Writing takes time.

The key point is that I have to keep myself from writing. Once I get started somehow several hours have gone by.

However, I just had to share this latest visit to my doctor for my annual physical.  He’s been my doctor for years, is just little older than I with pale hair, faded freckles and the slightly startled look of a newborn.

I’m sitting on the examination table in my fetching paper gown.

Door opens, in walks my doctor. He asks me the usual questions about how I’m feeling and my overall health.

Then he surprises me.

Doctor: Want a flu shot?
Ms. Q: What?! No. Not really
Doctor: Why not?
Ms. Q: I don’t like shots.
Doctor: But this is a flu shot – you don’t want to get the flu, do you?
Ms. Q: No. But I heard there might be side effects.
Doctor: Do you watch Fox News?
Ms. Q: [What? Huh?] No. I don’t watch TV. Why?
Doctor: Fox News thinks that flu shots are part of some conspiracy. You know, black helicopters, that type of thing.
Ms. Q: Uh…huh.
Doctor: It’s all a plot to scare everyone from a non-existent danger.
Ms. Q: Oh. Well, I don’t watch TV.
Doctor: So let me give you a flu shot.
Ms. Q: I just gave blood. I don’t want any more needles!
Doctor: I think you should. I have a bad feeling about this year’s flu season.
Ms. Q: Ugh. But I heard there are side effects.
Doctor: Yes. The SIDE EFFECT is that you DON’T GET THE FLU.

Score one for my doctor! Humor wins! And he really does have my best interest at heart.

I got the H1N1 vaccination.  A quick jab in the right shoulder.

I also recalled that I was due for a tetanus booster so he jabbed me in my left shoulder.

So that was my Friday morning.

My plans for tonight?

Pizza!

Cholesterol test is done…it’s time for some melted fat!

……………………………………..

I do.

Well, I do if it doesn’t look icky. Based on how many pennies I’ve picked up off the ground over the years, not many people pick up pennies. Pennies aren’t worth the effort.

Pennies must not be worth the effort of pocketing as I’ve seen as many as seven scattered together.

I feel a bit self-conscious picking up the pennies but invariably that extra penny allows me to even out my change when I pay in cash. I like being able to give $10.02 for something that costs $9.77 and get a quarter back instead of 2 dimes and 3 pennies.

This brings me to the topic of dimes.

If you saw a dime on the street, would you pick it up?

I certainly would.  Unless it were covered in goo.

This past Sunday I was buying bread at the Farmers Market. The bread stand usually has a line snaking around it.

As I reached over to pay for the bread, I noticed a dime on the white cloth covered display. The dime wasn’t hidden amongst the folds; it shone in bright new dimeness. Since it wasn’t covered in goo, I took it.

I ended up using the dime soon after to pay for something that involved 35 cents. I only had 27 cents so the dime was perfect.

The next day I spotted a dime as I was leaving the train station on the way to work. People were streaming along with me.

It was not far from the little coffee shack where people paused to buy a cup. You’d think they’d have picked it up then.

It’s not like it was covered in goo.

As I stooped to pick it up, I wondered if people thought a dime wasn’t worth anything. If a penny is thought to be worth nothing, were dimes valued at next to nothing?

Are dimes the new penny?

I was also struck by the fact that I found a dime 2 days in a row. A penny I can understand, they are uh, a dime a dozen on the street. I wondered if this was merely coincidence.

I found out that I’m not the only one finding dimes.

I also found a site that wasn’t about coins but about change.

You may not want to pick up those pennies and dimes lying on the ground but small (positive) change is a good thing.

Keep Your Coins I Want Change

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I just don’t do any “real” cooking all that much. I consider “real” cooking to be cooking something that takes more than boiling water or reheating or even steaming.

Making toast? That’s not real cooking.

Making a sandwich? Not cooking.

Grilled cheese sandwich? OK. That counts. It mean, it’s actually something you can ruin. This criterion does not negate my claim that making toast isn’t cooking.

Yes, you can burn toast and ruin it but the same can be said for a Pop Tart and no one considers toasting a Pop Tart cooking.

Well…no one I know.

Now that I think about it, I don’t think I know many people who eat Pop Tarts and the few who do probably don’t go to the trouble of actually popping them into the toaster.

But back to my cooking. I eat simply and what cooking I do for myself is generally steam vegetables. I pair this with some packaged grill chicken.

I’m chatting with a friend and we’re discussing cooking. Like me, he’s single. Like me, he doesn’t spend a lot of time cooking.

I tell him that I have a few “no fail” meals that I can cook and that one of them is “doctored up” spaghetti.

“Doctored up?” he asks.

“I take a jar of spaghetti sauce and ‘doctor it up’” with Italian sausage, fresh garlic, fresh mushrooms, maybe a splash of red wine…let it simmer…usually turns out pretty good.”

“I do that!” he says. “I call mine ‘Kitchen Sink Pasta’.”

I can see that he doesn’t quite consider his Kitchen Sink Pasta ‘cooking’.

In my book Doctored Up Spaghetti or Kitchen Sink Pasta count as cooking. Each involves multiple steps, cooking skills (browning, chopping, boiling, simmering), a vast array of cooking tools (chopping board, knives, spatula/wooden spoon, colander) and more than 1 pot.

You may think differently but it’s my book.

So…how many of you doctor up a jar of spaghetti sauce?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Huh.

What really freaks ‘em out is the idea of online dating.

They are affwaid.

Vewwy vewwy afwaid.

They have a right to be afraid.

Here are 2 cautionary tales.

Tale One: You’re Too Short

I’m logged into the dating site and the Chat window pops up. It takes a while to load so I can’t tell who’s trying to initiate a chat with me.

When I finally see who’s trying to contact me and quickly check out his profile, I realize that hmm, not my type.

46 years old and not too active looking.

Actually, not too 46-year-old looking.

Chat Guy: Hi
Ms. Q: Uh…hi. [Yes, I do write ums and uhs in chat windows]
Chat Guy: Good evening.
Ms. Q [a bit dumbfounded, this is my first chat thing]: Hi.
[Pause..pause..pause]
Chat Guy: Hello?
Ms. Q [thinking of just closing the window and logging off] Umm.. I’m sorry but I don’t think we’re a match.
Chat Guy: [pause] You’re right.
Ms. Q: [finding this funny and starting to type]
Chat Guy: [pause] You’re too short.
Ms. Q: [at this point I'm still finding this funny, kinda like a fish - too small]
Chat Guy: My ex-wife was short and I didn’t like her.
Ms. Q: [Ewwwww! Closes window]

Tale Two: Next Year We’ll be the Same Age

I had a few very hopeful dates with someone over the summer. But hope died a-borning.

I recently checked out Mr. Summer of No Love and saw that he hadn’t logged on in a couple of weeks.

Hmm. No, I’m not a stalker type but I AM curious.

Then I looked at his age – 46 years old.

Weird. I cudda sworn he was 5 years older than I, making him 48.

I knew he recently had a birthday which would make him 49.

I had a copy of his profile and sure enough, he was 48 when we went out.

At this rate, we’ll be the same age at his next birthday.

Which all goes back to some conversation I had with a friend.

I had expressed surprise at how, well, how much older the men online looked when compared to my friends of the same age.

The friend said, “They are lying about their age.”

I felt so ignorant!

Men have told me that women will lie about their age on dating sites. I had no idea that men would feel the need, too.

Age. People say, “It’s only a number.”

Some people divide that number by 7. Others subtract by 3.

Ricardo: I know you’re thinking about Online Dating.  If anything, this stuff pretty much writes itself!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Some of us are strong.

Some of us are weak.

There is inner.

There is outer.

Inner strength.

Outer weakness.

Outer strength.

Inner weakness.

We may appear strong but are filled with unshed tears.

We may look weak yet none know what we endure.

We are a blend of strengths and weaknesses but we are marked as being one or the other.

The weak wish to be strong.

The strong hate the weak.

The weak hate the strong.

The strong wish they could be weak.

I have been weak and I have been strong.

It is not easy being one or the other.
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