Stripper Chick Wisdom

Chrissy's real truth about life that no one will tell you.

"At the height of an orgasm, no one really cares who they're with."

Secondhand Sunday

I'm basically too lazy to think of anything new to say so I'm re-posting a "vintage" entry.

If you aren't in the mood for repeats, please feel free to change the channel.


"I'M SORRY, I FORGOT"

Original Post Date, May 4, 2009

If I invite you over to watch a movie at my house, I'll likely get up to go into the kitchen to make popcorn and I'll ask you what you would like to drink.

"Diet Coke, please", you say, and I'll stroll off to the kitchen to start popping and pouring.

A little while later, final kernel popped, I'll come back into the living room. I'll place the popcorn on the coffee table but I won't give you your Diet Coke. Not because I'm a rude hostess or I just drank the last one myself. I won't give it to you because I've forgotten that I asked you if you wanted one.

I'm kind of like the Absent Minded Professor, only not that smart. Just so highly engrossed in my own world that I forget things almost after they've been told to me.

I can remember events from the first grade but I can't remember who I was supposed to follow up with after hanging up with my supervisor, who just told me who to follow up with. I've fooled people into thinking that I'm really efficient and complete tasks as soon as I'm given them. Not so. I'll just forget them if I wait an hour to get started.

If I stop at a gas station to get directions and it involves more than two turns in opposite directions, I'll just reiterate the first instruction, Okay, so I'll turn left out of this driveway and go for 2 miles, right? Then I'll stop at the next gas station I come to and ask the same question. Oh sure, I could write directions down, but my handwriting is so atrocious, even I can't read it.

I also lose things. Well, sometimes I just misplace them but they generally don't turn up until after I've already replaced them. I have 7 pairs of tweezers, 30 emery boards, 5 calculators and 3 hammers. I would only have 1 of each if I could have remembered where I put the first one.

I have three doors into my house: the front door, the side door and the door off the deck. My nightime ritual involves making sure that each door is locked and deadbolted. I check the windows and turn the backyard light on to make sure there isn't anyone lurking anywhere.

This morning, I woke up and was going to take Bernie for her walk. And I looked everywhere for my keys. I usually throw them somewhere when I walk in the door. They weren't on the hall table or the bookcase or the mantel or the dining room table or God forbid, the key hook.



This would be improper use of a security system.

C Cleveland

One of the top tourist attractions in Cleveland is the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. After a long campaign, Cleveland beat out the competition and was named the official home of the Rock Hall in 1995.

Why Cleveland, you say?

In 1938, Leo Mintz owned a store called Record Rendezvous. He was one of the first record merchants in the country to bring records out from behind the counter into bins so his customers could browse through them. His store was also one of the first sites of record store listening booths and in-store promotional appearances by recording artists.

The late 40's saw a decline in sales of jazz and big band records, so Mintz started playing rhythm & blues records and loved the reaction he got from customers dancing around the store. It was taboo for young white people to be dancing to black music, so Mintz called it rock & roll to differentiate it. His attempts to get radio stations in Cleveland to play this music were futile since they only played music by white artists.

However, he came upon a rebel named Alan Freed, who started playing the music on his radio show in 1949. Freed and Mintz became friends and spread the rock & roll sound both on the radio and at local dances. The rest, as they say, is history.



The Greater Cleveland area has been home to a host of rock and roll musicians, including Chrissie Hynde of The Pretenders, Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails, Tracy Chapman, Joe Walsh of the Eagles, and blues man Robert Lockwood Jr., among others. The city has also been quick to recognize new rock and roll talent, as it did by sponsoring Chuck Berry’s first performance, Elvis’ first northern concert, and David Bowie’s first U.S. appearance.

The Rock Hall was designed by famed architect, I.M. Pei. The base is approximately 150,000 square feet and it stands 162 feet high and has seven levels. The original plans were for a 200 ft high building but because of the close proximity to a local airport, those plans had to be scrapped.







The first through sixth levels showcase both permanent and temporary exhibits documenting the history of rock & roll. The actual "Hall of Fame" is located in the third floor and holds a wall with all of the inductees signatures.






For more info on the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, click HERE.

THIS is why I'm single

Okay, I blame this on my friend Hot Chocolate, who kinda looks like this. No reason to post a pic really, except, well...look at him...


Look, Hot Chocolate, he has your hat!

Hot Chocolate and I met about eight years ago when we were both working for the same organization. He was in town from California to facilitate a training and it was my job to show him a good time. I just mean it was my job to take him to dinner to unwind after the first day. Geez, get your mind out of the gutter.

We really hit it off and have maintained a friendship ever since. It's been a while since we've been in touch so I was happy to hear from him last week. We went back and forth catching up on things and he told me that he had joined the dating website Plenty of Fish.

I told him that I had been on there, too, but that my profile was hidden now. We exchanged usernames and I logged on , planning to un-hide it for him.

You have 70 messages in your mailbox.

Huh? How could I have messages when I didn't have a profile posted?

It turns out, yes I did. Apparently, I don't know how to hide a profile properly. I thought about just deleting the emails but I was curious to see who had responded.

"45 years old, 3 times divorced.."
Delete!

"40 years old, 5'5..."
Delete!

"48 years old, no LIARS need respond! Don't want any LIARS..."
Delete!

"36 years old, 6'3, owns own business, 6 kids..."
Delete!

You get the idea...

I could tell by a few of the responses that the person had really put a lot of time and thought into it, so for those, I sent the reply, "Thanks for the kind words but I meant to hide my profile in December. I'm not looking right now.Happy Fishing!"

I still left my profile on for another day so Hot Chocolate could see it. Big mistake.

The next day I got the longest, oddest email. Here's the nutshell version. Yes, this is the shortened version.

I've never been been dumped so adroitly. I sincerely hope I'm not writing only to point out that your profile has not been blocked yet. Unless you were only toying with me.

This was followed by lots of stream of consciousness drivel.

I've always fancied ~myself~ being a Philanderist, always giving; always in Love. Ohh, that I were so congenial! (Not sure what word he meant for philanderist. Philanthropist, maybe? Philanderer?)

But NOOO, I had to look at the world from the outside! I remember being 6 and thinking, I can't WAIT to become a grown up; because I believed that adults could control their emotions---and didn't argue! Imagine my disappointment. ~sigh~

I admit, I don't have the hooks for dating. I don't wear OSU's colors, or hang at Starbucks. I'm not an expert on Sushi. And when I DO say I know something, I come across as stubborn, or haughty; but you won't find me wrong often! Why, then I'd have to apologize. I never was comfortable with the taste of crow, no matter how it's served.

I have 1500 CD's but I can barely hold a conversation about music. Eric went to college but chose to work in the Mills (winter hiking, Ba-bayyy!). Yep, Eric goes to Las Vegas, and heads into the countryside. If you take out Browns games, the BBC, Butterflies, Science and History, I watch about an hour of Television a week. Man, do I miss George Page for Nature!

Ohh, sorry, I got off track there.... Yeah, so I was on e-Harmony. A 4 hour psychological deposition, only to discover--nothing! Never was there such a waste land! Dark and spooky...Cadavernous, I called the place. And it's not easy here, either. All well and good to send a missive here and there, but there is so much importance placed on trifling details, that almost no fish can pass the weir. Plenty OFFISH, methinks.

No kidding, this girl was kissing me at my Christmas party-- never met her before--she came with a sailing friend that was playing Beach Blanket Bingo or some such titllation in the back part of the basement with another guy that hadn't attended before. So she is amorous and somehow jealous. Weeks later I asked for her phone number, and got it after it was "OK'd". I call up and say hello, and what do I hear? "Eric..WHO?" lol. (WHA?)

Yeah, it's been that way. I've got my dates from Hell stories. Ohh, if I could only explain it all. Have I not walked through life a step behind the guy that bruises each and every tender soul??

It's no wonder I need solace. Solace Power! That's what I get on my sailboat! (Men always throw in a reference to the sports car or the boat) It's sometimes said that us sailors are all ill, that we get Navigational Aids. But it's not true! Sailors travel to many lands, they sail to wherever they pleases; but they always make sure to wash their hands, so they don't get no diseases!I'm still trying to account for that Dysentery in Spain...

I'm a tree hugger, too. I love to wrap my arms around a great big oak tree. I was a member of the Wilderness Society, being fond of the foudner, Bob Marshall, but I grew to resent their militancy. I'm not in it for stress, I would have chosen law school. I find my church at the top of a tall, open peak. I also like landscaping with trees and shrubs. Perhaps I told you that my garden is dominated buy a nearby pine, but Mom's place in Carolina is my personal nursery. I just love nurturing. I'd like to try that with a relationship sometime...(wow, that's dry like popcorn champagne!).

Yes, yes, you pointed out that I gave many details in my last letter (and were kind enough to say thanks, too!). I'm not long winded in person, lol, speech is a different part of the brain. I'm just bungling along at the moment, desperately trying to figure out I can draw this this gambit to a close "Stylin"! I'm quite the perfectionist in some things.

I jut love Dogs. Looks like yours could use a walk. (Did he just call Bernie fat?)

Well, I too, am flustered as to discovering a theme in all of this. More rigamarole than 'rigged and rollin'. How can I write without italics, anyway?

Alright, I might just as well hang it all on one ill considered BLIND GUESS! I thought initially you were in Cleveland Heights, but the fireplace doesn't have the right molding; there is no mantle apparent, and the walls seem too new. The door paneling paint is excellent, and probably covers some wood less desirable than the old hardwoods used in the '30's (my own hardwood moldings are all ensconced in lead paint). And given where the Mdical offices are...I'm guessing that you live with a mile and a half of I-271. (Is this not the most frightening thing you've ever read??)

Well, it's make it or break it time! Few would be so bold, but I want you to know that I'M THE MAN that can swing a hammer near his fingers! They might have known something different was afoot when they discovered that I'd brought home goose eggs, built an incubator from scratch, and started the house afire! Only I could stand in the street and stare down that pick-up with murderous intent! (and I went to jail--briefly-- for smacking his truck, too). (?!?!?!?!)

Ohh, really, there's no posturing in all of this, except to say that I am interested. I hope you'll consider becoming my friend, and write me back. Just a gemmy-lil' something. I'll take it from there!

Delete!

And this time I was sure to delete my profile, too.

Enough already!

As I was driving last night, I noticed some homes still had wreaths hanging on front doors or garland wrapped around railings.

It's February, people! Get off your lazy asses and put your Christmas decorations away. We don't want to see your candy cane markers when we're putting our giant Easter eggs in the yard. Do it now, you idiots!

Then I got home, walked into my bathroom and saw this:






Um, never mind....

Stripper Chick Wisdom

Chrissy's real truth about life that no one will tell you.

"The best way to judge someone's love for you is by how much stuff they buy you."

The art of the compliment

"You look so beautiful tonight."

"That dress brings out your eyes."

"I love your new haircut."

It never ceases to amaze me how little men realize the impact of a compliment. And, guys, we know when it's sincere so don't try to fake it for brownie points. Leave the faking to us.

There's nothing more frustrating than hearing, "Of course I think you're pretty. I mean, I am with you, right?"

It's moments like that when we scratch our heads and think, Okay, why is it that I'm with you, again?

A compliment makes us feel desirable and sexy and validates your attraction to us. It's such a small gesture but it really does mean a lot so throw us a bone once in a while. I said bone, not boner. And remember, make it genuine and from the heart.

My favorite memory of a heartfelt but slightly off the mark compliment was from a guy I was dating when I was 21. We were meeting up at a friend's boat that was docked at a restaurant downtown. The place was crazy busy but I saw him scanning the crowd and he had such an excited look when he saw me.

When I finally made my way over to him, he grabbed my hands, kissed them and said, "I saw you walking toward me with that long beautiful hair and those big blue eyes like....like...Marty Feldman."



Hey, I knew what he meant. It made me laugh and blush at the same time. Besides, Marty Feldman's eyes were really blue.

Secondhand Sunday

I'm basically too lazy to think of anything new to say so I'm re-posting a "vintage" entry.

If you aren't in the mood for repeats, please feel free to change the channel.


"PLAYING DEAD"

Original Post Date, June 13, 2009


My sister sent me this video from David Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks.




Since Bernie is too chubby to even hold like that, here's her version of playing dead.

C Cleveland

Since many of us in are in the midst of a cold winter blast, have you ever wondered where the salt comes from that's used to clear your roads? One source is the Cargill Salt Mine in Cleveland.



Millions of years ago, ancient seas dried up, leaving behind a bed of salt over 50-feet thick. Limestone and shale deposits buried the bed and retreating glaciers left the Great Lakes on top. This salt was accidentally discovered when drillers searching for oil found salt instead.

In the early 1800's, most of the salt used in Cleveland was brought in from Pennsylvania and New York. It proved to be a costly commodity given the demand but by 1863, thanks to chance discoveries, Ohio was the third largest salt producing state.

Fast forward to 1957, when International Salt Company (now owned by Cargill) acquires Whiskey Island, the peninsula in the Cuyahoga River 1.5 miles from downtown Cleveland. Whiskey Island is the surface entrance to a vast rock mining city under the city.


Salt mine seen above the bridge

From the highway that runs alongside it, the mine looks like any other industrial site in a busy, Great Lakes port. But working here is not at all like working in any other industrial job. To start their day, workers make a daily descent in an elevator cage that takes four minutes to carry them down 1793 feet to the the 9000 acre reserve.

There, the 400 miles of underground roads link the rooms of salt. Each room is 45 feet wide and 18-20 feet tall, separated by large safety pillars of salt. These pillars support more than 350 vertical feet of deposits above the galleries currently excavating the bed called F2-B. The rock salt removed after blasting one room can be up to 650 tons in weight. This room and pillar system has been used for centuries.



The salt mine produces almost 2 1/2 million tons of salt a year. Nightly, miners bore holes for explosives in the rock face and in the morning, the loose salt is dumped into machines that break it into smaller pieces. It's processed in an underground mill before it's taken to the surface, 20 tons at a time.

Salt isn't a rigid, break away type of rock and because of this, it has movement to it. Workers leave about half the salt behind in a room and close it off to increase ventilation.

You would think that cutting away large quantities of rock would cause some structural changes and you would be right. However, it's difficult to distinguish if the deformities in the area under Whiskey Island are from the loss of weight of salt being removed rather than merely representing natural variations in the rock unit's composition so I think we're safe for now.

No, sadly, they don't offer tours.

Stripper Chick Wisdom

Chrissy's real truth about life that no one will tell you.

"There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

This is it."

No reasonable offer refused

I've really been thinking about this whole Jim situation. I think we all know it's just going to get worse since he's already making his move before the ink even dries on his divorce papers.

So I've decided to sell my house. I just put the sign up today.

Lunches with Lisa

My sister, Lisa, is a total germophobe. I'm amazed that she doesn't walk around in a plastic bubble all day.

"No, I can't give you a sip of my drink."

"Oh my God, did your finger just touch that chicken wing? You better eat it! I saw you. I saw your finger touch the chicken wing!"

"Now why would you sneeze in your hand? You know you're supposed to sneeze in the crook of your elbow."

Yesterday, she was at the lunch table as I walked up, just looking down at her food.

"What's the matter?" I asked, "Why aren't you eating yet?"

She stared at her waffle fries and chicken tenders. "I forgot my Purell upstairs. Do you have your Purell?"

The only reason I have a purse sized Purell is because Lisa gave it to me. I rifled through my purse as she anxiously waited. "Sorry, no luck. They have those disinfecting foam dispensers over by the napkins."

She got up to give her hands a once over and I fully anticipated seeing her walking back to the table, arms bent upward at the elbow, fingers extended like she had just prepped for surgery and couldn't risk contaminating her hands.

What I got was far better. I happened to glance up at the man seated at the table across from me and he was laughing and looking in Lisa's direction.

There was my sister, rushing toward the table with her glasses in hand, wiping her cheek. As she got closer, I saw that her face, hair and blouse were all spattered with a white substance. She looked like a naughty school girl in a soft core porn movie. Who am I kidding? A girl like me doesn't watch soft core porn.

Make that hard core.

As she sat down, I said, "So, do you think he's gonna call you?"

She was laughing so hard, I don't think she even heard me.

"Oh my gosh....I pushed button....squirted everywhere...."

Now you think she would have learned this the first time it happened to her.

I bet she won't forget her Purell again.