Have you ever seen one of those Slow Men At Work Signs and wondered what it meant? Is it a criticism of the speed of the workers, or maybe a judgement of their mental faculties?

Whichever, right now THIS blog is undergoing some improvements. (Yes, Joseph FINALLY succumbed to the enormous guilt I've been heaping on him and has started to shake things up a little - YAY!!)

At least I THINK it's YAY. I have to admit, I'm a little bit nervous. The first rough draft Joseph showed me had a picture of me that I wasn't real thrilled with. You know those pictures they show in the newspaper of recently arrested felons? The ones where the criminals look like they're crack addicts who have obviously been in hiding somewhere with no electricity, running water or mirrors? The picture he had of me looked like that, only not as flattering.

One of Joseph's suggestions to improve my blog included featuring a Daily Recipe Section, where I'd post what I was fixing for dinner that night. Seriously, how dumb does this poor boy think I am?? Does he not think I KNOW what he's trying to pull here? Joseph knows good and well that if he puts something like that on my blog, it's gonna FORCE me to come up with really great dinner ideas. Admittedly, I've been slacking off in the cooking department lately, but I don't think anything this drastic is necessary, do you?

I feel like I've unknowingly entered into a game of chess with a Master Chess player. Each one of us trying to outmaneuver the other to win the board. Joseph is a bright kid, no doubt, but he's underestimating the almost 48 years of battle scars his old mom bears proudly.

We shall see what we shall see, won't we?

The other day I had an appointment with my dermotologist. Just my yearly, "What have your grown lately that I can remove and charge you an exhorbitant amount of money for?" exam. The woman's got a vacation to pay for, after all.

As the nurse was escorting me to the back, she said she and her husband had seen Roger and me at the local Farmer's Market one recent Saturday. They had been having lunch on the patio of the nearby Mexican Restaurant, when they spotted us, lurching through the Market with Layla. I told her she should have hollered at us and she confessed she WANTED to - that she'd wanted to introduce us to her husband, but she'd been too embarassed.

I asked her why and she confessed she had forgotten my name. She had opened her mouth to shout out and realized she had no idea what my name was...she had just totally blanked.

Now, what's so ironic about this is the entire time she's telling me about it, I'm trying DESPERATELY to remember HER name. I knew it started with an "R" - at least I THOUGHT it did. (Let's see....Rhonda, Renee, Rachel) She's going on and on about how MORTIFIED she was (Racine, Raquel) how I was one of her FAVORITE patients and she could have just DIED that she couldn't for the life of her think of my NAME (Roxy, Ruby, Roberta).

Of course, I'm telling her it's no big deal, and avoided admitting that I can't remember HER name by falling back on my good Southern upbringing. Which means I'm LIBERALLY sprinkling my conversations with a whole bunch of Honeys, Sweeties and Darlin's, instead of her ACTUAL name (Raynesha, Rolanda, Rae Rae).

See, I'm used to people not remembering names, and I don't think it always has anything to do with the Forgettor's age or the Forgettee's importance. Roger and I are always running into people he KNOWS, but has no CLUE what their names are. I've learned to stick out my hand, almost immediately, and introduce myself. Usually, the person answers with their name, as a reflex, and VOILA, another awkward social bullet dodged.

I think it's probably common to forget names, especially with men. Men seem to forget the names of almost ANYBODY with one exception. They tend to remember the names of people they want to have sex with - whether or not there's a snowball's chance they'll actually HAVE sex with this person doesn't seem to matter. Hope springs eternal, just as their possible partner's NAME springs eternally into their minds, and potentially out of their MOUTHS. (I'm thinking possibly at some inopportune times, but that's between them, their Significant Other and the Marriage Counselor, isn't it?)

I assured the nurse (Ramona, Regina) that Roger and I are at the Farmer's Market all the time and she'd definitely have another chance to introduce us to her husband. She said she certainly hoped so and ...."ROBIN!!" I shouted out, as I finally remembered her name. "WHAT??" she yelled back, startled enough to almost flip over backwards on her nurse stool.

I'm telling you right now, I can't take much more of this stress. We either all start wearing nametags or I'm gonna have to take a cheat sheet with me wherever I go.

Number eleventy hundred on my long list titled "Somebody's Got Some Explaining To Do", has got to be the fact that my eyesight is slowly and steadily getting worse. In my younger days, I had perfect vision...we're talking eagle-eye, laser beam, almost x-ray type vision. Which, like everything else you're blessed with in your youth, I took completely for granted.

Now, if I want to see something other than a blurry, vague outline, I must resort to donning the *gasp* CHEATER GLASSES. (I know, I know, I'll give you a moment here to collect yourself.) Hello, my name is Melinda and I actually look through the Wal-green's ad, hoping the magnification glasses are on sale.

A friend sent me two emails the other day. The first one was a mistake and the second one was an apology for the first one. Her comment was, "Sorry, I need to put on my damn glasses so I can SEE who I'm emailing." I assured her I don't judge, not because I'm so tolerant, but because the butt-ugly watch I'm currently wearing is the only one I could find with a magnification dial, so I can actually SEE what time it is without the aid of glasses or lasik surgery.

I was watching TV the other day and a character was bemoaning the fact that she was starting to age. She said she was thisclose to becoming one of those sad little old ladies, wandering around with her glasses on a chain around her neck. I got a real chuckle out of that, until I realized that I was standing in front of the TV, enjoying this humorous repartee with my GLASSES HANGING ON A CHAIN AROUND MY NECK. Not so funny, NOW, is it, Scooter?

I remember when my mother told me she knew she needed to make an appointment with the eye doctor. She was shopping for a new dress for my sister and mother thought she'd found a really nice one for a reasonable price. When she got to the cash register, she was FLOORED to learn the $30.00 dress was actually an $80.00 dress. (Remember, this was back in the dark ages, when NOBODY paid $80.00 for a dress.)

Mother was too embarassed to tell the sales lady the dress was too expensive. So, she bought the dress and hoped she could make it to the car before passing out from the shock. She also wondered if she could sell a kidney to help cover the cost.

I can so relate to this story, since the other day I found myself in a similar situation. I ran into Kroger to grab some pico and, of course, didn't bring my glasses. No problem. I could see where the pico was on the shelf..I could even make out the TYPE I wanted - HA! Who needs those stinkin' glasses?? Apparently, I do, since I couldn't make out the "sell by" date, and was forced to accost an innocent stock boy and ask him to read the date for me. (I use the word "accost" because honest-to-God, the poor kid looked like I was trying to set him up in some kind of elaborate "incorrect sell by date" sting operation. I was surprised he agreed to read the date without demanding I recite his Miranda rights.)

Joseph, who was just now reading this entry AND STILL DOESN'T LOVE HIS MOTHER ENOUGH TO FIX UP HER BLOG, constantly tells me I should make an appointment with an eye doctor; that I'm just doing more harm to my eyesight by wearing these cheapie drugstore glasses instead of getting real corrective lenses.

I explained to Joseph that while he's probably right, I don't WANT to go to the eye doctor. Why? Well, because he'll give me a prescription for glasses and, then, I'll have to wear them, and then I'll be one of those little old ladies walking around with their glasses on a chain around their....OH MY GOD!!

Roger and I had a pretty interesting afternoon last Sunday. We spent the day house-hunting with our oldest son, Alex and three of his friends. Alex is 22 years old, and owing to a set of unique circumstances, is in the market to purchase his first ever house; those circumstances being incredible good luck in falling into a fabulous job where they pay him an enormous amount of money for just showing up and the fact that he's pretty much held onto every dollar he's ever made, combined with the financial savy of someone in his 50's. Add those things together and it equals us, spending an entire afternoon house hunting.

We saw houses and then we saw HOUSES! The entire experience was really educational and certainly reinforced my opinion that I'll move out of my own house right after they call in the Swat Team with the tranquilizer guns and cargo nets...really BIG cargo nets.

The houses, a couple of which were foreclosures, ran the gamut from "you could almost move right in" all the way to "Oh My God, where are the antibacterial wipes??" One house in particular really upset me. The former tenants must have had seconds to vacate the premises. We're talking food left on the counters and, most troubling to me, toys left in the kids' bedrooms. Seriously, how bad can it be that you can't take a few seconds to grab a trash bag and stuff your kids' toys into it? I kept repeating that thought out loud and I think that's when Alex's real estate agent suggested I might want to wait in the car.

We finally saw a house that all six of us (me, Roger, Alex & his three friends) agreed was a keeper and Alex made an offer to purchase. He won't hear back for about a week, so he's in buyer's limbo right now. Roger and I are helping him through this troubling time with helpful tips - such as, "Are you SURE you get an inspection BEFORE you agree to purchase..it's a cute house, but we don't know SQUAT about the important stuff and your a/c unit could fall through the ceiling right after you close"; and "Don't put too much money down - who knows HOW much your closing costs are gonna be" and this one from his aunt, "I'm not telling you your business, but you might wanna get a couple of room mates...you WILL incur some unexpected expenses and those can add up really fast. The extra rent income will help out a LOT". Yeah, we're a supportive bunch, allright.

It was a really neat experience, seeing it all through my son's eyes and I'm honored he wanted his father and me to be a part of it. But, lemme tell ya, as nice as it was, it wasn't NEAR as much fun as the time we spent in the car with Alex's friends, Chris and Milad. THAT time was really special. We learned that Alex's friends are really nice people, who really care about Alex - and they care enough about him to never pass up an opportunity to play really dirty tricks on him.

Alex, after viewing some of the more disgusting bathrooms, vowed one of his very FIRST home improvement purchases would involve new toilets. Later, in the car, the four of us made a pact. We vowed to do our best to convince Alex to unknowingly purchase BIDETS, instead of toilets, and then sit back and enjoy his frustration and angst when the brand new toilets flushed UP and OUT, instead of DOWN and AWAY.

Ahhhh, good friends and parents who love you. What more do you need? Well, that and maybe a really good sense of when to duck.

Okay, we've semi-settled down enough around here that I can finally log on and try to update y'all on what's been happening in my own personal Life Rodeo. Y'all know I don't know how to be brief, so go to the bathroom, get a drink and a snack and settle in - a pillow might be nice, too.

Remember the sweet, gentle, wonderful dog who kept running away from his "home" and making it across a busy four lane road to my house? Yep, I'm talking about Buddy, and you can read his original story on this blog. I'd link you to the entry like they do on other fancy blogs, but MY YOUNGEST SON DOESN'T LOVE HIS MOTHER ENOUGH TO WORK ON HER BLOG FOR HER. Sad, but true...*sigh*.

Anyway, Buddy, now and forevermore, shall be known as DUDLEY (okay, not a great name, but I think when you change a dog's name you're supposed to name them something that sounds like their old name...and really, naming him Studley was just asking for it, and I was afraid he'd run away from HERE if I named him Cuddley, so Dudley was the lesser of two evils....work with me, here).

Knowing Dudley would repeatedly escape from his former "home" I routinely checked our City's Animal Shelter, to see if he'd been picked up, and VOILA, our boy showed up there last Thursday. He became available for adoption on the following Monday, and needless to say, I was first in line. Mr. Dudley is now a cherished, LEGAL member of our family.

A very expensive vet visit followed and I'm happy to report Dudley is up to date on his shots, is heartworm negative and has been microchipped. He also experienced what must be every male's fantasy when, trying to check for a neuter scar (a requirement from the Animal Shelter), at one time he had THREE females in extremely close proximity to his "bidness". I'm pretty sure that's when he KNEW life here was going to be a lot like Paradise. To say I'm elated and relieved that this wonderful dog is finally safe and sound with me is a huge understatement. I've lost weight and aged considerably over this entire debacle. Yeesh, Mamma needs a life, ya think?

Now, I'm not going to say a whole lot about his former "owners" for several reasons - I'm trying to learn to be a nicer, more adult person and I don't wanna tick off whatever Powers That Be who worked to accomplish this miracle...spitting in Karma's face CAN'T be a good thing.

I'm not an extremely religious person, but I've always believed there are forces guiding our lives. So, I'm not really surprised at the obvious evidence of a guiding hand in all of this. Joseph on the other hand is pretty much freaked out by the way things just "seemed to happen" and is possibly contemplating embracing a celibate life of religious reflection in the nearest Monastery. (okay, maybe not so much the celibate part, but it DID really throw him for a loop.)

As I said, I'm not going to totally trash the "people" who used to own Dudley, but I will say I've learned many things from this experience. Primarily the proof that examples of Darwin's Theory of Evolution are alive and well and living among us. Not so much the apes...you can definitely see our relationship to the apes of the world, and if you disagree with that one, just take a minute to picture an orangutan in his underwear, sitting on the couch with a beer in one hand and the other hand shoved in the front of his boxers. Can't argue that one, can you?

Nope, my encounter with Those Who Shall Not Be Named, makes me a believer in the theory that mankind began when brainless, single celled organisms crawled out of the primordial swamps. The slimy, slug trail they left behind them was my first clue.

I just wanted to pop in here and beg for your patience. I know it's been a few days since I've posted a new blog entry, but I have some good excuses.

Graduation Purgatory Treadmill for one and DOGGIE ADOPTION DRAMA for another. Yep, we went to war and finally won that sweet little stray, Buddy, who kept escaping his chain-gang existence and making his way across a busy four lane road to our house (and we're talking about 6 times in four weeks, here, folks...this dog was DETERMINED!!)

Anyway, Buddy is now DUDLEY and has been legally adopted by us. We're thrilled beyond belief, even Layla, who can't get enough of licking her new baby brother.

So, y'all please be patient with me and I promise I'll post the whole drama production just as soon as I get my nerve medicine prescription filled.