Monday, May 19, 2008


Yep! You read it right. Half a century old specimen! Right away, you're asking yourselves, what dinosaur specimen is Tasha talking about? Not so fast, my cyber friends. Half a century may sound like a prehistoric age, but not in my dictionary. And the dinosaur specimen you are thinking of is me! Sad to say, but true. I'm already brooding over this milestone I have reached. So, don't make it any worse than I already feel. Besides, dinosaurs are full of wrinkles; not me.

I'm officially 50 years old this month, and already, I received a welcome message from the American Association of Retired Persons (AARP). Do you know that according to the AARP, I'm already a senior citizen? Unless I start cashing in on my senior citizen discounts, I say, I'm still a JUNIOR citizen. Lol. How could this group say that I'm already a senior citizen when everybody I know thinks otherwise? Anyway, I should not fret what AARP says. I trust what the people around me say.

The Saturday before my birthday, my sister treated me to a nice breakfast at Shari's Restaurant. My sister came by the house at 9:00 a.m. She and I left my husband and daughter playing Rock Band--my husband with the guitar and my daughter with the drums. When we arrived at Shari's, we ordered our food. We drank lots of coffee with tons of creamer. I looked outside and it was snowing heavily. "For heaven's sake!" I said, "It's in the middle of May!"

"That's Wyoming," my sister said. "Don't you remember one year? It snowed in July?"

"It must have been one of the years we were vacationing somewhere." We drank some more coffee. In between sips, we chatted and gossipped. We took our time eating our food. By the time we knew it, it was already 11:30, and the snow finally stopped.

We left Shari's and drove to the mall. We shopped till we dropped. I bought a lot of clothes, and they were all for me. It was kind of selfish of me, I know, but I was enjoying myself spending money just for me that day. So, spent, I did. When we finished, we stopped at one of the food places at the mall and ordered some icecream and some pretzels. The time was already 3:00 p.m. We were suppose to get our nails done, but with me not having slept from working the night before and still having to go to work that night, my sister decided that she should take me home so I can go to sleep. I agreed.

While unlocking the front door, I could feel my body was so ready to crash on the bed as soon as I got inside the house. But as soon as I opened the door, I was greeted with a: "Surprise!" The house was full of people. Our neighbors were here. Some people from work were here. Relatives were here. And my friends were here. My first reaction was total shock. I cried. I never once suspected that my husband was giving me a surprise birthday party. My sister and daughter were in cahoots with him all this time.

My husband and daughter had to work triple time to clean and decorate the house and then to pick up the food and beverages. Yes, my husband gave me 50 balloons. I'm glad he didn't give me 50 different gifts to unwrap. It took me at least an hour to unwrap the 49 gifts he gave me last year. So, I told him to please Not to do the same this year. As much as I appreciate receiving presents, that was a bit much.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Her 21st Birthday Gift

I haven't heard of anyone getting a revolver on their 21st birthday before, until recently. This is not something I had seen on t.v. or had read in news papers. It actually happened to our very own family.

As a 21st birthday present, my husband gave our daughter a Ruger SP101 revolver. He mentioned it to me before he bought it, and I had mixed emotions about it then and still do. But our daughter expressed interest in wanting to go with her dad (my husband) to do some target shooting at the firing range. She said she would not go hunting with him, but that she would like to go target shooting with him at the firing range.

Intead of lending one of his guns to her, my husband decided to buy our daughter her very own. For months, he checked the internet until he was satisfied that he found the dealer with the lowest price before he bought the gun. The gun was shipped to a local gun dealer in town where the legal transaction was handled before the gun was brought home.

I have to admit, the gun looks snazzy. The weight and the grip handle were just perfect for her small, delicate hands. She was pretty stoked about it. She loves playing with any kind of shooting video games, so she should love it more with the real thing.

One weekend, she and my husband attended a two-day pistol safety training for conceal weapon permit. I asked my husband why she needed a concealed weapon permit when all she was going to use it for will be at the firing range. It's not like she's going to be carrying it in her purse at the school compound where weapons of any sorts are prohibited, you know?

He explained that even though the class was offered for concealed weapon permit, it's more for educating people, like our daughter, about their guns and how to use them properly and safely. The class also teaches them the legal aspect of using the gun for self denfense.

I must say that our daughter's gun is properly registered and is safely stored in my husband's gun safety cabinet, for now. So, there's no cause for panic about my daughter owning a gun. She's not carrying it around with her. She may, at some point, when she's going to be on her own, after college. At which time, she maybe using it more for self defense. For now, she can't wait to go to the firing range with her dad to see if her video games shooting skills are just as good with the real thing.

Friday, May 9, 2008


I haven't seen a Psychiatrist in my entire life, yet. But I might have to see one soon. I can just see myself having this conversation with one.

Dr.: What brings you here?

Me: I came here to seek help for my addiction.

Dr.: What sort of an addiction?

Me: I think I'm addicted to blogging.

Dr.: Blogging?

Me: Yes. Blogging.

Dr.: Can you elaborate more?

Me: Well, it all started with a friend wanting me to visit her blog site. She wanted me to write something. So I did. When I first attempted to write in the comment section, though, the darn thing just kept rejecting me. You know, like the way you get rejected by somebody else? I got frustrated. Dumb me, I didn't see the place where I was suppose to log on or sign up. Didn't know that I had to first sign up for a GMAIL account and then to sign up for a Blog account. WHEW! My friend, owes me big for having me go through all that trouble, just so I can blog her. Or, should it be the other way around, now that I'm having a time of my life, blogging? Sorry, doctor, did I say too much already?

Dr.: No, no. You may continue. I'm still taking notes.

Me: At first, all I did was going to my friend's site to read what she had to say, then read comments from her guests. I enjoyed reading her posts and of her guests' comments. I soon learned that by clicking on a guest's blog's name in the comment page, I could go to that blogger's site. When I found a screen name that sounded cool or interesting, I clicked again. I read their profile, their posts, then their guests' comments, and then wrote my own comments on the ones I found interesting. I kept on clicking away, repeating the same process. By the time I knew it, I got lost in cyber space, losing my way back home.

Dr.: So, then, what did you do?

Me.: Fortunately, I wrote my blog address down, before getting lost. I typed my blog address in the web and walla! I was home. A month later, my friend asked me where my postings are. I said, "What postings?" She said, "You have to write something about anything, then I'll come by to blog you." A bit pushy, isn't she? She was asking way too much of me. It seems like a lot of work to do. After all I'm suppose to work on my novel if I want it finished the end of May.

Dr.: You're writing a novel?

Me: Yes. It's my first attempt.

Dr.: What's the title?

Me: "The Big Picture". Actually, this is just the tentative title for it. I can't decide whether to call it The Bastard, The Author, Forbidden Love, or something else.

Dr.: What Genre?

Me: Romance.

Dr.: Ah....I prefer medical suspense or action/ drama myself. Romance novels, to me, are just smutt stories written for lonely women. I'm not much into chick flick stuff.

Where were we? Lets continue on with your blogging problem.

Me: (Who asked you? Jerk! Romance novels, to me, are just smutt stories written for lonely women. Hah! Whatever! But.(followed by a big sigh)...I'll have to get on with the program. After all, this guy is getting paid $150.00 an hour. Maybe more, if he's in California or New York).

Dr.: At what point did you think that you are addicted to blogging?

Me: I wrote my first post and then followed it up with a few. When I became a little more adept at going in and out of my site to visit other sites, that's when I found out I'm addicted. Now, that's all I do after work. I can't stop. I have to visit all the nice cyber friends, I've met, to chat with them before going to sleep. My house and yard work are being ignored. My husband feels ignored. And my novel has been put in the back burner.

$300K Nest Egg

         Okay, so I realize that a one million dollar nest egg is impossible for most people to save for, unless you’ve started savi...