Whine, wine, cheese

Time to stop whining, maybe time to sip some wine, smile and say cheese. Or, maybe I just need to go for a sail. Here's the deal.

Every photographer knows that saying the word cheese forces a smile. As a photographer, then I need to smile because my troubles are as trivial as learning to use photoshop. And, everyone knows wine can soothe the soul. Though I'm not going to indulge, the thought of doing so does have a calming effect. Lastly, everyone knows whining begets a loss a of listeners, except perhaps other whiners. As I sit on the couch listening to the disparaging 11 o'clock news, I am thinking I need to go for a sail. Until then, here's a snapshot of this, my tenth day of September, 2008:

It all started when I took my cell phone swimming during my 6 am ritual at the local outdoor pool. Upon my arrival at work I was blessed with being able to use my counseling skills, which is typically overshadowed by bureacratic bull___ that goes with being an elementary counselor. Unfortunately, I had to squelch my own feelings directly related to the counseling sessions because they resulted from the actions of a personal friend and hero who is falling from grace.

Rather than sip some wine, I convinced myself to destress after work aboard SPRAY, my 28 ft. tri. Although it was a restless hour sipping one of those instant heatable mocha lattes, I eventually mosied home to keep my promise to have a healthy dinner. After pouring a few tablespoons of olive oil into my old reliable frying pan, I turned on the burner then ran into my office to check my e-mails. You guessed it, I nearly set the house on fire. Thankfully, it was during my deep breath that I habitually take while waiting for microsoft outlook to open, when I smelled the smoke. YIKES, I nearly set my house on fire. So much for the sauteed pepper and onions.

Being the busy girl that I am I left my husband to air out the house. I fear that if I had stayed home I may have put the burned frying pan somewhere I might regret. No one wants to hear the lecture about being careless when it's obvious they could have caused a whopper of a mess. After gaining control of my kitchen, and opening all the doors and windows, I flitted off to that all important East Coast Sailing Association's monthly meeting.

My day didn't end there. When I returned home I couldn't find a thing to wear to work for tomorrow's volunteer orientation that I am expected to host. I want to look nice. As I stared at my brand new silver toned, man tailored, long sleeve, embroidered blouse my brain flashed an instant message. I was reminded that I am a Willie Nelson blue jeans type of a person; have been since I was 12 or 13. Here I am at 60 years of age and I am still fighting the same dress code I fought in junior high school. The workforce's unwritten law states that it's o.k. to be obese, it's o.k. to show cleavage, thighs, and underwear lines. I just don't understand the prejudice against blue jeans. You know what? Like the song says, "I'm not going to let it bother me tonight." I don't care if tomorrow is Thursday, and an UNdesignated day to wear blue jeans.

My former boss, who has been a colleague and friend for 20 years, is in jail. One of my best friends is suffering the untimely death of her son. My husband still smokes though cancer runs rampant in his family. A child at my school is so scared to leave his mother he has run more than a mile away from the school to be near her. Channel 6 is having a field day outside my office. But as God is my witness, after starting my healthy eating habits while sailng the Bahamas this past summer, I have finally squeezed into my size 2 button front Levis. Your dern right, I'm wearing jeans on a Thursday. :-)

Life's too short, may yours be smooth sailing, , ,