Hey, it's a living

I got a new job this week. No, I'm not leaving the full time job I love so much, just replacing the freelance gig I lost last September when the residential building industry led to my column's demise. (I need the money as my 17-year old daughter has chosen the most expensive college on the planet to study art!!!) For three short years, I was the columnist I had always wanted to be . . . well sort of. I wasn't exactly writing the prose I had envisioned. In fact, I wasn't doing much writing at all -- merely reporting the facts, ma'am, on new residential developments then trying to add a little personality in 20 words or less. "You don't have to sit side saddle on the toilet, like you do in my house. . . '' Nevertheless, people surprisingly recognized me from that tiny one-inch picture that appeared on the cover of the Detroit Free Press real estate section every Sunday. Okay, it was only two people in three years (and I think one of them heard somebody say my name out loud), but still . . . 

So, about this new job.

As part of the interview process, I was asked to write a simple story on how to walk properly. Who'd a thunk it? There are people out there who really need instructions on how to walk properly. (Part II: How to walk and chew gum at the same time.)  Hey, a few years back, I was assigned a story about toe fungus. I think that was an all-time low point for me. That's a long way from my participation in the death vigil of Liberace or my near-death experience with a sharp shooter when I refused to stay back as then Vice President George Bush boarded his private plane at Palm Springs Airport. It was 7 a.m., my editor was waiting for a story and because he scared the crap out of me, I wasn't about to let him down. Two TV reporters had been given permission to move toward the plane. Not fair, I said, as I darted in the same direction. When I got to the steps of the plane, everybody was looking at me, so I took advantage of the silence and asked the VP the first thing that came to mind . . . "Uh, how was your weekend?'' I can't recall his answer, but since it was the only question he answered before boarding the plane, I got an entire front page story out of it. (And an offer to have dinner with the sharp shooter on the roof who said he had his "sights" on my back side.)

So anyway, after several days of pondering the notion of writing this walking story -- me, a 20+ year journalist having to take a writing test -- I decided to give it a shot. With a bit of sarcastic humor (an excuse I could use later should I get rejected) and that damn Abominable Snowman song playing over and over and over in my head (Put one foot in front of the other . . . ), I did some quick research and began amusing myself with tips on how to step, move forward and swing your arms just so.

I was pretty happy with the final piece. Apparently, my new editors were, too. In fact, they told me during our face to face interview that they liked my humor and could use more of it. Just as I received my first assignment, I was reminded that I would be writing at a sixth grade level. Was I just complimented or insulted?

Without revealing the source of my ghost writing, I'll give you a hint. If you're sitting in your company break room next year and happen to see a poster on the wall with great tips on how to walk properly, you'll know where it came from.

Hey, it's a living!

Men! She said sarcastically.

Damn, I had way too much sugar today -- an extra large Mr. Pibb!!! Now I feel logy. (Isn't that a funny word? Logy, logy, logy. Say it 10 times fast.) It's well after midnight. Can't sleep . . . again. Spent the day at Best Buy, Walmart, Best Buy, Target and Walmart again. And, I didn't even get to shop. I just grabbed things I thought I might need on the way to and from the TV departments where my husband was searching for the perfect TV for his birthday. (Hmmmmph. How did these Hershey chocolate bars get in the basket?)  For some strange reason, the 50-inch TV in the living room isn't enough. The bedroom -- that place that is supposed to be for sleeping and, well, you know -- is about to become a private viewing room for the latest DVD releases. Oh goodie. What is it with men and their big boy toys? After we got the 50-inch TV a few years ago, our neighbor had to go out and get one, too. Only his was bigger -- by two inches! I guess that's a lot in boyland. Last year, my husband finally replaced his old 4-wheel drive Toyota with a new -- at least twice the size -- F-150 King Kab. The worst part is that it took him 15 years to find it. What fun we've had shopping at car lots weekend after weekend after year after year. When he finally saw it, his eyes turned to saucers like a kid at Game Stop. I nearly blew the deal when I insulted the salesman who, oops, made a mistake, giving us the wrong price then discovering it just as we were about to sign the paperwork. Sometimes, my no-holds barred personality works. Other times, it just pisses people off. It worked after my husband purchased an AS IS lemon at an 8 Mile Road car dealership that included trading in MY Jeep. It took me two hours of badgering the owner, doing everything from insulting his integrity and accusing him of taking advantage of the little guy (me) to threatening to call my media friends at Problem Solvers and crying, I actually got our money and our Jeep back. I should have been given an Oscar for that performance. The guy charged us $200 for the repairs they did on the Jeep which we thought was fair especially since it ran for another few months, enough time to find another vehicle (which we later found out had been stolen.) That wasn't my husband's fault. We did everything we could, including searching CARFAX.com. The VIN was somehow switched. It even fooled the Secretary of State's office employees who tagged it for us. It wasn't until we sold it that we learned its history . . . Where was I? Oh, the F-150. Turns out, my husband really wanted it and even at the higher last-minute price, it was a good deal. Sorry, honey. He went back the next day, probably described me in "Lucille Ball'' terms and came back with his new toy. I had to admit, it was pretty cool. Okay, so back to the TV. Personally, I'm not much of a TV watcher. It didn't bother me that we had to use binoculars to see the 13-inch that we had propped atop my dresser half way across our bedroom. But, I do love my husband and for all that he doesn't say when I come home from shopping trips with bags full of "stuff,'' he deserves it.

The best part about this day, we agreed that this TV would be a present for both of us as our birthdays are only a month apart. No, that wouldn't be right, he said, knowing that I wouldn't really watch it that much anyway. "Hey, I know,'' he said. "I'll buy you the full-motion mount to keep the TV on the wall and off your dresser." I don't think he was kidding.

Right now, as I listen to him whistle through his noise as he doses off, I realize that I am blinded by this giant light in the middle of the room. I look up to see that all that the racket he's been making for the last few hours involved mounting my birthday present to the wall (Great, I got it early!) so he could hook up his birthday present. It couldn't have been two minutes after he climbed into bed to enjoy it that the nose symphony started.

Where's the frigging chocolate?