Florida is more than a theme park

With my upcoming fulltime employment rapidly approaching, my husband, Chris, and I decided to take our children on a fun-filled trip to “Islands of Adventure.”

Our intention was to have a little excitement. What we received was a constant supply of complaining from the kids along with a dose of harmful ultraviolet rays from the sun before the afternoon thunderstorms unleashed bolts of lightning and torrential rain upon us.

Like most moms, I had a plan of action the night before we left: wake up at 5 in the morning and leave the house by 6 to arrive at 8 when the gates open. We would then make our way straight to “The Wizarding World of Harry Potter” and ride the “Forbidden Journey.” Our daughter was exactly tall enough to ride it.

Next, we’d split up to ride a couple of coasters and then meet at the “Butter Beer” stand to enjoy a refreshing treat before tackling the rest of the day which was less tightly managed.

Things didn’t go exactly as planned, mostly due to the fact that we did not leave until 6:30 which offset our day accordingly.

In addition to this, apparently everyone else had the exact same plan as I did which means we spent a good deal of time in line for the first ride, but it was worth it to see my daughter scared out of her mind.

I’m not sure why, as a parent, I want to see my children frightened. I remember when our son was four and we were at Universal Studios where they had the “Jaws” ride. He was oblivious about the shark element, perhaps because we misleadingly asked, “Want to go on a boat ride?”

We couldn’t stop laughing when he tried to climb out of the boat the first time “Jaws” attacked.

When we took our sweetheart on “Jurassic Park,” she was happy to see the dinosaurs. She knew they were fake, but when the ride seemed to veer off course, Chris and I acted worried and she took the bait. From that point until the T-rex made its appearance, she was completely horrified. It was priceless.

During the rain, while huddled under some shelter, I was chatting with a family from Japan who are visiting for a couple of weeks.

“Are you going to check out any beaches?” I asked.

“No,” said the mom, “Just the theme parks.”

I was a little shocked. I’ve lived most all of my life here in Florida and my parents took me to all the major theme parks. I’ve never lacked for that type of entertainment, but when I think about the trips to Siesta Key, Anna Maria Island, and Cocoa Beach, I bet I would have traded a few of those park days for beach days.

Two solid weeks at theme parks would be enough to drive anyone insane. You can only take so much of the outdated animatronics, over-the-top adventure rides, and heart-stopping thrill rides.

Even if you can’t get enough of that, the constant queue lines and whining should put an early end to any extended park stay.

The rain stopped and, though I wanted to lecture her about St. Augustine and the Everglades and the beautiful crystal clear springs, I decided to let her be.

Maybe I need to come up with a new slogan for our state. “Florida: Find Lots Of Real, Interesting, Dynamic Activities!” Well, something like that.

Improper use of a household appliance

Many parents will understand when I say that one of my only times of peace at home is when I’m in the bathroom, even if I am often disturbed while I am “incapacitated.”

I’m not sure what the children expect me to be able to do or what level of intervention they imagine I can perform while I am locked in our facilities. Before I go, I even make an announcement to the entire household that I will be engaged in this activity so that I might not be bothered for a while.

The other morning was no different. My son was still asleep, but my daughter was awake and engaged in watching "Strawberry Shortcake." I told her where I was going and she asked if she could have the bacon on the counter. I said that was fine.

I assumed our business was done and I could begin my own. I was wrong.

While I was relishing the quite time and reading my book, I suddenly caught an incredibly strong bacon odor as if the house had been dipped into some strange, new porcine cologne.

Knowing something was very wrong, I rushed into the living room to find my angel innocently sitting in the living room.

“What’s that smell?” I asked. “Nothing,” she said as if there wasn’t a smoky cloud of rancid bacon between us.

I ran into the kitchen and saw the microwave with a cook time of 1 minute 39 seconds remaining. I opened the door to find it empty, but the odor of overcooked bacon almost knocked me to the floor.

“Where is the bacon?” I shouted, knowing that whatever came out of this microwave was on fire. “I don’t know,” she responded meekly.

“Listen, you need to tell Mommy what you did with it, honey. I need to know, okay?”

I grabbed the lid off the garbage and saw the evidence. The blob of burnt pork product had melted a hole through the plastic of the garbage bag and was still smoldering. Of course she threw it in the garbage. What else was she going to do with it?

After an education session on what little girls are not supposed to do in the kitchen without help and thanking God that she wasn’t hurt, I aired out the kitchen and checked out the poor microwave.

This compact unit has seen its fair share of overdone food. We’ve had it about 10 years and, the funny thing is, it’s on loan from my husband’s Aunt Ann Marie. I wonder if she’ll ever want it back.

Before this one, we had an Amana Radarange that was given to us by my mother. That sucker was huge! It must have weighed about 50 pounds and, for a while, we believed it had a brick inside of it.

Come to think of it, we’ve spent most of our adult lives living on the microwave generosity of others.

When I told my mom about the bacon burning, she reminded me about the time I tried to microwave food in a metal pan and the “fireworks” that incident caused, but I was a teenager, not six years old!

I told her that my sister and I exploded a palmetto bug in that same microwave. That was a stink I’ll never forget.

In all fairness, I really do have some bad microwave karma coming to me. I guess I should consider myself to have been quite fortunate so far.

Nothing better to talk about

I’m currently living in limbo between my recent completion of school, upcoming testing for my license, and beginning my first day on a hospital floor as a real, live emergency room nurse. I can barely contain my excitement, but in the meantime, I’m filling the days with questionable pastimes.

I was fortunate enough to spend a couple of days playing Florida tourist with my best friend, Cozette, our husbands, and another couple. We ran around Islands of Adventure like a bunch of excited kids riding the coasters and sipping on both types of Butter Beer in the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

We also dipped in the ocean at Cocoa Beach. My husband intentionally did an impression of a beached whale for Cozette which made her laugh so hard she almost wet her bikini from the inside.

Other than those few days and the July 4^th fireworks, I’ve been stuck at home with the kids cramming for this big exam and watching Home and Garden Television. My favorite shows are “House Hunters,” “Property Brothers,” “Design Star,” and “Holmes on Homes.” I’m such a sucker for big reveals.

This is why Big Hollywood news mostly escapes my notice, but I would have to be hiding under a rock to have not heard about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. Apparently their life is not completely perfect and divorce looms on the horizon.

First of all, I really don’t care about Tom and Katie nor did I care about Tom and Nicole, but it never ceases to amaze me how much focus we put on the lives of the rich and famous. It’s like we anxiously sit on the sidelines waiting for the day the super-successful humiliate themselves in a public arena for our enjoyment.

In a way, part of the blame goes to Tom. He jumped all over Oprah Winfrey’s couch proclaiming his love for the fair Katie like it was some new, rare element that no one else could possibly understand.

Then there’s the Scientology thing. That’s all I’ll say about that.

I went on “Google” to search for the most trusted celebrities, just out of sheer curiosity. Here is Forbes top ten: Denzel Washington, Bill Cosby, Will Smith, Ron Howard, Sally Field, Morgan Freeman, Mike Rowe, Michael J. Fox, Tom Hanks, and James Earl Jones.

What that list tells me is that Forbes doesn’t trust women very much and prefers men who have deep voices.

Another list that was compiled by a Reuters poll places Betty White at the top and also includes Sandra Bullock, Clint Eastwood, Harrison Ford, and Johnny Depp in addition to a few already mentioned in the Forbes list.

All of these “trustworthy” people tend to either conduct their public lives in respectable manners or hideout on remote islands to avoid nosy photographers.

The not-so-trusted individuals include Paris Hilton and Charlie Sheen, both of whom love the spotlight whether or not it is a good idea for them to seek it.

I don’t think I’d make an ideal famous person. I have a questionable past that may be sufficient for a normal background check, but wouldn’t stand up to the scrutiny of a starving journalist. I have too many bad angles when it comes to photographs and I feel the need to fully answer when someone asks me a probing question.

As for trust, my family and God complete it for me. Celebrities are just pretty faces in the crowd, nothing more. Thank goodness for that.

Project Clean-up

Even though I graduated in May, I had one semester to finish before I could say I was officially done with nursing school. My last day is tomorrow, June 14^th, but the paper is actually running on Saturday. By the time this is printed, I will be hard at work cleaning my house.

Before school, my house used to be kept fairly neat. About twice a year, I would even clean out the closets. I used to dust my fans and I remember moving my stove and refrigerator just to sweep away any dirt or debris that may have gathered behind it.

Windows? They would get a nice cleaning on the inside regularly and at least twice a year on the outside. I’d do this around the time I weeded my flower beds.

This was all before nursing school. If you come to my house at this very moment, there is a thin veneer of a “cleanish” look, but it is only a façade. Open any drawer or closet and you’ll find all my dirty secrets shoved and tucked away out of sight.

My kitchen table is stacked with books, the printer, and usually my laptop. I have bags and papers and folders perpetually shoved on and underneath the table where I sit to do my homework.

Laundry is like an ever-growing beast that never ceases to pile up on our bed only to be swept away to a pile on a blanket on the floor and then back on the bed when I feel like I’m going to fold it, but then back to the floor when I spend too much time distracted with doing other things.

The inside is not beautiful, but it gets maintained to a certain degree. The outside is the real problem area because, between my schooling and my husband’s work week which can run 60 hours or more, we have very little time to deal with the yard.

The main issue is that we have no irrigation. This means that our poor grass doesn’t stand a chance. Sand is the dominant prevailing force in our front yard and weeds make up most of the green that exists in that area.

I keep wanting to put a sign in the yard that says, “Sorry for the mess. This area has been declared off-limits by the U.S. Government. Experimental testing in progress. Do not attempt to approach the front door. Absolutely no photographs.”

I will have about a month off of school before I start working. This gives me time to study for my boards and get my house and yard back in order. I’m hoping we can throw down a little sod and liven up the front so it doesn’t look like you’re pulling up to the creepy house on the block.

My husband has already started cleaning up. He painted the back shed and fixed the Weed Whacker. As I type, he’s mowing down some tenaciously tangled undergrowth.

My main mission is to regain control of my house. I want to be able to find my kitchen table again. I want to see white grout lines in the bathroom. I want to turn my fans off when people come over instead of keeping them on to disguise the dust. I want to flip my kitchen blinds back the correct way; in other words, clean the dirty side.

The simple things in life are all I want to focus on for a while. I think I’ve earned it.

Fifty Shades of Bland

Last night, I finished reading a trilogy that I am a little ashamed to admit I even read: the “Fifty Shades of Grey” love/hate/submissive/dominate saga.

I am not a book snob…you know the people: they turn their nose in the air and scoff at any book you may have just enjoyed. For the record, my eyes have absorbed every word of the “Twilight” series and hungrily devoured the entire collection that J.K. Rowling offered concerning Harry Potter.

I also have a deep appreciation for Austen and desire a fraction of the wit possessed by Dickens, but my favorite authors are a grab-bag mix of unrelated styles including Toni Morrison, Chuck Palahniuk, Stephen King, and, newly added to my list, Ellen Hopkins (thanks Meredith).

I am saying all of this in preparation to do something I don’t normally do: give a bad book review.

I do not do this because I rarely read books I don’t enjoy. First, you must wonder why I read the three books if I didn’t like them. Here is my lame answer: because they were quick, easy reads and I kept hoping and expecting them to go somewhere they never went.

SPOILER ALERT!!!! DO NOT READ ANY MORE IF YOU EVER WANT TO READ THIS SERIES!!!!

First of all, these books were a pornographic version of “Twilight.” Let me break it down in simple terms: ordinary, brown-haired virgin meets a super-rich, dangerous guy….he tries to warn her about himself, but she doesn’t listen and they fall in love, but the bad people from his past want to hurt them….he’s very stalker-ish and overprotective and doesn’t like her to have relationships with any men…especially dark-haired Native American men named Jacob….I mean, Mexican American men named Jose. Whatever.

Everyone who knows anything about these books knows they deal with the dominate/submissive lifestyle and they do touch the safest edges of that area of intimacy. If you are expecting some crazy, hardcore nonsense, then don’t hold your breath because our heroine is helping to cure Mr. Dominate of his evil tendencies one very descriptive scene at a time.

Speaking of that, you get bored of reading these scenes. I remember in the “Twilight” series when IT finally happened, there was very little actual description of the activity at all. You see, our own imaginations are more than capable of filling in the delicious details. James never gives us that opportunity because about 98% of the scenes are written from start to finish.

I began skimming over those parts to get back to the story: “then Christian….tongue…..Oh….kissed my thigh…..yes…..the next morning...FINALLY!”  Really, if there was going to be that much description, why not have them jump up and brush their teeth before locking lips first thing in the morning? That’s real life. Morning breath is a real thing. I can relate to that.

Speaking of repetition, how many times can you call a person “mercurial” in three books? I wish I would’ve counted because I know it had to be about 40 times that word was used. I looked up thesaurus.com to find some alternative words for future reference: temperamental, capricious, erratic, explosive, fickle, petulant, touchy, fiery, unpredictable, moody, neurotic, and volatile.

The actual story was pretty weak and not believable. This is coming from a person who can seriously suspend some belief. I’ve read about an alien living in the sewers and haunting kids by appearing as a freaky clown and it terrified the crap out of me! I’ve travelled with Tolkien across Middle Earth and been inside Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I’m willing to go on a journey, but the story has got to grab me and take me there. This story was bland from beginning to end. I found myself wanting to punish the characters…all of them. I wanted to bend them all over my knee and make them cry for being petulant whiners.

Listen, Ana: you were given a contract…a blueprint, if you will…of a relationship that this man wanted. Don’t act surprised when he wants what he asked you for! Seriously? We got 3 books out of this concept?

Anyway, I read them all so who is the bigger fool?

I’m off to read the latest Hopkins novels. I’m sure she will not disappoint. Poetry and pain wrapped in modern day abuse and trauma…..that is my new addiction.

I will put Fifty Shades to rest and go on with my life. I’m glad I read it and got it out of my system. That is about all I can say that is positive.

Save some of that for later

This past week, I saw possibly the most romantic thing ever on the Internet: an elaborate wedding proposal that was staged by a gentleman and about 60 of his closest family and friends. He ambushed his to-be fiancée with a lip-synced theatrical street performance of Bruno Mars’s song, “Marry You.”

At the end, the guy walks up and asks for his girlfriend’s hand in marriage.

Me being the big sap that I am, I was crying about 15 seconds into the clip. By the finale, I was a blubbering mass of snot and tears muttering, “That’s just so sweet.”

Here’s the faulty logic with this well-meaning gentleman’s adorable actions: he peaked too soon. Yes, unfortunately for him, his little stunt will be almost impossible to top for the rest of his relationship. Every anniversary, holiday, birthday, or any other celebration is going to pale in comparison to this one big moment, the day he popped the question.

The moral here is to pace yourself. You have to slow down and work up to the good stuff.

I’ve probably mentioned this before, but way back when I was 17 and my husband, Chris, was 18-years-old, he asked me to marry him in ten years. See? I was excited he asked me, but mad that he thought I was going to wait around for 10 years. There was really nowhere to go but up with that beginning!

Chris has done some incredibly romantic things over the years. He once surprised me on our anniversary by having a limo pick us up and take us to Tampa for a hockey game (yes, I love hockey that much) then to the Seminole Hard Rock Casino.

The best part about pulling up to St. Pete Times Forum in a limo was that everyone in the crowd was expecting Vincent Lecavalier or Martin St. Louis to appear, but then a couple of “nobodies” from Sebring step out and the looks of disappointment on their faces were just priceless.

One Christmas, he bought me some very nice jewelry then hid it in the tree. When we all finished unwrapping our presents, he said, “Wait a second! What’s that hiding in the tree over here?”

I was shocked. It was unexpected and beautiful.

Another time, he planned a 3 day trip that included a museum and nights out and delicious restaurants. As a mom, it is nice not to have to plan anything and just be whisked away for some fun with my favorite person.

I don’t need him to do these things for me to love him, but I must admit, I do enjoy the surprises. Even now that we are on a budget, he still tries to find ways to remind me of how important I am to him.

Back to our romantic fellow from Oregon: you’re going to have to be on your best behavior. Now that you’ve busted out of the gate with this big display, scale back for a bit and do some dishes or give her a massage. In other words, lay low for a while.

I don’t know what your next move will be; maybe choreographed senior citizens dancing to Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” or training a troop of toddlers to spell out “Let’s have a baby” with their Teddy bears.

One thing I do know for certain, that stunt you pulled will be a tough act to follow, but I’m pulling for you. Good luck!

Preparing for life after school

Now that I’m nearing the end of my educational journey, I am getting close to a point in time that I will begin working an actual job which means I’ll be faced with something I’m desperately dreading: the interview.

When I was accepted into the nursing program, I appealed to a local hospital for financial assistance. They agreed to help on the condition I sign a contract to work for them upon completion of my degree which I was more than happy to do.

I erroneously believed that I could just knock on the door of the Human Resource Director the day after my pinning ceremony and say, “Hey there! Remember me? I’m all done and ready to start working that job we discussed two years ago.”

This is, in fact, not the way things are going to happen at all.

As it turns out, I have to interview in front of a panel. I found this out the other day when a very friendly representative called me to deliver this distressing news.

I instantly felt all of the blood drain from my face. “Oh! So I get to interview! That’s wonderful!” I was saying this in the most unconvincing, high-pitched voice imaginable.

I don’t want to sound like I think interviews are similar to invasive exams a doctor performs with the curtain closed. In fact, they didn’t used to bother me at all. It’s just that I have not been interviewed for ten years and never by more than one person at a time.

I was obviously hired off that last interview, but the two I had before that one did not turn out so well.

One was an attorney who seemed to like me well enough, but he felt the other candidate was slightly more qualified. I knew he was making a big mistake because I was absolutely the best person for the job. He objected and I withdrew.

The interview before that was the worst interview of my life. It was for a position outside of my experience so I turned in a resume not really expecting to hear anything back. When I got the call to come interview, I was excited at the prospect of possibly getting this unattainable job.

When I went in, the man immediately reminded me of my dad. I turned into a five-year old kid who got caught stretching the truth and every question he asked me sounded like a complicated quadratic equation that I had to solve.

Even the easiest question stumped me: “You say you enjoy reading, even biographies. Tell me a book you’ve read about a person that you admire.”

I’ve read so many books in my life. I’ve read about civil rights leaders and presidents and great historical figures. For some reason, at that moment, I could not recall a single book I had read except the one I just finished. I blurted out, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid!” Robbers and thieves: that’s who I admired.

He ended the interview by telling me that I wasn’t really qualified for the position, but I had written such an impressive resume that he wanted to meet the person who wrote it. I’m willing to bet that, to this day, he believes someone wrote it for me.

Next week, when I’m on display in the pressure cooker, my only hope is that my brain will communicate with my mouth. My resume is done. For the record, I did write it all by myself.