are mostly retired but still full of beans, and I am not talking about coffee beans. I am not sure what they talk about twice a day. I wonder if the same subject comes up in the afternoon as was discussed in the morning. “Hey Elmer, did I tell you about the thirty pound fish I caught in Alaska?” “Yes, Rufus you did, but this morning at 9:15 the fish was 40 pounds, so which is it?” They are a cantankerous and exclusive group, several times I have tried to horn in on the conversation, to no avail. The club is exclusive to men and dogs.

The dogs are also male; there may be something to this. Maybe if I bring my male dogs, ‘Mr. Big and Mr. Small” to The Bean, the men will let me join in the fish tales. I am sure they could use a fresh voice in their crowd . . . or not.

We sit down in his office at the Highline Athletic Club and begin to discuss goals. Goals, what goals? I just want to get fit again, muffin tops are fine if you hang out in the Costco bakery section but the excess poundage is certainly not a good look hanging over the top of ones pants. At a rather reckless time in my life, long, long ago, I completed the Mattawa 100 dirt bike race almost in record time, or at least before night descended on the dessert. I finished dead last and my fifty-year-old mother finished second to last. We were two of eight women who entered the race, the remaining three hundred were men but that is another story. Maybe my goal should involve another race like this? Of course, the race was twenty years ago, before my left hip cramped up with bursitis and my rotator cuff began to give me pains. I can think of no short-term goals besides fitting into my pants again. My new trainer shakes his head at his lame pupil and searches for his calipers, the dreaded fat pinching torture instrument.

He removes his calipers from his belt and begins squeezing my skin in all sorts of places where fat is likely to hide, or not hide, in the case of muffin tops. None of this is comfortable, the calipers pinch I am standing in front of a mirror. Trainer boy says he will add it all up later and get back to me.

We begin an innocuous seeming workout; lunges, squats, lat pull downs, and simple stuff. Unbelievably, these seemingly innocuous exercises are difficult if you perform them the CORRECT way. Each exercise should be done slowly and then…right when my legs are beginning to shake and tremble, I PAUSE at midpoint. I wonder if the precursor to becoming a trainer involves devising exercises that persuade the subject to confess or recant their guilty food pleasures. “YES, YES, I did eat a Krispy Kreme donut yesterday, but it was before noon”.

My mind wanders and I begin to think of pseudonyms for trainer boy. His initial demeanor is rather Marine Sergeantish. I wonder if I start to balk if he will get right up in my face and shout at me, “ARE YOU LISTENING, YOU KRISPY KREME EATING JARHEAD?” As I look up in a sweat-drenched glaze, I see he is standing with his arms behind his back and counting. The counting, the counting, I cannot stand it anymore. I feebly mutter, “Are we done yet?” I know it is pathetic but I am done for.

At the end of the workout, Trainer Boy/Sergeant hands me a sheet with all of the torture exercises written down in perfect order; he wants me to complete the workout two more times before I see him again. To make matters worse, the next time I see him there will be a caliper follow up with the totals of my fat percentage. My heart begins to beat rapidly again; this is not due to aerobic exercise.

To Be Continued: What REALLY goes on in the women’s locker room.

I concurred with Craig about the necessity of a generator after we froze our bottoms off during the storm. However, I put the generator idea out of my head once we had power again. The weather was not foremost on my mind as one of the babies had just hurled himself down the staircase in one of those deathtrap bouncy seats with wheels.

The 1993 storm hit and we were dry and warm. Craig was feeling manly and magnanimous; he seemed to visibly puff up when the neighbors came over for the comforts of our generator run house. And, because it was near Christmas, Craig turned on a small burst of outdoor festive lights.

In the year of 2006 there was again a “Severe Storm Watch”, the weatherman predicted, “severe winds, gusting to 60 m.p.h. My husband, Craig, obsessively watched the weather channel while I read the newest edition of the Oprah magazine. He began to get ready… he unearthed all of our camping equipment, extension cords, bungee cords, zip ties and duct tape (the last 2 being standard fare for any problem in our house).

Two days before the storm we had all of the cars filled with gas, all available receptacles filled with gas, food in the refrigerator and the house was a maze of long fat extension cords that hooked into various outlets for the generator. Craig labeled everything so that we would be adept at completing the task in the event that he was out of town, however it was much to complicated for mere mortals.

As we waited for our impending storm, the kids harassed Craig, Austin told his dad to get a real job and Conner called him a sissy. I began to feel rather sorry for my husband. He was taking a lot of abuse from our disrespectful teenagers. Ten o’clock p.m. rolled around and all remained calm outside. We continued to harass Craig who ignored us and retired to the large closet off of his den, (in the advent that a large tree MAY fall on the house.) His withdraw was followed by snickers from the rest of the family. We all went to bed in our usual spots; we were not worried about trees crashing through the house.

Twelve o’clock and all was not well. Giant branches were falling on the roof and the old windows were clapping with the wind. I hastily made my way to the closet, where I met Austin and Lexi who were also rather nervous about the weather. Craig poked his head out of the closet with a large smirk on his face. At last he was vindicated. The storm cometh and in a big way!

The four of us and the two dogs spent a very restless night in the closet. Conner ignored all warnings and slept in his room, after all, he was the one who had called his dad a sissy.

The next morning we attempted to drive to Starbucks, reasoning that after the stressful night, we would start off our day normally with a strong cup of espresso. We did not make it out of the driveway! Naturally, this gave Craig the excuse he needed to power up the generator. Why he didn’t power it up earlier when we freezing our bums off is beyond me. After four days our power was turned on and we loaned the generator to some friends to keep their sump pump functioning…they had been keeping a round the clock bucket brigade.

Craig has a book proposal in mind…to inform other storm sufferers of the correct way to prepare for a storm.

My friend’s husband scored several premiere tickets for us. The one and only Sundance Kid made an appearance before the movie and can I just say, HANDSOME, HOT AND SUPER HOT!!! You get the picture, and oh yeah, he said something too but I was distracted. Go figure.

The first movie we ‘premiered’ in Park City, was suitably named; ‘The Queen of Versailles’. It detailed the rise and subsequent fall of the King of Time-Shares, Mr. Segal and wife, Jackie, a former over-exposed, Mrs. America.

The Queen of Versailles

The documentary/reality show is a testament to waste and bad taste, with the opening scene documenting the construction of the ‘biggest house in America.’ It ended as a riches to rags story. Mr. Time –Share’s final line, ‘are we done here?’ Very telling. Theater gossip says Mr. Time-Share is suing Sundance and the movie producer for defamation. Coincidentally, this was also one of the first movies sold at Sundance, where none of the movies (for the first time in Sundance history) had distribution before being premiered. Mrs. Segal sat near the front of the theater. Her husband, very noticeably absent.

Luckily, the second show we had tickets for took place at the Sundance resort. Let me just say—LOVE what Bob’s done with the resort. No messing with the masses in order to board a shuttle bound for a high school posing as a movie theater. Sundance Resort houses the original ‘screening room’. We lined up for Monsieur Lazhar, a Canadian film that appears on the recently announced Oscar shortlist for foreign language films. The film has also been nominated for a Genie award—the Canadian Oscar. Based on the play Evelyne de la Cheneliere, Monsieur Lazhar walks unannounced into the principal’s office to apply for a recently vacated teachers position. He is unaware the teacher has committed suicide. The principal—nearly undone by the act of the well-liked teacher, hires him. Eventually we discover the Algerian immigrant, Mr. Lazhar is battling his personal demons yet he is able to move past this and bond with his students. There are moments of lightness in the film—a relief in an otherwise very emotional story. Well worth seeing, however we didn’t SEE anyone famous—that happened later in the evening during dinner.

Mr. Chris Rock attended Sundance to preview his new film, “2 Days in New York.” Chris and I split a steak and Caesar salad at a great steak house in Park City. Well sort of – I split a steak with my friend and Chris sat across from us. It’s like we shared a dinner together. Really.

So as I was saying, later in the evening at the Canyon Resort VIP big deal party I ran into, oh you know…Jason Ritter, Jesse Eisenberg (the Facebook dork dude), Hercules aka: Kevin Sorbo, Entertainment Tonight guy and Bare Naked Ladies lead singer guy (close second to Bob in HOT category). For some reason, I had a sudden attack of shyness and talked to ummm, nobody. Nobody famous anyway, but I got my groove on and learned a few new dance moves from the mostly twenty-something guests.

And finally, Mr. B-Town Blog (super famous) wants to know how Sundance Resort and Park City compare to B-town. Well we have the Tin Theater in Tin-sel town also know as Burien, the Hi-Liners put on a fine show, AND I hear Mr. B-Town Blog is starting his own radio station…