Years ago I read that during the filming of Gone with the Wind, Vivien Leigh was quoted saying Clark Gable had atrociously bad breath, making intimate scenes with him extremely unpleasant. To this day I can’t watch a Clark Gable movie without thinking about that and wondering if his female costars held their breath in his presence. His response? “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Just a guess…
Yep, definitely holding her breath
Movie stars have a certain image they portray on screen and it sometimes crosses over into real life. Many are glamorized and idolized — all those words ending with “ized.” But the truth often contradicts our impression of them, don’t you think?
Now don’t get me wrong; we all know the persona is an illusion the movie industry created. Still, nobody wants to hear the awful truth, like Bradley Cooper stinks. Yep, you read that right. He’s a…
As it turns out, I’m pretty awful at misplacing car keys. As a matter of fact, I lost one of my KIA SUV keys a while back, leaving me with just one precious key. The thing is, I know that lost key is somewhere in my house because I drove home the day I lost it. No doubt I’ll find it months from now when looking for a platter. And there it will be, resting on a shelf right in plain sight.
So anyway, I should tell you my SUV has a habit of locking when the doors close. Now don’t get me wrong; I’ve tried programming it not to do that but I’m technologically challenged and too lazy to actually read the manual. This is not good since my personal habit is to leave my keys in the car and close the door. Hence, I always use my 3 free roadside service visits from AAA.
I went on a 3-hour, 80 mile ride Thursday with Mario. Unless you count the hour we got lost. Then it’s more like 4-hours and 100 miles. Now don’t get me wrong; before you get all excited thinking I have a boyfriend, Mario is my scooter (as you may know if you read my blog, Just Gotta Scoot).
Mario and I took the back road trip from my home in San Rafael to the scooter shop for a tune-up in Santa Rosa. Turns out I learned a few things since our last extended journey. (There goes that live and learn lesson again.) Anyway, I thought I’d share my findings in case you also one day find yourself riding on the same gorgeous back roads through beautiful Marin and Sonoma Counties, which I also blogged about in My Slice of Paradise. (Yes, I’m shamelessly self-promoting.)
Well, I’m two-thirds of the way there so I figure #3 is lurking nearby, ready to pounce. Will I be driving, swerve to avoid a deer and crunch my car against a tree? Will I be walking the dogs when Skip, for the millionth time, stops directly in front of me for no apparent reason, whereupon I nosedive onto the sidewalk, breaking said nose? Or, more likely, it will have something to do with cats. It usually does.
Take injury #1 that occurred 3 weeks ago. I was trapping ferals for spay/neuter and using our new remote control drop trap for the first time. What an awesome invention. Cats are smart little buggers and they sometimes catch on to the fact that I’m trying to capture them, especially when I have to be present to operate a normal drop trap. They seem to know I’m hiding 50 feet away in the bed of a pickup, not-so-clandestinely peeking over the tailgate.
But with a remote control trap, I can be 200 feet away. Sometimes I need binoculars to see whether it’s a crow under there or a small black cat. But after testing the trap, I noticed it sometimes jammed when I pulled the trigger, failing to drop down all the way. This is not good. The cats were watching, like furry little spies, from behind wheels of parked cars, so I decided to test the trap again but catch it before the heavy metal hit the cement with a bang, scattering the ferals.
I never swore until I was out of my teens. Pretty shocking, huh? Let’s just say I was a good girl with my verbiage for most of my early years. As a kid, I never had to suck on a bar of soap like my sister did after being busted for swearing. I did, however, thoroughly enjoy watching her do so. Actually, I shocked myself the first time the word shit slipped from my lips. It felt wrong while at the same time strangely satisfying.
Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not some potty-mouthed person who is addicted to swearing. Please! I’m a nice Catholic girl who attended Church twice a year (Christmas and Easter) and now only for weddings and funerals. Hey, I never said I was perfect, did I?
Having said that, there’s something satisfying about cursing. When someone cuts me off on the freeway, darn it! just doesn’t cut it, you know? In the privacy of my vehicle, where nobody can hear me, I say what I imagine a truck driver might exclaim under similar circumstances. I’m guessing it’s pretty much a regular occurrence in that occupation.