Tag Archives: beach

Live Life Like Your Favorite Panties.

I’m one of those people – at the worst possible moment I’m going to be the one that can’t help herself and will burst out laughing.   It won’t be one of those dainty Miss Manner’s kind of laugh either.  We’re talking full on cackle call, tear fueling and breath gasping type of laughter that leads to getting your self into trouble with the nearest authority figure.

I was always in trouble in school for talking….laughing.  Detentions and study halls.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.


The worse time, was always church for me.  I grew up Catholic.  I know.  Say no more.  The whole seriousness of the visit got me.  Perhaps it was the lecture we got before even going into the church got me going.  Yes, see I went to a Catholic school, so by default we had regular church services.  Before we even left the classroom and right before we entered the church we’d get the same lecture by the Sister.

“DO NOT embarrass me!”

Anyone that says to me, “DO NOT __________”  Well, that’s not so much an ultimatum as it is a challenge in my book.  I get it and I respect it but my goodness.





Lighten up a bit.  Something would just catch in my crawl and next thing I know I wouldn’t be able to contain myself.  I’d have myself and those either unlucky or lucky enough around me in fits.

No.  My mouth is NOT big enough to stuff my fist inside.  I’ve tried on numerous occasions to stifle the giggles.  Oy.  Once I start I can’t stop.  It’s terrible.

So today when a friend called me and mentioned about a meeting she had to go through at work I suggested she wear these goofy eye glasses I bought her for Christmas.  Everyone needs a lighter moment or two in life.  She thought I was nuts.  I kept telling her the same thing:


We talked later in the day and guess what?

She did it!


I was most excited to hear she had actually done the challenge and the best yet – they LAUGHED.  Shut the door!  Good god, people laughed!  The horror and yet they SURVIVED!

So worth the giggles.

We all get so wrapped in being so serious and working.   Lighten the load and take a breath once in a while people.  It’s good for you.

Just like wearing your favorite pair of panties.  You know the pair.  I bet you have several pairs.  I do.  Why be miserable and wear a pair that going to be pinching or chafing you all day long?  It’s not worth it.  Wear the pair that makes you happy.

Like I want to spend 1/3 of my day adjusting my ass?  Panties riding up my butt.  Have to adjust.   Now they’re creeping to the side.   I don’t have the patience or the time for this.  Why be miserable?  And these people, men and women, who think they are casually picking their roos out of their ass – aren’t fooling anyone!


It’s like the people who come into each day being miserable.  It’s not worth it.  You create your day from the moment you open your eyes.  Are you wearing grandma panties or a thong?  Be happy, be comfortable – go with what moves you.  Why be miserable all the time?  It’s not worth the aggregation.  Trust me.  It doesn’t do you any good and nobody around you enjoys your negativity either.

Oh wait, let me guess, you’re wearing your underware backwards?  That would explain a lot actually.

Maybe you prefer the granny panties – fine.  Then get rid of those fucking thongs cause you’re attitude sucks when you wear them.

If boy shorts are your thing – excellent.

Boxer or brief – yahoo.

Free balling – that’s fantastic!

However, if you are the kind of person who rips the elastic out of their panties and you know who you are – that isn’t cool.  You have an issue.  We need to get you in touch with some special therapist and get you turned around.

Garter belts with stockings – yes.

Suspenders with panties – no.

NOTE:  Unless you’re PeeWee Herman and have some type of weird fetish happenings then we could discuss with Boy George in Group Sessions.

Go with the flow.  Enjoy the laughter.  Relax a bit and know it’s okay to share a grin or two.  Life is too short to be mean and miserable like the Grinch.  Besides, it’s not good for wrinkles….and nobody wants wrinkles.  Unless you’re a Shar Pei dog….they want wrinkles.

For example….my kinder half is gone starting tomorrow for a week.  Some people would be annoyed and upset.  Not me – I get the entire bed to myself!  I get to eat whatever I want!  Maybe I will go to the movies! AND I may choose to spend all day Saturday on the beach!  Perhaps I will adopt a pygmy goat!  The possibilities are endless.

The point is…..laugh.  Laugh a lot.  Even when it’s not the “right time” to laugh – do it any ways.  There’s a lot of worse things you can do in this life….seriously!  Laughing during inopportune moments truly isn’t one of them.  Take the risk.  Roll the dice.  LAUGH.

Be silly.

Choose to be happy – like your panties!

Some Things You Should Know About the Most Important Thing…..ME!

The other day I was at work.  For all the challenges I face, I enjoy work.  It’s something new every day and I learn more every week.  There are some days, I can’t wait to get to work.  Honest.  I don’t lie.  I’m terrible at lying….hence, reason #1 I could never be an undercover secret agent.

Sometimes, I think…


Sometimes, I know….

The people I work with think I’m crazy.

That’s okay.  I didn’t suddenly become crazy.  I arrived to this job already crazy.  As one person said to me last week, “You are the only one who could get away with that.”  Yes.  I guess so.  But I was only being honest.  The difference was I said it out loud.

Oh, you want to know what I said?

“Slacker.”  (That’s all I’m saying….to protect the guilty and myself.  The truth would only be revealed under a tickle session.)

Of course, the up side is they know I’m kidding.  I hope.  People are so serious, it’s good to laugh. It releases the toxins you hold deep inside your gut.  Expel that shit like phlegm and be happy for a change.  Of course if you start playing that stupid song, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” I will come by and snap off your music.  Be happy – yes.  Don’t be a pain in the ass.

I would like to get one of those things the gymnasts use to leap up to the high bar, balance beam or vault over the horse.  What are those things called?  The launcher.  I want one.  If anyone knows where I can get a used one please let me know.  That is how I want to come into my next meeting.  L A U N C H myself through the air!  Land with grace and yell out “TAH DUH!”

Besides these things, you should know…..and those who know me well, know this already.

NEWS  FLASH:  I’m not a hugger.

Unless you are a small furry critter of some sort, chances are slim I’m not going to embrace you.  Sorry.  Just the way I roll.

Part of it is because I’m short, almost like a pocket pet, hugs can be awkward for me.  A certain friend describes me as being like a candy bar:  “Fun Size!”

SO….as I was saying.  The other day I was at work and a co-worker came by my cubicle.  I’ve only met this person a few times before but feel like I’ve known them forever.  They come in and start towards me.

IMMEDIATELY there’s a “whoop whoop whoop HUG ALERT whoop whoop whoop HUG ALERT” siren going off in my head.  I don’t move a muscle.  If I’m still they’ll usually stop in their tracks.  It’s only slightly awkward, but we get through it.

Yatta, yatta….nice chat.  Moving on.

Later in the day, I was speaking with a different friend and advised them of the following:

“Yeah, you may want to mention to Pat that I’m not a hugger.  I think they might have been aiming to hug me earlier.”

Fast forward a few days later.  I end up having to stop by the potential hugger’s desk.  I pop in and my friend jumps up from behind the desk.

Immediately, my hands start to sweat.  Seriously?  Really?  OMG.  My heart starts to race and I think, “here we go again with the awkward moment.”  I do the only thing I can think of as my upper lip breaks out into a sweat….

I put my bag down and say, “HEY!  I bet our friend Kerry told you about my hugging thing huh?  Well alright, now that you know…..(gulp)…..I can hug you.”

Nervous laughter.






Pat, pat, pat.



I sit down and then look them in the eye and say, ” alright, so now you’re on the approved hugger list.  Don’t be going around telling people though okay.  LOTS of people want to get on it and I can’t permit that.”

They nod their head and reply, “Understood, I can only imagine how difficult the try outs are.”

Although, I will admit.  Some days are bad days and I could use a hug.  Without my better half here at the moment there are times when I think…..would I rather….hug a co-worker or hug a stranger?  Luckily, I haven’t acted on that impulse yet.

Today, I kinda had a personal struggle kind of day.  It was 80% great and 20% poopie.

I decided to go get a quick pedicure at my favorite local place.  They have the massage chairs that even squeeze your butt.  I like having my butt squeezed.

Sorry, was that too much personal information?

Anyway, I got the same guy who I got last time.  I never call ahead, I just go with the luck of the draw.  He does a great job so I was delighted.   Here’s the thing.  He’s Asian.  I’m American.  I’m terrible with accents.  90% of the time I have NO CLUE what this man is saying to me.   Tonight I sat in the chair.  He sits on the little stool and says to me:

“Atoub lkjdai kdi iqp bag? I’agb boie akv right?”

My little brain tries desperately to decipher what he’s just said…..bag…..right?  Bag?  Right?  WTF?  I laugh and say, “You think?”  He laughs and says something more about the bag and women.  I laugh.  Then about 30 seconds later it hits me!

Eureka!  I shout out, as if I am on some type of random B-rated game show, shown only on Wednesday nights on channel 7633 at 2:30AM:

“YES!  Of course I have multiple bags in my tote!  The bigger the bag, the more stuff I can carry!”

Then, because it was a last minute trip to the nail salon, I wasn’t too concerned about not having shaved my legs today.  Small stubble.  Not terrible.  I was wearing pants today and I knew nobody would be touching my legs.  Well, outside of a doctor in case of an emergency, but I wasn’t anticipating an emergency, so I didn’t shave.  My legs were nothing like sand paper.  Honest!  It wasn’t like it was fuzzy and braidable hair and it wouldn’t burn his hand off…so I wasn’t horrified about it until he said:

“Paiobo  aieq shave for me today.”

What the hell?  What?  What?  What?  I missed the first part.  WHAT!?  Did he say I did or didn’t?  I don’t know!  Good grief.  No clue.  Then we proceeded to the mask and the scrub on the legs.  I pretended to lay back and enjoy the chair massage.  With my eyes closed….thank you….to avoid further conversation.

We have two friends, who I really enjoy their company, however they both make me nervous as hell.  Why?  I can’t bloody understand most of what they say.  They are both helicopter pilots.  Why does that make a difference?  Trust me….it does.  That’s another story.

But they BOTH have accents.  I mean really, either one of them could read a cookbook to me and I’d be drooling.  However….me…… trying to carry on a conversation….with one of these guys?  I’ve got nothing.  Nothing.  Notta.  Zip. Zilch.

It’s so bad.  That my better half had to tell them, “you know she only get like every fourth word you say.”  They knew.  Yeah, because of my confused nods and smiles.  OMG I’m an idiot.

The other day at work we had a conference call.  Luckily it was just over the phone and not a video call.  Good lord.  One of the people on the call had not just one accent but TWO accents.  He started off British, which I get.  Check, got it, I’m good.  Following right along until BAM…all of the sudden he has a heavy Indian accent.

I’m not talking Native American accent.  I’m talking from India, India accent.


I went from hearing:

“Yes, it would be easy enough for us to come and visit with you and discuss your process.”


“Tjagjoun   gp’iep”  aoibuo yboiafp   poiqrpjp’ja  ‘a;ojp[i  kaip  qgv.”

Then to:

“You would need to provide us with an accurate schedule as to the time frame.”

Followed by:

“Hkahgoi adyfug ghkb vvaip afihaivoj alboubo a aougo.”

If anyone could see me, they would have literally found me with my eyes squeezed shut, elbows on my knees and my fingers pressing into my temples…..so very seriously trying to concentrate oh so hard on whatever this British Indian man was trying to say.

I had nothing.

I won’t even go into the conversation ON THE PHONE I had today with one of our French  tour operators.  Luckily I was able to get the gist of why he was calling, so I was able to get through the conversation.  Dear Lord.  Instead of inventing “TV Ears” could someone please invent ears for people who can’t get over the accents?  Most of the time all I get is:


Lastly, I wanted to share with you my first day on the beach here near my house.  It was over the 4th of July.  The beach is literally a 5 minute drive from my front door, to the beach parking lot.  So easy.

I claim a little patch of shady sand……and settle in for my afternoon.  Okay, not really an afternoon because I don’t have the patience but I planned for ONE HOUR.  Which was perfect for me on the first trip.   Over by the lifeguard tower, it is mobbed.  Wall to wall people.  I’m a ways down the beach, in the shade of a high rise.  Perfect for my delicate Alaskan skin.

The first thing that I ponder are the signs not too far away from me that read something like, “Beginning from the front of this sign is 50 feet of private beach property.”  I’m confused.  The sign itself is hammered into the sand about 50 feet from the front of the obvious property line….the green grass.  However, does the sign mean it extends another 50 feet into the ocean?  Or does it mean 50 feet behind the sign is private beach?  So confusing these Floridans.

I’m happy as a clam.  In my bathing suit.  Wearing SPF 75 (thank you Alaskan friends) and watching the parade of people.  OMG.  That’s a whole other blog.  Suddenly, out of the right corner of my eye vision I see a 4WD vehicle fast approaching.  It slams on the breaks …a few car lengths away from me and the guy leaps out (doorless 4WD) and grabs a surf board off the top of the vehicle.  He lunges into the waves, throws himself on top of the board and begins to propel himself into the ocean.

I’m thinking, the Alaskan I am…..on the beach….in the blazing sun……wearing SPF 75….trying not to blind people with my vampire like skin……

Wow..he really wants to catch the waves.  Must be good wave action.   I watch him out in the ocean.  He’s paddling and paddling…..gets out to just where the waves are starting to form.  He’s talking to another group of people.  Yatta….yatta..

Waves are forming and going.

Forming and going.

Forming and going.

The guy on the surf board starts looking back at the beach and he’s patting his head.





What the hell does that mean?

He’s obviously not patting his head and rubbing his tummy.  He’s signaling to someone.

Then I take notice he’s talking to a group of kids who are out there on an (this is genius) inflatable mattress.  Not just a raft.



Winner.  Winner.  Chicken.  Dinner.  I LOVE that idea.  So much better than the little floatie raft things.  I love this.   Last time we were in Maui, I lost half my bathing suit trying to get back in to the beach…..carrying a floatie raft.


Then it suddenly dawns on me.


I’m such an Alaskan.

On the beach.

This guy, anxious to get out and catch the waves?

Yeah, he’s a life guard.  Telling these kids they can’t be out there on an inflatable mattress.

I’m such a nerd……on the beach.



The Alaskans Hit the Beach

The nude beach that is….

My first experience, three years ago,  with the nudist beach was interesting.  Over the hill and down the trail we went only to be met with the startling conclusion:  Girls and Boys, we’re not in Juneau anymore.

At the bottom of the hill there was a road block.  It was all I could do  not trip over the whale sized person lounging on the sand….like a welcome mat.  Really?  You couldn’t move over a few feet?  Scuze me…pardon me…

Well you don’t see that in Alaska, unless it’s actually a beached whale.

Since that introduction, I’ve visited the beach every time we go to Hawaii.  It’s one of the highlights to my vacation.  Don’t ask me why.  It’s simply a “must do” activity.

Anyhow, onwards and upwards…

Surveying the area, it’s glaringly apparent the majority of visitors grab a location closest to the entrance – it’s MOBBED.  But further down there’s fewer people and lots of open beach space. Hike up the cooler and chairs, we’re hiking into flesh country. The Alaskan has found her beach spot.

The spot I chose is right in the front – you’re probably not surprised.  It’s funny – the very back of the beach has a solid line of people from end to end.  Must be the second choice location if you can’t get near the entrance.  Couldn’t even muscle a beach towel in between those folks – they were stuccoed in like coral decorations on a seawall.

I’d rather have some fresh air and be able to stretch out on my towel than have pry myself in between two glistening oiled up strangers.  Excuse me, could you hand me another beer?  Thank you.

Ladies and gentlemen put your sunglasses on, the Alaskans are hitting the beach – naked – and we’re a wonderful halibut white color.  We lathered up, cracked a beer, settled in and began to soak up the Maui sunshine. Talk about glistening in the sunshine like diamonds.  Even the seagulls were confused about our reflective quality.

Now it’s time to ponder, which way to look.  In front of my spot were two men, the color of cooked bacon, playing Frisbee….you can only imagine what was dangling at my eye level.

Disclaimer:  It’s not my fault God made me this height and certain things just happen to be at eye level when sitting in a beach chair, on the beach, in a nudist environment.  Thank you.

It was all fun and games until Bacon Colored Man #1 lost control of his Frisbee serve and Bacon Colored Man #2 had to come over to me and apologize and pick it up at my feet.  I’m sorry, did you say something?  I was distracted.

I love to people watch.  I’m as happy as a Magpie in a sparkling heap of trash when left alone to people watch.   If this was an Olympic event, I’d enter.  No hand / eye coordination necessary.    Now I have a cooler of adult beverages, a comfortable place to sit, warm sand under my toes and sunshine…..what more could I ask for really?

Where are those Bacon Men?

Sorry, I had a flash back.

Back to the point at hand…people watching.  What struck me as funny were the number of people who came to look at us sitting on the beach…..from their tour boats.  Giant catamarans, holding 150 people would sail by – barely 1/4 mile off the beach.  This beach is apparently listed in some of the tour narratives.  Interesting.  Had I known I was going to be apart of the touring outline, I would have at least worn my tiara.  As it currently stands, I’m wearing my sunglasses and floppy beach hat.  Similar, but nothing close to fabulous.

I can only imagine what the captain was saying:

“Everyone!  Get your binoculars!  There is a spectacular sight off our starboard side.   You won’t want to miss taking a look at this.  One of our popular beaches for homo sapiens!  Quite the species….”

Each time I pondered an appropriate reaction:

Flip them off.

Jump up and moon them.

Shake my ta-tas.

Wave like the Queen.

Result:  I stared back at them and toasted them with my bottle of beer.

My next observation were the groups of 4 (two couples) that would wander all the way down, not much further past us and wouldn’t take so much as their top off.  Okay, so what’s the deal?  I get it….they were giggly couples who wanted to say they went to the nude beach – without having to admit they actually took anything off.

Being nude myself, I found it a little odd to see them fully clothed in the surf.  THEY were the odd ones that stuck out.  Kind of like a fart in an elevator.  Everyone else on the beach was either completely naked, top off or bottoms off.

I also tremendously enjoyed the older couple that walked back and forth.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  He was obviously comfortable with himself as there wasn’t a tan line to be found on his cinnamon raisin toast skin.  She, on the other hand, I think might have been related to the Easter bunny.


Pink pleated tennis skirt.  Pink sun visor with blonde puffy short hair coming out of the top like Old Faithful.  Proud as a peacock prancing next to her man.  Back and forth.  It was like watching a tennis match they went past so often.  She was engrossed in observing the crowd of sunbathers and he was praying they could go back and sit down so he can enjoy the gorgeous ocean view.

What a funny bunch of people.  Of course, I didn’t know a soul except for my better half.  And he was encouraging “get your raft and get out there.” We’re here to celebrate my 40th birthday so I better get out there and enjoy the day.

Okay, off I go with my most favorite hobby inducing item in Hawaii.  A cheap pink raft.  Down to the ocean I go.  I could float away in the peacefulness it was so calm and enjoyable.  Cool and clear water.  Definitely not in Alaska any more.

Of course, when it was time to come back in so we could head back and get ready for dinner, I realized he was taking photos of me.  Okay, maybe he should invest in a camera instead of using his phone for the pictures.  Mental note honey, put a lock on that thing!

The Alaskan Goes To Hawaii

We’re on vacation.

In Hawaii.

On Maui.

It’s the exact opposite of home:  hot and sunny.

Since we’ve left home, they’ve received two feet of fluffy snow – perfect for snowboarding.  Of course!  The reports from the ski slope are fantastic and I’ve stopped reading them.  Who wants snow when you have hot and sunny?  Just keep the breeze going and we’ll be ok.

We’re staying with our friend George, while here on Maui.  The house is fantastic – comes complete with hot tub, pool and waterfall.  Sitting on the upstairs l’nai (don’t know what the proper spelling would be for the upstairs porch, but you get the idea.  This is also reason number 2 we’d never move here….we can’t even begin to pronounce any of the names.) you can see the ocean, which is a short 5 minute walk…..down the hill.

If anyone is interested, George is putting the house on the market for $1.5 million….

Why?  They got a divorce last month.  They were driving each other crazy.  She now lives up on the mountainside – where yesterday it was “pouring rain” which was odd, cause there were no clouds.  I’m thinking their idea of “pouring” is a little different than ours.  Of course, we live in a temperate rainforest back home.

When we arrived to the house, the day before Thanksgiving, you can imagine our surprise to realize George has both kids.

12 and 9.


One on meds.

One just between meds – thus the explaniation of the wild animal which is supposed to the be 9 year old – tearing around the house.  In George’s words, “we have to live with the mayhem until we can start the new stuff.” I’m thinking a stun gun might work just as well.

Eric tells me to “ignore it.”  Sorry, but how exactly can you ignore a tasmanian devil that is trying to literally climb up your body?  Screaming?  While you’re standing outside sweating to death?  It can’t be done.

The two brothers are at each other’s throats 90% of the time.  Within two minutes of Eric getting up and leaving the house the other morning for his walk the boys were up and I heard, “STOP! GIVE IT BAAACK!”  That continued to repeat like a bad record for the next 10 minutes.

About an hour later, someone is knocking on the bedroom door.  I ignore it, as I know without a doubt which one it is.  There’s a reason I locked the door.

It stops.

Feet run away.

Feet run back.

Knocking.  Knocking. Jiggle the handle.  Knocking.

Feet run away.

Feet run back.

Unintelligible words coming from under the door.  Knocking. Jiggling of the door handle.

(Note, if I didn’t know better, I could have been in a horror movie)

Suddenly the door flies open and here it comes, landing on my bed….having used a wooden skewer to pop open the lock.

Good morning world, it’s Donna and I’m in the third layer of hell.

Our first beach day!  We all pile into the car.  I always have to fight to get the front seat, I explain it’s because I’m the only girl.  In reality, I don’t want to get attacked in the back seat.  Actually, I’d made the situation worse I’m sure….

The whole way to the store to pick up sandwhiches the car is filled with yelling conversation, screaming, punches and whining.  Not five minutes down the road and I want to yell, “STOP TOUCHING ME!”  Little hands coming through the headrest section of the seat.

My head is ringing and I’m cursing the fact I didn’t bring any little bottles from the airplane with me in my purse.  I silently realize to survive the rest of this trip, I’m going to have to start drinking first thing in the morning.  We stop at a light and for a brief moment I actually consider getting out of the car and walking away.  There is a reason I came into this world as an only child –  YOU ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY!

Luckily the kids go to their mother’s house starting Friday afternoon through Monday morning.  The last few days have been filled with tranquil moments of sweaty sunshine, warm sand and swimming with sea turtles.

Here we are at Monday morning, the tasmaniann devil, having to be home schooled, because of his issues with the divorce – has returned home.  All is quiet in the house…because he managed to jump into the coffee table last night, causing his mother to take him to the ER and thus has a horrible swollen knee still today.  The other blessing for today is I believe the nanny returns – thank you Jesus.

Regardless, I instructed Eric to lock the bedroom door on his way out for his walk.  I am happy to have some peace and quiet, both windows open, birds squaking happily….while I sit here under flannel sheet to write this.

Yes, flannel sheets – this is winter.


Please note – as I’ve mentioned before if you end up in my writing, it’s not because I don’t like you – in fact, I love you.  You’ve just provided me with some funny moments I need to share.  Thank you for the material.