All posts tagged Birthday

So it’s going to be like this, is it?

Published July 1, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

Author’s note: If you know me on the allegedly real plane of existence, rest assured that I am fine. Nothing illegal or expensive happened.  I would appreciate keeping the mockery to a minimum. 

I’m older than I ever intended to be. This is my favorite line from the musical Chicago.

It’s not just my recent birthday that has me feeling this way.  I don’t feel any older and I think my psyche is quite young.  There are clues that I am, indeed, aging.

Case in point: I had my birthday events all planned out. I even planned my ensemble around my new boots. Now, because I’m not stupid, I knew I would need to break in my boots and plan a walk around my tile floor just to make sure I don’t slip and bust my ass in front of a very nice  restaurant on a Sunday evening.  As I was sashying around my house to one of the many songs on my special birthday playlist, I started busting some of formerly fly moves.  (What actually got me started was the title song to My One an Only. My feet remembered the basic tap routine I learned in college. The rest of me was delighted and proceeded to contiune in my my my my boogie shoes.  Then my iPod decided to throw me “Jump Jive and Wail” followed by “Get Low.” Two very diferent songs and I was a bit giddy with delight at my eclectic tastes. I was starting to sweat and told myself I should take a break after the next song.

In the process of Getting Low, I pulled a muscle in my back.

Which leads me to the next part of the adventure.

As you may remember, I lost my dear friend Steve a few years back.  We lost several friends just prior to his illness and he was proclaiming that he was going to be next.  I turned to him and said, “How do you know it’s not going to be me?” He didn’t miss a beat and boomed, “You had your chance and you didn’t take it!” So now, apparently, I have to go back to the end of the line.

I think of this little tidbit whenever I complain about getting older, because some always invariably chimes in “Well, it beats the alternative!” It may not, depending on what Mr. Steve has doomed me to.

It just so happens that my neurologist’s NP piped up with that when I relayed the biggest events of the last year. (The whole teaching by fire thing, with all of the problems and triumphs therein.  But first she asked me what Anti-anxiety meds I was on and did I want something stronger.

Why yes, yes I do. So I kind of let the alternative state go by that.

So I breezed through my last few days of being 45, mostly because I didn’t want to spend those days being a grump. (And I did have the new exciting meds.)

Then we came to the the birthday. Let me say my friends and my family helped me celebrate and it was quite lovely. Actor Boy got the ball rolling with a phone call at 11:59 so he could be the first one to wish me a happy birthday.

I had breakfast with my Amanda Friend, AOG and Tall Boy.  We had sausuages and cinnamon rolls with orange icing. Then I went home and took a light nap before I benumbed my hide with Icy Hot so I could go have dinner at the luxiurious restaurant of my choice. I even got chauffered.

Those of you who know me may be wondering if the wait staff turned into the spriniting undead and began to claw and bite the patrons, or if perhaps I got food poisoning or tucked my skirt into the waistband of my undewear, thereby mooning the entire Sunday dinner crowd.

No, my dinner was lovely. I spent time with my family (I really like my family. It’s a blessing and a curse.)

I came home and watched TV trying to decide if I wanted to sling myself the half block to the Dive Bar that features Sunday night Karaoke. I was in good mood, so I changed into my non-slippy shoes and comfy pants. My friend, let’s call him CB was planning to meet me there with a friend of his, so I wasn’t doomed to a lonely night holding up the bar while the caterwauling commenced.

I was full of steak and other birthday treats so I didn’t have the room or inclination to drink like a monster. I did have a lot of club soda which made me burpy, but there were no unforseen belching into the microphone moments.  Things were going well. (Here’s the part in the horror movie where the audience is beginning to clue in that there’s going to be a jump scare very soon.)

CB’s friend is a very pretty girl who is young enough to be my daughter, yet still old enough to drink. (It burns! It burns!) CB likes the pretty girl. The pretty girl likes him back. At that moment, it is last call and two of the strangest looking young men I have ever seen come rolling in. (Just imagine. Someone that I think is strange looking. And I know strange.)  According to CB one of them is very interested in pretty girl. I don’t know which one, so I immediately start to run interference. I challenged one of them to arm wrestle. (It’s nice to see that I’m just as stupid now as I have every been.)

Anyway, the bartender wanted to go home, so we all went out to the parking lot.  I walked CB to his car because he was very angry, Marvin the Martian angry, and friends don’t let friends get all whipped up into a rage a.nd  drive.  There was quite a bit of time spent of CB in his car texting wildly. Pretty girl got into the car with the guys. CB gunned the engine. I got out of the way and got lightly bumped by the fender.  I’M FINE. I just twisted my ankle and scraped up my knee. I have given myself worse injuries trying to shave my legs.  Pretty girl and the Boys (World’s worst Strip club.) asked me if I was ok, I assured them I was and I got in my car and drove the half block home.  I immediately called CB and screamed into the phone

“You hit me with your car, you dick!”

But my back doesn’t hurt anymore.

And we’re back.

Potato Bugs happen while you’re looking the other way

Published August 18, 2014 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I still don’t know what’s going on even when I am trying to pay attention. My brain has been particularly windsocky  lately (Worlds Worst Asian Fusion Restaurant and Micro Brew.)  This is to be expected since I am post project and two damn lazy to clean my filthy house in order to start the next project.

What I should be doing: Cleaning my office so I can rearrange things, vacuum and get set up for my fantastic birthday present from my grandmother: A new laptop.

I am very spoiled, but sensible and I know if I set up the new shiny before the office is clean, I will just burrow a tunnel in the mess and my Amanda Friend will have to bring a posse (you dumb horse) to drag me out whilst I make wild swipes at the smudged screen. (My new shiny is a touch screen, because I am spoiled with the latest technology.)

What I should be doing part 2: Going through the heaps of clothes piled on the spare bed. They have been there since early summer because I was supposed to be revamping the entire closet system and streamline my wardrobe in an effort to be more efficient and more of an adult than I have been, well, ever. I got derailed by the big suck that was the last week of June and just never really recovered.  Things need to be sorted, discarded and ironed.

What I should be doing part 3: cleaning the damn kitchen so I can restock in an effort to feed myself. I WILL NOT BUY PLASTIC CUTLERY TO AVOID DOING DISHES. (I have to say this to myself so I will actually follow through. Yes, I can feed myself around a mess, but I really shouldn’t because I was going to make myself a baked potato and some vegetables for dinner, but when I opened the potato drawer, I was greeted by the kind of odor that one usually finds under a carpet on which a leaky soda fountain has been resting (Trust me. I know this.)  Some extra squishy potatoes and some bugs and other demons had taken up residence on top of my stockpile of paper Target bags. The bags and potatoes are gone and I doused the drawer with a liberal dose of Fabulosa. (The cleaning solvent of my people.) act

So to comfort myself and actually root myself in the reality that no cleaning will or should happen past 6 PM on a Sunday, I had a glass of excellent wine (Also a spoil of Grandma.) and  mini-bag of cheezits. I watched a Lifetime movie that actually made me tear up.

I blame the potato bugs

I have had the weapons all weekend and haven’t killed a single zombie!

Published January 5, 2014 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I buy myself gifts for Christmas and my birthday. This year I bought myself “Rise of Nightmares” an interactive game for my Xbox Kinect. (The Xbox itself was a birthday present to me the last big check I got from teaching and directing. I  remember thinking that it was probably going to be the last time I would be able to do that. I was right. Sometimes a rambling fool will show you the way. Wow, that was a long parenthetical.)

In the game you punch and kick Zombies and other monsters. I am really looking forward to this. I just haven’t had the time and its already about to be shut down time.  I still have enthusiasm for the week and the upcoming madness, because I have the plan.

The plan only works if we stick to the time management schedule. (This is a hypothetical schedule because I’m waiting for my dayplanner refill to come in. I think it’s in, I just have to go fetch it from the UPS office. I’m really going to vexed if it’s not here.  Oh well, the UPS office should be an adventure. Why, yes, it does take years of practice to keep up with my conversation,just ask my Amanda-Friend, she’s been following the story for over two decades.)

And now, my something interesting and brainy for today, brought to you once again by the good people at the Daily Spark:

Ernest Hemingway once remarked that All American Literature since The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn owed a great debt to that novel.  Imagine that you are a famous writer about to publish the Great American Novel. Which aspects of Twain’s book might you play with or emulate in your own book. 

First of all, Ernest Hemingway was a big ol’ drunk.  I’m sure he said a lot of things, so why are we not looking to some of those other things to pry apart literature?  Considering the amount of time he spent in Key West and Cuba, I’m sure he had many clever ways to request more ice.  I know that I find it easier to write with a big soda with lots of ice.

Second of all, even if you are a famous writer, how do you know you’re writing the Great American Novel? What constitutes fame? Stephanie Meyer is famous as is E. L. James and I don’t think either of them will crank out (dirty) anything akin to great. Maybe American as in the Twilight series and the 50 shades series are both the processed cheese food of the literary world.

Unfortunately at this stage of my writing career, such as it is, I would have to focus more on themes that are trending, which might not survive the ages but be popular enough to sustain my living expenses without my having to work three jobs, and with that in mind, I would take Finn’s exploration on the Mississippi to an alternate, futuristic plane of existence where Huck and his pal, Gym  (a robot who is his physical trainer) shoot back and forth from place to place in a pneumatic tube.

As always, if anyone thinks this is a good idea, I call dibbs.


This news brought to you by some fabric softener.

Published July 1, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez
I am having an interesting weekend ( I know it’s Monday, but my birthday was on Friday and I worked all day yesterday, so I’m considering today my Sunday. Also with my birthday so close to the long weekend,  I get a little spacy about time, well, always.)
So there was a birthday on Friday, Actor Boy and I decided to work this year on our goals and in keeping with that weird synchronicity we have, out goals are eerily similar. This works because we kind of know when and how to boost each other up during the slumpy parts.  Last weekend we had similar rants within 24 hours of each. Suffice it to say that we wanted someone/something could commit a lewd act on some as yet named beneficiary.
I am looking for inspiration and I ran across a headline that lead me to a video. (I hate when they do that-Put up an enticing headline then lead you to some commercial that will eventually turn into the information you wanted to know in the first place. This is what I found:
Manuela Hernandez, at 100 years of age, finally finished elementary school this week. Hernandez, who grew up in Oaxaca, Mexico,

was forced to drop out after just one year of school when she was a child. After years and years of wanting to return and finish, she finally did, at the age of 99. Congrats Manuela! She says that she plans to start high school next year, so hopefully Prom Queen is in her future.
She took 90 year break then got back to it and reached her goal.  I think it’s amazing and it does make me feel a little guilty about being a slack.

How this bodes: I’m not sure it’s well

Published June 29, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez


LocalSluts ( to contacts 6/28/13

I got many, many messages today. Most of them wishing me well on my birthday. Starbucks gave me a free drink, Panera gave me a free pastry.  I had a wonderful lunch with my wonderful mother. I saw some free comedy with some good friends. Then I checked my email. The above was in my junk mail box.  Apparently a perk of my entering the mid forties (I’m 44) is that I now have access to local sluts.

I did not realize this was difficulty. True, one usually has to leave one’s house to find a convenient slut (World’s Worst Dominick Dunne novel.)

Who knows what this year will bring?  Maybe when I turn 45 I will gain access to that most elusive of all creatures: The International Slut (Coming soon to an art house near you.)

Thanks for the birthday wishes, world.

Universe, you haven’t knocked me out yet!

I wonder what Mel is thinking

Published June 28, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

Tomorrow is my birthday. I share this day with Gilda Radner (RIP Emily Latella) Todd Camp, King Henry the Eighth, and Mel Brooks.

I’m feeling a bit introspective and more than I little ooged out.  (The introspective is because of the birthday, the oog is because I just stepped on a cockroach with my bare foot. EEEEEWWWW)

This time of year is usually a big ball of confusion for me because I am used to having down time. Now that I don’t teach regularly, my schedule is less rigid and with Sunday being  the longest day of my work week, I’m always a little off. (Yes, that’s the reason.)  And this week Actor Boy was here.  I insisted he take the good bed. After spending a week camping with his family, he didn’t put up much of a fight.  So I slept on one of the less comfy beds. And then the day before he left I was awake 22 hours. It wasn’t difficult to stay awake, I am an insomniac, but it was difficult to stay focused.  I slept all day yesterday only waking to slug from one room to the next and feed myself.  I’m still disoriented.

What I’m thinking now is “Where did I want to be by this time in my life?” The answer to that is “I don’t know.”  I should probably know the answer to that.

Where am I now? Is it closer to find than the what? It’s all very confusing, especially since my ambien just kicked in.

Actor Boy and Writer Chick are undertaking a grand adventure tomorrow. I need to rest up.