Not Such a Joy

I'm wondering what happens if you b'witch slap a granny at the local diner. I realize that you may be surprised to hear that adorable, gentile, innocent, law abiding Earnestine May was tempted to take down a sweet little granny, but it happened tonight. I mentioned in my last, all to brief, blogette that I am no longer allowed to wear flip flops. Some explanation is needed before we get back to GRANNY.

About a year ago, during a girl's weekend getaway we were all getting pedicures when my pedicurist (is that really a word) commented in a jovial way "oh baby you have those fat little ankles." I've never been much of a fan of having any part of my body called fat, but I knew my ankles were a tad swollen. So I took the comment in stride. I've taken a couple of tumbles over the years. Okay lots of tumbles - NOT due to drinking, but a new PDA was involved in one of them. So I've gotten used to a bit of swelling here and there. When pedi-lady made the comment, one of my friends rushed in to my defense. "Oh Earnie May, I don't think you have fat ankles!" In a very sweet and loving tone she made sure I knew she liked my ankles. (Thanks sweetie - you have always been my champion!)

As a result of this, I started paying a bit more attention to my ankles. Uh oh. The toe painter was right. Both of my darling little outer ankles were swollen most of the time. How could I have missed this? I had fallen in love with cute colorful flip-flops and flat sandals. I built an amazing collection of them in every color of the rainbow. I kept my toenails polished in lovely colors and once a year, with my granddaughters, I got teenie weenie little flowers painted on my big toes. Had I been so smitten with my shoes and polish than I missed the golf balls inhabiting my ankles? As I looked back at a few pictures taken - there they were. The gopher from Caddy Shack was probably after me. He would take one look at my ankles and know there must be golf balls inside!

Finally, I went to see a doctor and sure enough I got diagnosed with some big doctor word that meant "poopy ankles." Seems some of my tendons are swollen to twice their size. And what's worse than poopy ankles? Being told that you have to wear an athletic shoe ALL the time. Are you kidding me? What about my darling flip flops and flat sandals?! Oh nooooo - they are not in my best interest. Along with the darn poopy ankles it seems my arches have fallen and flip flops are a huge no no!

So now me and my ankles are going to physical therapy. Additonally, the doctor is doing a torture treatment involving lots of needles (don't ask - it's just not worth going into.) Technically I am banned from my sandal collection for all of eternity (my own personal version of hell.) Female relatives with whom I share a shoe size are circling me like buzzards!

So enter Granny Joy (of all the possible names on the planet - the fates named her JOY just to irriate me.) Earnest and I were eating at a local diner. And I do mean local. The place is called Joe's and it's billed as the place "where Irving meets and eats." Tonight Granny Joy was having her birthday party at Joe's. I don't even know Granny Joy, but I was sitting in a booth across from her when she got up to go potty and guess what? She was wearning one of MY favorite pairs of sandals. They are black leather with a toe strap and sterling silver embellishments (they look positively ravishing with some of my black Chicos clothing and stylish sterling silver jewelry. I used to get so many compliments when I wore them. And not only did Granny Joy have on the sandals, she had the most lovely pedicure and cute little red toenails. I began salivating like one of Pavlov's dogs. I've been so depressed about my ankles that I haven't seen the inside of a my favorite pedicure shop since July. My toenails, well let's just say, when you wear cruddy shoes, you stop caring caring about your toenails and they stop looking darling.

So now this grey panther has showed up at one of my favorite diners in MY sandals. I didn't know her name till after dinner. All of sudden, singing breaks out. Strains of happy birthday, dear "Granny Joy" fill the restaurant. Her grey panther buddies are all pointing at her. Earnest knows I'm about to come unglued. He gives me that "now - now" look. I pursed my lips and said in a soft but firm tone "what happens if I b'witch slap her?" I couldn't believe what I was saying. I was getting ready to take out someone old enough to be my mother. I'm thinking "bring it on old lady. I'm taking you down." Somehow I manged to maintain a sense of decorum. The party broke up and Granny Joy left. She walked right by me wearning MY sandals and she didn't have a swollen ankle in sight.

Yes - I'm going to rehab. Hopefully, grey haired ladies won't cause me to foam at the mouth again. They will be sending me to Cesar Millan's Dog Psychology Center in South LA. I'll have to get my shots before I go. I must have gotten rabies from the darn gopher...

She heard me!

She must have read my post yesterday. She let me wear a Chicos outfit today. I'm still not allowed to wear flip flops or any cute little sandals for that matter. More on that subject soon...

Where is the complaint department?

When Cheryl Richardson told us to "write, write, write at the Hay House Writers Workshop I attended at Sea my boss came home and took her way too literally. I've had my fingers attached to the keyboard of my beloved Mac so much lately that I think my fingerprints have come off. You might ask "gosh Earnestine, if you are writing so much how come you haven't posted anything lately?"

It isn't that I don't love you - I do. It's just that my boss has been really cracking down on me. She's not letting me write fun stuff. Instead I "write, write, write" content for her soon to be published new MayDecember Secrets Website. I think it's just "wrong, wrong, wrong." My public needs me, but you've been dissed for her sacred project.

I haven't been able to shop for any Coach purses either. We had to go the Apple store on Sunday. It happened to be very near a Coach store and guess what - the boss lady wouldn't let me go in. It was also very near Chicos and I wore Chicos long before anybody knew what Michael Phelps mother looked like (now Debbie's got her own line of Chicos clothing!)

So the boss lady bought some silly back up drive. It does have a cute little Apple mirrored logo on it, but I could have had a lovely new bag for the price of that drive. She's become obsessed (helloooooo - Prozac.) I noticed that Cheryl Richardson was also wearing Chicos the first day of the workshop. I think she just told us to "write, write, write" so there would be more Chicos and Coach bags left for her. I think better advice would have been "write a little, shop a lot, write some more, go shop a lot more, eat some mac cheese, get a pedicure, write a tiny bit more, and then take a nap."

And while I am lodging complaints, I have another big one. Where the heck has all the mac cheese gone? She used it to seduce me into writing in the beginning. Now she's so busy typing (with my fingers) that she won't stop and turn on the stove. I guess she could buy the microwave stuff, but I think I heard her grumbling about somebooty that had a growing problem. Maybe she was referring to one of her clients.

I know the purpose of my blog was to share with you the adventures of an earnest writer aspiring to write a book and get published, but I didn't know it was actually hard work. So let me be clear - this part stinks. It's not much fun, you don't get out much, and most of the people you talk to live in some place called the blogosphere.

Just you wait, one of these days somebody is going to call and want to interview her in person. Then she'll be begging me to go shopping with her. She'll be wanting a pretty, new, hip, modern, adorable, luxurious Coach bag. Then she'll go into Chicos for a sophisticated, sexy, upscale, yet casual, colorful, slinky outfit and you know what...

...I'm a ho - I'll go.

Guest Blogger Day

Today's guest blogger is Gayle Luster. She is a counselor and long-time "friend" of Earnestine's. She's blogging today while Earnestine is away grieving about her flip flops.

A Day in the life of a therapist.

(This story is shared with permission of my client, I have changed her name to protect her guilt.)

It’s rare for me to work with children and teens in my practice, but occasionally under the right circumstances I take one on as a client. Unless the parents are willing to work on their own issues, I think therapy with kids is futile. That’s why, when I work with a teen or pre-teen, I want to have a relationship with at least one of their parents. HB fits the bill. Her mother has been a client of mine. She brought HB to me 5 or 6 years ago, but the timing just wasn’t right. Finally in junior high, HB asked to see me again.

HB has been a great client and I’VE learned a lot from her. Specifically I’m learning the benefit of using MySpace in the therapy process. Things rapidly change in the life of a teen (like from hour to hour.). When things are going well, they don’t have a lot to say (at least to their therapist). But when they are angry or hurt they need to vent STAT. MySpace gives me a way to make this work for both of us. HB can write me an email and vent. When I check my messages I get to “hear” where HB is at. We can discuss what happened in our next session. HB also does her therapy homework assignments on MySpace and then we go over them the next time we see each other. I’ve discovered a powerful tool in MySpace to use with teens. HB has been a big part of my discovery.

HB is also very funny. I love her sense of humor. Recently she came to a session and we were just getting started when I looked down and saw this (see picture) on my floor. It’s an aluminum foil “brain shield” (if you’ve seen the movie Signs you’ll recognize it - the kids wore it so the aliens couldn’t read their minds.) Boy did I get a great laugh. I almost rolled out of my chair. (LOLROF in MySpace speak.)

How perfect - a mind shield in your therapist’s office. It made me think about all my “adult” clients who wear their invisible mind shields. In shrink-talk we call them defense mechanisms. It sure would make my job a lot easier if all their defense mechanisms were made out of aluminum foil and were worn on the outside of their bodies. No such luck. For now, I’ll have to use my x-ray vision and be more like one of the aliens from Signs when peering into their minds.

Today I’m grateful to HB for taking down the shield, doing therapy homework, and making me laugh!

(Note to Earnestine - flip flops don't make the woman, it's the woman that makes the flip flops. You'll be okay Just go eat a big steaming bowl of mac cheese.)

Où es-tu mon cher Earnestine?

Earnestine, Earnestine where for art thou Earnestine?

Just remember if you ever decide that you want to make a living being an earnest writer you're gonna pay and it's NOT for a while. I don't mean to be a whiner (and as many of you know I do have a fine French whine - "tant pis pour moi"), but sometimes it's just no fun. I've become my own brand and I've dedicated myself to a brand (heeelloooo people at Kraft.) I've learned about RSS feeds and I've over fed myself. I've been chased by a Thundering Herd and I've listened to Earnest be interviewed about the thundering herd. I've played with words and come to enjoy word play. I've come up with so many puns that it just isn't punny any more. I've been cheesy and I've written lots about cheese. I bought real estate in cyberspace that isn't really real. Now I need better places to house my wares and I've struggled with what to wear (I've even found time to watch What Not To Wear.) Some days I am tired but I am not worn out (thanks Jewel for those words.) I've outgrown my templates and scratched my temples in frustration with new platforms while building my own platform. I've called in the marines and he is coming to help. One post at a time Earnest and I are stocking the "shelves" with inventory.

One post at a time, I'm claiming my spot here in the blogosphere. It's a wild, wacky, wonderful ride filled with wonder. Where am I you ask and I want you to hear - I'm right here and here is where I'm going to stay!

The Medley Version of Life Uncommon by Jewel
(with Go Tell it On the Mountain and From a Distance)

I Kept My Promise

Dear Kraft:

I am a woman of my word.

Love and mac cheese,

Earnestine

Getting caught with your panties down near a thundering herd is scary.

As you may know, I’ve been on a “so called” vacation to Yellowstone National Park. So called - because even though I did get to fulfill my need for mac cheese along the road I was banned (by Earnest) from entering the Coach Outlet in Fort Collins, Colorado. It’s right next door to Cracker Barrel where the mac cheese is warm, creamy, and delicious. But we were on a schedule and I was not given permission to go Coach shopping. We are now on the return trip, we are going to stop at the same Cracker Barrel and I’m still barred from the Outlet Stores.

Earnestine’s top 10 reasons why this wasn’t a real vacation:

10. My hiking boots chipped my pedicure and wrecked the cute little flowers I had on my big toenails.

9. Two words - fanny pack.

8. No spa, no beach, no margaritas.

7. Zip off hiking pants may be functional but they are NOT flattering.

6. Did I really need to make visual confirmation that bears do indeed poop in the woods? Being near the top of the food chain is no excuse for poor manners.

5. Getting charged by a thundering herd of bison (okay a tiny exaggeration) with one booty cheek hanging out (not an exaggeration) is scary. Said zip off pants ripped while dodging a coyote earlier in the day. A one inch rip turned into a 12 inch gaping hole. Poor craftsmanship no doubt. (I wonder if Coach makes zip off hiking pants?) I will be asking for my money back! Thankfully I was wearing adorable pink nickers.

4. Doing laundry to get the stench out of your socks shouldn’t be a part of any vacation!

3. Eating lunch out of a buttateria (remember the fanny pack?)

2. Besides being nearly molested by all those animals (and the signs told us not to molest the animals - where were their signs?) our biggest fun was playing the license plate game (btw, there is still a bounty on Hawaii.)

-and-

Earnestine’s number 1 reason why this wasn’t a real vacation

1. No Eiffel tower and no French wine (tant pis pour moi! - now that’s a French whine!)

-and-

Earnestine’s number 1 reason why she’d do all over again in a second?

10 priceless days with Little Lady, Motor Mouth, Crazy Teen,
Pharm Boy, Big Momma, and IPop!