Last week sometime, I asked you all to send me your favorite Olympic athletes to post on FROS and several of you did. Unfortunately, I’m not an organized sort of FROS woman and I can’t find them, which is a darned shame because I remember looking at them and thinking, “WHOA, BABY!” which is the exact reaction we, here at FROS WORLD, want to impart to all of our faithful FROSers.

So I was forced to find my own. I found a great picture of a runner — verrah tasty, if I say so myself — but it turns out he was disqualified for doping. Can’t use him. Great muscles are a must, but FROS men aren’t just pretty faces. They’re also great bods and, as we all know, possible Hero Material. So I had to find another. Fortunately, I found EXACTLY what I was looking for in the swimming competition.

Without any further ado, here is this week’s GOING FOR THE GOLD FROS:

Tomorrow, USA swimmer, Michael Phelps is going for the gold. I don’t know about you, but I’ll be glued to my set! GO, PHELPS!

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Recently,�two different authors�asked me to give them quotes. I agreed to those, but I often do refuse requests, because I just don�t have time to read the books, and I won’t give a quote without reading the book. Besides, I sometimes wonder if there�s any point to author quotes anyway.

Years ago, I gave a quote to a fellow writer whose book blew me away. Then several of my friends read it � and were not blown away. The author has gone on to get good reviews and gain success, so obviously I wasn�t alone, but�it did make me question my taste. And wonder if readers questioned it, too.

So here�s my mini-quiz:�

1. Have you ever bought a book because an author you�d heard of raved about it, either online, in a quote, or to friends?
2. If you did, did you share the author’s opinion?
3. If you didn�t share it, did the recommendation sour you on the author giving it, or just on the author receiving�it?
4. Which do you put more stock in: the opinion of an author whose work you enjoy or the opinion of a friend whose taste you know you share?

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Yesterday I was doing errands and my Honda’s AC died.  Muttering (use your imagination), because it’s, like FL and it’s, like, hotter than heck, I did all my errands and started for home.   A block from home I noticed not only the AC had stopped, but so apparently had the coolant system.  Billowing out of my hood were great clouds of smelly smoke.

My first thought:  “@$#@!  I just filled the tank up with gas!  There’s fifty bucks down the drain.  If I have to junk this car, I’m siphoning the gas.”  I made it home and parked well away from my trees, in the event the car spontaneously bursted into flames.  This did not happen, luckily.   On Saturday I will take my car to the shop – to the same man who frowned at me two weeks ago for allowing my car to get down to a quarter of a quart of oil.

Not a quart.  A quarter of a quart.  Well, I just forgot about the oil.  I’ve been a little busy lately!  He said, “Didn’t you hear it rattling?!?!?” I said, “No.  I’m deaf in one ear.  I don’t hear anything.”  (I do hear the radio, which was probably why I didn’t hear the rattling, but I thought it unwise to say this.)

So now I have to take my car back to this guy and he will probably frown at me again.  Sigh.   I am expecting a huge car repair bill and it’s probably not worth it.  I was planning to buy a car sometime before Christmas, but this may speed my timetable significantly. 

So now I will have to start test driving cars.  My car is a 1995 Honda Accord, and I bought it new, so I haven’t been inside a showroom in years.  I did visit a showroom briefly in 2002 when I thought the Honda had died, but didn’t end up buying a car because the Honda was revived to live 6 more years.  I have not seriously car shopped since 1990.  I feel like I am starting to date again.  I am TERRIFIED. 

Not because I don’t know what I want, because I know exactly what I want.  I’ve had 14 years to pick out my next car.  And if I were rich (and I’m not), and didn’t have a kid starting college (which I do), I would get this one, LOL. 

I’m terrified because the last time I went to a car dealership, evil things ensued.  I got pissed off at some car salesman who was doing a bait-n-switch and I let him know, articulately and LOUDLY, that I was displeased. Mr. R thought it was well-justified and hilarious besides.  I was mortified at myself.  And that’s not my only debacle.  Back in 1990, Mr. R and I were buying a used car and the conversation went something like this:

Salesman:  We have several fine vehicles.
Me:  I know.  My husband test drove this one and LOVED it.  We’re willing to pay $X,XXX.” (and I told him the exact number of dollars, which was the sticker price.) 
Mr. R:  AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!

Mr. R was LIVID.  It was December 30 and we could have gotten the car for about 60% of what I stupidly revealed.  My excuse was that I was pregnant.  I think that excuse trumps most anything.  Mr. R disagrees and says I’m not allowed to speak to the salesman ever again when it comes time to negotiate.

So, now I must face the dreaded car salesman again.  Any tips?  Any funny stories?  Anybody else forget to put oil in their car and incur the justfied ire of the mechanic?  Anybody else’s DH forbid them to negotiate with the car dealer?

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Here we are, in the middle of yet another exciting Thursday and for today, in an effort to avoid laundry, paperwork, meetings, and children’s soccer practice, I thought we’d amuse ourselves with the ever popular Caption That Picture Game!

Here’s our picture:

Have you ever seen a pout/sneer/whatever-it-is like that? Made me grin just to see it.

Here, I’ll start our captioning drama:

HE: This IS my smile, witch-woman!
SHE: And this is mine, Bubba. Now take off that fancy hat and get back in the kitchen!

How would you caption this picture?

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The other day my neighbor lost her car. Well, she didn’t actually lose it, just temporarily misplaced it in an airport parking lot. It seems that she and her hubby were rushing to catch a plane and forgot to note where they parked.

So late one night I get an SOS call, asking me to go search their taxes records in their house to try and find their license tag number, because if airport security has the tag number, they can at least identify where the car might be in the acres and acres of parked cars. Being a good neighbor, I drag my dh over to her house to help me, and we spend a full hour searching through 10 years of tax records. Meanwhile, the entire time she and her hubby are driving up and down miles of rows in an airport security officer’s car, repeatedly punching their car’s remote button in hopes of setting off the alarm so they can locate the sucker.

We never did find the license tag number in the tax records. Evidently she had misplaced those documents, too! But just as we gave up the search, we heard their car alarm go off over our cell phone. Eureka – they had found it!

The moral of the story, I guess, is that if you park your car in an airport parking lot, you should jot down the location on your parking stub, so when you come back from vacation a week later, tired from all the fun, you’ll at least have a way home. And maybe that being a compulsively organized pack rat (like me) isn’t such a bad thing.

It drives me nuts when I lose things so I religiously endeavor to keep track of stuff. I’ve never lost anything as big as a car, but I go on a tirade if I misplace my favorite pencils, for example. I once lost a hard contact lens on a tennis court and I wouldn’t go home until I found it. My OCD paid off, however, when I located it 3 courts away, outside a chain link fence in a dirt ditch, where the wind had blown it. I kid you not. That was back when contacts were tres expensive, and I was pretty proud of myself for playing Sherlock Holmes.

What about you? What’s the most important thing you ever lost and did you find it? Do you lose things often? If so, do you just let it go, or do you keep hunting till you drive yourself crazy? Oh, and do you ever forget where you’ve parked your car?

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Mr. G and I just built a new house and we’ve been moving for the past week. I thought it would take just a day or two, but I am into day seven and I am only half way unpacked. I just got my office put together… well sort of. Mr. G just finished putting my desk up and I’m finally back on the internet. I haven’t had access to the internet for seven days, and while it drove me crazy, it was kind of nice too.

Building the house took an enormous amount of my time and energy, but it only took about six months to complete. During those six months I heard all kinds of horror stories. Like showers that leaked and tiles that cracked, but I didn’t have any problems–knock on wood. I haven’t had any problems with the moving part either–again, knock on wood.

How about you all? Any building or moving horror stories?

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Have you heard of it? It’s a video game with a drum set, a microphone, and a guitar (a second guitar comes extra—I got it). You play rock songs much in the same way as Guitar Hero, only this is better because it’s a full band. You play classic rock numbers and if you play them well you get a better van and nicer wardrobe. You get to play tougher songs and to play them in better clubs. You get to create your own avatar starting with sex, hair, skin color, height and weight, facial characteristics, and wardrobe (including shoes and jewelry).

I am, without being coy, in love with this game.

I turn on Rock Band and swear I am only going to play one song. One. The next thing I know I’m being forcibly pulled away from the guitar by one of my sons and told that it’s time for me to write. Well.

My avatar, Topper, is a petite redhead with razor cut hair and the cutest rock chick outfit. She plays lead guitar. She plays on the easy level and she messes up, but she’s getting better all the time. Plus, she’s so cute. How can she not have fans? She grabs her guitar and riffs and the crowd goes wild.

Or they start booing and the power goes out. Whatever. Every star has to start somewhere.

Have you ever played a video game? What was your first? Do you play Rock Band? What’s your favorite game?

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