Apparently I don't blog anymore. I'm going to try to un-not blog, so just to catch up on some things I may have blogged about if I'd been blogging since the last entry, here's a few quick notes...
-On Halloween, my lucky day, I got into a 4 car accident on 83 on my way home from work. You know you live too close to your family when 5 minutes after pulling onto the shoulder in hyper-panic mode, you get a phone call from your aunt who just drove by you to see if you're ok. She's also calling to let you know that she's already informed my uncle, who's just 5 minutes behind her, to be ready to pull over in approximately 1.43 miles to assist. And don't worry, the unfortunate more than fender bender didn't mess up my plans of nothing for Halloween night.
-Never work in an industry where you may some day have to deal with people who do what you do. It simply makes you realize the actual extent of incompetence of people in this world.
And a few inspired by Thanksgiving dinner with the fam....we know this could be a blog entry in itself, but I'll spare you the obvious details of inappropriate dinner conversation, etc...
-When did my dog become cooler than me? I noticed at dinner the other night that my parents told 17 stories about a day in the life of Jersey. I only came up when the conversations switched over to the economy, and my mother used me as an example as someone who was struggling to make ends meet.
-My cousins (all between the ages of 7 and 17) skipped dessert to watch Grey's Anatomy. I think when I was 7, I watched the Smurfs, and the ultra-mature late night tv show, Full House. But I always found something else to do while my mother was watching Knot's Landing.
-I lost in Scrabble by 5. For the record I would just like to state that had we played with my rules, or, if my uncle hadn't snuck in at the last minute to help my grandmother use up all of her tiles right before my last turn when I was going to be able to use up the rest of my tiles, I would have won. By a landslide. The game would not even have been close. But I'm fine. Totally cool with coming in second. Second in a game that I should have won...
Monday, November 26, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
I'm Very Busy and Important You Know
This morning after successfully squeezing my lunch into the overflowing work refrigerator, and while cleaning up a spilled cup of coffee from my over-tired clumsiness, I started to think of all the ridiculously easy things that I put off simply because I'm very busy. OK fine. Because I'm very lazy.
- Throwing away old food in the fridge. Sometimes, I actually leave things in the fridge so long that I don't know what they are anymore, causing me to decide to throw the way-to-expensive tupperware away along with it, simply to avoid opening the lid and passing out from extreme potent smell of unknown substance.
- Getting gas. Sometimes I put it off so long that I'm actually worried that I'll break down somewhere between my house and the BP on the corner.
- Hanging up laundry. I don't actually mind doing the laundry. But putting the clothes away sometimes never even happens. And then I end up rewashing clean clothes because I can no longer tell the difference.
- Emptying the dishwasher. Filling it, fine. Emptying it, boring. Time consuming. And I always stab myself when reaching for the silverware.
- Washing my hair. I will actually plan my hair washing around events. For example, my hair was clean yesterday, but not straightened. And so even though I washed it Saturday night, I rewashed it Sunday morning so that I would not have to redo my hair before work on Monday. Allow me to elaborate here and say that its not the actual hair washing, but the hair styling that I tend to try my darnedest to avoid.
- Returning library books or Blockbuster movies. Let's just say I'm on my mothers Blockbuster card because I'm pretty sure my name is plastered on the walls of all of the local BB locations saying "Do not rent to this woman." I don't know, it just seems like a waste of perfectly good time to drive to Blockbuster just to drop off a movie. I should just wait until I'm ready to rent the next one, right? And frankly, I'm saving gas by not unnecessary driving around town making returns...therefore putting off having to do #2 above just a little bit longer. (Same goes to say with the library books.)
- Getting an oil change. I know I know, 3000 miles. But the thought of sitting in a Jiffy Lube waiting room alone for an hour, staring at the coffee bar that never has brewed coffee just sounds to painful to tolerate.
- Returning unwanted merchandise back to the store. Refer to #6.
- Saving myself $10 a week and brewing my own damn coffee. But really, its just not the same as it is at Dunks.
- Carrying heavy/awkward things in to my house from my car. For example, a case of water. Had been in car when weather was not excruciatingly hot so I'd always have water for the gym. Now after 3 months of hotness, and not drinking the boiled water, I finally brought it in and put it in the fridge. Hoping its not now poisonous. Other examples of things that don't make it inside right away...new vacuum, paper shredder, other largely boxed items...
OK, so rereading my list of ten makes me worry that some of these things make you now think I'm dirty. I'm not. My house is very clean. I do shower every day...just not always with hair-washing. And fine, the food in the fridge thing is pretty gross, but admit it...you too should have a lot more tupperware in your cabinet than you do...
Friday, September 7, 2007
Living in a Gangster's Paradise
I've really been stepping outside the box, if I do say so myself. I've once again, removed my high-heeled shoes to walk into a less girlie, more tomboy sort of world. Although this time, when I say "tomboy" I actually mean to say "gangster."
I can no longer say I've never shot a gun. (Sorry Mom.)
I entered Continental Arms in Towson during the course of a small panic attack. Up until that actual moment, I was excited...curious...I really just wanted to see if I could hit even hit the target. But walking in, signing the release, handing over my ID that pictures me in the days before I became a gunwoman...I was terrified. I was given safety glasses and earmuffs to lesser the risk of danger. But where's my helmet? My bullet proof vest? My eyesight and hearing will be no good to me when I'm dead, I thought!
I eventually had to stop panicking when I finally got into the "range." (Notice my fancy terms...more to come.) Picture a large room, with 13 lanes (great number when dealing with GUNS), separated only by a little mini 3 ft. wide wall. Technically, at any given time, some stranger could decide they don't like your shirt and take you out. It actually looks like a scene you'd see in prison, minus the ability to freely shoot guns at targets....
Anyway...it took me a while to work up the courage to actually shoot. I think I ended up shooting 10 bullets over the course of an entire hour, where everyone else probably shot that in one run...but that's OK. I had no idea what to expect when I pulled the trigger of the very scary handgun...a ".45" if you really want to get specific. This gun (all guns maybe) definitely has a "kick." What's a kick? Kick your leg. That's a kick. And this is the motion my entire upper body encountered right after I pulled the trigger.
I'm told I hit the target more often than not. I've got a battle wound (long manicured nails and shooting not a good combo.) And today, I've answered to my new nickname of "Sniper." So I'd say think twice before you mess with me...I could be armed and dangerous...
(Sorry Mom.)
I can no longer say I've never shot a gun. (Sorry Mom.)
I entered Continental Arms in Towson during the course of a small panic attack. Up until that actual moment, I was excited...curious...I really just wanted to see if I could hit even hit the target. But walking in, signing the release, handing over my ID that pictures me in the days before I became a gunwoman...I was terrified. I was given safety glasses and earmuffs to lesser the risk of danger. But where's my helmet? My bullet proof vest? My eyesight and hearing will be no good to me when I'm dead, I thought!
I eventually had to stop panicking when I finally got into the "range." (Notice my fancy terms...more to come.) Picture a large room, with 13 lanes (great number when dealing with GUNS), separated only by a little mini 3 ft. wide wall. Technically, at any given time, some stranger could decide they don't like your shirt and take you out. It actually looks like a scene you'd see in prison, minus the ability to freely shoot guns at targets....
Anyway...it took me a while to work up the courage to actually shoot. I think I ended up shooting 10 bullets over the course of an entire hour, where everyone else probably shot that in one run...but that's OK. I had no idea what to expect when I pulled the trigger of the very scary handgun...a ".45" if you really want to get specific. This gun (all guns maybe) definitely has a "kick." What's a kick? Kick your leg. That's a kick. And this is the motion my entire upper body encountered right after I pulled the trigger.
I'm told I hit the target more often than not. I've got a battle wound (long manicured nails and shooting not a good combo.) And today, I've answered to my new nickname of "Sniper." So I'd say think twice before you mess with me...I could be armed and dangerous...
(Sorry Mom.)
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
I Got an "A" In This Class
Buyer behavior analysis was a great class in my marketing track in college. I just think not enough people enrolled in it...
I get them all the time...spend $50, get $10 dollars off...spend $75 dollars, get $25 dollars off...you know the deal...the full color postcards that come in the mail from all your favorite credit card issuers.
The same postcards that you never seem to have on you when you happen to be shopping.
I thought, though, that I'd figured it all out. I placed all of these fancy discount cards in the one place I always am...my car. I have at least 47 for Bed Bath & Beyond...and one each for NY&Co. and The Limited. Conveniently, the other day when I decided to stop at the mall to buy a last minute get-up for my aunt's 40th birthday party, I didn't have to go home first.
But I wasn't surprised when I couldn't find the one I needed. I parked at the mall entrance of my choice, conveniently near the destination, and began to dig through my slowly building pile of money saving heaven. And then, I realized....ohhh no. Where is the one I need? Too tired and unmotivated to turn around, I shopped sans coupon.
At the register I asked..."Can I bring my receipt back with the coupon later to apply the discount."
Response, "We can't apply a coupon to a prior purchase." Huh, really? You CAN'T? Or you won't? I'm guessing the latter.
I'm a woman with an occasional cash flow that seems to burn in my pocket. Why, then, would you not want me to re-enter your store at a later date? Do you really think I'm going to come in and leave without a bag? Because I won't. But now, I have no reason to come back. At least not until I have another event that demands a slightly more fashionable appearance than what my current closet presents to me.
When I don't have my Giant bonus card on me, they let me type my phone number, or, they use a generic "good for anyone" card that they keep handily at the register. So why then, if you know you send at least 10 postcards a month (and somehow, I'm on the mailing list twice, so do the math) can you not apply the coupon if I say I have one. It can't be that unbelievable that I would.
Now sure, my guess is some people might take advantage and say they had a coupon even if they didn't. But so what? You're still making a sale, possibly gaining a new customer, and, you're saving money on the direct mail you might have had to send to get that person to come into your store in the first place. My bet is it all adds up.
It turns out that I'm returning half the stuff I bought anyway. This is called buyer's remorse...one who makes a purchase, and immediately regrets it afterward. So, after my return, the coupon wouldn't have made a difference because now I haven't spent enough to have used it in the first place.
Although, I wonder...if I'd spent less, maybe it wouldn't be worth the trouble of returning since I'd have gotten a good deal anyway...
I get them all the time...spend $50, get $10 dollars off...spend $75 dollars, get $25 dollars off...you know the deal...the full color postcards that come in the mail from all your favorite credit card issuers.
The same postcards that you never seem to have on you when you happen to be shopping.
I thought, though, that I'd figured it all out. I placed all of these fancy discount cards in the one place I always am...my car. I have at least 47 for Bed Bath & Beyond...and one each for NY&Co. and The Limited. Conveniently, the other day when I decided to stop at the mall to buy a last minute get-up for my aunt's 40th birthday party, I didn't have to go home first.
But I wasn't surprised when I couldn't find the one I needed. I parked at the mall entrance of my choice, conveniently near the destination, and began to dig through my slowly building pile of money saving heaven. And then, I realized....ohhh no. Where is the one I need? Too tired and unmotivated to turn around, I shopped sans coupon.
At the register I asked..."Can I bring my receipt back with the coupon later to apply the discount."
Response, "We can't apply a coupon to a prior purchase." Huh, really? You CAN'T? Or you won't? I'm guessing the latter.
I'm a woman with an occasional cash flow that seems to burn in my pocket. Why, then, would you not want me to re-enter your store at a later date? Do you really think I'm going to come in and leave without a bag? Because I won't. But now, I have no reason to come back. At least not until I have another event that demands a slightly more fashionable appearance than what my current closet presents to me.
When I don't have my Giant bonus card on me, they let me type my phone number, or, they use a generic "good for anyone" card that they keep handily at the register. So why then, if you know you send at least 10 postcards a month (and somehow, I'm on the mailing list twice, so do the math) can you not apply the coupon if I say I have one. It can't be that unbelievable that I would.
Now sure, my guess is some people might take advantage and say they had a coupon even if they didn't. But so what? You're still making a sale, possibly gaining a new customer, and, you're saving money on the direct mail you might have had to send to get that person to come into your store in the first place. My bet is it all adds up.
It turns out that I'm returning half the stuff I bought anyway. This is called buyer's remorse...one who makes a purchase, and immediately regrets it afterward. So, after my return, the coupon wouldn't have made a difference because now I haven't spent enough to have used it in the first place.
Although, I wonder...if I'd spent less, maybe it wouldn't be worth the trouble of returning since I'd have gotten a good deal anyway...
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
When It Rains It Pours...
Why exactly must it be true that when it rains it pours? Figuratively speaking of course. Because when it really does rain, it doesn't always pour. Sometimes, its just a mist, or even a drizzle. Often its just a brief shower. Rarely though, does it actually pour. At least not here, not lately.
Except figuratively. When it rains in this figurative world, it most always drowns me like a sewer rat.
For example, how BGE goes up 70% the same year we have a heat wave.
Or the day you decide to actually utilize your sunroof happens to be the day you leave for vacation without your car. It's also the same day they are calling for, ironically, a thunderstorm...and you get a phone call when you're halfway to Myrtle Beach advising you that you forgot to close it.
Or, like this...
Last Tuesday (I think), I overslept. I woke up just before 8:30 (that's right, almost an hour after I usually get to work.) My alarm, which I had incorporated as background noise in my dream on this morning, had gone off promptly at 6:27 am, as it has for the past 2 years.
Once I finally got in the car, I noticed, huh, empty gas tank. Fantastic. Well, this just so happened to be the same morning that everyone else in the Owings Mills metropolitan area also needed gas AND decided to use the BP on the corner of Greenspring Valley and Reisterstown Road.
Three years later, I was able to restart my venture to work. 12 years later, after travelling approximately 10 mph down 83 south, I parked in my parking lot. This lot is one where you sometimes have to double park and leave your keys with the attendant. Today is one of those sometimes. So, like a master, I back in, lock my doors, and venture toward the attendant hut.
Then I noticed the slowly building line of people. Of course! The attendant was not there. A "will return in 5 minutes sign" was there in his place though. Fantastic. So, myself, and the two nice girls I made friends with that morning chatted as we waited 20 ridiculous minutes for his non-arrival.
We waited until an older, wiser woman parked her car, pulled back the locked door just enough to drop her keys inside, looked at us as if to say "Suckers, how long have you been waiting here!" and then headed off to her daily routine. Exchanging glances, we took turns holding back the door, dropped our keys inside, and silently prayed that the man would not only eventually return, but also find and safely store away our keys.
Except figuratively. When it rains in this figurative world, it most always drowns me like a sewer rat.
For example, how BGE goes up 70% the same year we have a heat wave.
Or the day you decide to actually utilize your sunroof happens to be the day you leave for vacation without your car. It's also the same day they are calling for, ironically, a thunderstorm...and you get a phone call when you're halfway to Myrtle Beach advising you that you forgot to close it.
Or, like this...
Last Tuesday (I think), I overslept. I woke up just before 8:30 (that's right, almost an hour after I usually get to work.) My alarm, which I had incorporated as background noise in my dream on this morning, had gone off promptly at 6:27 am, as it has for the past 2 years.
Once I finally got in the car, I noticed, huh, empty gas tank. Fantastic. Well, this just so happened to be the same morning that everyone else in the Owings Mills metropolitan area also needed gas AND decided to use the BP on the corner of Greenspring Valley and Reisterstown Road.
Three years later, I was able to restart my venture to work. 12 years later, after travelling approximately 10 mph down 83 south, I parked in my parking lot. This lot is one where you sometimes have to double park and leave your keys with the attendant. Today is one of those sometimes. So, like a master, I back in, lock my doors, and venture toward the attendant hut.
Then I noticed the slowly building line of people. Of course! The attendant was not there. A "will return in 5 minutes sign" was there in his place though. Fantastic. So, myself, and the two nice girls I made friends with that morning chatted as we waited 20 ridiculous minutes for his non-arrival.
We waited until an older, wiser woman parked her car, pulled back the locked door just enough to drop her keys inside, looked at us as if to say "Suckers, how long have you been waiting here!" and then headed off to her daily routine. Exchanging glances, we took turns holding back the door, dropped our keys inside, and silently prayed that the man would not only eventually return, but also find and safely store away our keys.
This, clearly, is the same day that I'm at work until after 7:00. And so obviously, upon return to the parking lot, the attendant had decided to take his next break, and coincidentally, leave a "will return in 5 minutes" sign on the locked door where my keys may or may not be hanging just 2 feet away, inside.
And then it started to rain.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Are You My Mommy?
July 30, 2007
Right on schedule, my mini-girls dinner group met up at CPK (again) this past Friday. Clearly, we are creatures of habit.
Conversations were all over the place...from houses to jobs to tales of our recent vacations. And eventually they led into a land I have not yet crossed into...marriage. As a bystander during an "in-laws" conversation, I felt the need to propose the question, "So when do you start calling your in-laws Mom & Dad?"
This is when I found out (again) that my family is abnormal. I immediately received the response "Never" in unison from both.
In my family, my grandparents are known as Mom & Dad to all daughter and son in-laws. I don't remember it ever being any differently. And then I wondered, what if my aunt had married someone who didn't feel comfortable doing that...would it be looked down upon that "Mom & Dad" were only Carole & Arnold to him?
And as if there aren't enough other things to worry about when thinking about marriage, I now have to worry about what to call the in-laws, and what my non-existent husband will call my parents? Will they even want to be called Mom & Dad? What if my Dad, after being referred to as Nas, says "Call me Dad." And what if invisible husband says, "Nah, you're not my dad."
Oh boy oh boy...I'm furthering my research into this topic...
These sites are pro first name...
weddingideas.com
http://ths.gardenweb.com/forums/load/marriage/msg0822265816809.html
The consensus here was, "I already have a Mom & Dad...and these strange people are not my parents!"
I'm happy to say that Fox News did a story on this...and I quote Daniel Altiere..."Traditionally, "Mom" and "Dad" were what you called your new parents-in-law. This was determined through solid scientific research; I asked my parents."
To my surprise, I think I'd still have to conclude (based on a panel of people questioned today) that it is more common to call the in-laws Frank and Jane (assuming these were their names) than it is to call them Mom & Dad.
There must be other families besides mine and Daniel Altiere's that go with the latter! After all, in Father of the Bride, Brian goes from calling Annie's father George, to Dad, right after the engagement, so it can't be that strange...
Right on schedule, my mini-girls dinner group met up at CPK (again) this past Friday. Clearly, we are creatures of habit.
Conversations were all over the place...from houses to jobs to tales of our recent vacations. And eventually they led into a land I have not yet crossed into...marriage. As a bystander during an "in-laws" conversation, I felt the need to propose the question, "So when do you start calling your in-laws Mom & Dad?"
This is when I found out (again) that my family is abnormal. I immediately received the response "Never" in unison from both.
In my family, my grandparents are known as Mom & Dad to all daughter and son in-laws. I don't remember it ever being any differently. And then I wondered, what if my aunt had married someone who didn't feel comfortable doing that...would it be looked down upon that "Mom & Dad" were only Carole & Arnold to him?
And as if there aren't enough other things to worry about when thinking about marriage, I now have to worry about what to call the in-laws, and what my non-existent husband will call my parents? Will they even want to be called Mom & Dad? What if my Dad, after being referred to as Nas, says "Call me Dad." And what if invisible husband says, "Nah, you're not my dad."
Oh boy oh boy...I'm furthering my research into this topic...
These sites are pro first name...
weddingideas.com
http://ths.gardenweb.com/forums/load/marriage/msg0822265816809.html
The consensus here was, "I already have a Mom & Dad...and these strange people are not my parents!"
I'm happy to say that Fox News did a story on this...and I quote Daniel Altiere..."Traditionally, "Mom" and "Dad" were what you called your new parents-in-law. This was determined through solid scientific research; I asked my parents."
To my surprise, I think I'd still have to conclude (based on a panel of people questioned today) that it is more common to call the in-laws Frank and Jane (assuming these were their names) than it is to call them Mom & Dad.
There must be other families besides mine and Daniel Altiere's that go with the latter! After all, in Father of the Bride, Brian goes from calling Annie's father George, to Dad, right after the engagement, so it can't be that strange...
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Livin' On the Edge
One day back at work after a week long vacation with the fam has me yearning for yet, another vacation. Frankly, my vacation itself had me needing a vacation from my vacation, but that's besides the point. With the stress of life in the real world kicking back in full swing after only a matter of minutes, I couldn't help but realize...
While at the beach, I watched as my uncle and cousins gallivanted between activity a through z in a days time. I remember being younger and feeling the need to be occupied every moment of the day during my days off of school. Isn't it funny how only a few years later, I find activities on vacation a hassle? My favorite part of the day (as shared by my mom and aunt) is waking up after 10 to a full pot of coffee and a repeat of Ellen. Sad but true, one of the days, we remained in lounge pants and t-shirts until it was time to shower and go to dinner. I think this was my favoritist day of all.
Don't get me wrong...I would have been more than happy to attend the Dixie Stampede, or Edwin McCain at House of Blues if I'd had any takers. Other than those two things, I was good. Well, those two and outlet shopping, which I did leave the place for on a few separate occasions...
Another thing I wondered...
Who had such an uninteresting, unstressful, inactive and easy life that they felt the need to create crazy dangerous "activities" like para sailing, skydiving and bungee jumping?
In case you are wondering as much as I was:
Para sailing: In the early 60's, a man by the name of Pierre Lamoigne attached a parachute to his moving car and invented para sailing. It was the 1970s when Mark McCulloh made history by using this method at sea.
Sky diving: Began with a descent from a balloon by André-Jacques Garnerin in 1797. Skydiving was used by the military since the early 1900s. It became an official "sport" in 1951, but Lew Sanborn and Jacques Istel started the first non military drop zone and training center in 1959.
Bungee Jumping: Bungee jumping as we know it today actually started on April Fools' Day 1979 when group of people from the Oxford U's Dangerous Sport Club jumped from 245-Clifton Suspension Bridge in Bristol, England. But it wasn't until 1988 when AJ Hackett, a New Zealand adventurer pioneered the sport and opened the first jump site. And, as if that wasn't scary enough for this carefree crazy, he's now planning a 4,920 foot fall from a helicopter.
Yeah, that DOES sound fun! About as fun as laying down in the center lane of I-95, just to see what happens...
As if a regular work day, or weekend full of errands and bill paying isn't enough to make your stomach churn, these guys needed more? I can't be sure, but perhaps someone should have looked into the mental wellness of said hobby inventors to find out what exactly drove them to crave potential death by parachute.
While at the beach, I watched as my uncle and cousins gallivanted between activity a through z in a days time. I remember being younger and feeling the need to be occupied every moment of the day during my days off of school. Isn't it funny how only a few years later, I find activities on vacation a hassle? My favorite part of the day (as shared by my mom and aunt) is waking up after 10 to a full pot of coffee and a repeat of Ellen. Sad but true, one of the days, we remained in lounge pants and t-shirts until it was time to shower and go to dinner. I think this was my favoritist day of all.
Don't get me wrong...I would have been more than happy to attend the Dixie Stampede, or Edwin McCain at House of Blues if I'd had any takers. Other than those two things, I was good. Well, those two and outlet shopping, which I did leave the place for on a few separate occasions...
Another thing I wondered...
Who had such an uninteresting, unstressful, inactive and easy life that they felt the need to create crazy dangerous "activities" like para sailing, skydiving and bungee jumping?
In case you are wondering as much as I was:
Para sailing: In the early 60's, a man by the name of Pierre Lamoigne attached a parachute to his moving car and invented para sailing. It was the 1970s when Mark McCulloh made history by using this method at sea.
Sky diving: Began with a descent from a balloon by André-Jacques Garnerin in 1797. Skydiving was used by the military since the early 1900s. It became an official "sport" in 1951, but Lew Sanborn and Jacques Istel started the first non military drop zone and training center in 1959.
Bungee Jumping: Bungee jumping as we know it today actually started on April Fools' Day 1979 when group of people from the Oxford U's Dangerous Sport Club jumped from 245-Clifton Suspension Bridge in Bristol, England. But it wasn't until 1988 when AJ Hackett, a New Zealand adventurer pioneered the sport and opened the first jump site. And, as if that wasn't scary enough for this carefree crazy, he's now planning a 4,920 foot fall from a helicopter.
Yeah, that DOES sound fun! About as fun as laying down in the center lane of I-95, just to see what happens...
As if a regular work day, or weekend full of errands and bill paying isn't enough to make your stomach churn, these guys needed more? I can't be sure, but perhaps someone should have looked into the mental wellness of said hobby inventors to find out what exactly drove them to crave potential death by parachute.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Just Call Me Mrs. Fix It
There are a ton of things in the world I haven't done. I've never jumped out of a plane, never been camping, and I've never been mountain climbing. I've never even been to Las Vegas, or even really anywhere off the East Coast.
Recently, though, my eyes were opened to some other things I've never done that are right here in my hometown. Things I might not consider doing, but with a push, and a little bit of naivety, I did it...
This weekend, I went on a mystery outing. Here are some clues...can you guess where I went?
It costs money.
It's manual labor.
It does not involve animals, water, or safety equipment.
It does involve other equipment.
It is not a sport.
There are several places located in the surrounding Baltimore area.
You do not dress nicely, and you will get dirty.
Ooh, and, here's a kicker...its a sin in some countries.
Well, I was baffled too. But early Saturday afternoon, when it was finally time to reveal the mystery, we pulled up to a little place called Crazy Ray's.
Whoever he was, Crazy Ray was one smart man. I never would have imagined that this was as popular of an activity as it was. Crazy Ray's was a crowded, full of people ready to do what I was about to do. And no...Crazy Ray's is not a strip club.
People line up at the cashier to go in ($1 a person to look) and even longer at the cashier to leave (you pick it, you pay it.) It's a mechanics dream, a giant area neatly piled with other peoples vehicular trash. Crazy Ray's is a junk yard.
So, with hands full of tools, we ventured into the sea of transportation. The cars are semi-sorted by make, but you work your way through the maze careful not to have the tow truck unload its new addition directly onto your head.
I followed quickly behind until reaching the 1995 Buick Le Sabre. Goal: driver side rear passenger small window, and passenger side rear regular window. How on earth were we going to get a window out of a door? Yeah, not sure.
Luckily (for me) the mini window had already been removed and placed carefully in the back seat, as if a gift was left there just for us. The other window, not so simple. Please allow for uneducated terms as I explain the process of removing a window from a door.
First, we (he) took off the door panel. You pull it off and reveal enough of the nuts/bolts/screw/wired area to disconnect further. Now I was having fun! I got to literally tear apart a car! And, as you may know, I have a tendency to be semi-destructive at times.
Then it was kind of trial and error. The trick was to figure out how the window connected to the door, which was tricky since there was no power to the car. Once we (he) found that, we'd be set...or so we thought. The window wouldn't go down far enough to remove by the door, and wouldn't come up far enough because of the size of the opening and the shape of the window. Ohhh noo.
Then, I actually made my first real contribution to the outing...I had an idea. What if we removed the side window to clear up extra space in the window frame? From there, we should technically be able to pull it straight out. And guess what, we were! Must be my amazing ability to calculate dimension in my head. I suppose I'm a math person after all! Too bad this didn't kick in back in Mrs. Roth's Geometry class...you know, the one I almost didn't make it out of, even with a tutor.
Forget I said that. Let's remember how I'm now a mathematical whiz. So, after the window was removed and all the tools were put away, we headed towards the hefty little line at the cashier. Two windows came to $40 dollars (ish) which, as priced by Safelite online later that day, would have come to over $1000 brand new. Talk about a deal! Bargain shopping at its best. Who knew you could bargain shop for things other than clothes and fashion jewelry!
I felt accomplished at the sight of my dirty hands and 5 year old tennis shoes that I dug out of my closet for the experience. What's next?! Bring it on! The day of handiness had only just begun! That's right people...it doesn't stop here. Later that afternoon, I assisted in the assembly of a propane gas grill. Which, by the way, worked upon completion, and so far, has not blown up.
I never would have guessed that my talents continued past makeup artistry and blogging. Now, suddenly, I'm practically a natural mechanic! They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, so it must be in the genes...thanks Dad!
Recently, though, my eyes were opened to some other things I've never done that are right here in my hometown. Things I might not consider doing, but with a push, and a little bit of naivety, I did it...
This weekend, I went on a mystery outing. Here are some clues...can you guess where I went?
It costs money.
It's manual labor.
It does not involve animals, water, or safety equipment.
It does involve other equipment.
It is not a sport.
There are several places located in the surrounding Baltimore area.
You do not dress nicely, and you will get dirty.
Ooh, and, here's a kicker...its a sin in some countries.
Well, I was baffled too. But early Saturday afternoon, when it was finally time to reveal the mystery, we pulled up to a little place called Crazy Ray's.
Whoever he was, Crazy Ray was one smart man. I never would have imagined that this was as popular of an activity as it was. Crazy Ray's was a crowded, full of people ready to do what I was about to do. And no...Crazy Ray's is not a strip club.
People line up at the cashier to go in ($1 a person to look) and even longer at the cashier to leave (you pick it, you pay it.) It's a mechanics dream, a giant area neatly piled with other peoples vehicular trash. Crazy Ray's is a junk yard.
So, with hands full of tools, we ventured into the sea of transportation. The cars are semi-sorted by make, but you work your way through the maze careful not to have the tow truck unload its new addition directly onto your head.
I followed quickly behind until reaching the 1995 Buick Le Sabre. Goal: driver side rear passenger small window, and passenger side rear regular window. How on earth were we going to get a window out of a door? Yeah, not sure.
Luckily (for me) the mini window had already been removed and placed carefully in the back seat, as if a gift was left there just for us. The other window, not so simple. Please allow for uneducated terms as I explain the process of removing a window from a door.
First, we (he) took off the door panel. You pull it off and reveal enough of the nuts/bolts/screw/wired area to disconnect further. Now I was having fun! I got to literally tear apart a car! And, as you may know, I have a tendency to be semi-destructive at times.
Then it was kind of trial and error. The trick was to figure out how the window connected to the door, which was tricky since there was no power to the car. Once we (he) found that, we'd be set...or so we thought. The window wouldn't go down far enough to remove by the door, and wouldn't come up far enough because of the size of the opening and the shape of the window. Ohhh noo.
Then, I actually made my first real contribution to the outing...I had an idea. What if we removed the side window to clear up extra space in the window frame? From there, we should technically be able to pull it straight out. And guess what, we were! Must be my amazing ability to calculate dimension in my head. I suppose I'm a math person after all! Too bad this didn't kick in back in Mrs. Roth's Geometry class...you know, the one I almost didn't make it out of, even with a tutor.
Forget I said that. Let's remember how I'm now a mathematical whiz. So, after the window was removed and all the tools were put away, we headed towards the hefty little line at the cashier. Two windows came to $40 dollars (ish) which, as priced by Safelite online later that day, would have come to over $1000 brand new. Talk about a deal! Bargain shopping at its best. Who knew you could bargain shop for things other than clothes and fashion jewelry!
I felt accomplished at the sight of my dirty hands and 5 year old tennis shoes that I dug out of my closet for the experience. What's next?! Bring it on! The day of handiness had only just begun! That's right people...it doesn't stop here. Later that afternoon, I assisted in the assembly of a propane gas grill. Which, by the way, worked upon completion, and so far, has not blown up.
I never would have guessed that my talents continued past makeup artistry and blogging. Now, suddenly, I'm practically a natural mechanic! They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, so it must be in the genes...thanks Dad!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Safety First?
After sincere hesitation, I accompanied a friend to a car dealership yesterday as she attempted to buy her first car new car. If you know me, you know the car dealership is no stranger to me. Already on my 5th, I decided it was my duty to apply my haggling expertise to her purchase.
Let me preface by saying that this car purchasing virgin was completely unaware of what goes on during the process. She thought that buying a car was just like buying a radio. You pick a model, a color, find a salesperson to pull it around for you, and voila! Proud owner. And because she already knew what she wanted (without test driving may I add) she was convinced that this had to be the way it was. I tried my hardest to assure her that this was not the case.
We walked in to R&H Toyota around 5:30pm. In about 4.3 seconds, we had a salesman whose name for the life of me I can't remember right now. Except that his last name was Yingling. Kinda sounds like a beer, doesn't it?
Anyway, I had been named the vocalist for the majority of the sale. Wanting nothing to do with the sale except for receiving the keys in the end, my friend passed the torch on to me. So, I spoke the words I'd practiced (not really) in the car. "Hi, my friend wants to buy a Scion xA. Neutral color of some kind, base model, automatic transmission. She already got a price at Russell. If you can match it, she wants to buy it here, today."
Yingling took us outside and showed us her dream car. Except. Stick. When Ying asked what the problem with stick was, my friend replied with "Nothing, except I don't want to drive one where there are any other cars around." Clever. I liked it. Yingling, however, looked puzzled.
Once we explained that she meant "NO" we ended up at his desk. Because the manual was the only Scion xA on the lot, we went back to play with pricing, and decided to worry about the actual car later. This being Yingling's brilliant idea.
With Toyota's pure pricing (similar to Saturn's no haggling) the pricing seemed easy. So from here you'd think, "YES! This IS like buying a radio!." But no. At just past 6, we were no where near finished.
Producing a list of cars available was the next step. While he was doing this, I had a moment of deja vu and realized it was because I had briefly worked at R&H Toyota myself. And by briefly, I mean maybe one month, and I'm pretty sure I just stopped showing up after I tried to call out sick one day and they told me no. I decided not to mention this part to Yingling.
There were 5 cars available. 3 white, standard, no side airbags. One silver, standard, no side airbags. One black, standard, with side airbags...for for $650 more. As salesmen always do, he tried an upsell. Side airbags perhaps? Well, yes we thought. Of course. Upsell accepted!
This turned out to be a very bad idea on Mr. Yingling's part...
After literally making the sale, running the credit card for the additional amount over the check that had already been prepared (courtesy of eloans.com) he THEN decides to call the dealer that had the black car available to get the remaining details and vin # to secure the sale.
To everyone's disappointment (Jessie's, because she wanted it, me because I was ready to move on to sushi, and Yingling's because he's the money hungry salesman) the car was not actually the price he quoted. Said dealer had added quite a few aftermarket parts that they were unwilling to negotiate on and/or remove. The perfect car had vanished right before our eyes.
And, my non-picky friend was a little pickier than anticipated. Now she wanted the side airbags. And she did NOT want white. And in a 500 mile radius, the only cars with the exact options were all, surprisingly, white.
Now she had to decide...safety before color, or vice versa? Knowing that I chose a sunroof over side airbags 3 years ago (sorry back seat passengers) I told her she shouldn't buy a car that's a color she hates. She shook her head, glared at Ying, and said "But he convinced me that side airbags were a good idea, and now I want them."
Playing devil's advocate, and as a lover of white cars myself, I tried to assist Yingling in the sale of the white car. But, no luck. She doesn't want white. Sigh.
At 8:45 (that's right, more than three hours later) we left so she could sleep on it.
That said, I don't understand why buying a car ISN'T like buying a radio. Why are car salesman so shady? Every time they say they're going to talk to their sales manager, I am tempted to follow them on the smoke break I know they're taking so I can catch them in a lie. I bet I'd have some prime haggling opportunities there!
And isn't it sad that I can spend three hours with someone and not even remember their name after? Maybe it was all the Yingling...
Let me preface by saying that this car purchasing virgin was completely unaware of what goes on during the process. She thought that buying a car was just like buying a radio. You pick a model, a color, find a salesperson to pull it around for you, and voila! Proud owner. And because she already knew what she wanted (without test driving may I add) she was convinced that this had to be the way it was. I tried my hardest to assure her that this was not the case.
We walked in to R&H Toyota around 5:30pm. In about 4.3 seconds, we had a salesman whose name for the life of me I can't remember right now. Except that his last name was Yingling. Kinda sounds like a beer, doesn't it?
Anyway, I had been named the vocalist for the majority of the sale. Wanting nothing to do with the sale except for receiving the keys in the end, my friend passed the torch on to me. So, I spoke the words I'd practiced (not really) in the car. "Hi, my friend wants to buy a Scion xA. Neutral color of some kind, base model, automatic transmission. She already got a price at Russell. If you can match it, she wants to buy it here, today."
Yingling took us outside and showed us her dream car. Except. Stick. When Ying asked what the problem with stick was, my friend replied with "Nothing, except I don't want to drive one where there are any other cars around." Clever. I liked it. Yingling, however, looked puzzled.
Once we explained that she meant "NO" we ended up at his desk. Because the manual was the only Scion xA on the lot, we went back to play with pricing, and decided to worry about the actual car later. This being Yingling's brilliant idea.
With Toyota's pure pricing (similar to Saturn's no haggling) the pricing seemed easy. So from here you'd think, "YES! This IS like buying a radio!." But no. At just past 6, we were no where near finished.
Producing a list of cars available was the next step. While he was doing this, I had a moment of deja vu and realized it was because I had briefly worked at R&H Toyota myself. And by briefly, I mean maybe one month, and I'm pretty sure I just stopped showing up after I tried to call out sick one day and they told me no. I decided not to mention this part to Yingling.
There were 5 cars available. 3 white, standard, no side airbags. One silver, standard, no side airbags. One black, standard, with side airbags...for for $650 more. As salesmen always do, he tried an upsell. Side airbags perhaps? Well, yes we thought. Of course. Upsell accepted!
This turned out to be a very bad idea on Mr. Yingling's part...
After literally making the sale, running the credit card for the additional amount over the check that had already been prepared (courtesy of eloans.com) he THEN decides to call the dealer that had the black car available to get the remaining details and vin # to secure the sale.
To everyone's disappointment (Jessie's, because she wanted it, me because I was ready to move on to sushi, and Yingling's because he's the money hungry salesman) the car was not actually the price he quoted. Said dealer had added quite a few aftermarket parts that they were unwilling to negotiate on and/or remove. The perfect car had vanished right before our eyes.
And, my non-picky friend was a little pickier than anticipated. Now she wanted the side airbags. And she did NOT want white. And in a 500 mile radius, the only cars with the exact options were all, surprisingly, white.
Now she had to decide...safety before color, or vice versa? Knowing that I chose a sunroof over side airbags 3 years ago (sorry back seat passengers) I told her she shouldn't buy a car that's a color she hates. She shook her head, glared at Ying, and said "But he convinced me that side airbags were a good idea, and now I want them."
Playing devil's advocate, and as a lover of white cars myself, I tried to assist Yingling in the sale of the white car. But, no luck. She doesn't want white. Sigh.
At 8:45 (that's right, more than three hours later) we left so she could sleep on it.
That said, I don't understand why buying a car ISN'T like buying a radio. Why are car salesman so shady? Every time they say they're going to talk to their sales manager, I am tempted to follow them on the smoke break I know they're taking so I can catch them in a lie. I bet I'd have some prime haggling opportunities there!
And isn't it sad that I can spend three hours with someone and not even remember their name after? Maybe it was all the Yingling...
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Mr. Clean Meets Mr. Mouse
While I'm on my usual and latest kick on how its expensive to survive...have you ever noticed how pricey it is to stay clean?
On a recent shopping trip to Target, I thought I'd stock up on some necessary household items. I was feeling a little crazy because a friend made me believe I had a mouse living under my refrigerator. Immediately turning into my mother, I decided a spring cleaning session was in order, thus my voyage to obtain some Mr. Clean.
I darted to the back of the store. Among aisles and aisles of disinfecting products, I felt like a maid in heaven. Who knew there were 4 different scents of the bald man's product? He also makes a mop, a sponge, and a wonderful little invention called the Magic Eraser. Feeling no need for this though, I picked up the original blue stuff you pour into the bucket, a spongy mop like situation, and carried on to my next venture.
In aisle two, I grabbed some colorful drop ins to make my toilet water pretty, refills for my disposable toilet scrubber, and a new dustpan. I know! How fun does this all sound?!
Then, while grabbing some last minute paper towels, an air freshener, and Electrasol dish washing fluid, I came across them...the mouse traps. The thought of a mouse had overtaken my brain and forced me to buy poison, glue traps, and a fancy little box cage contraption. Suddenly, I was no longer catching just a mouse...no...I was out to catch the entire mouse population, and the dirty rat grandparents too.
So far though, I have no mouse. Oh, and no rats either. I just know they heard me coming with my battle equipment and so they scurried for the less prepared.
I think I'll call it the unavoidable cost of cleanliness...
Trip to Target...$100.13
Pest free environment with blue toilet bowl water...Priceless.
On a recent shopping trip to Target, I thought I'd stock up on some necessary household items. I was feeling a little crazy because a friend made me believe I had a mouse living under my refrigerator. Immediately turning into my mother, I decided a spring cleaning session was in order, thus my voyage to obtain some Mr. Clean.
I darted to the back of the store. Among aisles and aisles of disinfecting products, I felt like a maid in heaven. Who knew there were 4 different scents of the bald man's product? He also makes a mop, a sponge, and a wonderful little invention called the Magic Eraser. Feeling no need for this though, I picked up the original blue stuff you pour into the bucket, a spongy mop like situation, and carried on to my next venture.
In aisle two, I grabbed some colorful drop ins to make my toilet water pretty, refills for my disposable toilet scrubber, and a new dustpan. I know! How fun does this all sound?!
Then, while grabbing some last minute paper towels, an air freshener, and Electrasol dish washing fluid, I came across them...the mouse traps. The thought of a mouse had overtaken my brain and forced me to buy poison, glue traps, and a fancy little box cage contraption. Suddenly, I was no longer catching just a mouse...no...I was out to catch the entire mouse population, and the dirty rat grandparents too.
So far though, I have no mouse. Oh, and no rats either. I just know they heard me coming with my battle equipment and so they scurried for the less prepared.
I think I'll call it the unavoidable cost of cleanliness...
Trip to Target...$100.13
Pest free environment with blue toilet bowl water...Priceless.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
It's a Good Thing I Like Ramen...
I did it. I've figured out the reason that so many people are unhealthy in the United States. Why Shauna, you ask? It's too freaking expensive. Fit isn't free. Have a looksie...
Other than the occasional deals by using my Giant Bonus Card, it's practically impossible to shop on a budget. And by practically impossible, I mean not a chance in hell. But, every time I complain about being low on the dough, I get the typical response of "Why don't you stop eating out?" And I say...
A. I don't eat out much.
B. It is far from cheaper to grocery shop..
and 3. I do not know how, nor can I afford the utilities needed, to roll a proper sushi roll.
Now, to clarify "B" just a bit...If it costs me $5 for a 6 inch sub at subway, 5 days a week, that's $25. But to buy a weeks worth of bread ($4...because I cannot just buy what's on sale, I have to take into consideration the calories, fat, protein, and fiber of each bread, and let me tell you, the right ones don't get discounted EVER), 2 packages of Healthy Choice Oven Roasted Turkey, $7. Add in cucumber, lettuce, tomato, and all the other fancy fixin's I might want to make my sandwich taste better than wheat fiber and dry turkey, then there you have it. Add in breakfast and dinner, fruits, etc, for the rest of the week, and its merely a dream to walk into the grocery store without spending less than $100 a week. And I am only one person.
My mother would insert this here: "You should buy your fruits and vegetables at the fruit market Shauna. It's cheaper. And you should shop where the sales are. Did I mention that toilet paper is on sale at Food Lion in Reisterstown this week...you should go there!"
Well, other than the fact that Food Lion is practically in Pennsylvania, if I drive to market A for fruit, market B for perishables, and market C for toiletries, I have now just wasted an entire tank of gas, nearly $50, that I guarantee you I did not save on the double roll special on toilet paper at the far from local Food Lion.
Now let's consider the above when trying to follow a slightly stricter diet. Let's say, as I mentioned with the bread, that you are focused on certain daily intakes. And let's also say, just for fun, that said diet insists on 5 meals a day. Well, add this to your bills.
$54...2 cases of high protein bars
$108...3 cases of nutritional supplement beverages
$1.29...the additional cost to your $10 omelet for egg beaters or whites.
Throw in a $40 monthly gym membership fee while we're at it and I think I just may have proven my very insightful, if I do say so myself, point.
Now this may come as a surprise, but I have been wrong on occasion...so I challenge you. If anyone has figured out a way to live on a less than superfluous salary, while maintaining a healthy balanced diet combined with routine exercise and a full tank of gas, please advise. Otherwise, I may have to forfeit the healthy lifestyle I am trying to adopt in exchange for $1 packages of Ramen Noodles, that last week, I would have gotten a two-for with my fancy bonus card keychain at my actually local grocery store...
Other than the occasional deals by using my Giant Bonus Card, it's practically impossible to shop on a budget. And by practically impossible, I mean not a chance in hell. But, every time I complain about being low on the dough, I get the typical response of "Why don't you stop eating out?" And I say...
A. I don't eat out much.
B. It is far from cheaper to grocery shop..
and 3. I do not know how, nor can I afford the utilities needed, to roll a proper sushi roll.
Now, to clarify "B" just a bit...If it costs me $5 for a 6 inch sub at subway, 5 days a week, that's $25. But to buy a weeks worth of bread ($4...because I cannot just buy what's on sale, I have to take into consideration the calories, fat, protein, and fiber of each bread, and let me tell you, the right ones don't get discounted EVER), 2 packages of Healthy Choice Oven Roasted Turkey, $7. Add in cucumber, lettuce, tomato, and all the other fancy fixin's I might want to make my sandwich taste better than wheat fiber and dry turkey, then there you have it. Add in breakfast and dinner, fruits, etc, for the rest of the week, and its merely a dream to walk into the grocery store without spending less than $100 a week. And I am only one person.
My mother would insert this here: "You should buy your fruits and vegetables at the fruit market Shauna. It's cheaper. And you should shop where the sales are. Did I mention that toilet paper is on sale at Food Lion in Reisterstown this week...you should go there!"
Well, other than the fact that Food Lion is practically in Pennsylvania, if I drive to market A for fruit, market B for perishables, and market C for toiletries, I have now just wasted an entire tank of gas, nearly $50, that I guarantee you I did not save on the double roll special on toilet paper at the far from local Food Lion.
Now let's consider the above when trying to follow a slightly stricter diet. Let's say, as I mentioned with the bread, that you are focused on certain daily intakes. And let's also say, just for fun, that said diet insists on 5 meals a day. Well, add this to your bills.
$54...2 cases of high protein bars
$108...3 cases of nutritional supplement beverages
$1.29...the additional cost to your $10 omelet for egg beaters or whites.
Throw in a $40 monthly gym membership fee while we're at it and I think I just may have proven my very insightful, if I do say so myself, point.
Now this may come as a surprise, but I have been wrong on occasion...so I challenge you. If anyone has figured out a way to live on a less than superfluous salary, while maintaining a healthy balanced diet combined with routine exercise and a full tank of gas, please advise. Otherwise, I may have to forfeit the healthy lifestyle I am trying to adopt in exchange for $1 packages of Ramen Noodles, that last week, I would have gotten a two-for with my fancy bonus card keychain at my actually local grocery store...
Friday, May 18, 2007
Someday I'll Understand
May 18, 2007
I've had a week full of internal questions. Maybe I surround myself with strange things...maybe I think too much. Either way, here are some things I will never understand.
I myself am an avid coin pincher. Maybe not when it comes to SOME things, but I certainly have my fare share of being cheap. For example, if the 60% off necklace at Target is still $8.00, I do not think this is a bargain. However, if it's $3, I'll buy it, even though I may not love it as much as the latter.
But today, I experienced a line even I wouldn't cross.
Scene: I'm 2nd to the head of the line-out-the-door at Subway attempting the purchase of my 6-inch turkey on wheat. I may as well have been last in a line of 42, because the two girls ahead of me were, well, slow.
Girl 1: "I see you have a footlong sub. Now if I purchase this, can I get half italian cold cut, and half pastrami?"
Subway man: "Yes we have a footlong sub."
Girl 2: "But can we get two halves?"
SM: "Not a footlong. We charge you more for two halves."
Girl 1 to Girl 2: "Ugh, should we get cold cut, or pastrami then?"
After a huge debate (approx. 2.7 minutes) the girls decided that girl 1 wins, and they ordered an italian cold cut. But of course, they each decorated their halves respectively, obviously confusing SG (subway girl) who was second in the assembley line behind the counter. And of course, this was obviously their first time at such a place, so the array of luxurious toppings really excited them.
All of this to save 25 cents. I toyed with the idea of handing them a quarter.
***
My morning drive includes a painful journey up St. Paul Street. With illegally parked cars, busses, and wretched pedestrians, it's a constant brake-riding experience, day after day.
Today however, was especially fun.
I got cut off by a biker. Not a motor biker. Just a man on his bicycle. Keep in mind that immediately to my right, and left, there is a wide, perfectly paved sidewalk, for him to venture down.
And of course, after he cuts me off, he travels at approximately 17 mph below the speed limit. Fantastic.
***
I'm not going to lie and say I haven't fallen victim to this. I won't even tell you that I don't frequently peruse perezhilton.com, tmz.com, and thesuperficial.com.
But, there are other reasons besides total loserdom and sheer pleasure that I read this junk. For example, I totally knew the answer to the trivia question the other night...What is the name of Paris Hilton's dog? Duh. Tinkerbell. But in the last few days, I've seen actual headlines (not even just on these smut sites) that have really just made me realize that we live in a far from normal, and really just ridiculous world.
Here we go: Britney Chews Gum At Comeback Show
Wow! Really? But what kind of gum was it? "I don't know Bob, let's see if we can get a closer look...ah yes...based on the color, it appears to be..."
REALLY?!
***
That's all for now. The rest of the world still makes sense I guess.
I've had a week full of internal questions. Maybe I surround myself with strange things...maybe I think too much. Either way, here are some things I will never understand.
I myself am an avid coin pincher. Maybe not when it comes to SOME things, but I certainly have my fare share of being cheap. For example, if the 60% off necklace at Target is still $8.00, I do not think this is a bargain. However, if it's $3, I'll buy it, even though I may not love it as much as the latter.
But today, I experienced a line even I wouldn't cross.
Scene: I'm 2nd to the head of the line-out-the-door at Subway attempting the purchase of my 6-inch turkey on wheat. I may as well have been last in a line of 42, because the two girls ahead of me were, well, slow.
Girl 1: "I see you have a footlong sub. Now if I purchase this, can I get half italian cold cut, and half pastrami?"
Subway man: "Yes we have a footlong sub."
Girl 2: "But can we get two halves?"
SM: "Not a footlong. We charge you more for two halves."
Girl 1 to Girl 2: "Ugh, should we get cold cut, or pastrami then?"
After a huge debate (approx. 2.7 minutes) the girls decided that girl 1 wins, and they ordered an italian cold cut. But of course, they each decorated their halves respectively, obviously confusing SG (subway girl) who was second in the assembley line behind the counter. And of course, this was obviously their first time at such a place, so the array of luxurious toppings really excited them.
All of this to save 25 cents. I toyed with the idea of handing them a quarter.
***
My morning drive includes a painful journey up St. Paul Street. With illegally parked cars, busses, and wretched pedestrians, it's a constant brake-riding experience, day after day.
Today however, was especially fun.
I got cut off by a biker. Not a motor biker. Just a man on his bicycle. Keep in mind that immediately to my right, and left, there is a wide, perfectly paved sidewalk, for him to venture down.
And of course, after he cuts me off, he travels at approximately 17 mph below the speed limit. Fantastic.
***
I'm not going to lie and say I haven't fallen victim to this. I won't even tell you that I don't frequently peruse perezhilton.com, tmz.com, and thesuperficial.com.
But, there are other reasons besides total loserdom and sheer pleasure that I read this junk. For example, I totally knew the answer to the trivia question the other night...What is the name of Paris Hilton's dog? Duh. Tinkerbell. But in the last few days, I've seen actual headlines (not even just on these smut sites) that have really just made me realize that we live in a far from normal, and really just ridiculous world.
Here we go: Britney Chews Gum At Comeback Show
Wow! Really? But what kind of gum was it? "I don't know Bob, let's see if we can get a closer look...ah yes...based on the color, it appears to be..."
REALLY?!
***
That's all for now. The rest of the world still makes sense I guess.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Million Dollar Idea
Innovation...shouldn't this lead to invention? I mean, if I can figure out how to hang a bulletin board at work with a simple paper clip/push pin combo (which by the way, I'm still owed $10 from a bet that I couldn't do it) why can' t I come up with a solution to an everyday problem?
Oprah had a search for the best idea last week. The audience voted on the top 5 or so inventions that she found 'round the states, and the winner gets set up with a QVC commercial slot, patenting, etc. The winner, a brilliant idea, was the Lock-N-Bake, a 13x9 inch pan with foldable removable sides. Scene: You bake a cake. You have to cut the first piece and get it out of the pan prettily. We all know that the first piece is NEVER the cute piece. So, imagine a world where you can take same 13x9 inch pan, and fold off/remove the sides, leaving you with cake on tray. Like I said, brilliant. She also demo'd with a lasagna, which I have my reservations about. How does the sauce, etc, not pour out of the sides when cutting if the dish is still hot? Even so, as I was watching this, I kept thinking to myself...ugh, why didn't I come up with that! In my head though, I came up with her winning slogan, "It's a piece of cake!" I know, I'm good.
A few years ago, I thought I'd hit it with the "heated ice scraper" idea. Sadly, my dream came crashing down when I was told I could already purchase this at Target. Then I thought, "Fine! I'll come up with something else." From there, I came up with the lipstick prep base. If they can make a base for eyeshadow to keep it on all day, why can't they make one for lips...why should I have to reapply liner stick and gloss with every sip of my coffee? So instead of finding a chemist and a lab to stir up a batch of my miracle cream, I just stopped wearing lip accesory altogether. Now though , you can purchase this very item at MAC. If you're interested, its called Prep & Prime Lip, and its amazing. After all, I knew it would be.
Oprah had a search for the best idea last week. The audience voted on the top 5 or so inventions that she found 'round the states, and the winner gets set up with a QVC commercial slot, patenting, etc. The winner, a brilliant idea, was the Lock-N-Bake, a 13x9 inch pan with foldable removable sides. Scene: You bake a cake. You have to cut the first piece and get it out of the pan prettily. We all know that the first piece is NEVER the cute piece. So, imagine a world where you can take same 13x9 inch pan, and fold off/remove the sides, leaving you with cake on tray. Like I said, brilliant. She also demo'd with a lasagna, which I have my reservations about. How does the sauce, etc, not pour out of the sides when cutting if the dish is still hot? Even so, as I was watching this, I kept thinking to myself...ugh, why didn't I come up with that! In my head though, I came up with her winning slogan, "It's a piece of cake!" I know, I'm good.
A few years ago, I thought I'd hit it with the "heated ice scraper" idea. Sadly, my dream came crashing down when I was told I could already purchase this at Target. Then I thought, "Fine! I'll come up with something else." From there, I came up with the lipstick prep base. If they can make a base for eyeshadow to keep it on all day, why can't they make one for lips...why should I have to reapply liner stick and gloss with every sip of my coffee? So instead of finding a chemist and a lab to stir up a batch of my miracle cream, I just stopped wearing lip accesory altogether. Now though , you can purchase this very item at MAC. If you're interested, its called Prep & Prime Lip, and its amazing. After all, I knew it would be.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Catch and Release
May 2, 2007
You can take the girl out of her high heels, but you can't take the high heels out of a girl. Let me explain...
I used to be an all-star pitcher. And by "all-star" I mean, in my 5 year stint of a softball career, I pitched 4, and was accompanied by one full-game-pitched no hitter. Clearly, my one and only claim to fame so far in life. Ten years later, without so much as a nod in the direction of a softball glove, I decide to grab one and head on out for a friendly game of catch at the local elementary school field.
Let me preface...although I say I pitched, somewhat decently, back in my day, I never said I could throw. If you've ever seen me play beer pong, or even a piece of candy across the office, this won't come as a suprise. I have no aim. And even worse, I have no power. Are you standing 20 feet away from me? Move closer, you're too far.
Anyway, so here I am, playing catch with my newly purchased (gifted) hot pink and black softball glove. We've got a baseball and a softball to throw around for variety. And I decide, hey, let me throw a few pitches! As most of my great ideas are, this was a very bad idea...
First, because the memories of my pitching days are much prettier than what ten years out of practice reality actually is. Out of, oh, 473,000 pitches, I think I threw 3 slow pitch (I played fast pitch) strikes. On top of it, a 10,000 mile an hour ball came at me, which I caught, sort of, until it bounced out of my glove and struck me in the chin leaving stitch marks (battle wounds) in place of my new spray on foundation from MAC. AND three days later, I still can not lift my poor right arm over my head.
In my moments of cripple-dom, I had a lot of time to think about all of the other things I suck at now...
Biking. Yes. "It's just like riding a bike." Fine. But let me tell you, riding a bike is not even "just like riding a bike." I got on it, started to tip, had a small panic attack, thought I might die, and have since found home on the stationary bike that won't dump me onto a pile of gravel on the trail.
Cooking. Some of you who read this might laugh, but I really did used to be quite the little chef. In college, my roommates might have starved if not for me and my mother-donated recipe box. But somewhere along the way, I got lazy. Actually, let's "euphemism" this and say "cultural" in wanting to try out all different kinds of restaurants.
Farsi. Yeah, I used to speak it. So what if I was 5, but rumor has it that this girl was bilangual at the early age, until my second language was neglected in the home. Kinda not my fault, but still.
Makeup. I don't know if its my inability to do my own makeup, or just my skins inability to wear it proudly anymore, but when I look back at pictures from my earlier days of makeup wearing, it just looked better back then. Maybe because I used to spend an hour getting ready to go to the grocery store, and 2 if I was actually going somewhere there might be a camera. Either way, rest assured though, that I still can do other people's makeup. Feel free to hire me for your upcoming wedding or event.
I could go on. But my right arm is making it difficult to type from pretending that I'm still an all-star pitcher...
You can take the girl out of her high heels, but you can't take the high heels out of a girl. Let me explain...
I used to be an all-star pitcher. And by "all-star" I mean, in my 5 year stint of a softball career, I pitched 4, and was accompanied by one full-game-pitched no hitter. Clearly, my one and only claim to fame so far in life. Ten years later, without so much as a nod in the direction of a softball glove, I decide to grab one and head on out for a friendly game of catch at the local elementary school field.
Let me preface...although I say I pitched, somewhat decently, back in my day, I never said I could throw. If you've ever seen me play beer pong, or even a piece of candy across the office, this won't come as a suprise. I have no aim. And even worse, I have no power. Are you standing 20 feet away from me? Move closer, you're too far.
Anyway, so here I am, playing catch with my newly purchased (gifted) hot pink and black softball glove. We've got a baseball and a softball to throw around for variety. And I decide, hey, let me throw a few pitches! As most of my great ideas are, this was a very bad idea...
First, because the memories of my pitching days are much prettier than what ten years out of practice reality actually is. Out of, oh, 473,000 pitches, I think I threw 3 slow pitch (I played fast pitch) strikes. On top of it, a 10,000 mile an hour ball came at me, which I caught, sort of, until it bounced out of my glove and struck me in the chin leaving stitch marks (battle wounds) in place of my new spray on foundation from MAC. AND three days later, I still can not lift my poor right arm over my head.
In my moments of cripple-dom, I had a lot of time to think about all of the other things I suck at now...
Biking. Yes. "It's just like riding a bike." Fine. But let me tell you, riding a bike is not even "just like riding a bike." I got on it, started to tip, had a small panic attack, thought I might die, and have since found home on the stationary bike that won't dump me onto a pile of gravel on the trail.
Cooking. Some of you who read this might laugh, but I really did used to be quite the little chef. In college, my roommates might have starved if not for me and my mother-donated recipe box. But somewhere along the way, I got lazy. Actually, let's "euphemism" this and say "cultural" in wanting to try out all different kinds of restaurants.
Farsi. Yeah, I used to speak it. So what if I was 5, but rumor has it that this girl was bilangual at the early age, until my second language was neglected in the home. Kinda not my fault, but still.
Makeup. I don't know if its my inability to do my own makeup, or just my skins inability to wear it proudly anymore, but when I look back at pictures from my earlier days of makeup wearing, it just looked better back then. Maybe because I used to spend an hour getting ready to go to the grocery store, and 2 if I was actually going somewhere there might be a camera. Either way, rest assured though, that I still can do other people's makeup. Feel free to hire me for your upcoming wedding or event.
I could go on. But my right arm is making it difficult to type from pretending that I'm still an all-star pitcher...
Friday, April 13, 2007
Blueberry is the New Vanilla
April 13, 2007
I added a new segment to my morning routine. After bypassing the Owings Mills Dunkin Donuts for so long, I've padded my A.M. to include the savory pit-stop. It's a win win situation. I figure if I stop before work rather than go during, I save myself the lackluster drive sans hot coffee beverage, the time away from my desk, and most importantly, the fear of falling flat on my face on Calvert Street again.
I see the same people every morning. The young guy at the middle table by the window, always surrounded by books, facing the wall, with his "Great One" coffee in front of him within fingertip reach. I see the very talkative man who is always crossing Reisterstown Road to get his morning fix right around the time I park to get mine. The two older men, likely retired, that must meet there for "away from wife" time every morning at 7 am sharp. Anyway, there's a similarity between my new Dunkin pals. Unlike me, who gets to the counter, says "Good morning, extra large blueberry light cream no sugar please," and then pays my $1.98 after being rung up, these others never even speak to the ringer-uppers. They just get rung up, and handed their "usual."
I know there are downfalls to having a usual. I remember this happened to me once back in the day...where I'd walk in to what used to be my favorite bar, The North Star, and Bobby the New York bartender would have a Bud Light bottle on the edge of the bar for me...which was great until May hit and I was ready to start drinking a Corona. I never had a beer waiting at the end of the bar for me again.
Even so, I want a usual at Dunks. What will it take? Do I need to simplify my order? Am I too complicated since I hold the sugar and cut the cream? Or is it the unlikely blueberry flavoring that throws off the Mr. and Miss behind the counter? Will there ever come a day that my unusual usual is just the usual? And if and when that day comes, I can't help but wonder, will my usual have become my usual-ly?
I added a new segment to my morning routine. After bypassing the Owings Mills Dunkin Donuts for so long, I've padded my A.M. to include the savory pit-stop. It's a win win situation. I figure if I stop before work rather than go during, I save myself the lackluster drive sans hot coffee beverage, the time away from my desk, and most importantly, the fear of falling flat on my face on Calvert Street again.
I see the same people every morning. The young guy at the middle table by the window, always surrounded by books, facing the wall, with his "Great One" coffee in front of him within fingertip reach. I see the very talkative man who is always crossing Reisterstown Road to get his morning fix right around the time I park to get mine. The two older men, likely retired, that must meet there for "away from wife" time every morning at 7 am sharp. Anyway, there's a similarity between my new Dunkin pals. Unlike me, who gets to the counter, says "Good morning, extra large blueberry light cream no sugar please," and then pays my $1.98 after being rung up, these others never even speak to the ringer-uppers. They just get rung up, and handed their "usual."
I know there are downfalls to having a usual. I remember this happened to me once back in the day...where I'd walk in to what used to be my favorite bar, The North Star, and Bobby the New York bartender would have a Bud Light bottle on the edge of the bar for me...which was great until May hit and I was ready to start drinking a Corona. I never had a beer waiting at the end of the bar for me again.
Even so, I want a usual at Dunks. What will it take? Do I need to simplify my order? Am I too complicated since I hold the sugar and cut the cream? Or is it the unlikely blueberry flavoring that throws off the Mr. and Miss behind the counter? Will there ever come a day that my unusual usual is just the usual? And if and when that day comes, I can't help but wonder, will my usual have become my usual-ly?
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Silly Rabbit, I Like Bunnies Too
April 5, 2007
Not only do Jews not get Easter baskets, but Easter just so happens to fall in the middle of a Jewish holiday this year...Passover, the week where the South Beach Diet becomes a requirement, and not my own choice.
Easter baskets, easter egg dying, and easter egg hunts...these are the things that that my coworkers and friends got to experience when growing up. For me, all that gets "hunted" on Passover is a piece of matzoh...a giant tasteless cracker. Who even wants that? The jews disguise the boring-ness of this by calling it something fancy, the Afikomen, and unfairly lead you to believe that this is dessert. And then, whoever finds it gets $5, or some other type of inadequate prize. In my family, the cut-off age for the prize seems to be whatever age I am that year. Somehow, I got booted out of all the fun things when I matured enough to make my own $5 with a work permit.
I excitedly have been talking about the Bunny Bananzoo EGGgstravaganza happening this weekend at the Maryland Zoo, hoping someone would aay "YES LET'S GO!" But no, everyone is easter egg'd out, or, too busy with fancy family dinners to celebrate the close to the Cadbury season, alongside of their very own private EGGstravaganza. No one understands my urge to participate in such a fun holiday. Spoiled brats.
First, I get jipped out of a stocking, and now this. However, this past year, I made do with my pre-lit Wal-Mart tree for Christmas. This could just be the year that I'll go ahead and order (make) myself an Easter basket from Delish and deliver it to myself at work when no one is looking. A secret admirer? How nice!
Not only do Jews not get Easter baskets, but Easter just so happens to fall in the middle of a Jewish holiday this year...Passover, the week where the South Beach Diet becomes a requirement, and not my own choice.
Easter baskets, easter egg dying, and easter egg hunts...these are the things that that my coworkers and friends got to experience when growing up. For me, all that gets "hunted" on Passover is a piece of matzoh...a giant tasteless cracker. Who even wants that? The jews disguise the boring-ness of this by calling it something fancy, the Afikomen, and unfairly lead you to believe that this is dessert. And then, whoever finds it gets $5, or some other type of inadequate prize. In my family, the cut-off age for the prize seems to be whatever age I am that year. Somehow, I got booted out of all the fun things when I matured enough to make my own $5 with a work permit.
I excitedly have been talking about the Bunny Bananzoo EGGgstravaganza happening this weekend at the Maryland Zoo, hoping someone would aay "YES LET'S GO!" But no, everyone is easter egg'd out, or, too busy with fancy family dinners to celebrate the close to the Cadbury season, alongside of their very own private EGGstravaganza. No one understands my urge to participate in such a fun holiday. Spoiled brats.
First, I get jipped out of a stocking, and now this. However, this past year, I made do with my pre-lit Wal-Mart tree for Christmas. This could just be the year that I'll go ahead and order (make) myself an Easter basket from Delish and deliver it to myself at work when no one is looking. A secret admirer? How nice!
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
ACE in the Hole
April 4, 2007
Sometimes I wonder why I'm so stupid. Not even in a flaky "I don't get it" kind of way. But actually just stupid. Uneducated. Lacking knowledge. Unable to carry an educated conversation about history, politics, or current events.
Every week, team ACES (often under a different yet clever alias because certain people on my team think they're funny) goes to trivia in attempt to win it all. We spend four hours racking our brains in attempt to take the grand prize of $25 and ABSOLUT paraphanelia home.
And, every week, I hear questions that everyone else (with the exception of my team) seems to know answers to, and I realize that I should have cracked a textbook back in the day.
My mom always said if I applied myself, I'd be a straight A student, and in retrospect, I think she's probably right. But, I made it through school, no question. I was a solid A/B occasional C student, and had no trouble getting into college with 5 applications and 5 acceptions. But, on the latter side, I can't label a map, talk about past presidents, or identify the year of the Cold War (except now I can because I just Googled it.) People at work called me "Canada" for a while because of a slight mishap/miscommunication about where I thought it was located. And last night at trivia, me and someone (I won't mention her name for privacy purposes) decided that the number one coffee producing country was Hawaii.
In the end though, ACES usually ends up on top. So I may not be smarter than the average bear, but quick thinking and common sense does get me pretty far. And I sometimes can pull out the knowledge. My claim to fame at trivia was knowing the answer to: What's the only 2 syllable word in the English language using no real vowels? Do you know?
Sometimes I wonder why I'm so stupid. Not even in a flaky "I don't get it" kind of way. But actually just stupid. Uneducated. Lacking knowledge. Unable to carry an educated conversation about history, politics, or current events.
Every week, team ACES (often under a different yet clever alias because certain people on my team think they're funny) goes to trivia in attempt to win it all. We spend four hours racking our brains in attempt to take the grand prize of $25 and ABSOLUT paraphanelia home.
And, every week, I hear questions that everyone else (with the exception of my team) seems to know answers to, and I realize that I should have cracked a textbook back in the day.
My mom always said if I applied myself, I'd be a straight A student, and in retrospect, I think she's probably right. But, I made it through school, no question. I was a solid A/B occasional C student, and had no trouble getting into college with 5 applications and 5 acceptions. But, on the latter side, I can't label a map, talk about past presidents, or identify the year of the Cold War (except now I can because I just Googled it.) People at work called me "Canada" for a while because of a slight mishap/miscommunication about where I thought it was located. And last night at trivia, me and someone (I won't mention her name for privacy purposes) decided that the number one coffee producing country was Hawaii.
In the end though, ACES usually ends up on top. So I may not be smarter than the average bear, but quick thinking and common sense does get me pretty far. And I sometimes can pull out the knowledge. My claim to fame at trivia was knowing the answer to: What's the only 2 syllable word in the English language using no real vowels? Do you know?
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
My Big Fat Jewish Seder
April 3, 2007
First things first, Happy Birthday Annie, Jesse, and any other April birthdays that might be coming up. Happy Passover, Easter, and any other holidays that might be coming up. Perhaps, if people think they will get shout-outs on my blog, they will actually start to stop by and read them. My aplogies to all prior bdays and holidays that did not receive shout outs themselves. Happy all of those things to all of you.
Back to Passover though. Last night, as we annually do, my close family (reaching 20 in numbers last night) gathered for dinner (or more specifically, the Passover seder) at my grandparents house. As you might imagine, dinner with my family is never boring, never quiet, and never ever normal. A quote, straight out of an email from my aunt that I got this morning..."Brad got in the car last night and announced that we are seriously dysfunctional. I have to agree."
Let's go around the table. At the far right end of the table, we have the "cousins." I have since graduated to the adult part of the table, but this is where I used to park for all family affairs. But, nonetheless, the rest of the cousins still get assigned here. First, meet the 6-year old, who last week, decided that Pottery Barn was a ripoff, and last night, decided it was time that she learned to knit. Then, there's the product of growing up along side of me, the 19 almost 20 year old college student, who thinks everyone has "issues", that relationships are a waste of time, and that marriage/children are out of the question. It is super fun for me, however, to hear how my stories have influenced him, and to take a breather as the attention shifts to his love life and not mine. Throw in the other cousins who can't sit still, or get through 5 minutes without whining or even crying, you get the first part of a circus act.
The middle of the table is filled by the aunts and uncles. This is the area of the table where the dinner conversation always switches from Israeli freedom to sex, and "sarcastic" analogies between slavery and marriage, and the awkward comparison between public and private schools make it so you can cut the tension with a butter knife.
To the far left sit my grandparents. At nearly 80, you wouldn't know it (my grandmother has less lines around her eyes than I do.) Talk about opposites attract...try polar opposites. Married over 50 years, 4 children, and 9 grandchildren later, they still share a bed. Last night was no different than any other night in there house. Women in the kitchen, men at the table, and my grandfather driving everyone out the door. After we were all yelled as he tried to uncover the culprit who turned on the AC when he had windows open, the 7 bottles of wine we started with at the beginning of dinner became 7 empty bottles pretty freaking quickly.
Conversations ran a muck, and as per usual, when questioned about my "dating-life", I laughed. See, with me, its not "meet the parents" anymore, it's "meet the family". Picture "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" with more bleeping. And I just don't feel sad that I am safely avoiding this so far...I just wait for the day that I decide to bring a date to dinner. I will have to forwarn and potentially ask for forgiveness after, about whatever unfiltered things get said during the break between matzoh ball soup and gefilte fish.
Seriously, how did I end up so normal?
First things first, Happy Birthday Annie, Jesse, and any other April birthdays that might be coming up. Happy Passover, Easter, and any other holidays that might be coming up. Perhaps, if people think they will get shout-outs on my blog, they will actually start to stop by and read them. My aplogies to all prior bdays and holidays that did not receive shout outs themselves. Happy all of those things to all of you.
Back to Passover though. Last night, as we annually do, my close family (reaching 20 in numbers last night) gathered for dinner (or more specifically, the Passover seder) at my grandparents house. As you might imagine, dinner with my family is never boring, never quiet, and never ever normal. A quote, straight out of an email from my aunt that I got this morning..."Brad got in the car last night and announced that we are seriously dysfunctional. I have to agree."
Let's go around the table. At the far right end of the table, we have the "cousins." I have since graduated to the adult part of the table, but this is where I used to park for all family affairs. But, nonetheless, the rest of the cousins still get assigned here. First, meet the 6-year old, who last week, decided that Pottery Barn was a ripoff, and last night, decided it was time that she learned to knit. Then, there's the product of growing up along side of me, the 19 almost 20 year old college student, who thinks everyone has "issues", that relationships are a waste of time, and that marriage/children are out of the question. It is super fun for me, however, to hear how my stories have influenced him, and to take a breather as the attention shifts to his love life and not mine. Throw in the other cousins who can't sit still, or get through 5 minutes without whining or even crying, you get the first part of a circus act.
The middle of the table is filled by the aunts and uncles. This is the area of the table where the dinner conversation always switches from Israeli freedom to sex, and "sarcastic" analogies between slavery and marriage, and the awkward comparison between public and private schools make it so you can cut the tension with a butter knife.
To the far left sit my grandparents. At nearly 80, you wouldn't know it (my grandmother has less lines around her eyes than I do.) Talk about opposites attract...try polar opposites. Married over 50 years, 4 children, and 9 grandchildren later, they still share a bed. Last night was no different than any other night in there house. Women in the kitchen, men at the table, and my grandfather driving everyone out the door. After we were all yelled as he tried to uncover the culprit who turned on the AC when he had windows open, the 7 bottles of wine we started with at the beginning of dinner became 7 empty bottles pretty freaking quickly.
Conversations ran a muck, and as per usual, when questioned about my "dating-life", I laughed. See, with me, its not "meet the parents" anymore, it's "meet the family". Picture "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" with more bleeping. And I just don't feel sad that I am safely avoiding this so far...I just wait for the day that I decide to bring a date to dinner. I will have to forwarn and potentially ask for forgiveness after, about whatever unfiltered things get said during the break between matzoh ball soup and gefilte fish.
Seriously, how did I end up so normal?
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
A Secret Road To Fortune & Fame?
March 28, 2007
Every couple months, me and a group of my girl friends plan to get together to catch up on our lives since high school. For them, it's a great way to get a girls night away from their husbands/boyfriends, and for me, it's a way to just get away. Anyway, while at CPK a few weeks back, we got on the topic of "The Secret." Basically, the secret is - believe it, think it, feel it, see it, and, IT will happen. I, personally, stood alone in my belief that this is all a load of crap. This sparred a heated topic about whether or not this was true, and, how it might be a good idea for one or all of us to test it.
I don't know about the others, but I've figured out how I'm going to test "The Secret". I've talked about writing a book for years, and recently decided that it's really a logical way to become rich on the side or my absolute and terribly sad poredom. Duh. Become a best-selling author.
I've given myself 6 months from today to complete my book, and another 6 months to find a publisher. So, in a nutshell, I'm saying that one year from today, I will have a book in the process of being published. And if that means convincing Bill Bonner, owner of the financial, health, and travel publishing company I work for, to add a "Fluff" publishing division, then so be it.
But, for the sake of hoping to dis-prove my original hypothesis about "The Secret", I am picturing my book in the windows of Barnes & Noble Bookstore's everywhere, with a pretty little "Bestseller" sticker on the cover.
With my advertising and marketing background, I know its never too soon to start the buzz about said topic. So, consider this my first of many plugs...it will be easier to get on the bestseller list if I can call you, reader, a buyer.
Every couple months, me and a group of my girl friends plan to get together to catch up on our lives since high school. For them, it's a great way to get a girls night away from their husbands/boyfriends, and for me, it's a way to just get away. Anyway, while at CPK a few weeks back, we got on the topic of "The Secret." Basically, the secret is - believe it, think it, feel it, see it, and, IT will happen. I, personally, stood alone in my belief that this is all a load of crap. This sparred a heated topic about whether or not this was true, and, how it might be a good idea for one or all of us to test it.
I don't know about the others, but I've figured out how I'm going to test "The Secret". I've talked about writing a book for years, and recently decided that it's really a logical way to become rich on the side or my absolute and terribly sad poredom. Duh. Become a best-selling author.
I've given myself 6 months from today to complete my book, and another 6 months to find a publisher. So, in a nutshell, I'm saying that one year from today, I will have a book in the process of being published. And if that means convincing Bill Bonner, owner of the financial, health, and travel publishing company I work for, to add a "Fluff" publishing division, then so be it.
But, for the sake of hoping to dis-prove my original hypothesis about "The Secret", I am picturing my book in the windows of Barnes & Noble Bookstore's everywhere, with a pretty little "Bestseller" sticker on the cover.
With my advertising and marketing background, I know its never too soon to start the buzz about said topic. So, consider this my first of many plugs...it will be easier to get on the bestseller list if I can call you, reader, a buyer.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
March 14, 2007
Although my very first blog was written on the topic, I've really tried to resist a follow-up. So, instead of devoting this entry to just one follow up, I think I will update a few.
Here goes...
an update to Breaking Up Is Hard To Do...
I last left you with my decision to leave Scott for Sam. Well, I tell ya, Sam had me at hello. Corbin, a nice little salon on University Parkway, was about 45 minutes closer than my previous venture. It was also a little ritzier. I joked (although not joking at all), while 70-year-old women looking younger than me arrived for their bi-weekly standing appointments, that I was the white-trash of the salon. Anyway, Sam, a colorful man, entertained me with his love for Mariah Carey and his hatred for Clay Aiken (gasp.) He also LOVED to cut/style long hair, which finally, for me, was beneficial. It seems most stylists are more entertained by the short haired women and their funky selves. I saw Sam only three times. The week before our fourth planned-ahead date, I got a phone call that he was no longer with the salon. Needless to say, I ran back in the arms of Scott. My safety. He's not going anywhere, and for now, neither am I.
an update to Pick A Card, Any Card...
Remember Savetta? Well, I was starting to forget her, so last weekend, I returned for a second visit. This time, rather than the half tarot card reading, I went in for the full tarot reading (19 cards instead of 10). I may have also splurged for the added palm reading. Peer-pressure really, but I safely avoided drugs and law breaking my whole life, so it was bound to get me sometime. So I walk in, sit in her fancy little chair with her terrifying dog Scooby locked up in a closet around the corner, and attempt to relax. She tells me to pick my cards, and again, I began to panic that I'd flip over the death card. I don't even know what it means, but frankly, death can't be good. Anyway, I'll spare you the details, but she told me to a T (tee, tea?) what she told me last time, with slight updates. She commented on current relationship status, heartbreaks, exes, and boy was she right on. My palm reading enlightened her more about my future, where I'll apparently have one marriage, two children (a boy and a girl), and be dead at 89.
And finally, the whole reason for this blog, an update to The Truth Shall Set Me Free...
Season 6 of American Idol is under way. Yes, it's tough to fill the shoes of AI5, with successes of Chris Daughtry, Taylor Hicks, Kellie Pickler, and, the soon to be phenomenal success of my favorite and yours, Elliott Yamin. But, with people like Sanjaya and his "Vote For The Worst" posse, 6 is doomed. For your benefit, I will comment on each of the 12 now. And you can then hope that this will get it out of my system enough to not have to blog again about it until season 7.
Sanjaya Malakar
Really? What is with this guy? Not only is he awful, but he's a child. A child who can't sing. A child who came out singing "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" like it was a lullaby. Not to mention his top hat fiasco a few weeks ago...
Brandon Rogers
Love him. I know he's sucked every week since the auditions, but I hold out hope that my backup singing boyfriend will become a front runner. He's an actual musician, playing classical piano since he was 9 years old. And, his voice is amazing if he would just lose his nerves. No time for nerves Brandon, not on Idol.
Gina Glocksen
She's good, but she won't win. She's edgy and different, but she's no powerhouse singer, which seems to be the fan/judge choice this year. If you watched first season, you may compare her to a better Nikki McKibben.
Haley Scarnato
Go home. She's already sick and tired of hearing "Well you look pretty" after every time she sings. I'm pretty sure this is AI, not ANTM (Top Model), which is why she's not a front-runner at this stage of the game. She can sing, yes. She's boring, yes. But I think I'd go see her on Broadway if she ended up there.
Blake Lewis
The beatboxer. He's original, and he likes Jason Mraz, so he's got 10 points from me. I actually thought he was good last night...I'd dig a funky version of his take on Diana Ross on my iPod over the original any day.
Chris Sligh
I used to like him, but last night his ego got the best of him and the worst of me. When asked to comment on his performace, which really was not very good, he said "It wasn't the vocals, it was the arrangement." Ew. Really? He was better when he was funny. Now he's just an ass.
Jordin Sparks
17 years old. If I sang like that at 17 (or now) I wouldn't have been so scared of my 30 second 'On My Own' solo in my 11th grade chorus concert. She won't win though. I think America will keep other stupid people on longer.
Lakisha Jones
Wohoo Maryland! With a voice like hers, I don't think you can ever really sound bad. She came in an underdog, but has gotten comments like "I'm tempted to tell the others to quit now" from Simon, so...yeah. She's got it.
Melinda Dolittle
Same as above, minus the "Wohoo Maryland!" As the other former backup singer, she needs to give some hints to Brandon. She has no fear. And, she's humble. Every time she gets a compliment, she genuinely means it when she says thank you.
Chris Richardson
You've seen one Justin Timberlake wannabe, you've seen him all. He's a little too soprano for my taste (not one ounce of pain in his whiney voice) but, again, a Jason Mraz fan, we'll give him 5 points, just to be nice.
Stephanie Edwards
Her voice makes my brain hurt. I don't know why, but she's my least favorite. I look forward to the mess Sanjaya will bring much more than the mediocre performance she will. I think America will agree with me too, that even though she can keep a (piercing) tune, she's no star.
Phil Stacey
Aside from his giant eyes and screamingly bald head, I think he's got a great voice. He and Idol reject Rudy Cardenas were two more of my favorites from the auditons. Poor Rudy, sing it Phil! And besides, he's got to stick around a few more weeks to make the missed birth of his child worth it.
Accept my apologies. I will try not to do this again. But side note, I should totally be an AI commentator don't you think?
Although my very first blog was written on the topic, I've really tried to resist a follow-up. So, instead of devoting this entry to just one follow up, I think I will update a few.
Here goes...
an update to Breaking Up Is Hard To Do...
I last left you with my decision to leave Scott for Sam. Well, I tell ya, Sam had me at hello. Corbin, a nice little salon on University Parkway, was about 45 minutes closer than my previous venture. It was also a little ritzier. I joked (although not joking at all), while 70-year-old women looking younger than me arrived for their bi-weekly standing appointments, that I was the white-trash of the salon. Anyway, Sam, a colorful man, entertained me with his love for Mariah Carey and his hatred for Clay Aiken (gasp.) He also LOVED to cut/style long hair, which finally, for me, was beneficial. It seems most stylists are more entertained by the short haired women and their funky selves. I saw Sam only three times. The week before our fourth planned-ahead date, I got a phone call that he was no longer with the salon. Needless to say, I ran back in the arms of Scott. My safety. He's not going anywhere, and for now, neither am I.
an update to Pick A Card, Any Card...
Remember Savetta? Well, I was starting to forget her, so last weekend, I returned for a second visit. This time, rather than the half tarot card reading, I went in for the full tarot reading (19 cards instead of 10). I may have also splurged for the added palm reading. Peer-pressure really, but I safely avoided drugs and law breaking my whole life, so it was bound to get me sometime. So I walk in, sit in her fancy little chair with her terrifying dog Scooby locked up in a closet around the corner, and attempt to relax. She tells me to pick my cards, and again, I began to panic that I'd flip over the death card. I don't even know what it means, but frankly, death can't be good. Anyway, I'll spare you the details, but she told me to a T (tee, tea?) what she told me last time, with slight updates. She commented on current relationship status, heartbreaks, exes, and boy was she right on. My palm reading enlightened her more about my future, where I'll apparently have one marriage, two children (a boy and a girl), and be dead at 89.
And finally, the whole reason for this blog, an update to The Truth Shall Set Me Free...
Season 6 of American Idol is under way. Yes, it's tough to fill the shoes of AI5, with successes of Chris Daughtry, Taylor Hicks, Kellie Pickler, and, the soon to be phenomenal success of my favorite and yours, Elliott Yamin. But, with people like Sanjaya and his "Vote For The Worst" posse, 6 is doomed. For your benefit, I will comment on each of the 12 now. And you can then hope that this will get it out of my system enough to not have to blog again about it until season 7.
Sanjaya Malakar
Really? What is with this guy? Not only is he awful, but he's a child. A child who can't sing. A child who came out singing "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" like it was a lullaby. Not to mention his top hat fiasco a few weeks ago...
Brandon Rogers
Love him. I know he's sucked every week since the auditions, but I hold out hope that my backup singing boyfriend will become a front runner. He's an actual musician, playing classical piano since he was 9 years old. And, his voice is amazing if he would just lose his nerves. No time for nerves Brandon, not on Idol.
Gina Glocksen
She's good, but she won't win. She's edgy and different, but she's no powerhouse singer, which seems to be the fan/judge choice this year. If you watched first season, you may compare her to a better Nikki McKibben.
Haley Scarnato
Go home. She's already sick and tired of hearing "Well you look pretty" after every time she sings. I'm pretty sure this is AI, not ANTM (Top Model), which is why she's not a front-runner at this stage of the game. She can sing, yes. She's boring, yes. But I think I'd go see her on Broadway if she ended up there.
Blake Lewis
The beatboxer. He's original, and he likes Jason Mraz, so he's got 10 points from me. I actually thought he was good last night...I'd dig a funky version of his take on Diana Ross on my iPod over the original any day.
Chris Sligh
I used to like him, but last night his ego got the best of him and the worst of me. When asked to comment on his performace, which really was not very good, he said "It wasn't the vocals, it was the arrangement." Ew. Really? He was better when he was funny. Now he's just an ass.
Jordin Sparks
17 years old. If I sang like that at 17 (or now) I wouldn't have been so scared of my 30 second 'On My Own' solo in my 11th grade chorus concert. She won't win though. I think America will keep other stupid people on longer.
Lakisha Jones
Wohoo Maryland! With a voice like hers, I don't think you can ever really sound bad. She came in an underdog, but has gotten comments like "I'm tempted to tell the others to quit now" from Simon, so...yeah. She's got it.
Melinda Dolittle
Same as above, minus the "Wohoo Maryland!" As the other former backup singer, she needs to give some hints to Brandon. She has no fear. And, she's humble. Every time she gets a compliment, she genuinely means it when she says thank you.
Chris Richardson
You've seen one Justin Timberlake wannabe, you've seen him all. He's a little too soprano for my taste (not one ounce of pain in his whiney voice) but, again, a Jason Mraz fan, we'll give him 5 points, just to be nice.
Stephanie Edwards
Her voice makes my brain hurt. I don't know why, but she's my least favorite. I look forward to the mess Sanjaya will bring much more than the mediocre performance she will. I think America will agree with me too, that even though she can keep a (piercing) tune, she's no star.
Phil Stacey
Aside from his giant eyes and screamingly bald head, I think he's got a great voice. He and Idol reject Rudy Cardenas were two more of my favorites from the auditons. Poor Rudy, sing it Phil! And besides, he's got to stick around a few more weeks to make the missed birth of his child worth it.
Accept my apologies. I will try not to do this again. But side note, I should totally be an AI commentator don't you think?
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
If I Had A Million Dollars...
March 7, 2007
I regret inform you (and even more regretfully me) that I am not the winner of the Mega Millions jackpot. Myself, along with 15 of my closest coworkers, were selfless in our attempts to prosper, and entered all of our tickets into a pool. No one claimed there own ticket, and if one hit, we all won big. $23.6 million big to be exact. Yeah yeah, taxes, whatever. But still. Even $10 million...hell....$1 million...what would I do? Where would I go?
I like to think that I'd cut some money off to my favorite "peeps." My parents, my extended family (which if you know me, is not a small feat) , my closest friends. But then it gets complicated. Is it like having a party? If I invite A, B, and C, then I can't not invite D? And then I wonder, would I actually share as generously as I do when I win in my head?
I've also pretended I should go on Deal Or No Deal. But I watch these greedy bastards who turn down $290 million to keep going. I panic for them. Heart races, palms sweaty, and a littly too dizzy to stand up if I needed to. I wonder what I would do in that situation. My luck, my first six cases opened would be the top 6 amounts, ruling out all chances of being any kind of big money winner. So something tells me that if they gave me a first offer of $17,000, I'd be like "Deal! Peace out Howie!" I'd also be saving myself the real life anxiety of continuing on and passing out on stage.
I'm actually a little depressed about my loss. There's always a little part of me when I buy into the lottery, or play a slot machine, that thinks "This is it. I'm going to win and my life is going to change." But then, I don't. And, it doesn't. My dreams are still just dreams - and since my generous plan to share includes some of you, your dreams are also still just dreams.
You can't win the lottery if you don't play the lottery, so trust you me, I will do this again. And, I may have perused the Deal Or No Deal website, so, anyone with a video camera...come find me. I need to make a tape...
I regret inform you (and even more regretfully me) that I am not the winner of the Mega Millions jackpot. Myself, along with 15 of my closest coworkers, were selfless in our attempts to prosper, and entered all of our tickets into a pool. No one claimed there own ticket, and if one hit, we all won big. $23.6 million big to be exact. Yeah yeah, taxes, whatever. But still. Even $10 million...hell....$1 million...what would I do? Where would I go?
I like to think that I'd cut some money off to my favorite "peeps." My parents, my extended family (which if you know me, is not a small feat) , my closest friends. But then it gets complicated. Is it like having a party? If I invite A, B, and C, then I can't not invite D? And then I wonder, would I actually share as generously as I do when I win in my head?
I've also pretended I should go on Deal Or No Deal. But I watch these greedy bastards who turn down $290 million to keep going. I panic for them. Heart races, palms sweaty, and a littly too dizzy to stand up if I needed to. I wonder what I would do in that situation. My luck, my first six cases opened would be the top 6 amounts, ruling out all chances of being any kind of big money winner. So something tells me that if they gave me a first offer of $17,000, I'd be like "Deal! Peace out Howie!" I'd also be saving myself the real life anxiety of continuing on and passing out on stage.
I'm actually a little depressed about my loss. There's always a little part of me when I buy into the lottery, or play a slot machine, that thinks "This is it. I'm going to win and my life is going to change." But then, I don't. And, it doesn't. My dreams are still just dreams - and since my generous plan to share includes some of you, your dreams are also still just dreams.
You can't win the lottery if you don't play the lottery, so trust you me, I will do this again. And, I may have perused the Deal Or No Deal website, so, anyone with a video camera...come find me. I need to make a tape...
Friday, February 16, 2007
The Way I See It #3
February 16, 2007
A serious "The way I see it..."
People give up on relationships too easily lately. Take it from the cynical...it isn't easy to find in the first place. So when you hear about the ridiculously increased divorce rate, the separations, the infidelity, you have to wonder "why." People should realize the marriage isn't a feeling, it's a decision. And that decision should mean that you are also deciding that in 5 or 10 or 50 years, when the "feeling" is gone, your decision is still forever.
And a lighter one...
There are 52 states and a million words that you can name something. Sushi rolls need to be the same everywhere. Everything really. Meatloaf is meatloaf, right? It doesn't come out a chicken. But in sushi world, a New York roll can be anywhere from salmon skin to a salmon/apple/cream sauce medley. Why should a Rainbow roll alternate fish from sushi bar to sushi bar? Philadelphia roll and Bagel roll...could be the same thing, but i can't guarantee it! Call one a Kansas roll and we'll call it a day.
A serious "The way I see it..."
People give up on relationships too easily lately. Take it from the cynical...it isn't easy to find in the first place. So when you hear about the ridiculously increased divorce rate, the separations, the infidelity, you have to wonder "why." People should realize the marriage isn't a feeling, it's a decision. And that decision should mean that you are also deciding that in 5 or 10 or 50 years, when the "feeling" is gone, your decision is still forever.
And a lighter one...
There are 52 states and a million words that you can name something. Sushi rolls need to be the same everywhere. Everything really. Meatloaf is meatloaf, right? It doesn't come out a chicken. But in sushi world, a New York roll can be anywhere from salmon skin to a salmon/apple/cream sauce medley. Why should a Rainbow roll alternate fish from sushi bar to sushi bar? Philadelphia roll and Bagel roll...could be the same thing, but i can't guarantee it! Call one a Kansas roll and we'll call it a day.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
When Showers Involved Soap
February 15, 2007
Some things I noticed a while ago, and some inspired by yesterday. So, other than the "obvious" ones like "You're always the third wheel", here we go...
Top 10 Signs that You're Single
- You are thoroughly excited about the new "Anti-Valentine's Day" greeting card section at Target. You then think to yourself "someone should get me this card."
- The only Valentine's Day card you do buy is for your parents. And they don't stock that many of those, so when you shop with a friend, you buy the same one she did.
- You don't find baby stuff cute. You don't "ooh" or "aah" when you walk past the section in my obviously favorite store "Target" but you react to it the same way you react to said "VDAY" section.
- "Lean Cuisine" is your idea of cooking dinner.
- You only unlock half your car with your clicky thing, leaving the rare passenger to bang on the window as a reminder that you have to let them in too.
- You have the supernatural ability to carry all of your groceries in only one trip.
- One bed pillow is much more flattened than the other.
- You think a shower is when you stand under water and get clean. Not where you sit around in a skirt with flowers and pink everywhere, and watch someone else open all the things you can't afford to buy for yourself.
- You feel like all of your married friends are really just playing "house."
- You write blogs like these.
Friday, February 9, 2007
The Way I See It #2
February 9, 2007
Continuing in my attempt to come up with a Starbucks cup-worthy submission...
The way I see it...the world is an unhappier place because our weekends are too short. With 71% devoted to the work week, it leaves only 29% for life outside of stress. Adding just one more day to the weekend takes you from this more than 2:1 ratio, to the 57/43% split. A more weekend'd week, a more peaceful world.
Continuing in my attempt to come up with a Starbucks cup-worthy submission...
The way I see it...the world is an unhappier place because our weekends are too short. With 71% devoted to the work week, it leaves only 29% for life outside of stress. Adding just one more day to the weekend takes you from this more than 2:1 ratio, to the 57/43% split. A more weekend'd week, a more peaceful world.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
I'm Sorry, What?
February 8, 2007
It's a little scary when you do things like brew coffee without the pot, stick your keys in the freezer, be involved in a conversation while hearing nothing that's being said, search everywhere for your sunglasses when the whole time you've had them on your head, can't find the pen you're holding in your hand, dial the wrong persons phone number, can't remember what you wore yesterday, accidentally call your friend by your dog's name, say things and realize that it didn't make any sense, type what you're saying instead of what you're thinking, get lost on a road you've driven a million times before, grab something bare-handed that you know is hot, forget the tune of your favorite song, drop something just because you forget you're holding it, walk into a wall, put something in a "secret" spot and then forget the secret, pour a packet of Equal into your hand instead of your coffee (this being the inspiration for this blog)...
I guess I don't really have anything more to say besides, at what point should you start to worry that you're actually losing you're mind? I have a feeling it has something to do with finding sugar substitute in the palm of your hand, but I can't be sure.
It's a little scary when you do things like brew coffee without the pot, stick your keys in the freezer, be involved in a conversation while hearing nothing that's being said, search everywhere for your sunglasses when the whole time you've had them on your head, can't find the pen you're holding in your hand, dial the wrong persons phone number, can't remember what you wore yesterday, accidentally call your friend by your dog's name, say things and realize that it didn't make any sense, type what you're saying instead of what you're thinking, get lost on a road you've driven a million times before, grab something bare-handed that you know is hot, forget the tune of your favorite song, drop something just because you forget you're holding it, walk into a wall, put something in a "secret" spot and then forget the secret, pour a packet of Equal into your hand instead of your coffee (this being the inspiration for this blog)...
I guess I don't really have anything more to say besides, at what point should you start to worry that you're actually losing you're mind? I have a feeling it has something to do with finding sugar substitute in the palm of your hand, but I can't be sure.
Friday, February 2, 2007
"The Way I See It" Friday
February 2, 2007
This was on my Starbucks cup today:
The Way I See It #160:
"Sixty-nine percent of all problems in relationships are unsolvable. They are about the differences in personality or needs. They never change. When you choose someone, you have inherited the problems you will have for the next 50 years. Unfortunately, we pick people who are not as perfect as we are, so relationships work if you have wound up with perpetual problems you can learn to live with." -Dr. John Gottman, author
Now, for my "the way I see it" of the day/week (we'll see how often I can come up with these)...
It's completely ridiculous that we devote a day to groundhogs. I mean, they really aren't something we should rely on for information of the future. And yet, we devote one day of the year to them, and each year, we tune in and 100% believe, without question, that they hold the answer. They can't even talk, and yet, we're going to trust Phil the GH, or whatever his name is, that winter is or isn't going to last another 6 weeks? I don't even listen to my mother when she tells me things she swears to know, yet I completely trust the shadow of a groundhog. Or, lack there of....
Not as profound as those published on Starbucks cups perhaps...
This was on my Starbucks cup today:
The Way I See It #160:
"Sixty-nine percent of all problems in relationships are unsolvable. They are about the differences in personality or needs. They never change. When you choose someone, you have inherited the problems you will have for the next 50 years. Unfortunately, we pick people who are not as perfect as we are, so relationships work if you have wound up with perpetual problems you can learn to live with." -Dr. John Gottman, author
Now, for my "the way I see it" of the day/week (we'll see how often I can come up with these)...
It's completely ridiculous that we devote a day to groundhogs. I mean, they really aren't something we should rely on for information of the future. And yet, we devote one day of the year to them, and each year, we tune in and 100% believe, without question, that they hold the answer. They can't even talk, and yet, we're going to trust Phil the GH, or whatever his name is, that winter is or isn't going to last another 6 weeks? I don't even listen to my mother when she tells me things she swears to know, yet I completely trust the shadow of a groundhog. Or, lack there of....
Not as profound as those published on Starbucks cups perhaps...
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
The Joy of Commercial Free-dom
January 30, 2007
Last week, I had a scare. This, a pathetic, sad, really ridiculous kind of scare, that I'd only ever admit to my 21st century diary...this blog.
After work, I ran to the gym, stopped by the grocery story, and returned home to prepare for my bimonthly Monday night dinner guests. Our weekly itinerary is dinner, The Class (I hyperlink because its great, and you should watch it), chat amongst ourselves until 10, and then, conclude with What About Brian. Dinner usually starts around 8, which means The Class would get missed if not for my savior and yours, DVR. Even better, by doing it this way, we get to fast forward right through those commercials.
But to my dismay, my trusted DVR that I've grown to love like a favorite pet, was broken. Stupid piece of crap (in the nicest way possible, that is).
I never realized how attached I'd grown to the box of bliss. I never realized the freedom it allows me. I can go out, and not have to worry about missing a show. I can peruse the channels, during my favorites, because, its taping, and I can watch it later. And unlike the old school VCR, it tapes multiple shows at a time!
So, in a frenzy, we ate dinner in 5.3 seconds, waited until commercial to brew a pot of coffee, and the very next morning, I called Comcast and begged them to fix it. If I had known they could send a magic signal through the air to make it work, I would have called the night before, and I could have saved myself the anxiety attack and the indigestion.
Someone very wise once said "You never realize what you have until you're about to lose it." Ain't that the truth. But I bet when this was said 473 years ago by some philospher-y person, they didn't realize this would ring true for more than just relationships.
Last week, I had a scare. This, a pathetic, sad, really ridiculous kind of scare, that I'd only ever admit to my 21st century diary...this blog.
After work, I ran to the gym, stopped by the grocery story, and returned home to prepare for my bimonthly Monday night dinner guests. Our weekly itinerary is dinner, The Class (I hyperlink because its great, and you should watch it), chat amongst ourselves until 10, and then, conclude with What About Brian. Dinner usually starts around 8, which means The Class would get missed if not for my savior and yours, DVR. Even better, by doing it this way, we get to fast forward right through those commercials.
But to my dismay, my trusted DVR that I've grown to love like a favorite pet, was broken. Stupid piece of crap (in the nicest way possible, that is).
I never realized how attached I'd grown to the box of bliss. I never realized the freedom it allows me. I can go out, and not have to worry about missing a show. I can peruse the channels, during my favorites, because, its taping, and I can watch it later. And unlike the old school VCR, it tapes multiple shows at a time!
So, in a frenzy, we ate dinner in 5.3 seconds, waited until commercial to brew a pot of coffee, and the very next morning, I called Comcast and begged them to fix it. If I had known they could send a magic signal through the air to make it work, I would have called the night before, and I could have saved myself the anxiety attack and the indigestion.
Someone very wise once said "You never realize what you have until you're about to lose it." Ain't that the truth. But I bet when this was said 473 years ago by some philospher-y person, they didn't realize this would ring true for more than just relationships.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Get Outta Town
January 23, 2007
The gym. A pair of words, once foreign and dirty to me, is now slowly becoming a part of my Mon-Sat routine. With all the excitement of the grand opening of the new Brick Bodies Reisterstown, I started a week early at the older and less testosteroned (girls only) OM location.
I began to remember my terrible, but #2 excuse (next to being downright lazy) of why I hadn't membershipped myself sooner. Perhaps its my own fault for never leaving town. Unless, of course you count Towson. In the first 5.3 seconds of my visit last Monday, I saw 4, count them, 4 people I hadn't layed eyes on since the days of yore. Or, high school.
I have safely avoided excessive contact so far. I had a short conversation which ultimately was not so bad. Acquaintances back in the day with current mutal friends left a tolerable cliche conversation. But the other 3 people who I continue to exchange terribly awkward glances with day to day makes each entrance even more nervewracking than the buff 50-year-old woman next to me lifting twice the weight with half the effort.
But, there is an upside to every downfall. Saturday morning, the new gym finally opened. So, there I am, at the end of my cardio circuit training (used that day only for the purpose of trying every fancy machine they had) when I spotted familiar faces. And although I know that I will eventually get tag teamed into a corner by the pair, I already felt the overwhelming pressure of my new surroundings and was not about to encounter another ounce of added stress.
I found myself trapped. If I got up now, I'd be forced to walk right past them. And, if I walked past them, I know I'd have to stop and chat. Which, for me that day, did not seem like an option. And so, I was forced to cycle on for another 20 minutes until I had a clear path outta there.
It's much easier to hide from people in Target.
The gym. A pair of words, once foreign and dirty to me, is now slowly becoming a part of my Mon-Sat routine. With all the excitement of the grand opening of the new Brick Bodies Reisterstown, I started a week early at the older and less testosteroned (girls only) OM location.
I began to remember my terrible, but #2 excuse (next to being downright lazy) of why I hadn't membershipped myself sooner. Perhaps its my own fault for never leaving town. Unless, of course you count Towson. In the first 5.3 seconds of my visit last Monday, I saw 4, count them, 4 people I hadn't layed eyes on since the days of yore. Or, high school.
I have safely avoided excessive contact so far. I had a short conversation which ultimately was not so bad. Acquaintances back in the day with current mutal friends left a tolerable cliche conversation. But the other 3 people who I continue to exchange terribly awkward glances with day to day makes each entrance even more nervewracking than the buff 50-year-old woman next to me lifting twice the weight with half the effort.
But, there is an upside to every downfall. Saturday morning, the new gym finally opened. So, there I am, at the end of my cardio circuit training (used that day only for the purpose of trying every fancy machine they had) when I spotted familiar faces. And although I know that I will eventually get tag teamed into a corner by the pair, I already felt the overwhelming pressure of my new surroundings and was not about to encounter another ounce of added stress.
I found myself trapped. If I got up now, I'd be forced to walk right past them. And, if I walked past them, I know I'd have to stop and chat. Which, for me that day, did not seem like an option. And so, I was forced to cycle on for another 20 minutes until I had a clear path outta there.
It's much easier to hide from people in Target.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
When I Fall, Will You Catch Me
December 14, 2006
I know I've once spoken about karma...see previous blog, "A Slug's Life." But this time, karma actually got me...
I finally have a job with a Dunkin Donuts in walking distance. As if the 25 flavors of k-cup single serve selections there are in the kitchen here aren't enough, Dunks is right around the corner to satisfy my real coffee craving in the absence of Starbucks. There's a Donna's too, but some people swear by the fact that after five minutes of being in there, you leave smelling like it. And no, that's not a good thing.
Anyway...karma. So, it's Tuesday the 12th. Coworkers, MB and JS, decided to gallivant over to D-squared, insisiting I tag along. I thought about requesting delivery of my usual...large, light cream, no sugar regular...but decided that I already needed an office break.
All is well in Mt. Vernon at 8 am...we walk, we order, we pay, we receive, and thus, we leave. We stop at crosswalks when the orangish-red hand says to, and begin to cross over Calvert when the little glowing man says "go."
Not a minute later do I step perfectly with my right foot into a frayed area of my left jeaned leg. My two legs become one, and during the attempt of my next step, I trip. And by trip, I mean soar...and by soar, I mean (and I do not exaggerate...well not about this) launched, completely parallel with the street, several feet, before landing completely smack down onto the other side of the road. My coffee launched with me, opening and exploding all over the once dry pavement.
Somehow, with no more than a lost coffee, a scraped left hand/right knee, and a stiletto-heel-sized hole in the inner ankle of my jeans, I get up, recover quickly, and make it back to the office in one piece. Although, I am injured. I am embarrassed. And, I am parched.
So here's where the karma kicks in. I think people falling is funny. Perhaps one of the funniest things to witness. I remember watching America's Funniest Home Videos, and time after time, the "fallers" were the ones that got the most laughs from me. The recorded finale of 2006's American Idol unintentionally features a man flying off the stage by accident into the pit, with a complimenting "thug." I saved it on my DVR for 5 months to watch on repeat, and occasionally to cheer myself up, and others, when feeling down.
I trip A LOT. But I always catch myself. But there it was...the karma...chasing me...and I know now that you can't avoid it. It will be persistent until it gets you. And it got me. It got me so good, it knocked me face down in the middle of a busy street during rush hour...
I know I've once spoken about karma...see previous blog, "A Slug's Life." But this time, karma actually got me...
I finally have a job with a Dunkin Donuts in walking distance. As if the 25 flavors of k-cup single serve selections there are in the kitchen here aren't enough, Dunks is right around the corner to satisfy my real coffee craving in the absence of Starbucks. There's a Donna's too, but some people swear by the fact that after five minutes of being in there, you leave smelling like it. And no, that's not a good thing.
Anyway...karma. So, it's Tuesday the 12th. Coworkers, MB and JS, decided to gallivant over to D-squared, insisiting I tag along. I thought about requesting delivery of my usual...large, light cream, no sugar regular...but decided that I already needed an office break.
All is well in Mt. Vernon at 8 am...we walk, we order, we pay, we receive, and thus, we leave. We stop at crosswalks when the orangish-red hand says to, and begin to cross over Calvert when the little glowing man says "go."
Not a minute later do I step perfectly with my right foot into a frayed area of my left jeaned leg. My two legs become one, and during the attempt of my next step, I trip. And by trip, I mean soar...and by soar, I mean (and I do not exaggerate...well not about this) launched, completely parallel with the street, several feet, before landing completely smack down onto the other side of the road. My coffee launched with me, opening and exploding all over the once dry pavement.
Somehow, with no more than a lost coffee, a scraped left hand/right knee, and a stiletto-heel-sized hole in the inner ankle of my jeans, I get up, recover quickly, and make it back to the office in one piece. Although, I am injured. I am embarrassed. And, I am parched.
So here's where the karma kicks in. I think people falling is funny. Perhaps one of the funniest things to witness. I remember watching America's Funniest Home Videos, and time after time, the "fallers" were the ones that got the most laughs from me. The recorded finale of 2006's American Idol unintentionally features a man flying off the stage by accident into the pit, with a complimenting "thug." I saved it on my DVR for 5 months to watch on repeat, and occasionally to cheer myself up, and others, when feeling down.
I trip A LOT. But I always catch myself. But there it was...the karma...chasing me...and I know now that you can't avoid it. It will be persistent until it gets you. And it got me. It got me so good, it knocked me face down in the middle of a busy street during rush hour...
Pick a card, any card
November 15, 2006
As I've previously stated in past bloggings, I usually attempt to be creative when buying and or planning. And so, as maid of honor and bachelorette party planner for the recently passed November 5 wedding I was in, I didn't want to do the run of the mill thing.
So we went to a psychic. You may say this was a gutsy move, as clearly, Savetta the fortune teller would be able to tell whether or not this marriage was going to make it or not. I mean, she is a psychic and all. But I wasn't worried, since for a change, cyncial me actually trusts that this one could stand the test of time.
Anyway, Savetta did her thing. Some people chose palm readings, some chose tarot cards, and some did both. I, being a total believer and chicken, waited until the end to decide if I wanted to do it at all. After hearing other people's, I decided that the crystal ball doesn't really know everything...some things, but not everything, and that for the sake of the fun-ness of the par-tay, I would partake.
She told me to choose 10 cards. I stared back at her and asked if there was a death card in there. She smiled, and said, "of course." Reassuring. Holding my breath while turning blueish-purple, I carefully and randomly picked the cards I "felt drawn to." And because I do have psychic abilities myself, I safely avoided the death card.
I did not, however, safely avoid the cards that were - my life. She told me things that she couldn't have known unless I myself called her up that morning to give her a Shauna life synopsis. A boring story for anyone to sit through, let alone someone who thinks she already knows.
She knew things about the people in my life. She knew things about my job. My side business. And she didn't mention marriage or children, which frankly seems right on. My friends, the bach party attendees, who were listening in had dropped jaws at the end of the reading. She was no joke. A local John Edwards if you will. Well, without the contacting the dead part.
Anyway, I was more than impressed, a little surprised, and deeply freaked out by my reading. And then, to top it off with a little confusion/depression, she suggested to me (and to me only) to come back and see her for spiritual counseling.
Savetta is in Mt. Washington, across from the Tavern, if you're curious. But be warned that she may imply that you are screwed up, closed off, and in desparate need of spiritual release.
As I've previously stated in past bloggings, I usually attempt to be creative when buying and or planning. And so, as maid of honor and bachelorette party planner for the recently passed November 5 wedding I was in, I didn't want to do the run of the mill thing.
So we went to a psychic. You may say this was a gutsy move, as clearly, Savetta the fortune teller would be able to tell whether or not this marriage was going to make it or not. I mean, she is a psychic and all. But I wasn't worried, since for a change, cyncial me actually trusts that this one could stand the test of time.
Anyway, Savetta did her thing. Some people chose palm readings, some chose tarot cards, and some did both. I, being a total believer and chicken, waited until the end to decide if I wanted to do it at all. After hearing other people's, I decided that the crystal ball doesn't really know everything...some things, but not everything, and that for the sake of the fun-ness of the par-tay, I would partake.
She told me to choose 10 cards. I stared back at her and asked if there was a death card in there. She smiled, and said, "of course." Reassuring. Holding my breath while turning blueish-purple, I carefully and randomly picked the cards I "felt drawn to." And because I do have psychic abilities myself, I safely avoided the death card.
I did not, however, safely avoid the cards that were - my life. She told me things that she couldn't have known unless I myself called her up that morning to give her a Shauna life synopsis. A boring story for anyone to sit through, let alone someone who thinks she already knows.
She knew things about the people in my life. She knew things about my job. My side business. And she didn't mention marriage or children, which frankly seems right on. My friends, the bach party attendees, who were listening in had dropped jaws at the end of the reading. She was no joke. A local John Edwards if you will. Well, without the contacting the dead part.
Anyway, I was more than impressed, a little surprised, and deeply freaked out by my reading. And then, to top it off with a little confusion/depression, she suggested to me (and to me only) to come back and see her for spiritual counseling.
Savetta is in Mt. Washington, across from the Tavern, if you're curious. But be warned that she may imply that you are screwed up, closed off, and in desparate need of spiritual release.
When I Say I Do
October 9, 2006
At the risk of getting in trouble with one of my three best friend/bride to be's...I'm going to vent about the duties of being a bridesmaid. To cover my tracks, let me just say it is not being YOUR bridesmaid that sucks, but the duty itself that is wretched.
1. The title. Bridesmaid. Really? Couldn't we come up with a better title than bridesmaid? Negative connotation right from the start.
2. The dress. I don't feel like I need to go into detail here. But again, to avoid being dismembered from the upcoming bridal parties I'm a part of, I will. I will not wear it again, even if you think you picked a dress that I can wear again. And it may be pretty (on the model) but the circumstance is not. Fitting. Paying. Fitting #2. And three. And maybe 4. And the people that work at these dress shops, ugh. And the locations of most of them. And the hours...I mean...why wouldn't you open on a Friday!
3. The money. I love you, but I cannot afford you. That's why I am not getting married, and you are. Although I suppose a second income could alleviate some financial burdens...huh.
4. The expectations. A shower (or two), a bachelorette party...sometimes, a surprise...it's a lot to have on your shoulders. And someone is always dissapointed when you pick a date that doesn't work for them. And along with the party, there are the gifts...as a bridesmaid, you cannot just buy the towels off the registry...and it hurts my brain to be sentimental sometimes.
5. The family. It's not that I don't want to devote my weekend to you, but between the rehearsal, the dinner, the wedding day, night, and brunch...it's a lot of family time. And they're not even my family.
6. This is specific just to me, but the makeup. As a makeup artist, it seems that when IN a wedding, or when a part of a wedding, my professional abilities sometimes, and usually unintentionally, get taken advantage of. Its not that I don't love it. And its not even that I mind. But somehow, I end up applying my own mascara and lip gloss on my way down the aisle. Its tough to time it right to make yourself look presentable, and paint an entire bridal party.
7. The hair. Some may enjoy being pampered with hair and makeup on your day. I, personally, would prefer to sit by your side with Starbucks and a blanket. But instead, I am forced to stress about the outcome of my mop, because the stylists always insist that an up-do is the way to go, and do not believe that I look like a 14 year old boy with my hair pulled back. Think about it...you've probably never seen me with a ponytail.
So you see, "its not you its me." If I, as your bridesmaid, offend your choices, or at any point make you regret choosing me, I'm sorry. I really am honored to be a part of it, and more happy than I may appear. And it doesn't make it easier to have to split my wedding joy between 3 all in the same season.
Don't worry...although it is not in future plans, you may one day understand, IF I ever choose to be a bride, with you as my maid.
At the risk of getting in trouble with one of my three best friend/bride to be's...I'm going to vent about the duties of being a bridesmaid. To cover my tracks, let me just say it is not being YOUR bridesmaid that sucks, but the duty itself that is wretched.
1. The title. Bridesmaid. Really? Couldn't we come up with a better title than bridesmaid? Negative connotation right from the start.
2. The dress. I don't feel like I need to go into detail here. But again, to avoid being dismembered from the upcoming bridal parties I'm a part of, I will. I will not wear it again, even if you think you picked a dress that I can wear again. And it may be pretty (on the model) but the circumstance is not. Fitting. Paying. Fitting #2. And three. And maybe 4. And the people that work at these dress shops, ugh. And the locations of most of them. And the hours...I mean...why wouldn't you open on a Friday!
3. The money. I love you, but I cannot afford you. That's why I am not getting married, and you are. Although I suppose a second income could alleviate some financial burdens...huh.
4. The expectations. A shower (or two), a bachelorette party...sometimes, a surprise...it's a lot to have on your shoulders. And someone is always dissapointed when you pick a date that doesn't work for them. And along with the party, there are the gifts...as a bridesmaid, you cannot just buy the towels off the registry...and it hurts my brain to be sentimental sometimes.
5. The family. It's not that I don't want to devote my weekend to you, but between the rehearsal, the dinner, the wedding day, night, and brunch...it's a lot of family time. And they're not even my family.
6. This is specific just to me, but the makeup. As a makeup artist, it seems that when IN a wedding, or when a part of a wedding, my professional abilities sometimes, and usually unintentionally, get taken advantage of. Its not that I don't love it. And its not even that I mind. But somehow, I end up applying my own mascara and lip gloss on my way down the aisle. Its tough to time it right to make yourself look presentable, and paint an entire bridal party.
7. The hair. Some may enjoy being pampered with hair and makeup on your day. I, personally, would prefer to sit by your side with Starbucks and a blanket. But instead, I am forced to stress about the outcome of my mop, because the stylists always insist that an up-do is the way to go, and do not believe that I look like a 14 year old boy with my hair pulled back. Think about it...you've probably never seen me with a ponytail.
So you see, "its not you its me." If I, as your bridesmaid, offend your choices, or at any point make you regret choosing me, I'm sorry. I really am honored to be a part of it, and more happy than I may appear. And it doesn't make it easier to have to split my wedding joy between 3 all in the same season.
Don't worry...although it is not in future plans, you may one day understand, IF I ever choose to be a bride, with you as my maid.
Fate-al Attraction
September 18, 2006
Drain the sap out of your brain. Myspace is not "e-freaking-harmony". Or "The Love Connection." It is, I guess, kind of like that dumb show "high school reunion" and apparently has the same effects on people as that stupid reality show did."
Guess who I found on myspace...how weird is that?" Umm, not. What on earth is weird about the fact that you found so and so from your preschool class in 1912? If for just a moment, you remembered to remember that everyone, including some babies and dogs, have myspace pages, then you might just realize that you were bound to find him/her/shim sooner than later.
Even worse is the "its so weird, i'm questioning my life" reaction to finding long lost loves on myspace. Please! You are really going to question your current partner(s) because your 5th grade girlfriend has "friended" you? That does NOT mean she is still in love with you (you are not in love with her either.) It just means she likes to say "You only have 30 myspace friends? I have 367..." to other myspacers she feels inferior to in real life.
It's not fate...it's myspace, people.
Drain the sap out of your brain. Myspace is not "e-freaking-harmony". Or "The Love Connection." It is, I guess, kind of like that dumb show "high school reunion" and apparently has the same effects on people as that stupid reality show did."
Guess who I found on myspace...how weird is that?" Umm, not. What on earth is weird about the fact that you found so and so from your preschool class in 1912? If for just a moment, you remembered to remember that everyone, including some babies and dogs, have myspace pages, then you might just realize that you were bound to find him/her/shim sooner than later.
Even worse is the "its so weird, i'm questioning my life" reaction to finding long lost loves on myspace. Please! You are really going to question your current partner(s) because your 5th grade girlfriend has "friended" you? That does NOT mean she is still in love with you (you are not in love with her either.) It just means she likes to say "You only have 30 myspace friends? I have 367..." to other myspacers she feels inferior to in real life.
It's not fate...it's myspace, people.
I Love the 90's!
September 6, 2006
My horoscope today: Memories from the distant past, perhaps as far back as early childhood, could keep popping into your conscious mind today, dear Leo. You may feel really silly, crying over a fairytale your grandmother read you when you were 5 years old, but as embarrassing as this can be, it's actually a positive form of release. Old pain from the past, even as inane as this, can actually limit you in your current situation. Let it go and embrace the process.
So it's totally strange that for the last few days, I've been reminiscing, and feeling "silly" for being sad about how long ago the past is (go MSN horoscope!) I drove around the Reisterstown part of Owings Mills the other day...I still knew my way on those shortcuts I was taught a million years ago (ok, fine, I've never actually left OM, but still...I haven't driven on some of those roads in a very long time.) I will tell you though, that there are stop signs and speed bumps where there never were before! They really should have sent me a letter.
I was just talking about the passing on of The WB network, and how they are having a final goodbye, by showing the pilot episodes of the four shows that made it a hit. They showed clips of Dawson's Creek, Felicity, and two other shows (Buffy and Charmed maybe? Eh, who cares...)
So for some reason, when I saw the Felicity clip, I was sucked back into my junior year of high school. I got really, oddly sad. I mean really oddly sad. I remember laying on my bed, right in front of the television, tuning in to the premiere episode of my soon to be favorite show. Since then, that bed is no longer in my room. And that room is no longer my room, because that house is no longer my house.
I looked through a photo album with tons of pictures from my freshman year of college. You think 8 years ago seems like yesterday until you see what the 8 years has done to you, perfectly documented, thanks to Kodak. I am not kidding or being exaggeratory (yes, its a word...my word, but still a word) when I say that I now look like the 17 year old me's mother. Or much older and much uglier sister.
AND! I've been hearing all of these songs...perhaps because I'm addicted to 90's on 9 on XM...I can't help it... Anyway, these songs are too funny...Vanilla Ice, Colour Me Badd, Kris Kross, and my most recent favorite song I haven't heard in a million years, "Mr. Vain" which, by the way, is much dirtier on satellite radio. I feel like I'm back at Grafitti's (that's right, the under 21 dance club that is now known as Padonia Station!)
So right, I'm in this weird "I wish I was in high school again" place that I never thought I'd be (could be all the teeny-bopper movies I watched this weekend...High School Musical...She's The Man...) But "they" know everything...because "they" always said "Enjoy it while you're living it, because these are the best years of your life..." And yet, I still ignored it thinking, "Please god, no."
My horoscope says not to harp on this. It will hold me back. I don't know what from, but I have no choice other than to listen to the stars and planets. Otherwise, I have to listen to myself, and half the time I don't have any idea what I'm talking about.
My horoscope today: Memories from the distant past, perhaps as far back as early childhood, could keep popping into your conscious mind today, dear Leo. You may feel really silly, crying over a fairytale your grandmother read you when you were 5 years old, but as embarrassing as this can be, it's actually a positive form of release. Old pain from the past, even as inane as this, can actually limit you in your current situation. Let it go and embrace the process.
So it's totally strange that for the last few days, I've been reminiscing, and feeling "silly" for being sad about how long ago the past is (go MSN horoscope!) I drove around the Reisterstown part of Owings Mills the other day...I still knew my way on those shortcuts I was taught a million years ago (ok, fine, I've never actually left OM, but still...I haven't driven on some of those roads in a very long time.) I will tell you though, that there are stop signs and speed bumps where there never were before! They really should have sent me a letter.
I was just talking about the passing on of The WB network, and how they are having a final goodbye, by showing the pilot episodes of the four shows that made it a hit. They showed clips of Dawson's Creek, Felicity, and two other shows (Buffy and Charmed maybe? Eh, who cares...)
So for some reason, when I saw the Felicity clip, I was sucked back into my junior year of high school. I got really, oddly sad. I mean really oddly sad. I remember laying on my bed, right in front of the television, tuning in to the premiere episode of my soon to be favorite show. Since then, that bed is no longer in my room. And that room is no longer my room, because that house is no longer my house.
I looked through a photo album with tons of pictures from my freshman year of college. You think 8 years ago seems like yesterday until you see what the 8 years has done to you, perfectly documented, thanks to Kodak. I am not kidding or being exaggeratory (yes, its a word...my word, but still a word) when I say that I now look like the 17 year old me's mother. Or much older and much uglier sister.
AND! I've been hearing all of these songs...perhaps because I'm addicted to 90's on 9 on XM...I can't help it... Anyway, these songs are too funny...Vanilla Ice, Colour Me Badd, Kris Kross, and my most recent favorite song I haven't heard in a million years, "Mr. Vain" which, by the way, is much dirtier on satellite radio. I feel like I'm back at Grafitti's (that's right, the under 21 dance club that is now known as Padonia Station!)
So right, I'm in this weird "I wish I was in high school again" place that I never thought I'd be (could be all the teeny-bopper movies I watched this weekend...High School Musical...She's The Man...) But "they" know everything...because "they" always said "Enjoy it while you're living it, because these are the best years of your life..." And yet, I still ignored it thinking, "Please god, no."
My horoscope says not to harp on this. It will hold me back. I don't know what from, but I have no choice other than to listen to the stars and planets. Otherwise, I have to listen to myself, and half the time I don't have any idea what I'm talking about.
It's The Thought That Counts
September 5, 2006
Not to toot my own horn, but I like to think of myself as a fantastic gift buyer. I'm thoughtful. I try to come up with things you wouldn't expect, or, something you've mentioned, maybe a long time ago that you wanted, that you probably forget ever mentioning to me.
And so I pride myself on this...I may even pat myself on the back from time to time...but lately, you all keep spoiling my carefully thought out, perfectly wrapped masterpieces.
For months, I calculate conversations, I dig deep into my short term memory, just to come up with the perfect gift for someone. But I've been punked. A week before a birthday, my friend purchased my well-thought-out gift. After months of avoiding spending the money, there it is..."Let's go to the store so I can buy one."
Fine. So at least I had a week to rethink. And so I did. I came up with perfect give number two. But, you guessed it, they decided to buy it, online, from MY computer, just days before. I tried to stop it. Really, I did.
Fine. So at least I had a few days to rethink. This time, they didn't buy it, but they joked that I could buy it for their birthday. Which, still, ruins the fact that it was my idea in the first place.
And now, it looks like a thoughtless gift that was only purchased last minute at their request.
Who buys things the week before their birthday! Next time you think "huh, I'm going to buy myself that ______ I've been wanting as a birthday gift to myself" think again. Someone like me probably already bought it. Dummy.
I'm just lucky I'm not an advanced purchaser, or else, I'd have an awful lot of returns to make. Except now, I'm late, and have to wait 5-9 days for shipping. And so still, I look like the bad gift-er who gives lame presents, and, gives them a week late.
If only it was the thought that really did count.
Not to toot my own horn, but I like to think of myself as a fantastic gift buyer. I'm thoughtful. I try to come up with things you wouldn't expect, or, something you've mentioned, maybe a long time ago that you wanted, that you probably forget ever mentioning to me.
And so I pride myself on this...I may even pat myself on the back from time to time...but lately, you all keep spoiling my carefully thought out, perfectly wrapped masterpieces.
For months, I calculate conversations, I dig deep into my short term memory, just to come up with the perfect gift for someone. But I've been punked. A week before a birthday, my friend purchased my well-thought-out gift. After months of avoiding spending the money, there it is..."Let's go to the store so I can buy one."
Fine. So at least I had a week to rethink. And so I did. I came up with perfect give number two. But, you guessed it, they decided to buy it, online, from MY computer, just days before. I tried to stop it. Really, I did.
Fine. So at least I had a few days to rethink. This time, they didn't buy it, but they joked that I could buy it for their birthday. Which, still, ruins the fact that it was my idea in the first place.
And now, it looks like a thoughtless gift that was only purchased last minute at their request.
Who buys things the week before their birthday! Next time you think "huh, I'm going to buy myself that ______ I've been wanting as a birthday gift to myself" think again. Someone like me probably already bought it. Dummy.
I'm just lucky I'm not an advanced purchaser, or else, I'd have an awful lot of returns to make. Except now, I'm late, and have to wait 5-9 days for shipping. And so still, I look like the bad gift-er who gives lame presents, and, gives them a week late.
If only it was the thought that really did count.
Dear Diary,
August 31, 2006
Today, blog=journal. Since I don't have a journal, I won't write in it, and today feels like one of those days that I would write in a journal if i had one.
Dear Diary,
It's weird how we all have expectations, but in experience, I've noticed a hypocritical trend. "They" say you should have expectations, and accept nothing less. But I find, personally, that when you do that, you're always sold just a little bit short.
Let me go back to go back on my coke/water theory for a moment. If you're confused and have never heard of it, keep reading, because I promise I will explain. If you have heard it, my apologies for topic redundancy...
Let's say you're sitting in a restaurant. You have your water, and you have the coke that you ordered as choice beverage of the night. So you're sitting there, deep in some fantastic conversation with your table attendants, and BAM...you go to take a sip of coke, you pick up the water by accident, and take a sip. You EXPECTED coke, but you got water. Ohhhh nooooo.
What's weird here is that you will never, and I guarantee ever, come to the immediate conclusion that you accidentally drank your water. You will, however "conclude" that something is wrong with your coke. And the reason for this is that you simply weren't "expecting" water.
And so for the theory...coke/water is like a bad date. Or for the purpose of this argument...any contact with a person you don't know. Or do know really (again, back to the expecation thing...example...you expect flowers for your bday, you don't get them...boom...your sad...you don't expect flowers, you get them...wham...happy day)
Anyway, I've totally lost track of my point here. My point is, diary, that its very hard to set expectations at the perfect level...the level where the people you expect things from, or the things you expect, are obtainable and reasonable. But on the latter, if you expect nothing, and get something, you're already ahead of the game.
I've forgotten how you sign of in a journal/diary. So I will end with a quote...
"If he's saying 'no expectations' he's giving himself some wiggle room." -Unknown
Yours truly,
Shauna
Today, blog=journal. Since I don't have a journal, I won't write in it, and today feels like one of those days that I would write in a journal if i had one.
Dear Diary,
It's weird how we all have expectations, but in experience, I've noticed a hypocritical trend. "They" say you should have expectations, and accept nothing less. But I find, personally, that when you do that, you're always sold just a little bit short.
Let me go back to go back on my coke/water theory for a moment. If you're confused and have never heard of it, keep reading, because I promise I will explain. If you have heard it, my apologies for topic redundancy...
Let's say you're sitting in a restaurant. You have your water, and you have the coke that you ordered as choice beverage of the night. So you're sitting there, deep in some fantastic conversation with your table attendants, and BAM...you go to take a sip of coke, you pick up the water by accident, and take a sip. You EXPECTED coke, but you got water. Ohhhh nooooo.
What's weird here is that you will never, and I guarantee ever, come to the immediate conclusion that you accidentally drank your water. You will, however "conclude" that something is wrong with your coke. And the reason for this is that you simply weren't "expecting" water.
And so for the theory...coke/water is like a bad date. Or for the purpose of this argument...any contact with a person you don't know. Or do know really (again, back to the expecation thing...example...you expect flowers for your bday, you don't get them...boom...your sad...you don't expect flowers, you get them...wham...happy day)
Anyway, I've totally lost track of my point here. My point is, diary, that its very hard to set expectations at the perfect level...the level where the people you expect things from, or the things you expect, are obtainable and reasonable. But on the latter, if you expect nothing, and get something, you're already ahead of the game.
I've forgotten how you sign of in a journal/diary. So I will end with a quote...
"If he's saying 'no expectations' he's giving himself some wiggle room." -Unknown
Yours truly,
Shauna
Hollywouldn't Get Married If I Were You
August 21, 2006
The then Aniston-Pitt, Jolie-Thornton, Cruise-Cruz, becomes Vaughniston. Brangelina.
Tomkat. The on again off again Gyllenhaal-Dunst, Bloom-Bosworth. The horribly wed Brit and KFed, Kid and Pam. And the recently separated/divorced Carmen & Dave, Kate & Chris, and the infamously famous Jessica & Nick.
Let's play a game! Who can identify a pattern? The divorce rate in the U.S. is at a high (again) and I think its Hollywood's fault.
People cheat in the real world. Over here in MD, down in FL, and up and over in Canada, people stray. And its the direct result of temptation without control. Without getting into, and possibly boring you to tears with my so far proven theory about cheating and "the cycle", I will say this...
Once tempation strikes, you have a choice. You walk away...you remove yourself from the situation, and in time, you get over it. Or, you continue to allow yourself to be tempted until you crack. There's two kinds of people in this world, and it seems like, unfortunately, most are the latter.
Argue with me if you like, but it seems like common sense. If people cheat in the real world, where the majority cruising down I-83 do not even resemble Angelina or Penelope, then why on EARTH would you expect it to be different in glamour land? 29 of every 30 Hollywood couples break up! Even the perfect ones. Oh Brad and Jen. Sigh.
But really. If regular ol' east coasters have been known to be tempted by just a glance across the bar, then how could a Hollywood actress...even one as lovely as Rachel Green, er, Jen Aniston, expect that her husband would not be tempted by a naked Jolie in a steamy hot love scene?
Puh-lease! Temptation is FORCED on you in tv/movie land...and avoiding it is pretty much impossible. And I'm not even being cynical!
I'm just saying, if the male (or female) half of Jolie-Pitt cheats during the filming of an upcoming movie with the new "People's Hottest Actress" cover queen, Jessica Alba...I called it...
The then Aniston-Pitt, Jolie-Thornton, Cruise-Cruz, becomes Vaughniston. Brangelina.
Tomkat. The on again off again Gyllenhaal-Dunst, Bloom-Bosworth. The horribly wed Brit and KFed, Kid and Pam. And the recently separated/divorced Carmen & Dave, Kate & Chris, and the infamously famous Jessica & Nick.
Let's play a game! Who can identify a pattern? The divorce rate in the U.S. is at a high (again) and I think its Hollywood's fault.
People cheat in the real world. Over here in MD, down in FL, and up and over in Canada, people stray. And its the direct result of temptation without control. Without getting into, and possibly boring you to tears with my so far proven theory about cheating and "the cycle", I will say this...
Once tempation strikes, you have a choice. You walk away...you remove yourself from the situation, and in time, you get over it. Or, you continue to allow yourself to be tempted until you crack. There's two kinds of people in this world, and it seems like, unfortunately, most are the latter.
Argue with me if you like, but it seems like common sense. If people cheat in the real world, where the majority cruising down I-83 do not even resemble Angelina or Penelope, then why on EARTH would you expect it to be different in glamour land? 29 of every 30 Hollywood couples break up! Even the perfect ones. Oh Brad and Jen. Sigh.
But really. If regular ol' east coasters have been known to be tempted by just a glance across the bar, then how could a Hollywood actress...even one as lovely as Rachel Green, er, Jen Aniston, expect that her husband would not be tempted by a naked Jolie in a steamy hot love scene?
Puh-lease! Temptation is FORCED on you in tv/movie land...and avoiding it is pretty much impossible. And I'm not even being cynical!
I'm just saying, if the male (or female) half of Jolie-Pitt cheats during the filming of an upcoming movie with the new "People's Hottest Actress" cover queen, Jessica Alba...I called it...
Merry Christmas & An Oven Mitt
August 16, 2006
They say with old age comes memory loss and insanity. I think I just didn't realize, again, that 25 was considered "old age".
In the last few weeks, I've noticed a pattern of perhaps some sort of dementia. I was once told that I might have a B-12 folic acid deficiency, which could lead to dementia over time. Well over time has come, full force.
I live in a condo. Right outside my door, there is a storage unit that I use. A few weeks ago, I went to get something out of the storage unit, and once retrieved, I turned around to go back into my house. Except, oops. I locked the door behind me on my way out, sans keys and cell phone, and now I was a prisoner in my own building. If I left the building, I would be a prisoner outside of my building, since my area is enforced with keyed-entry only. Gotta love security.
Woo. So, with really no options, I took a chance that when sweeping my front porch that morning, I had forgotten to lock the sliding door. Lucky for me, I had forgotten, so with a mere hop skip and jump over the railing, I was able to get back inside.
Same day. Same time. Just before the lock out, I began boiling water and frozen meatballs in order to "de-grease" them for my super secret cocktail meatball recipe that I would serve at a party the next day. While in limbo between storage unit and house, the boiling contraption on my stove slipped my mind. So upon re-entry, I moved on to some other household chore, until I heard a sizzling explosion coming from the kitchen. That's right. A grease fire-esque situation had erupted on my stove. Thinking quickly (for once) I turned off the stove and threw a towel on the slippery, smelly, stupid mess. Under control, and major catastrophe avoided. Until....
Moments later, after recovering, I washed a few dishes. One of these said "dishes" was a plastic lid to the 13x9 inch pan that I currently had baking in the oven. Since I don't have a drying rack because frankly, I think they're ugly, I threw the lid onto the stove to dry. Well, it dried quickly, considering I threw it on the only burner I had just used, and a little later, when I smelled burning plastic, I realized that I now had a lovely melted rectangle on my somewhat brand new stove. This was a joy to recover from.
Remember the 13x9 inch pan that was in the oven? Me too. So when I went to get it out, I stuck my hand in and grabbed it out. Do I have pot holders? Oven mitts? Check and check. I, for some reason, felt like the untouchable Superman with hands of unburnable steel. Quickly, I was also proven wrong.
A grease fire, a chemical fire, a 1st degree burn, and 3 "Amber Sunset" Yankee candles later, my house was back to smelling normal (quite lovely really...Amber Sunset is a hit!) and my melted hand was well on its way to recovery.
So maybe I was just having a bad day (insert Daniel Powter song here...) But since, I have done several more stupid things...)
I have turned on the oven without ever putting anything in it to cook. I brewed coffee without water. I have broken more wine glasses in 2 weeks than in my entire lifetime. And most recently, two days ago to be exact, I signed off an email with "Merry Christmas!"
I would say "Remember when everyday things came to us so easily?" But I can't. My dementia symptoms won't let me.
They say with old age comes memory loss and insanity. I think I just didn't realize, again, that 25 was considered "old age".
In the last few weeks, I've noticed a pattern of perhaps some sort of dementia. I was once told that I might have a B-12 folic acid deficiency, which could lead to dementia over time. Well over time has come, full force.
I live in a condo. Right outside my door, there is a storage unit that I use. A few weeks ago, I went to get something out of the storage unit, and once retrieved, I turned around to go back into my house. Except, oops. I locked the door behind me on my way out, sans keys and cell phone, and now I was a prisoner in my own building. If I left the building, I would be a prisoner outside of my building, since my area is enforced with keyed-entry only. Gotta love security.
Woo. So, with really no options, I took a chance that when sweeping my front porch that morning, I had forgotten to lock the sliding door. Lucky for me, I had forgotten, so with a mere hop skip and jump over the railing, I was able to get back inside.
Same day. Same time. Just before the lock out, I began boiling water and frozen meatballs in order to "de-grease" them for my super secret cocktail meatball recipe that I would serve at a party the next day. While in limbo between storage unit and house, the boiling contraption on my stove slipped my mind. So upon re-entry, I moved on to some other household chore, until I heard a sizzling explosion coming from the kitchen. That's right. A grease fire-esque situation had erupted on my stove. Thinking quickly (for once) I turned off the stove and threw a towel on the slippery, smelly, stupid mess. Under control, and major catastrophe avoided. Until....
Moments later, after recovering, I washed a few dishes. One of these said "dishes" was a plastic lid to the 13x9 inch pan that I currently had baking in the oven. Since I don't have a drying rack because frankly, I think they're ugly, I threw the lid onto the stove to dry. Well, it dried quickly, considering I threw it on the only burner I had just used, and a little later, when I smelled burning plastic, I realized that I now had a lovely melted rectangle on my somewhat brand new stove. This was a joy to recover from.
Remember the 13x9 inch pan that was in the oven? Me too. So when I went to get it out, I stuck my hand in and grabbed it out. Do I have pot holders? Oven mitts? Check and check. I, for some reason, felt like the untouchable Superman with hands of unburnable steel. Quickly, I was also proven wrong.
A grease fire, a chemical fire, a 1st degree burn, and 3 "Amber Sunset" Yankee candles later, my house was back to smelling normal (quite lovely really...Amber Sunset is a hit!) and my melted hand was well on its way to recovery.
So maybe I was just having a bad day (insert Daniel Powter song here...) But since, I have done several more stupid things...)
I have turned on the oven without ever putting anything in it to cook. I brewed coffee without water. I have broken more wine glasses in 2 weeks than in my entire lifetime. And most recently, two days ago to be exact, I signed off an email with "Merry Christmas!"
I would say "Remember when everyday things came to us so easily?" But I can't. My dementia symptoms won't let me.
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