Lover's List and Oprah

Okay, before anyone freaks out, I do NOT have a secret fantasy with Oprah (unless it's of me and my bestie in the audience of her yearly famous "Favorite Things" Episode).

I actually have a rather love-hate relationship with her. Love her "Favorite Things" and other fun episodes. Like that she puts out a lot of good in the world. Really dislike how self-absorbed she is becoming. Don't believe me? Then why does every issue of O Magazine have her on the cover?

 Yeah, Oprah. We already know you are ay-may-zing. Leave us alone a minute, k?

Anyway, as I said, Love-Hate. Tonight was a Love, when I stumbled upon this article in her October 2008 issue.

The idea of making a list of my perfect mate's qualities I find intriguing. Clearly, my current method of leaving it up to Serendipity isn't working. I mean, Fate can't do everything by herself. It couldn't hurt to giver her some pointers, right?

The article calls for 100. I think I would die first before that list is complete. But I can start with 5. And, if, by the end of this year I even go on a date with someone who meets half those qualities, I'll bump it up another 5.

Do we have a deal, Fate? Okay!

Elsie's List of True Love, complete with illustrations:

 1) Likes to learn and can carry intelligent conversation.

2) Enjoys family, but isn't a Mamma's boy. Not dealing with a Marco again.

3)  Isn't psychotic. (Learned that on Keeping Up with the Kardashians)

4)  Has an upward moving career, or is in a grad program leading to a career. Like Don Draper, only minus the infidelity and smoking.
5) Enjoys culture, but also likes sports (NOT a Red Sox fan)

 Combine the artistic sensibilities above with the athletic know-how below

Bad Thing Happen When You Go to the Gym

A few years ago there was this ad campaign in NYC with the slogan:
Bad Things Happen when you Leave the City.

Really striking images, like a tornado about to obliterate a lone farmhouse, fed into the the firm belief that we (cosmopolitan sorts from any city, even if we now live in the burbs) should have a healthy fear of Nature and all her powerful glory.

(You'll recall that Dorothy didn't say, "I don't think we're in Manhattan anymore, Toto.")

So I hope the creators of this original campaign grant me some creative license, and are flattered by my twist on things.

Bad Things Happen When You Go to the Gym. 

My bestie has been telling me this for years, each time after one embarrassing incident after another. I mean, we saw what happened with my Yoga disappointment and CH and Bendy Barbie. You would think I would learn. But noooo. I get suckered in each and every time.

And that's when my life tornado hits. Completely out of the blue, and I am left reeling.

I am a teacher. Mid-semester I was approached by our local community college to teach a Comp  course for Freshman. Reason being, they are in partnership with our school,  which means our seniors can leave school a period early and head to the college for English class (and gain college credit). Yay! I was so honored and excited to be chosen! This all starts in  their Spring semester, so for the time being I am acting as a supplemental instructor to one of the profs. as way of learning the college ropes.

And of course, there are a couple of cute boys in the class. Nothing creepy weird here! They are young. Way too young. They are like little guppies.

But they have this sense of freedom that accompanies their new college status, so they feel it's fun to flirt with me. I don't respond (inappropriate). But it's funny and slightly flattering, never the less.

Here is where the perfect storm cell develops.

Yesterday I began my period (ouch and yuck). Grading has been monstrous. It was so tempting to go home and sleep. But that is no longer an option. Suddenly over the past year, cellulite has speckled my upper thigh in places I didn't even know could carry fat deposits. So like a trooper, I decided to work out. No Zumba, because it would have been too exhausting. Instead, I felt a nice walk/jog on the treadmill could do it.

Because of my red cycle, I put on the frumpiest sweats I had. They are comfy!

(Sassy? Naughty? Nope, the only thing my bottom was saying last night was tired and saggy).

So while I'm huffing it on the treadmill, a young, cute bunny hops on to the machine next to me. I am hit with a surge of jealously, but am too tired to let it feed my warped sense of competition.

 After 20 minutes I go to the magazine rack and think, "Hmmm, maybe I can indulge in celebrity gossip and do the bike." 

All of the sudden I hear, "Nooooo. Professor Lastname, is that you?"

I turn in slow motion to my right, and see my very tall, very fit, cute, and very good A student from the college smirking at me. I feel frumpy, fat, and completely taken off guard. What is he doing here? Doesn't he know he can't see me in my personal life? Not fair! 

My response was less than charming. All I could say was, "I gotta go. I gotta go." I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror and I am bright pink (matching my sweats).

He - at the oh-so- mature age of 19 - had to console me! "It's okay Ms. Lastname. We're all here working out. I am as bad as you." 

In my head I am thinking, No. You actually worked out. I merely took a leisurely stroll on the treadmill. But it was an incline. Inclines count for something, right?!

We say "bye" and then as I head out, I notice that cute, sprinty, perky bunny who was on the machine next to mine hugs him. She is his girlfriend. Perfect.

I wonder how things will be Monday. I must apologize for treating him so rudely, and make sure he doesn't feel bad. But lesson learned. The next time I want to work out, I'll just pop in a DVD at home and let Jillian Michaels shred me up in the comfort and privacy of my own living room.

The Greatest Generation

Tom Brokaw had it right when he said the men and women from the 1930s and 1940s are America's greatest generation. Guys were brave, and funny, and smart, and knew how to make a woman feel special. This isn't just Hollywood nostalgia talking. I have proof!

(I would go limp too, if some hot sailor planted me a Victory smacker. Free from the forces of evil and indulging in celebratory passion? Never let it be said I don't take my patriotic duty seriously!)

As a guest speaker for my 4th period class today, I invited one of our local veterans from the American Legion to come and talk about his experiences in World War II, and the atmosphere of the United States during that time. All educational.

When he was done, I signaled for the class to applaud, and then I thanked Mr. Spano for his service to the country and willingenss to share it with my class. Just as he was about to leave the door, he turns to the students and says, "I wish I had teachers like her when I was in high school. I know I would have gotten better grades because with a figure like hers, who wouldn't want to pay attention?"

My mouth dropped, and some of my male students snickered. My female students did the "Awww, isn't the old man cute?" face. I had to quickly take things at hand, though at some level I was flattered.

"Thank you, Mr. Spano. I can assure you my students do well for themselves. Have a great day!" I said that last part overly spritely, as I practically shoved him out the classroom door, making sure he felt appreciated.

And then you know what he said? It was embarrassing, but really sweet all rolled up into one. "You're a looker, and you're a lady, too. That's what we fought for, and it was all worth it." Then he winked and sauntered - yes, sauntered - down the hallway.

It took me 5 minutes to get my class back on track. That battle, as always, was tough. But thanks to Mr. Spano's visit and his delightfully wicked flirting, it was all worth it ;)

Trick or Retreat

First - Happy Halloween, all you glamorous ghouls!

(Left to Right: Melanie, Rachel, Me, Ann. Aren't we hot?!)

Second - Never, Ever, EVER go on a Halloween charity date. I don't mean the good kind of charity - like a cancer benefit or something like that. No. I mean nice but slightly nerdy relative of an esteemed neighbor, but not really a friend, finds you bewitching (yup! totally went for the pun!) and rather than say no, which would be the humane thing to do, you say, "A Manchester Monster Bash? Never been, but it sounds like it could be fun..."

I know what you are thinking. But in my defense, it's kind of flattering to have a guy be so taken by your presence that he wants to ask you right then and there. I mean, honestly. There's a little chivalry in there. Right? Maybe?

Well, I don't even know where to begin. Do I start with the fact he, Craig, picked me up in a herse?

(His friend is in the funeral parlor business, and let him borrow his "sweet ride." Yeah, if by sweet he meant the lingering smell of lilies left over from the last procession.)

Though this was a Halloween party, I didn't want to wear a costume. I came close by wearing all black, and rimmed my eyes in black kohl.  I HOPE his outfit was a costume. He wore a tie. One of those ugly 70s ties. And a polyester blend shirt. Tucked into khakis. It was scary. 

But nowhere near as scary as the Monster Bash itself. Now, I am no stranger to lame-o parties and dances. But this...this...it made my prom night 2.0 with CH seem like a night at the Ritz.

This Monster Bash was hosted at a hospice care facility! Yeah! His grandmother wanted to see him, and since she was part of the activities committee, told him the evening would have been a great opportunity to "celebrate the holiday and bring a girl along." 

What?! And he decided a herse would be the best mode of transportation to an old people's home?! And he thought anyone under the age of 75 would find this as a great first date?! 

I give it to Gladys (Craig's grammy), the donut and cider table was delectable. But doing the boogie with the living dead was not an experience I want to repeat, at least not for the next 60 years.

The most frightful part, however, wasn't even the venue itself. Right guy, right circumstances, it would have been fun. No. The real horror story is that Grammy Gladys was under the impression that I was Craig's fiance. And that circulated faster than the Flu virus. Did Craig do anything to stop the madness? Ha! He actually went around promising Grammy and the crew invites to our May nuptuials. 

Over my dead body.

How Elsie Got her Groove Back

I know. It has been a really, reaaaaaaaally long time. And I am sorry. It's just that, well, there is no good reason except that I didn't want to. I got completely wrapped up in the Summer O ' Me and then school started and then the next thing you know, it's the end of October and you realize that not a single post has been filed.

So here's the skinny:

• still a hopeless romantic
• still looking for Prince Charming
• still annoyed with the weight scale (I gained 4 pounds. In one week!)
• still praying her mother sees her as a fully-functioning adult woman and not a 12 year old girl
• still antagonized by CH
• still happy with life over all

I promise not to abandon you again. And anyway, this Friday I somehow got suckered into going to a Halloween party in Manchester. Here's a little insight into me: I don't like Halloween.

 Mostly because I don't like scary things, and this time of year is crawling with all things frightful.  I think this goes back to the time I was 11, and a neighbor (an adult, might I add) dressed as the Grim Reaper leaped out of a coffin in his front yard as I was walking up the front walk with my friends, and chased us all the way down to the lamp post across the street, and only stopped because Mrs. Shingeldorf shepherded us onto her veranda, consoling our hiccups and tears with hot cider, while simultaneously scolding Vin, a.k.a. the Monster of Death, for frightening little girls and shouldn't he be ashamed of himself!

 That is EXACTLY what Vin looked like. Can you blame me for being scarred?

So, I digress. You can bet this Saturday there will be something to read about. And why do I get the nagging feeling that this is going to be my scariest Halloween to date? Even trumping the Grim Reaper fiasco? Even trumping the suddenly large size of my thighs?!

Put on a Happy Face

And that begins with good facial products!

This is going to be super short today, people. But, I HAD to come on and post something, but I didn't want you thinking that I had gone and runaway or died or something. Promise, will be much better at posting from now on.

Anyway, been a dedicated Fresh user for 3 years now and I know you'll love them too. A bit pricey, but soooooo worth it. My face glows every day. A favorite facial wash (and you can buy it at Sephora if you don't have a Fresh boutique near you):
Soy Face Cleanser.

Your face feels brand new. It feels lovely, and deliriously happy, and well, fresh. There is a whole line of Soy Fresh products - shampoo, moisturizer, etc... I promise, it won't disappoint.

But, if you buy it and break out into puss-welts and a rash, don't sue me. I am not a doctor. Chances of that happening, though, are pretty slim.

And, since we are on the subject of disclaimer, Fresh did not pay me or anything. I am just an addicted, er, devoted consumer :)

Talking Like a Brit

Bahahahahahaha! I just finished reading Bridget Jone's Diary. Again. It's like Pride and Prejudice. It just gets better with each read.

I can't pick a favorite line; she had so many good ones. I think I just love how Bridget is so relaetable. When I shout outloud into the book, "Why,  Bridget? Why? Why are you trying to make confit?" I don't feel so dumb doing it because I am not shouting warning to a fictional character but to me, at some point in time or another, when I dream up a ridiculously impractical idea, set about to do it, and then wonder why it failed.

And the funny thing? I keep on doing stuff like that. Just like Bridget. All women do!

That's why we love her. And her mother is the woman we love to get frustrated at. Oh! And stupid Daniel. And how about Mark Darcy...bahaha. Diamond-patterned sweater. Ha! (Read the book to know what I mean). Still, the perfect hero for Bridget.



There's only one downside to reading Bridget - for the rest of the day all of my thoughts are in a British accent. I feel both posh and pretentious at the same time. I also get surprised with a dose of modern reality. British people actually have normal lives. And that's always a little disappointing to realize.

Anyway. I got a great idea, all due to Bridget. Why not start a book club? But rather than try to be hoity-toity smarty, just really read the books that book club girls really want to read anyway. Romances and Chick-lit! Great idea, me!

Cheryl and Melanie agree, and because these are usually quick reads, we can meet about every two weeks (which we do anyway). But this time we'll have literature to gossip about, and not coworkers/neighbors/family.

Love!!!

Any suggestions? I am thinking the newest one to come out by Amanda Scott - should be out in July.

Plus, it'll give me a good excuse to buy it and not feel embarrassed at the counter. "Oh, it's for the book club" and the clerk will say, "Ohhhhh," (because book clubs make ANY reading legit) and I won't feel like an uneducated, unwanted, unromanced singleton.

I am very educated.