On being 100 and in love. It's true.

A producer friend of mine out in LA shot this sweet little video for the LA Jewish Home.

It's a PSA/non-profit piece finished just in time for Valentine's Day.
Just a little a sweet little something.

When he first told me the story behind it, I cringed.

I don't need (nor want) to know about what folks do behind closed doors.
Especially when it comes to all that hanky panky talk.

Who said you can't be 100-years old and not madly in love with a young and vivacious 90-something?

These folks may have found their loves in an assisted living home, but they're spark isn't any different from the young romantics just starting their lives together.

Enjoy this piece and feel free to share this with others, especially as Valentine's Day approaches.

Nothing better than watching two lovies continue to be madly in love with each other.

At the end of my life, I hope to have someone close to my side.

I hope he goes to get me more Bingo cards.

And helps me with my tray whilst at the cafeteria.

And, assists me with my O2 tank.

And fixes any squeaks on my walker. 

And button my cardigans when I miss a few button holes.

And wants to watch old re-runs of SATC with me.

And doesn't mind if I take a little longer to put on red lipstick with my feeble hands.

Because after all, doesn't everyone want to look their best in love?

I'm AmericanBridget and this is a sweet little PSA video.

Friday I'm in love

Series ideation compliments of Summer B.  Go check out her blog.  Also, Claire over at Bicoastally participates in the series too.  You should head over there if you're so inclined.  Promise you won't be disappointed.

What an appropriate time to be blogging about things I love this week, this mere 3 days before Valentine's Day.

Today, I love . . . .

Brother's framed article about FamousDC.

If you don't follow that blog, you should.

Not just about politicos on the hill or random political riff raff that no one except hill staffers care about.

And, you don't need to live in DC to "get it".

I used to live there.  Trust me, half of the time I didn't get things.

This blog solves all insider mysteries and puts a smile on your face.

They're funny guys.

And their anonymous contributors are quite gifted at commentary as well.

"Joe Biden is great, but so is Doris at the local cafeteria".

Or you can Facebook them here. 

They'd love you forever if you did.

Josh Shultz and Amos Snead.  

Brilliant.  

So Bril.

Until recently they were anonymous and had folks inside the loop guessing.

It was so Wizard of Oz like

And then after 3 years, they came out of anonymity.

I've got cool family members.

Candles.

I've a wicked (in a good way) sense of smell.

I burn candles all day, every day when I am at home.

Some of the most soothing and relaxing smells come from  

Tyler Candle Co.

Made right here in Texas.  Lucky me.

I'm telling you, they make great gifts.

And can seep through an entire household.

If I were to magically receive $100  I'd buy a handful and stock up.

No doubt.

 

I want

I want a lot of things.


I go after what I want.  

(Most of the time).


When it comes to folks of the opposite gender, I've not been so lucky in love.  I've never been good at capturing what I want out of them.  Some say I've unobtainable expectations.  Or I think I like what I see initially and then it turns out he wasn't it.


I've decided (after watching a few more episodes of SATC) that I am not going to turn 35 and just settle.  Carrie Bradshaw didn't (though she should have ended up with Aiden in my humble opinion).  Charlotte dumped Trey and ended up happily ever after.  Miranda, well, that's just another story within a story.  And Samantha, she's just an anomaly.

I want . . . .

• I want someone who can tie a tie without having to refresh his memory by logging on to YouTube for tutorial.

• I want someone who can jump in the car for a weekend get-away and not  freak out about Monday mornings financial report summary due to the Boss-Man.  It. will. get. done.

• I want someone who makes decisions and plans ahead.

• I want someone who knows what a wine reduction sauce is.

• I want someone who doesn't worry at every single turn what amount is in his savings account.

• I want someone who will tuck their shirt into their khaki pants.  And then head back to the closet to finish it off with a belt.

• I want someone who loves his family more than his sports teams.

• I want someone who admires professional sports teams but doesn't get all bent out of shape if his team loses in the play-offs.

• I want someone who appreciates a splurge on an expensive bottle of wine every once in a while.

• I want someone who's favorite show isn't Two and Half Men.

• I want someone who doens't wait until the 11th hour to buy birthday and Christmas gifts and who spends time thinking about what the intended recipient might actually love (and I'm not just talking about gifts from him to me).

• I want someone who isn't worried about the emblem on the front of his car.

I want a lot of things, don't I?




I'm AmericanBridget, and I won't settle either.

Hey, it's OK Tuesday

Got this rad idea from The Writing Whisperer over here.   Her blog is satirical, heartfelt and hilarious all wrapped up into daily nuggets of goodness.


Glamour magazine has a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

...that I think the SB half-time show with the BEP was actually pretty entertaining while the rest of the country thought it was lack luster.

...that I could have cared less who won the SB.  I'm more of a collegiate football fan than I am watching over-paid athletes make absolute sick money whilst making horrible life decisions when it comes to fame and fortune (drugs, scandal, cheating).

...that even though I work in advertising for a living, I was not impressed with but only about 3 of the SB commercials this year. 

...that I could give a rat's batootie surrounding Chad Ochocinco's decision to drop the sur name Ochocincho and go back to his given sur name.   Prince?  The artist formerly known as Prince?  Back to Prince?  Puff Daddy?  P-Diddy?  Puffy?  Sean Combs?  WHO. FRIGGIN. CARES. 

...that I'm just not impressed with Ann Taylor's line of apparel this season.

...that I admit to having a hard time believing in the Miranda character on SITC re-runs knowing that Cynthia Nixon is gay.  It's fine that's she's gay, but the characters from SITC are so not gay that I just can't get into it that much any more.  And what's up with her spouse/wife/fiance looking like a true dude?  I'm just saying . . . .

...that I still loathe the gym and decided not to even go near it yesterday. 

...that while I should have given The Beagles a much needed bath last night, but my raging headache over ruled that decision in a hurry.

Reader advice

Calling all my readers . . . .

It's time.
Time to update my blog look.
Time to tweak it to perfection.
Time to style it just so.
I've been searching around trying to find the perfect person/company to design my blog.


Suggestions, recommendations?  Point me in the right direction.


P.S. 
A little Monday lovin'

Nerds on a walk in the snow last week.

The gym is like Satan's kitchen

Things I hate strongly dislike (in no particular order)

• Plumber butt cracks
• The gym
• Bean sprouts
• Black ice 
• Not getting mail service for 4 days in a row (thank you USPS)
• Chihuahuas
• Sweaty gym equipment
• Venicen (and you can't fool me by putting it in chili and calling it beef either)
• The gym
• Doing poop patrol after The Beagles in great efforts to keep the yard free of dog turds (it's almost a full-time job these days)
• Peas
• Treadmills
• Weight lifting
• Anne Coulter
• Stationary bicycles
• Star Jones
• Water fountains
• Fanta
• The gym

Find anything interesting about the above?  I can get away in life hating disliking most of  aforementioned by way of avoidance to which those said items don't interfere with my day.  However, that whole gym thing isn't something I can avoid. a. single. minute. longer.

And so it goes after week 1 at the gym. . .

Satan's Kitchen.

The Butt Crack and Pit Smell Factory.

The Shower Stall Stench Fest

The Glistening Sweat-infested Machine Manor

The I'm-so-intimidated-get-me-out-of-here Hell Hole

Of course my efforts to be discreet by way of strategically selecting a machine in the back row so that I blend into things and people can't stare at me don't exactly pan out.  I pick the one and only machine that creeks and groans every time I move on the stair steps.  Good Lord, I have my iPod ear buds in jamming away to Bon Jovi in my own corner of the world, and I can hear the machine screetching and moaning over the more-than-necessary high volume of "Living on a Prayer".  I'm living on a prayer alright.  Praying the hottness next to me isn't internally laughing at the girl on the machine next to him who clearly weighs a little more than necessary and should have had a treatment done on her hair weeks ago as to avoid the 1.5 inch roots.




Moving onto the stationary bicycle. . . I select a bike that is again out of the line of focus of the row of hot boys I notice (and FYI,  still outta my league).  Any minute I expect Dallas Barbie to come prancing in to meet Dallas Ken and run off happily ever after - TOGETHER.  Back to the bike. . . 3 minutes in and my ass hurts.  Like, the seat is pretty big, but my ass is really hurting.  I've got 27 more minutes to go.  I'm on level 4 which seems pretty doable.  Holy heck, things seem to be spinning out of control (humor me, folks).  Sweat is pouring down like a rain shower in the middle of the day in the Amazon.  I'm close to being out of breath and probably look like I'm in the middle of a panic attack.  I can imagine some poor trainer might spot me across the way, take one look at my hot mess and grab a paper bag expecting me to have to breathe in and out of it any second now.  And my ass still hurts.  Who manufactures these things?  People with no feeling in their lower extremities?  Why can't it be comfortable and fluffy, like my own ass?  If I were to invent something to save all of mankind, I'd invest a comfortable and fluffy stationary bike seat.  You heard it here FIRST.




Bike escapade over.  Now I have to climb a few flights of stairs to get out of this gym.  Wait,  I can't feel my legs.  Panic engulfs me.   More hot boys out of my league spotted in my line of vision.  Oh crap-o-la - I accidentally catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  Wait, was that an extra fat roll on my back?  When the heck did that grow?  Why is it obviously that much more apparent at the gym in front of all these people?  Oh right, the hideous florescent lights that show every gross detail on my body.  Oh no, did I just see an extra ring around the belly?  Holy Moses, when did that creep there?  My mirrors at home must be severely lying to me.  Huge regret for eating that cookie with M&Ms last night sets in.




I leave the gym in one piece feeling anxiously mortified only to do it all over again tomorrow.  Project Ryan is going to remain in full effect.




I hate the gym.  Have you heard?