"Meltdown in aisle 2, meltdown in aisle 2. We need a clean up crew to come to aisle 2, we have a muttering, swearing and clearly somewhat deranged woman…"

That would be me they are talking about.

You see, it was requested, can you imagine, that I take this form (it doesn't matter which form, any form) go over to one of tables, a table, I might add, that is too high for any mere mortal to write at comfortably, find a working pen, untangle the pen from its' chain, and fill the form out. Both sides.

First, however, one needs to watch a video that would prompt one on how to fill out the form. It is quite clear to me that the instructions on how to get the video to work were written by a sadist. Alternatively, they were written by someone who is almost, but not quite, graduated from their Rosetta Stone classes. I have great admiration and respect for multilingual individuals. I have yet, however, to meet someone who is totally fluent in writing intelligible questions in the language of  Forms.

You  really know you are in trouble when the form comes with a glossary of terms.

Cheating did seem like a viable option, but the height of the table, after all we were elbow to elbow, negated this option. Additionally, the fear of my calves cramping from standing on my tip toes, trying to see over their shoulder, further negated this plan.

On planes one is required to rummage around for their passport in order to enter their passport number.  Additionally there is the requirement of lknowing what airline they are flying, the flight number and where they will be staying when they arrive at their destination. How can I possible do this while concentrating on keeping the plane from plunging out of the sky?  I am pretty certain that raising my hand and announcing that I am opting to get off the plane, mid air, rather than fill in these blanks would result in no more wine glass refills for me.

Here's the solution to this.

It seems clear that sidestepping filling out forms, more often than not, really isn't a viable option. But, I've learned, that after the clean up crew comes to the rescue, there usually is some sympathetic soul, fearful of watching a grown woman unravel, who graciously offers to help out, if not to simply fill out the form.

Works for me. Everytime.

Have I been under a rock for the past few years?  I realized that I never heard/read/used that phrase "hen lit" until very recently, coming across it while reading a review of a couple in books in the NY Times. 

The over 40 crowd, it seems, has it's own designated genre. Wonder if they are happy about it? Definitively confirmed to be to old to be a chick. However, speaking for the feminists among us, frankly any aviary reference is barely acceptable to begin with.

And for the over 60 crowd?  Rachel Cooke dubbed them the "twi lit"  in a wonderful piece she had written in 2002. Which, not incidently, confirmed that the term hen lit has been bandied about for far longer than I was aware of, confirming my personal rock hiding concern.

I wonder, if the author is writing for teens does a new designation of fowl have to be assigned? Pul lit?

Anyway, I am seriously considering writing a pul/chick/hen/twi lit book and therefore will be comfortable that I have covered all bases of readers. Let's see…Dorothy, after returning from Oz, runs off with the Scarecrow, after having a torrid but difficult relationship with the Tin Man, who contributed to her heartbreak when he left her for Glenda, but ultimately determined that he actually wanted Auntie Em the whole time.

Yeah, that covers it.

"It was 20 years ago today" sang the Beatles, actually over 40 years
ago. When also, I might add, Paul wondered if he'd still be loved "when
he's 64." Which, Happy Birthday Paul, he turned this August.

The summer of '69. Indelibly etched in the minds of most Boomers, (if you were REALLY enjoying the 60's it might be a fuzzy memory). Alternatively, if you are currently lamenting your memory loss, might also be a fuzzy memory.

Alas, the 40th anniversary of Woodstock event, to be held this summer, has been canceled.

But back to a twirl down memory lane.

Neil Armstrong, bounding (does one bound?) out of the Eagle, the lunar vehicle of the Apollo 11, stating "one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind" actually has claimed that he said "one small step for A man…." which apparently some editor thought not as pithy.

Not, it seems to have not been heard.

Anyway, I for one, do remember the first Woodstock weekend. Didn't go, but do remember it vividly.
No Cheech and Chong fuzzy memories here. (Do you know who Cheech and Chong are?)

This weekend we will have many replays, plus a documentary or two or three, revisiting this culturally iconic event. And for Neil and Buzz, nary a shopping mall event.

Okay, I lied. There was a great photo op with Barack Obama.

Happy Anniversary.

Not exactly mutterings.

Full sentences commenting on something or other, but realizing, that there is no one there to hear what you just said.

Except yourself, which, I suppose, must be good enough.

Have you experienced this? Would you admit to it, if you do? I find myself not exactly having full blown conversations with myself, simply a comment or two, usually about something I am observing.

"Why is she/he wearing THAT?" I'll ask aloud. Perhaps, if I am in earshot of someone, they will think I am talking to them and answer. I'll smile, respond to their comment, and know perfectly well that I hadn't asked them for their opinion. Perhaps, they too, are commenting to themselves on what they were observing and it was simply coincidental that I was near enough, as well, to hear their thoughts.

In any event, I used to be somewhat chagrined at my own behavior. Is this the precursor to something infinitely more serious? Should I discuss it with a professional? Did I just ask myself that very question, aloud? Did I respond?

Not to worry.

I suspect when the time comes and I am not aware of my aloud utterances, friends and family might join together to look into this, and do something proactive.

For now, it is comforting to know that I have an enraptured audience. Me.