We All Scream and Then We Have Ice-Cream....

Consider this a public service announcement to any who would like to indulge themselves. You know I don't usually promote much here but this seemed life and death. At any given time some of you might have PMS. You could be in chocolate or coffee withdrawls. You could become armed and dangerous or you might know someone in the aforementioned desperate situation. Consider this "Emergency Response." Think of me as the Red Cross or your friendly Hostage Negotiator swooping in to ruin save you.

Until July 19, 2009, Starbucks is giving away coupons for pints of ice-cream to Facebook users. 800 every hour. Yes, that's right. And all you have to do is go to Starbucks Ice Cream Giveaway (you MAY have to link through Facebook if this gives you fits). You can nominate anyone - but JUST one - to receive this coupon and here's the TRULY decadent part: you can nominate yourself. Abraham Lincoln said, "We meet ourselves in adversity." I say we meet ourselves when we have to decide if a friend should get free ice-cream or we should.

This could prove to be a Solomonic decision for you. I won't ask any questions.

The Other Woman

My husband is in love. I'm not sure I stand a chance.

We've been down this road before....with Debbie.

Now it's Sylvia.

He was busted about Debbie by my daughter, when she was seven. She had overheard him talking about her, asking for her, even linking her name with Christmas. She told me she wanted to "out" him. I gave her the green light. What can I say? I'm a terrible mother. We planned it all out. My three-year-old son wanted in. We didn't think he could hang on to the information but he did. We thought we would hit husband/daddy while he was vulnerable. Right after church. We all tucked in to the minivan and, with the kids firmly buckled in the backseat, we heard a tremulous little voice.

"Daddy?" daughter said.

"Yes honey?" he replied, smoothly.

"I found out you have....a....a.....girlfriend." This was killing me. You could hear the emotion in her voice. Should I let this go on?

"I DO?" He tried to sound surprised. Cool. Cool as a cucumber.

"Yes," she quavered. "And I know her name."

"You DO?" Oh, he's just filled with snappy rejoinders under pressure.

"Yes, I do." She was hitting her stride and spoke with feeling, but also resolve. "Her name is Debbie. "Little" Debbie!

Hysterical laughter from the junior sector, which included me. The cad. Even he cracked up.

He passed this horrifying addiction on to our son who, to this day, cannot pass a Little Debbie Snack Cake without pining and begging for her plastic-texture-artery-hardening goodness. At least Grizzly Adams got over his attraction when he matured, last year. But only because she was replaced in his affections by someone more worldly, mature, exotic: Sylvia.

You think I'm going to tell you something cutesy again like he's in love with his car (though there is undying passion between him and the Jeep), or dog, or lawnmower. Huh. I wish he was in love with that lawnmower. How I long for true romance to spring up between them. Oh no. Too Terra Firma for Romeo, too mundane.

Sylvia is the new woman. She inspires him. He buys her presents. Well, truth be told he actually makes ME buy her presents that he has carefully thought out. Flavorful presents. He pets her, coddles her, attends to her every hygienic need. When he travels he longs for her. He has even been known to sneak her into hotel rooms. And to think I bankrolled this passion for our 20th anniversary. I gave him money I'd been squirrelling away for a couple of years. Here's what he did with it:

And "Rancilio" is just her last name. The company actually gives the different "models" (need I say more?) these special names.

Hey, at least she makes my coffee, too. Oh my gosh! Did I just say coffee? That's a bad word that must never be uttered in Sylvia's presence. She does NOT make coffee. Ever. She makes ESPRESSO. Her espressos can facilitate an Americano which, to the untrained palate, might TASTE like coffee. Oh sure. Just like Gallo Box Wine can taste like Dom Perignon.

She also makes cappucinos, macchiatos, and la-tee-dahs, as Grizzly calls them. He doesn't really drink those. He's an espresso/Americano man. Puts hair on your chest. And your back.

He shopped very carefully for her.....months, in fact, and settled on her because he thought she was a good value while providing extremely high-quality performance and endurance. And her parts are replaceable if they go bad. He still wonders why he didn't look for these features when choosing a wife.

But I must say she pulls her weight. Grizzly was a two-Starbucks a day man, and I dropped in there a couple of times a week. Do you know how that adds up? Well, of course you do. Most of us could have vacation homes and facelifts if it wasn't for Starbucks. Six months into this relationship Sylvia paid for herself and started making us money. So, as sister-wives go, I really can't complain. And there is something to be said for that concept. Solomon might have been on to something. Can you imagine all the writing I could get done with someone else to run the errands and clean the house? Heck, every Christmas when he asks me what I want I always request a wife. I guess Sylvia's it. She's kind of square and cold, with a hard edge to her, but her soul is stainless.

As long as she doesn't expect the same of me, we'll get along.

Toothaches and Technology

I have a major toothache. My Bluetooth is killing me. In fact, it may be listed as the cause of my demise on the coroner’s report: “Death by safety device.” Ever since the new California law was passed last January I have become the equivalent of a six-year-old with car keys. I weave, I slow down, I park in the fast lane of the Freeway, I accelerate while making tight, left turns on overpass exits and go Dukes-of-Hazzard over the side walls, launching into the air. The landings are taking a toll on my car’s suspension and my spinal column. I’m doing all this in the name of safety while I attempt to use my “hands-free” equipment.

I had none of these problems before. One hand drove and one hand held my phone. I used voice commands and could actually utilize my eyes to watch the road. Now, I drive with my foot while simultaneously looking through my purse and pulling everything out searching for my Bluetooth. Once I’ve located it, the dangerous part begins.

As I left San Francisco recently, I headed out on the Bay Bridge. My girlfriend called me to firm up directions to her house in nearby Benicia. Just as she was telling me which lane to get into, the earpiece went dead. This meant I had to get the charger out of my purse while trying to navigate three lanes of speeding, maniacal drivers perched hundreds of feet over shark-infested waters. Once plugged into the cigarette lighter I now had to insert the other, miniscule end into my Bluetooth. This is best achieved with a skilled surgeon, floodlights, and magnifying glasses equal to the Hubble Telescope. Somehow, while nearly sitting on the steering wheel, I made the connection. I took my seat, hooked the thing over my ear, and, just as I was about to give it a command, the coil of the charger sprang back into place and launched the device off my head and into the next dimension.

There are severe issues with voice recognition as well. This is an example of a recent conversation:

Bluetooth: “Please say a command.”
Me: “Call.”
BT: “Command not recognized. Please say a command.”
Me: “Dial.”
BT: “Command not recognized. Please say a command.”
Me: “Call.”
BT: “Well why didn’t you say that in the first place, you idiot? Please state the name or number you wish to dial.”

Now, at this point, Artificial Intelligence basically takes over the planet and we are all at its mercy.

BT: “Did you say ‘Humpty Dumpty?’ ”
Me: “No.”
BT: “Did you say ‘Howdy Dooty?’ ”
Me: “No.”
BT: “Did you say ‘Jabba the Hut?’ ”
Me: “Yes.” I have discovered this will actually activate the command known as “Jamie at Work,” thereby connecting me with my husband.

He is experiencing a dysfunctional relationship with his safety-accessory as well. He said he couldn’t hear anything in the Bluetooth over the roar of his truck so he went with the type that mounts on the visor. This, too, was supposedly designed to be simple to use while driving. All you do is push a button to activate and start talking. But he still can’t hear anything so he just yanks it off the visor and shoves the whole thing up to his ear. It is approximately the size of a clipboard. This comes in handy when he has to attach it to his hair and hang it off the side of his head. He says when he is pulled over by the police he will protest saying he is, in fact, using a “hands-free” device.

After I left Nancy’s house from Benicia the next day, I made a final attempt to connect with the outside world from the confines of my car. I had checked messages and knew another friend, Teresa, was trying to reach me.

Southbound I-5 stretched out before me like a comfy couch, my headset was charged; all systems seemed to be a “go.” I managed to navigate my way through voice commands and actually connect with the right person. The only problem seemed to be the volume. I mean the volume in the way a jet engine might sound two feet from the fired-up burners, only much louder. It was the demon now flanking my head. I pushed every button to no avail. I was apologizing, while attacking my ear, when the thing flew off again, this time landing under the seat. “Keep talking!” I yelled, zooming down the freeway using the sound of her voice for homing assistance. With my legs hanging out the driver’s side window, I hung upside down to peer under my seat and found it hiding behind an In-and-Out Burger napkin. I had only changed lanes seven times and driven under a big-rig once. No harm done. I resigned myself to the roaring volume and, with my right hand, held the thing three feet from my head, still managing to suffer hearing loss.

With my nerves jangled and a ringing in my head, I pulled into Starbucks in Los Banos. I figured I needed a hot cup of coffee to complete my driving maneuvers. While safely stopped in the parking lot I managed to fix the problem du jour and attempted to phone my children. “Command not recognized while flip is open,” my nemesis taunted. “Flip is open?” I yelled. “Which flip? Phone? Bluetooth? WHAT?!” “Command not recognized. Did you say, ‘Beans and weenies?’ ”

I feel much safer now with my Bluetooth. I know everyone else does, too. We’re all keeping the law as we narrowly careen around one another in death-defying destruction derbies. Maybe next they can invent something to help you drink your coffee while you drive down the road. I don't know….maybe a spigot right above your head could automatically pour boiling java all over you. You could lick at the drips while your skin falls off.

Copyright 2008