“Ode to a Paint Edger” – 01/06/16

To my dearest Paint Edger:

Wow.  Well.  If that wasn’t THE best $5.47 I have EVER spent!  And I know, I know, I lingered just a little too long in front of you and that $5.47 price tag, wondering if you would provide my labor with just enough extra *edge* to make that price tag worth it, I know I did.  And I regret that.  How could I have even thought, for one moment, the pleasure you provide, paint job after paint job, doesn't far outweigh your meager price tag?  But what can I say?  I am a woman who has a difficult time making meaningless decisions.  I’m so sorry. 

In my defense, I had never MEANT to purchase a paint edger on this particular trip to the hardware store, which was made in order to buy another shade of white, to cover the Simply White I purchased and put up on my walls yesterday.  It turns out that Simply White, is, simply way too white, and the finished effect makes me feel like there is some sort of emergency, somewhere close by, and that my daybed looks like a very functional hospital bed. 

So this time, I went with Cottage White, which was my first choice the first go-around on this project, before I talked myself out of that selection, thinking it looked too dingy.  Cottage White was competing with Atlantis Pearl White, which, according to the 12-year old Sun was a stupid name for a color, because “Atlantis didn’t have pearls, Mom,” finishing this declaration off with a look of utterly disgust, as if my being so stupid as not to know this factiod was far too painful for him to stomach with a straight face.  When I tried to reason with him by explaining that Atlantis was supposed to have been ”… a city surrounded by the ocean, so why wouldn’t it have had pearls?” his response was “Mom – Atlantis didn’t have pearls OK?!?”

So I went with the Cottage White and while I was waiting for the paint to be ready, I browsed the store, hoping that perhaps I would run into some clever type of lighting device (lighting is EVERTYHING) to supplement this most recent home improvement binge I was on.  

And then I saw you.  And I fondly recalled having a paint edger just like you many years ago, and then I wondered where the hell did that paint edger go?  OR - do I still have that edger and I can’t locate it?  In which case, since I’ve already purchased one just like you and couldn’t even keep track of that one, what makes me think I can keep track of YOU?!?  Or perhaps it's just the opposite of that, and because i have found and lost and now found again, I can truly value you for what you are!

But let's face it, Paint Edger, times are tough right now, what with decreasing income, and increasing expenses.  That $5.47, added to the additional $13 I am now having to spend because I chose the wrong fucking shade of white (of which there are hundreds, I might add), could be used in a more responsible way, couldn’t it? 

But then I fondly recall...how smooth the glide was, how straight the lines, how tight the corners, and – impulsively I thought at first, but no, this was well thought out – I grabbed you, never looking back.

 

Oh Paint Edger, I can’t even begin to tell you how much the precision by which you allow me to paint my lines upon these walls fills my heart with pure joy!  And though I can never touch your heart, because you don't have one, only by the touch of my hand upon your soft, supple, rubber handle, can you know the way you make me feel!  Your handle, with a grip so fine, so fine, as to allow my aging, shaky hands to produce such straight OCD edges!

uneven line

Paint Edger, do you remember the moment at which you bristles gave way underneath the angriness of the bumpy wall, producing an uneven line (see photo), and I hesitated for a moment - wanting to go back and fix it, but knowing that if I tried to fix it I would probably make it worse -

and then I heard your voice gently whisper into my ear:

“Never go back, go forward.” And then,

“There is no such thing as perfection, love”

Paint Edger, you remind me of myself, all the GOOD parts of myself.  I owe you a great debt of gratitude for showing me, reminding me, of who I AM, of who I COULD BE, and for keeping me on the straight and narrow, as you offer your life lessons up so willingly to me. 

Thank you, Paint Edger, for taking me to that edge, allowing me to peer over, and then reminding me that there really IS NO safety net in life. 

Until we meet again, your faithful servant in life (and beyond), 

-          maureen 

Finished Product - "Infinity Wall"

EXCLUSIVE: The Ritz Report’s FIRST EVER Product Review: Poise Impressa “Bladder Supports“ – 1/1/16

If you know me at all, and if you know me, well, then, that means that you really do know me – then you will know that I have developed a teensy-weensy- bladder “control” issue. 

Christ.  Let’s call the f@cker what it is…my body is on the decline and when I  cough or sneeze in rapid succession, or laugh, these days I (often) leak just a little bit.  And let’s face it – while we all have probably been the victim of somebody else's horrifying plumbing problem story, I promise you that my horrifying plumbing problem story will feature a brand new angle…something you have never, ever, heard or read about in a bladder-control story…until now, my friends.  And that’s because there is a brand-new product on the market, ladies (and gentleman who have ladies with bladder control issues).  And it’s called the Poise “Bladder Support“.  And because I feel a duty and obligation to my fellow female to aid in finding, at least some sort of TEMPORARY solution to this horrifying and unrelenting health issue, I have decided to subject my very body - in the name of science - to review this product, over a three day period, and pass on my results to you.  It’s just that important.   

 

POISE IMPRESSA Bladder Supports

Notice that this is a "Sizing Kit."

I have taken to wearing panty liners these days, on those occasions when I know I will be out, perhaps laughing a lot, or if I am sick, coughing and sneezing a lot.  And on other days, too.  Lots of other days.  So when I saw that there was an alternative product on the market (alternative to adult pee pads and adult diapers), you can imagine how my heart did soar!   Plus, they were on SALE, marked down from $7.99 to $4.99 (I later realized to get me ‘hooked’ of course) so how could I not try this new product?!?  Well, I couldn’t. 

Day #1:

8:00a.m.: The trial size packet I purchased comes with three different sizes: small, medium and large.  The instructions indicate to start with the small, and then move up if the leakage is not controlled.  When I opened the individual package for the size #1 support, I am surprised at how much LARGER the applicator is than the size of a *super* tampon applicator (see photo below). 

 

I am just a bit squeamish - nothing THIS size has been in my va-jay-jay for some time now…then again, there have been LARGER items in my va-ay-jay as well, plus babies come out of there, so I push aside those nasty voices of doubt, take a deep cleansing breath (I AM a yogi, after all) and insert.  Boom. No prob.

4:00 p.m.: I spend most of the day alone, which does not lend itself well to testing laughter out on this device.   However, I did sneeze a couple good times and...NO LEAKS.  I’m impressed!  Perhaps this is where the “Impressa” in the name comes from?  It’s kind of stupid, but whatever.  It's a bladder support device.  What more needs to be said, really?

5:00 p.m. I remember that the maximum number of hours that you are supposed to leave the support in  is 8 hours, so I go to remove the device, hoping to hell I haven’t exposed myself to Toxic Shock Syndrome, or some other new-fangled GMO-related, non-treatable, fatal illness. 

8:00 p.m.  With the device out (and now I decide what a great idea a product review would be!) I begin to write, and immediately, I start feeling minor twingy pains in the area of my uterus, sort of like when I am cramping.  Hmmm…is this because I am thinking about it?  Sort of like, maybe intensifying it because I am focused on it?  Either way, since this is only day #1, this does not bode well. 

Day #2:

6:00 a.m: I am a bit tentative about inserting another bladder support into my delicate parts this morning because of the minor twingy pains I had last night. 

8: 00 a.m.: I sneeze, leak, and all bets are off.

8:05 a.m.: I take the second  size #1, and slowly, ever -  so -  slowly insert the device.  Not wanting to push it up too far, I end up not inserting it far enough, and when I get up from the toilet, I can feel it, right on the outer edge of my delicate parts.  Dammit!  Now I have to remove and try again. (see photo for what product looks like fully opened).

8:07 a.m.: Since my trial size box only came with two of each size, I now need to insert a size #2, which is even MORE intimidating, although when I compare the size of the plastic applicators, they appear to be the same, so perhaps is just the actual support that’s slightly larger.

I take a few deep breaths, muster up all of my courage, and push that sucker UP and IN. SUCCESS!  Now, hopefully day #2 will bring the laughter that’s needed in order to really take this product for a test drive!

9:00 a.m.: Hmmm…. this is weird, I have to pee again, but I just peed when I inserted the device.  Is this fucking device giving me a urinary tract infection?!?  It better not be giving me a fucking urinary tract infection.

3:18 p.m. So far, no leaks, but no laughter either.  Depression starts to set in.  I am also starting to “feel” the device in the same way I “feel” a tampon when it has reached the end of its useful life.  I don’t register that perhaps it is, indeed at the end of its useful life (and perhaps this is why I feel it?) until later.

5:16 p.m. I sneeze, I leak, but it’s not a *full-on* leak, like without the stopper…it’s a more….subdued, gentle leak.  I look at my clock and see that it is 5:16 and the device was at the end of its useful life over an hour ago, so I remove it and ponder trying a #3 on the third and final day of my trial.

5:25 p.m. Dull ache in abdominal area after removal.  :o(

5:27 p.m. Read ENTIRE instructions on package, including the following:

-           

               Possible Side Effects:

o   Small blood spots on the product

o   Mild discomfort

o   Vaginal soreness

Vaginal soreness???  WTF??? What does that even mean, *vaginal soreness*???  I mean, that could mean a LOT of things, but really, the last time I remember saying “my vagina is sore” was to my mom when I was 5 years old and I had knocked my young, tender crotch against the bar on the jungle gym in our neighborhood park. I mean, *vaginal soreness* is  kind of…general, and vague, and - disconscerting!  It just covers a lot of ground, is what I'm trying to say.  But it may be worth it.  

Notes on removal: It is necessary to be a bit more…tender with the removal of the bladder support device than you may be with a tampon.  Given the shape of the device, if you become impatient and pull too hard too quickly, you are likely to remove several layers skin cells on the side-wall of your vagina.  The instructions DO warn there may be blood [spilled].

Day #3: Its Christmas Eve Day! And the third and final day of my trial for science and the advancement of bladder control devices for women.  The 12-year old Sun is due home today, so perhaps I will WAIT and insert the device later so that I am sure to get some laughs in. 

5:00p.m.: I never inserted the device.  We didn’t even really have a good laugh and nobody called me.  I may have gotten one text from AT & T noting that my GoPhone(TM) plan payment is coming due.  Wow...when did my life go so downhill so quick?!?  

 

Day #4: Its Christmas Day!

7:30a.m.: The child woke up bright and early to open gifts, so we do that, and by 7:45a.m. that is finished, and I go and insert the device. 

4:45p.m.('ish): Home from the movies.  Generally speaking, the day was uneventful.  No leaks.  The sh#t does work, despite some of the disadvantages I have noted during this trial.  Really I think it’s a matter of the lesser of two (or several) evils:  minor discomforts, or pee your pants, or wear adult diapers? Or just don’t go out? 

Or, it’s like “pain for beauty” right?!?  I mean we keep getting waxed F.F.S., even though that shit HURTS like a m#therf@cker, and I have personally vowed NEVER to go bald down there for ANYBODY, ever again, for a number of reasons. 

Same way with this: I may be willing to deal with the pain (if the product is not slowly killing me) if I can have the *beauty* of not wetting my pants.

Epilogue: Day #5: 12/26/15:

10:15a.m. I cough several times in a row . And leak.  I only have two size #3’s left.  I grab a #3 and insert.  Done deal.  What can I say?  I like not leaking.   Plus i have a coupon for $4.00 off my first box!

2:00: p.m. I head to the store to see how much a box of supports costs.  $15.00 for 10 supports??? Well gawd-DAMN, even though that is only $1.50 per day to stop leaks, it seems so….so….excessive!!!  So do tampons when I buy them, but those are not an option. 

I leave the store with no bladder supports, and now my life sucks even more because I have decided that I am not worth $1.50 per day price tag.

Epi-Epilogue: Day #5: 12/27/15

I am watching the Kardashians’ and Kim and her sisters are making fun of their mother’s bladder control issue (she’s damn near 60, you b#tches!).  Kim tells her mother “You smell like a pee pad.”

I dig the $4.00 coupon that came with my trial size packet, rush to the store and purchase a box of bladder supports.   

For special occasions only.  When I don’t want to smell like a pee pad.

X-Mas Card Photo Shoot Gone Bad - 12/25/15

It started out fine.  As usual, momma pushed it.

“The Kids” – 11/21/15: Open Letter To Every-Body, but Especially to those in positions of POWER to harness, influence and direct the MINDS of our children

Can we - for a moment - give a *Big-Up* to Ms. Whitney Houston, may she R.I.P. who sang long, long ago about how the Children Are our Future. She reminded us to “Given them Hope and let them lead the way. Show them all the Beauty they possess inside.” But, given the state of affairs in the world today, and how most children grow up to be adults leading lives of quiet desperation, I think that the words of Ms. Houston have fallen upon deaf ears.

"LIFE IN 3-D

Yes, the Children ARE indeed our future, quite possibly our only hope for a positive future, given the way our generation, and those who came before us, are choosing to remain ignorant to the harsh realities staring us straight in the face. Who continue to live life in semi-conscious state of semi-stuper, coming up for air only long enough to have a quiet moment of mourning for the 217 girls who are STILL MISSING in Nigeria.

Now – I’m not just bitching to bitch - leaving you with that sinking feeling that the world is going to HELL in a HANDBASKET and WTF am I really supposed to DO about missing girls in Chibok?

No my friends, I actually have a suggestion that each and every one of us can apply in our lives – daily in most of our cases: LISTEN – really get SILENT and LISTEN to what our children are telling us. Our children are pleading with us to slow down, pay attention and do things in a DIFFERENT way. A way that has us using our words and voices and power in a kinder, gentler, softer way with the youngest, most vulnerable, and most BRILLIANT among us! And why are the young so brilliant? Why because they have fresh, new MINDS of course! MINDS that are free from ideas, concepts and indoctrination. Ready to be filled with...love.

But instead, we take the easy route, and program our children, straight from day 1. And we don’t do this out of malice; we do this because we were taught that perhaps if our child learns to read, write, and multiply by age 10, that somehow THIS will be the thing that secures a solid “Future” for them - far away from the spindly, creeping hands of the *unknown.*  From a very early age, we are shaping, molding and influencing the very value system that will form the foundation of that child’s moral compass FOR LIFE.  A value system that has, at its core the goal of everlasting security and *insurance*.

So be careful.

And also – REJOICE! For if we could each peer in to the fresh new imagination of a child, I assure you that we would all be certain of humanity’s positive future, a future that includes all the beauty a child brings into this world, ready to share with you and me. And we would recognize, honor, revere and NOURISH that future right on out of that child, and into our positive future. We would think twice about whether we, as “grown-ups” really do know better when we are parroting some of the life lessons that we were spoon-fed. We would THINK about that, reflect on what a MESS we have made of things, and realize that the brilliance of our own children, properly protected, cared for and cultivated ,will bring about the very Quantum Leap needed now to CATAPULT humanity into the positive future that IS OUR BIRTHRIGHT. It could really be that simple.

If we could ALL just STOP and THINK before we speak to a child.

Thank you. xx 

“Fool me once, shame on you, fool me three times…WTF is wrong with me??? – 10/23/15

So I got stood up last night at Rudy’s Can’t Fail Café.  By a guy who had flaked on me twice previously.  Now, before you go getting all Judgy McJudger about why it is I can’t manage to make better choices about men, know this:  there are very good reasons why I gave him so many chances.  For example, reason #1: I’m getting pretty desperate.

RUDY'S CAN'T FAIL CAFE - OAKLAND, CA

And by desperate I don’t mean that I’m just going to smooch on just ANY ol’ body, but I will say that I have indeed LOWERED my EXPECTATIONS.  I mean, I do understand that as I get older, so do the potential men in my life, and thus, the potential pool from which to draw.  I get all of this.  What I DON’T get is why it is so goddamn difficult to follow through with a simple f#cking commitment.  

This is, yet ANOTHER OKC (OK Cupid) flop.  Another one in what is shaping up to be a very long list of OKC flops, as OKC continues to goes the way of Craigslist.  As in: you used to be able to get a decent date on Craigslist; now what you can get on Craigslist ‘aint free.  

So we virtually met, exchanged a couple of e-mail messages of interest, and then I gave him my number.  We set up a date for a Tuesday evening, after he got off work (he does a 9 – 6 grind) at 7. 

By noon that day, I found myself thinking “Could it really be that I am going to go on a date with a REAL LIVE MAN?!?  Could this really be happening?!?"  By 3pm, things were still *looking good* and by 5:00pm, he had texted a note of cancellation: *working late.*  What a lame excuse, right?  Except that THEN he followed that text up with the following text at 5:10pm:

Have this last min print job we got to do. 

And I thought it was sweet of him to go through the trouble of describing his excuse in detail.  And then, at 10:10p.m. the following text arrived:

Just wrapped up.

How sweet, right?!? So perhaps he was called in to work late, and really was working; either that, or he’s got his elaborate stories pre-lined up.  

I texted him that I was happy to receive his play-by-play of the evening and wanted to know if he wanted to set up a meet and greet for another evening.  That was October 21.  Three days later, I get this text:

Sorry for the lag…my phone took a shit...had to get a new one! 

Quickly followed by:

Did I miss my window?

Again, I ask you dear reader: how could I resist?  All of that potential, wrapped up in so much humility and charm???

I thanked my potential suitor, this time for his fabulous excuse.  A few text messages later, and we are, once again, set for Rudy’s – this time at 9:30pm for dessert.  

I am teaching a yoga class prior to the date, so I tell him that I will re-confirm at 9pm, which I do, and I hear nothing back.  Well, no news is good news, my optimist/desperate person suggests, and off I go - in FULL DAZZLE - out the door to Rudy’s. 

Arriving promptly at 9:30pm, I decide that I should grab a table and make my desperation look…less desperate.  So I grab a table (next to a gentleman sitting solo…see this is normal, right? Except that as i sit down and glance over, i can't help but notice that he is just wrapping up his meal...looking really, really bloated - almost as if it would hurt to move.  And I cant help but think to myself that that is going to be me in a few short moments.), and by 9:40, I just KNOW he’s not coming, but I text anyway:

Are you coming?

Crickets.                                                                                                                                                                      

So I order the chili cheese fries (without the chili…the waiter was- super nice to me to make the modification: he pitied me) and a chocolate malt.   With a side of sadness and despair.   And a very difficult next day, gastrologically speaking.

I remain hopeful.

"NOOZ FLASH! NOOZ FLASH! NOOZ FLASH! Ritz Kracka morphs into an OREO Cookie!" 10/10/15

Today, during my weekly pilgrimage to the Grand Lake Farmer’s Market, I opened my big Riz Kracka MOUTH (when it was probably an opportune time to keep it SHUT), and I got called an “OREO COOKIE BITCH.”

"OREO COOKIE BITCH"

For those of you who are not familiar with the Oreo cookie as it refers to a PERSON, it is a person who is: black on the OUTSIDE and WHITE on the inside. 

It’s my fault, really.  You know when you are having one of those days when the NEXT m#thrfkr to say something sideways is going to CATCH it from you? Well, that’s exactly what happened.  

And I am not PROUD to admit that it was an older, black gentleman, likely living close to the skids, with whom I had this altercation.  Honestly, if it would have been a younger, larger white man, I would have QUITE POSSIBLY (most definitely) kept my trap SHUT.  But it wasn’t, and I didn’t.   

The altercation went something like this:

He (coming up to me as I am locking my bike): Miss, miss, are you a sister?

Me (pausing…thinking/reacting in my head “GODDAMIT!  Why does EVERYBODY feel the need to CLASSIFY ME???):  Would that make a difference to you?

He: Yes it would because…..

I start to walk away. Terrible move, for a number of reasons, all of which i am certain you are mentally listing at this moment. 

He: Hey! Whatchu’ doin’?  Don’t walk away from me!

Me (pissed off, but i feel as though i am somehow missing something, like an appendage, so I LOOK BACK and I now i have to GO BACK because I left my lawn chair strapped to my bike):  [managing something silly and flustered, like] Sir, you know that we are ALL actually brothers and sisters here, all of us here (gesturing with my arms, as i have now become quite expressive), so the fact that you are ASKING me whether i am a sister makes NO SENSE to me AT ALL!

I turn around and walk away again.  Two steps later – even MORE pissed off, because now i need to redeem myself for the silly little thing i said, and now I know that he is not going to do anything, because he would have by now, plus the fact that he is probably 10-15 years older, and in a pinch – I am CERTAIN i could take him in a foot-race) I say: 

“Because, sir, the reason you asked me in the FIRST place is because YOU weren’t SURE whether I was black or white.  And I really wouldn't think that aught to matter to you, given that YOU are asking ME for HELP!”  Then I turned on my heel and walked away a third time.  

He:  (yelling something, of which I caught bits and pieces amidst the fury) I was just ... by a WHITE WOMAN...from the KKK (i don't exactly remember what was said, but white woman and KKK were DEFINITELY in the mix) you OREO-COOKIE BITCH!”   

And that was that. 

Lesson learned? When it comes to being offended? Just don’t.  And don’t be a (sh)ero when you could just be an Oreo and leave it at that.  Oh, and also: don't make the most vulnerable among us the enemy.  

carry on.