Odds and Evergreens.

I suppose it's time to say a few things about Christmas...Invisi-Gal loves Christmas waaay too much and most likely for all the wrong reasons.

1) It's always been a "given" that the amount of decorations adorning your yard are in direct correlation to your economic status...the less you make, the more you decorate...and now with the advent of inflatables , it's even more expensive to adorn your yard...so none ... none of this makes sense.

2) Have you noticed that the ubiquitous white holiday lights have been replaced by white hot blue lights with shooting stars? Is China deciding what color Christmas will be?

3) I saw an ol' timey retro lighted Santa on the roof of an ol' timey house and wondered who scampered up the ladder for their grandparents to do that, must be good kids.

4) Now that most of the Greatest Generation has passed, who will give out fruitcake?

5) How can I dislike Nicholas Cage yet, absolutely love The Family Man...

6) I refuse to use the words "war on Christmas"...because I refuse to acknowledge those who would disallow my joy. I shall re-word it "Victory of Christmas"... I live in victory everyday and it all began with Christmas!

7) It's okay to say "Baby Jesus" repeatedly during Christmas and not sound like Ricky Bobby.

8) Have wrapping paper sales diminished because more people give gift cards?

9) Apparently myrrh (as in 3 Kings gift list) can lower LDL levels of cholesterol ...

10) By the way, as a child , I always thought the lyrics to "We Three Kings" were: "We three kings of Orient are, tried to light a rubber cigar"...and I have NO idea where that came from.

chew on that for awhile dear reader....

.

I am 10 years old, I am Nothing.

I am ten years old....today is the worst day of my life...I am alone in this big building in a shower ...and I am being raped.

This man who treats me special and acts like my best friend is raping me, man-raping me...I can't get away , he is too big and holds me too tight, and it hurts and I am crying to God to please stop him...please let someone walk in and stop him.

I am so scared all I can do is cry.

My prayers are answered....someone is in the building, he is walking this way, oh please, please save me!

He sees us, he will save me, I see him looking right at us...Mister, please help me...

...make him stop doing this to me...save me....why are you looking at us like that, do you know this man?

no, no, no, don't walk away...please help me...Nooooo!

Why are you leaving ?

I am so ashamed, you must think I am dirty and deserve this....I am nothing to you, I am nothing to this man raping me...

I am ten years old, and this is the worst day of my life.

I am nothing.

.....

You are State Penn

Dear Rioting Penn State Students,

Perhaps your time would be better spent praying for the molested children that were not protected by your precious Jo Pa...better yet, how about spending some time in community service helping abused children get a second chance, so they can be well adjusted functioning humans.

Oh, and if you have time, write down your thoughts today so you can read them in 5 to 10 years when you are grown up and have children of your own...

maybe you'll see that your outrageous show of support for those who failed to alert the proper authorities when a CHILD was being raped on campus was incredibly misguided...

then apologize for your vandalism and for scaring the snot out of the local tax payers and get down on your knees and thank God that Jerry Sandusky never got a hold of you.

Your friend in Pittsburgh,

Invisi-Gal

.....l

Strategy 2012 ..Shoot the messenger and the ones who warned you about the message.

My uncle's daughter ran up a ton of debt on her credit card ( he was a co-signer )...mostly shoes and handbags and quite a few expensive dinners for her friends, ...

rather than reign in his daughter's spending, my uncle called his daughter's boss and asked if he would give her a raise...

her boss laughed and said it wasn't his fault his daughter ran up all that debt, and maybe he should teach her some simple economics.

That went over like a lead balloon on a cold day.

So my uncle called the credit card company and got her credit limit raised.

Then my uncle asked the other members of the family to chip in and help pay off the debt...I said no and he called me unkind...my niece called me selfish and greedy ...I called her a spoiled brat and reminded her that I had always given her money before, but not anymore, gravy train out of gravy baby...and stop trying to live like a Kardashian on a Walmart paycheck... I told her to sell some of her shoes on ebay for some extra cash...

After badgering more family members, my uncle compelled her brothers to agree to pay in until one of the brothers caught my niece charging even MORE things on her card and mapping out daily shopping sprees for the next 2 years.

The word got out and other family members withdrew their support until little Miss Spendy Pants agreed to stop her bad habits.

She wouldn't and didn't.

Now she can't pay her bills and she needs a new car to get to work but can't get a loan because she has bad credit.

When the bank called to tell my uncle that they wouldn’t do the deal, he screamed at them and blamed them for the bad credit rating…he blamed THEM.

I saw him the other day at Starbuck's of all places, and he blamed it on me too, for not being supportive and my negative words, and said I should just keep my mouth shut.

So , I ended that conversation right then and there. One can't argue with idiots,fence posts or drunks...

I just patted my ol' Uncle Sam on the back

and took a sip of my tea and walked away....

...

Reasons why I 'd rather see a photo of John Wayne ...

I know , I know , we have waited for this day for a long time, the capture and execution of Usama Bin Laden.

Quite honestly , I never thought it would happen, I was sure he was long dead from his diabetes and left in a grave of stone in the mountains somewhere

After 10 long years (I no longer include the Clinton years , he had him and let him go) the accumulative efforts of so many people , pretty much the same ones through 2 administrations have born fruit.

If I have to be perfectly truthful, and I can only speak for myself....without the unmitigated courage in the hearts of Navy Seal Team 6 and their clean precise raid , we would still be chasing ghosts.

But that is NOT why I'm writing this. I'm writing this to flesh out the reasons why I agree with the Obama administration on declining to release the photo of the executed war criminal Usama Bin Laden.

I do disagree ( and you knew there had to be one "disagree" in here) with the reasoning that it would "incite" the Radical Muslim world...one cannot incite the already fanatic. This is a poor measure of perceptive judgement. You can't make someone hate you MORE. There is no sliding scale on loathing.

I don't need to see the photo to prove this really happened. While I do believe that people are capable of doing just about anything to get elected or re-elected (although I think the timing is suspect)...if I choose to believe this is a scam, I have to also believe that Bush caused 911 and blew up the Twin Towers with pre planted explosives...I just can't go there on either theories.

Most of all, and this is reason above all others, I don't want that gruesome photo on the television , on magazines covers and newspapers for our children to see over and over and over again...at the check out counter, on the newstand , on the TV in your family room or kitchen...in places where 6 and 10 years olds and teenagers witness ad nauseum before you have a chance to cover it.

Our children don't need that image in their minds.

They need to know that ultimate boogey man ,UBL is gone, and that's that.

Then we need to show grace and strength , to our own, and stop worrying about how we appear to the rest of the world. We need to turn to ourselves and show that we are the benevolent victor...I have to ask myself this funny question...what would the American-est icon I can think of... John Wayne do? He would've shot UBL, and that would be the end of it, pilgrim.

No bragging, no photos, no bru-haha...the dirty job is done, and let those who did it, have the image in their minds...that's why there are folks like Seal Team 6, they can process that image at a deeper level....I'm pretty sure I can't, and I know for sure our children shouldn't be asked to.

Right now we have over 7 crest points of the Mississippi River ready to flood crops, homes, and devastate our country, let's turn to that (that includes our president) ... let's get on the run to help our own. Each new day has new big challenges, let's get on with that...chalk up one for the Team6 ...and let's move on to the business of tomorrow with one less burden off our backs.

Right now I want the image of my son smiling as he goes to bat for his team, and enjoy this sunny day, because others can handle the truth, and give us tomorrow.

And yeah, I'll quote the Duke:

"Tomorrow is the most important thing in life. Comes into us at midnight very clean. It's perfect when it arrives and it puts itself in our hands. It hopes we've learned something from yesterday."

John Wayne

...

The new moon is my favorite part of the lunar calendar...it's a time to make plans and begin the next 28 days of craziness.

Last night May 1st, we saw the importance of moon phases in a tactical special ops assault in Pakistan on the compound that housed Usama Bin Laden ... the Navy Seals went in on a new moon because the sky is dark, and they could move undetected and use their night/thermal vision gear.

Folks who love to stargaze make their stargazing plans for new moons because they can see the stars better in their telescopes.

Farmers plant by the moon phases..see the Farmer's Almanac for details...it depends if your crop yeilds it's fruit above or below ground as to what pahse you plant by.

I generally plant by the new moon...pull weeds in the last quarter.

I also cut my hair during the waxing phase of the moon.

If you are going to have elective surgery..do it within 5 days before or after a new moon...if you can help it don't' have surgery anywhere near a Full Moon...too much swelling and hemorrhaging can happen.

Hey now, are you tilting your head and making a face?

Well it's true that the moon controls the tides and we are made of over 60% water, so we feel it...ask any woman who was stuck coinciding her cycle with the lunar cycle...

hell hath no fury.

Full moons are great for howling and capture the flag in the neighbor's yard...on a booga booga note, it's a great time for purging...getting rid of stuff, internal , external just stuff in general.

Of course I had a baby on a full moon, that is serious purging....and the maternity ward was full, they were asking people to leave a day early, they needed the beds...it sounded like a horror chamber all night, all the screaming...all the scared husbands.

So it's a new moon right now, it's a time to start something new ...begin a project...plant the seeds...kill a terrorist...take your pick.

...

The Housecoat through the Ages

The other day it was a beautiful spring day, a bit on the warm side but gorgeous none the less...as I started to dress to head out to mulch the garden...I realized I hadn't done the switch of the cold weather to warm weather clothes in the closet yet.

Egad, a fashion "don't" on the horizon.

But there, on the chair, was the all purpose any season outfit of the modern woman...yoga pants and a t-shirt...doesn't matter if you even do yoga, you got the pants for it girl.

It's an acceptable casual assemble, any-wear outfit...the coffee shop, the supermarket, the soccer game...it's says, "I just came from yoga class, smell my organic affluence".

The bottom line is, it's nothing but this generation's version of the housecoat.

You do remember the housecoat don't you...you must have had a neighbor, or grandma who walked around in one, bare legged, shaggy slippers, smoking a cigarette, cat's eye glasses.

They had snaps for a quick throw in the wash after cleaning the house.

You threw it on over PJ's to answer the door for the meter reader, the mail man, or to let the dog run.

Somewhere in the late 70's, the house coat phased out of our lives and velour robes with big stripes, and a zipper down the middle snuck in there..

Then the advent of denim as fashion burst on the scene and jeans became the uniform of the stay at home mom, straight into the late 80's and 90's

...remember Hope Steadman on Thirty Something? Jeans, t-shirt, flannel shirt, holding the baby in the unfinished kitchen

..and lurking behind all that, in the fashion shadows, was the dreaded sweat pant.

Ugh, I don't care if you had the body of an Olympic athlete, NOBODY looked good in sweat pants...especially the ones with elastic ankles, they made your legs look like hot dog balloons...that's why I always tried to steal scrubs from my friends connected with the hospital...plus it made me look like a med student...smell my potential affluence.

Then the wonderful millennium rolled in, and sweats became the costume of aging mall walkers (especially the matching sets) and yoga popped it's new age head up and became the new fashion clearing house of ladies who lunch (vegan only puh-leese) and Meg Ryan.

Now it has all reached critical mass, and been dumbed down and has become ...the new housecoat.

Which is fine by me, whether I'm actually doing yoga or just bending over in the garden or meeting the Fed Ex person at the door... I need an easy uniform that's washable and

now available at TJ Maxx at great prices.

I'm just wondering what is the next future housecoat, will it come full circle to the original cotton or polyester dress?

By then, I hope I'm old with pale stick legs and wild gray hair smoking an electronic cigarette and wearing cat's eye sunglasses, sitting on the porch with my iPad, yelling at the kids crossing through my yard,

...then it will feel complete.

....

What Budget?

Well, yes, my husband and I have failed to come up with a workable budget.

Contrary to the scare tactics perpetrated by the the non cooking half of this partnership...The Invisi-Gal household will NOT come to a screeching halt...the mortgage will be paid, insurance will be paid, tuition will be paid.

However, Starbucks , The Apple Store and Overstock.com will suffer for at least 3 days until we can come to an agreement.

I will argue that coffee is a necessary tonic for the household to run smoothly and my husband will argue something about hard drives as I put my fingers into my ears and say "Lalalalala".

Manicures and brand new golf balls may become a thing of the past....instead, investment in a locking gas cap will be imminent.

We will remind ourselves, that as children of the 70's, we know a thing or two about Recessions and gas lines and cashing in the loose change from the couch cushions....and that the only ones who really dressed like it was the 70's were confined to members of the The Brady Bunch.

We will long for the entrepreneurial spirit ushered in with the collection of bottles for the two cent deposit and the Archie comic book it bought for only 25 of those cents.

But nothing will stop, life will just meander until it finds the path of least resistance to the end of each day....

...at which time we will watch programs like "Extreme Couponing" with a religious fervor once reserved for "Selling New York".

Once the budget has passed, my husband will declare victory while I motion silently behind him with a big nicely manicured "V", and sip my Starbucks, slowly.

....

So, you think you can dance?

Yes, I said yes to a Dancing with the Celebrities of (insert your town here)... I guess I was a target, because I never back down from a challenge, unless it includes something with extreme heights and sharp pointy thingies.

I watched Dancing with The Stars, I was a supreme couch critic and arm chair analyzer of Kate Gosselin's Bride of Frankenstein arms and David Hasselhoff's -am -I still-sexy-desperation....no problem, I'm am so much better than those posers...hah!

Can you dance? Sure ( I think) although, truth be told I was a teenager in the 70's and no one touched each other when they danced , let alone LOOKED at each other...yeah I can dance, like a white girl to a back beat.

Ballroom dancing? What's so hard about that...ballrooms are big, I'll have plenty of room. Eat my fairy dust, wimps.

I would like to say right now, that I completely relied on the notion that I can find the beat in a song and also carry the DNA of Mamie, my grandmother, who danced with Ray Bolger (the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz) and was a flapper and tap dancer extraordinaire...perhaps the best way to meet a challenge is to have such blind ignorance that you can't fear a failure you don't know…are you followin' me here camera guy?

I was partnered with a pro competitor/ winner /real deal dancer and instructor...thank you baby Jesus...he had impeccable manners and I don't think I ever heard him swear...even when I stepped on his feet, clocked him in the eye with my elbow and put immeasurable stress on his groin during lifts.

He sized me up, quietly calculating how much leverage he would need for this little piggy on a lift, tried not to laugh at my "Amish gone Wild "dance shoes" and immediately dumbed down whatever grand dance routine he had planned for the event...and took my hand and walked with me across the floor and asked me if I could do a cartwheel..."Sure, I used to be a cheerleader, haven't done one in years, but I'm game..." what did I get myself into?

We rehearsed once or twice in December and then the holidays hit, and as always, when exposed to sweet family and snot nosed petri dish children, I got sick...the virus from hell... out of commission for 10 days…the event is March 12^th, are we in the deep doo yet?

Once I could breathe without choking, I headed back to the studio...Bill, my instructor, was waiting with dance shoes for me, here's what you need, suede soles, closed toe and t-straps, because we are dancing the waltz...the waltz?...I wanted to cha cha, or samba and shake my hair around and look younger than my 54 years...the waltz?

Controlled, fluid, poetic...the waltz...words that would never describe me. W.T.H?

The waltz is a swan gliding on the pond...I am a terrier bouncing up and down on the couch tearing your underwear to shreds.

Which brings me back to Bill...he is the Dance Whisperer ... he makes you dance as you walk in the door, wears you down, puts you in a calm submissive state, then he trains you...just like a terrier...gives you chocolate after a good session. He is the Cesar Milan of the ballroom.

He is the leader, you follow...once again, he is the leader, you follow, alpha girl...what is happening to me, I am starting to like this follow business...what is happening? Do I have to relinquish my Xena Warrior Princess status card?

I am now plunging head first into the world of ballroom dance, I am scouring the videos on You Tube, learning words like developpe and promenade.

I am looking at ballgowns, which are Southern Beauty pageant gowns on steroids...and they are studded with rhinestones, dangling with beads, layered with tulle and mesh, lined with body suits (private parts contained) cupped to stand up "the girls" and tighter than sausage casing.

Oh and did I mention all the TOUCHING that goes on? Let's start with saying, I am not a touchy feely huggy kissy person, not even with my own family...this is my idea of payback for all the hugs I never gave in my life....partner dancing is all touch, connection so you can feel his lead...

When you dance the waltz with your partner, there isn't a place his hands don't go...nether regions, other regions, give me a region....it all gets touched and you have to get over it or go home....

Bill is slowly exposing all this to me as we train, trying to desensitize me, lowering shock values and keeping me focused...I still step on his feet...still.

I am finding my mind is struggling to remember the steps and combinations, they are getting jumbled up with what time is my son's soccer game, did I pack his cleats, did I pay the car insurance, when is the dog's vet appointment, did I get directions to that voice over gig, did I put sour cream on the grocery list for the enchiladas, is my husband's meeting today or tomorrow, one two three, one two three, step step step, spin...sh*t, where am I?

One day, as we are moving along quite well, he suggests that my husband come in and video tape us dancing... sure this would be grand, my husband can see the man responsible for my calm submissive state, and ask him how he does it....and I get to show him how well I can dance.

My husband tapes us, tells me I'm "brave for doing this", and leaves it at that....hmmmm...where's the "you are amazing honey"....I watch the video later, in horror...it’s the training film from hell in a big ass hand basket..I'm not brave, I'm an idiot and most of all a really BAD dancer....I cry, crawl into bed with a bag of carbohydrates in full fetal position and fall asleep with Nancy Grace on in the background...this is the stuff of nightmares.

Overnight, in my dreams, I am flying, spinning, rolling , weightless ... I am reminded of who I am and what I am capable of.

The next day, I walk in to the studio, Bill looks at me and says softly,"did you watch the video?" ... "Yes!," I exhale loudly "...and I had an epiphany.... I looked terrible, I had that deer in the headlights look and I'm so fat and I can't believe you aren't ready to quit this whole thing...BUT... I know what I need to do now... because up to this point I've been acting like a fish out of water, trying to catch up, an outsider...it's time to claim this or at least look like I'm claiming this...I am a dancer, and I'm going to start moving like one and acting like one and DANCING like one!"

Bill tilts his head and says, "Good, finally... let's get to work we only have a few more weeks...oh, and I brought you some herbs from my kitchen garden."

I am now thinking and acting like...a dancer...my posture is up, I find my self standing straighter all the time, I learn to use the floor to slide into moves, and I am not afraid to bend backwards, and I feel fluid, and pretty...as the song says, everything’s beautiful at the ballet.

Now I am bringing Bill chicken soup (made with his herbs) and we are swapping stories about childhood and laughing as we waltz...I can converse with him and dance at the same time, and possibly chew gum... I am a dancing fool savant.

In his wisdom he has selected a song we could rock the waltz to...a bit of r & b ... I Never Loved a Man by Aretha Franklin...we used the version from the movie The Commitments...I saw it one night on TV while I was practicing a spin, it felt like a good sign.

The choreography opened me up to the ability to perform...that I can do, been on stage singing since I was 14...I can work the crowd...now I have to do it without my voice...because, and let’s say this all together "I'm a dancer!".

I can't stop singing the song as we rehearse to it... Bill says I have to , you aren't allowed to sing on stage in a dance competition...Mr.Ballroom, you sure have a lot of rules.

I am now eating protein like it's the new bread...I am spinning every time I pass a mirror, I am exfoliating and using tanning towels on the parts not covered in my gown...which Bill has acquired for me "I take care of my girls.." he said , and he does.

It is periwinkle blue, studded in rhinestones all around the décolletage …with the most twirl-a-matic skirt ever, I feel like Ginger Rogers after downing two caramel macchiatos....twinkle toes and all that glows.

It is March 12th and we are dancing...all the training, all the foot crunches, all the time obsessing over a single step is here...in the lights on the floor with judges, the 65 bobby pins holding my hair in place, my family, God, my dance partner, and the specter of Mamie watching over me...I remind myself how all this is for charity and all these people have arrived here to have fun, dress like princesses and princes and raise money for those who couldn't imagine such a night...I am weightless, on air....

I can't even hear the crowd...I hear the three judges giving their critique and holding up paddles that read 9-10-9 Holy Moley....can't believe it... I look at Bill, he is beaming... another "celebrity" trained and exhibited, good showing, it's like a human Westminster Kennel Club moment, breed that dancer!

My fake tan held up through the sweat and makes my permanent flashed smile look Hollywood white...

I can't stop smiling...

even though my feet are on fire...

I see my husband, his face is telling me he can't believe I am the same bungling woman he videotaped weeks ago in the dance studio...he is amazed...

My son is relieved and not scarred for life...

The 65 bobby pins are shellacked and still in place...

I am thinking about a plate of pasta with sausage and tons of cheese on top...

an unexpected tear rolls down my face,

and now I know why,

I have to say goodbye to the big ballroom

the sparkly gown,

the false eyelashes,

the bling earrings,

but I don't say goodbye to Bill,

we will see each other soon,

I will be back,

I hear a salsa class is starting,

Sign me up,

because...

I

am

a

dancer!

...

Odds n Ends

SO much is going on, Invisi-Gal is spinning like a dervish on crack...here are some odds n' ends to consider...

1) Charlie Sheen is not only NOT sober, he is exhibiting brain damage from drug abuse...of course dear readers, I am NOT a doctor, but I know a when the all the tools in the shed are dull, it's time to close up shop and sell the farm.

2) By his own admission AFL-CIO Union Emperor, Richard Trumka... talks with the White House everyday....he also believes that raising taxes create jobs...oops I just threw up a little on that one...also, while his union has been dying financially , he has raised his own pay to double since 2000...let's play AUDIT THE UNIONS...won't that be fun? See how much his own members have lost....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4NrT2oTQqE&feature=player_embedded

3) Ball room dancing will save many marriages, because it is one of the few times the man of the house can actually lead and tell his wife what to do.... she must be a calm submissive, just like a day with the Dog Whisperer.

4) Fashion is full swing back to the 70's...I was a teenager then, during the Recession, does this mean we have to sit in gas lines again? Is fashion the new crystal ball?

5) Chicken pot pie is a labor of love.

6) Kettleball workouts were developed by sadists, sadists with great bodies.

7) University of Central Florida is facing down an appearance by a radical Imam to speak to the Muslim student society there , and I wait patiently for good, peaceful Muslims to protest his appearance...still waiting.

http://www.myfoxorlando.com/dpp/news/faith_news/022211-controversial-imam-to-speak-at-university-of-central-florida

...

OVER 50 MEANS SHUT UP AND LISTEN, I KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT.

Yes you heard me, Invisi-Gal is telling you how much easier your life would be, if you would just listen to the women in your life over the age of 50...

...one caveat however, I would caution to steer clear of the over 50 bitter ones...they are easy to spot, they flirt with your husband (because their's ran away a long time ago), they make sure to say things like "Lovely dress, I almost bought it when it came out last year."... and they tell you how your children will end up hating you too....RUN from these women...

Now having said that, if you are lucky enough to encounter an over 50 woman who is mentally intact, and she has engaged you in conversation...do listen.

Sometimes it's a simple comment at a register..."Oh I love those shoes, (and wait for the lean-in) I wish I could get back all the money that I spent on $250.00 shoes when I was your age" .

Here's the one I love...overheard at a Starbucks..."You really don't need extra life insurance, what you need is disability insurance"...best advice I ever heard and it came from an over 5o gal.

And of course my favorite..."only buy a house that needs to be renovated if you're under the age of 40..otherwise start looking for a home with a first floor master suite."

Child rearing tips are my favorite..."The word "No" is not a swear word , dammit."

or the wise "Let the kids eat dirt, I did, and I'm fine".

Also understand that Invisi-Gals comment by not saying anything....like when you pick the vomit yellow paint for the kitchen...not a blessed word is heard.

Advice on love is this simple...."Never marry a man who doesn't get along with his mother, because you will spend the better (or for worse) part of your marriage convincing him that you are not his mother".

So next time you are in the Supermarket and your toddler is cranking and the baby is screaming and you are dropping sippy cups on the floor and a woman over 50 steps in to help you by distracting the low blood sugar toddler so you can reset the baby back in the cart...

when she comments that they often give free cheese to kids at the deli counter (a nice way to say...your kid is hungry, dear)...

don't see it as a judgement, or interference...

she has been there...

shut up and listen....

she knows what she's talking about...

....