For a change of pace - I'm going to list things that annoy me about fast food. I am turning into Rainman when it comes to fast food, I admit it - but these things need to be addressed.
When did drive through restaurants make the sweeping change of having to drive around the building two and three times just to get your order? What happened to the drive thrus of yore when you simply pulled up to a microphone, ordered, drove about 10 feet to window, you paid, received your food and off you went? Now you pull in the entrance drive completely around the building to get in the drive thru lane, stop 3 times for different things and then have to completely circle the building again to exit. Forget it. One circle and I'm done.
Since we're talking about drive thrus - what's the deal with drive thrus that don't give you a cup of water? They will sell you a bottle of water for $1.79 - but won't give you water in a cup.
Along those lines - when did fast food restaurants start making you pay for extra condiments? Yeah, that extra ketchup pack is worth the .5. No way.
And McDonalds charges an eat in/take out tax. Don't even ask me what that is - because I don't know - but check your receipt next time. You are getting an extra charge for eating in or taking it to go. The employees don't know what it is either - ask them sometime.
Why does McDonalds now call the Double Cheeseburgers ...McCheesys? The double cheeseburger used to be on the $$ menu - but they've been replaced by the McCheesy. The Double Cheeseburger is it's own price now. That was an expensive lesson for my two sons that had $4 between them.
And who are these people that go to fast food and expect a gourmet made to order meal? I'm fine with the no lettuce, extra pickle - by all means get what you want or don't want on it. I'm talking about the person that asks for saltless fries. Or the yogurt parfait with nuts on the bottom. Or the freshly brewed cup of coffee.
Oh, but worse than the special order is the "what do you want" people. They can be found in the drive thru, mostly - and occasionally at the counter. These are people that have about six kids, and ask "what do you want" while at the counter or speaker. Drinks are the worst. The drive thru employee lists them. The driver lists them to to the rider. The rider asks for a drink not mentioned. The driver finally just says "water" and the next thing you know they are questioning their bill because they've been charged $10 for bottled water, $2 for condiments and by golly, the nuts are on top of their parfait.
I'm not one to brag - but I've been told on more than one occasion by a drive thru employee..."thank you for having your order ready." One of my proudest moments!
Friday, October 16, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Smugness Pooling at My Feet
Oh, I can be a smug queen when I want to be. Some people might say I want to be smug every day - but that's not the case. I'm often dissatisfied with myself as often as I'm satisfied. But one place I know I'm always in the right is at the Commissary. (That's a grocery store to you civilian folk.)
I don't like to shop. There. I've put that out there. I enjoy browsing for stuff I don't need. I love to dream about expensive antiques I'll never own and the beach house I will one day decorate in a beachy motif. (I know, the beach! Go figure!) But when it comes down to shopping - I'm just not a fan - especially when I need something. Unfortunately - we always need something from the grocery - milk, bread, cereal, coffee filters, 36 bottles of Gator-Ade. Something. So it is usually me and my bad attitude headed out the door.
If I must go to the grocery - I go early. I must be there within 5 minutes of it opening. Even more than shopping - I hate crowds. So, I am usually at the store as early as I can get there. This morning was awesome. Got there so early I was even able to park in one of the spots reserved for "Any Colonel." Yippee! That's only happened once before - so today was going to be a good day. I could feel the smug smile playing on my lips.
I had my list of needs and wants. My goal is always "get it and go." No lingering. No loitering. I have my coupons presorted according to aisle. (I love to save money as much as I love saving time.) I enter the store actual 10 minutes before it opens. The angels are smiling on me today!
I pulled out a cart - again, angels smiling, one came lose without 4 attached, and I entered the store. Full smug smile.
I should have known at the precise moment I walked through the electronic door that my luck had ended. I had entered the land of unpurchased case lots. Oh, the horror. A pack of twelve cans of sauerkraut was the first thing I saw, followed by the rutabaga, jumbo box of Rice Krispies (big enough to feed a fraternity house breakfast and offer seconds,) and the all purpose 48 piece Clorox Cleaning Kit. I've nothing against buying in bulk - it's just that I don't like storing 120 gallon ketchup bottles in my coat closet. The leftovers were everywhere. But, I've done this dance before - so I deftly made my way down the aisle to the produce. Smugness still intact.
Ah, crap. It's Monday. That means it's retired couples day. Frank and Helen have decided to make a day shopping for bargains. I know in my heart of hearts that Helen would rather be anywhere than shopping for groceries - but Frank, a novice, only doing this for the last 15 years, thinks he's in charge. That means I have to navigate around him in his "I'm spending my kids' inheritance T shirt" while he's yelling "Helen, they've got Idaho potatoes for 3 cent cheaper than the ones in your cart. Did you hear me? 3 cent!" "And don't forget to by Charmin. I don't like that cheap stuff. Helen? We need some Raisin Bran. I like the one with the extra raisins. Helen? Are you listening?" At this point, Helen has moved over to the wine aisle - which is located in another store.
Next are Mary and Marcy. Mary and Marcy are a team and are shopping together. have to pick up every single apple, tomato, green pepper and leek to find the perfect specimen. They can't or won't move...they are on a mission, dang it. Must. Find. Perfect. Squash. And they are a team. They will put all the groceries in one basket but when they get to the checkout - they will sort it out and it will actually be two bills. I ran for the hills.
Fortunately, I don't need much produce today so I grab my not quite yellow still green bananas and head to the condiment aisle. Oh shitake mushrooms. What have we here? It's Rebecca, Elizabeth, Jennifer, Katherine - someone that refuses to shorten her name, drinking her cup of Starbucks coffee in her own private little world. Her basket is in the middle of the aisle. You can't go to the left or right of it. She is standing five to ten feet in front of her cart drinking her coffee and just staring at the pearl onions, extra large pimento olives and bread and butter pickles. And staring she is. Lovingly and longingly. She's in some type of coffee coma induced by the overwhelming selection of condiments. Marcella, Pricilla, Veronica, Suzanna will still be standing there when I leave and still drinking her Starbucks oblivious to the fact there is a 10 cart pile up caused by her.
Yikes! No condiments today except peanut butter and lucky for me it is on the end of aisle. Onward to the cereal aisle.
Oh for the love of God, who invented kids anyway? Here we find Bex (short and flirty for Becky) and her brood of 10 kids all under the age of 6. It's not so much the kids I object to as it is Bex. Jordan wants Trix but Tyler is allergic to the red dye and wants Honeycombs but not as much as Trey wants Super Sugar Crisp. Bex reminds them all that Nicole can't tolerate sugar and Ashley only likes corn flakes and would Michael remind everyone what happened the last time he ate gluten? I got the hell out of Dodge the last time I ate gluten. Thank god my family is full of cereal freaks. They eat what I buy them. That's the rule. I picked up the discards from the Health-tastic family and went on my way.
My favorite aisle - FROZEN FOODS! Yippee - that means my time in the store is almost at an end. I just need to get to the milk, grab some eggs and call it a day. But, wait, I can't get around the corner because Tabitha is standing there. Oh, and Tabitha can't move, you see. Why is that? She points to her cell phone and shrugs. I understand. The cell phone enables your rudeness. Got it. It renders you unable to do anything but talk on the phone and the universal point to the phone as your nodding your head tells the world "this call is more important than your need for survival so I will be on this phone as long as it takes my friend to tell me about her date."
I hate people that talk on cell phones in the store. Detest them. What makes them think the cell phone renders them invisible? Why does courtesy fly out the window when someone picks up their cell phone? I never talk on my cell in a store. I would never talk on my phone in a store. It is the worst kind of rude. I just shake my head when I see this decay of civilization and inwardly my smug smile takes over to get me through the rest of the day. I am above cell phone talking.
I am thinking this as I walk to the register. I don't need my husband reminding me to get things. I don't need my friend finding the bargains of the day. I don't need Starbucks to get me through the grind of shopping. My smug smile is in full gleam as I make my way to the check out line.
Hey. They are giving out free samples of coffee. Well, it is free and this woman is doing a job. Ok, I can have one as I wait to check out. I won't be holding up any lines. Finally a line clears and I make my way over to the conveyor belt just so happy in my own smug little world.
I put my coffee on the edge of the belt and begin unloading my loot. At the exact same time the cashier asks paper or plastic my cell phone rings. As I hurriedly rush to answer it the cashier gives me the look of death as I mouth plastic. As I answer the phone I slowly feel the aforementioned smugness pooling around my ankles. I hear my husband on the other end of the phone reminding me to get him blueberry wheat checks. As I look down I realize it really isn't smugness pooling at my ankles. It's the coffee I knocked over in my race to answer the cell phone.
I don't like to shop. There. I've put that out there. I enjoy browsing for stuff I don't need. I love to dream about expensive antiques I'll never own and the beach house I will one day decorate in a beachy motif. (I know, the beach! Go figure!) But when it comes down to shopping - I'm just not a fan - especially when I need something. Unfortunately - we always need something from the grocery - milk, bread, cereal, coffee filters, 36 bottles of Gator-Ade. Something. So it is usually me and my bad attitude headed out the door.
If I must go to the grocery - I go early. I must be there within 5 minutes of it opening. Even more than shopping - I hate crowds. So, I am usually at the store as early as I can get there. This morning was awesome. Got there so early I was even able to park in one of the spots reserved for "Any Colonel." Yippee! That's only happened once before - so today was going to be a good day. I could feel the smug smile playing on my lips.
I had my list of needs and wants. My goal is always "get it and go." No lingering. No loitering. I have my coupons presorted according to aisle. (I love to save money as much as I love saving time.) I enter the store actual 10 minutes before it opens. The angels are smiling on me today!
I pulled out a cart - again, angels smiling, one came lose without 4 attached, and I entered the store. Full smug smile.
I should have known at the precise moment I walked through the electronic door that my luck had ended. I had entered the land of unpurchased case lots. Oh, the horror. A pack of twelve cans of sauerkraut was the first thing I saw, followed by the rutabaga, jumbo box of Rice Krispies (big enough to feed a fraternity house breakfast and offer seconds,) and the all purpose 48 piece Clorox Cleaning Kit. I've nothing against buying in bulk - it's just that I don't like storing 120 gallon ketchup bottles in my coat closet. The leftovers were everywhere. But, I've done this dance before - so I deftly made my way down the aisle to the produce. Smugness still intact.
Ah, crap. It's Monday. That means it's retired couples day. Frank and Helen have decided to make a day shopping for bargains. I know in my heart of hearts that Helen would rather be anywhere than shopping for groceries - but Frank, a novice, only doing this for the last 15 years, thinks he's in charge. That means I have to navigate around him in his "I'm spending my kids' inheritance T shirt" while he's yelling "Helen, they've got Idaho potatoes for 3 cent cheaper than the ones in your cart. Did you hear me? 3 cent!" "And don't forget to by Charmin. I don't like that cheap stuff. Helen? We need some Raisin Bran. I like the one with the extra raisins. Helen? Are you listening?" At this point, Helen has moved over to the wine aisle - which is located in another store.
Next are Mary and Marcy. Mary and Marcy are a team and are shopping together. have to pick up every single apple, tomato, green pepper and leek to find the perfect specimen. They can't or won't move...they are on a mission, dang it. Must. Find. Perfect. Squash. And they are a team. They will put all the groceries in one basket but when they get to the checkout - they will sort it out and it will actually be two bills. I ran for the hills.
Fortunately, I don't need much produce today so I grab my not quite yellow still green bananas and head to the condiment aisle. Oh shitake mushrooms. What have we here? It's Rebecca, Elizabeth, Jennifer, Katherine - someone that refuses to shorten her name, drinking her cup of Starbucks coffee in her own private little world. Her basket is in the middle of the aisle. You can't go to the left or right of it. She is standing five to ten feet in front of her cart drinking her coffee and just staring at the pearl onions, extra large pimento olives and bread and butter pickles. And staring she is. Lovingly and longingly. She's in some type of coffee coma induced by the overwhelming selection of condiments. Marcella, Pricilla, Veronica, Suzanna will still be standing there when I leave and still drinking her Starbucks oblivious to the fact there is a 10 cart pile up caused by her.
Yikes! No condiments today except peanut butter and lucky for me it is on the end of aisle. Onward to the cereal aisle.
Oh for the love of God, who invented kids anyway? Here we find Bex (short and flirty for Becky) and her brood of 10 kids all under the age of 6. It's not so much the kids I object to as it is Bex. Jordan wants Trix but Tyler is allergic to the red dye and wants Honeycombs but not as much as Trey wants Super Sugar Crisp. Bex reminds them all that Nicole can't tolerate sugar and Ashley only likes corn flakes and would Michael remind everyone what happened the last time he ate gluten? I got the hell out of Dodge the last time I ate gluten. Thank god my family is full of cereal freaks. They eat what I buy them. That's the rule. I picked up the discards from the Health-tastic family and went on my way.
My favorite aisle - FROZEN FOODS! Yippee - that means my time in the store is almost at an end. I just need to get to the milk, grab some eggs and call it a day. But, wait, I can't get around the corner because Tabitha is standing there. Oh, and Tabitha can't move, you see. Why is that? She points to her cell phone and shrugs. I understand. The cell phone enables your rudeness. Got it. It renders you unable to do anything but talk on the phone and the universal point to the phone as your nodding your head tells the world "this call is more important than your need for survival so I will be on this phone as long as it takes my friend to tell me about her date."
I hate people that talk on cell phones in the store. Detest them. What makes them think the cell phone renders them invisible? Why does courtesy fly out the window when someone picks up their cell phone? I never talk on my cell in a store. I would never talk on my phone in a store. It is the worst kind of rude. I just shake my head when I see this decay of civilization and inwardly my smug smile takes over to get me through the rest of the day. I am above cell phone talking.
I am thinking this as I walk to the register. I don't need my husband reminding me to get things. I don't need my friend finding the bargains of the day. I don't need Starbucks to get me through the grind of shopping. My smug smile is in full gleam as I make my way to the check out line.
Hey. They are giving out free samples of coffee. Well, it is free and this woman is doing a job. Ok, I can have one as I wait to check out. I won't be holding up any lines. Finally a line clears and I make my way over to the conveyor belt just so happy in my own smug little world.
I put my coffee on the edge of the belt and begin unloading my loot. At the exact same time the cashier asks paper or plastic my cell phone rings. As I hurriedly rush to answer it the cashier gives me the look of death as I mouth plastic. As I answer the phone I slowly feel the aforementioned smugness pooling around my ankles. I hear my husband on the other end of the phone reminding me to get him blueberry wheat checks. As I look down I realize it really isn't smugness pooling at my ankles. It's the coffee I knocked over in my race to answer the cell phone.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Tide + Bleach+ Snuggle = Happiness AKA SEARS SUCKS
I finally have my new washer. It only took three weeks, 19 hours of phone calls to Sears, three trips to the laundromat, $56 in quarters and a visit to Lowes, but by golly, it's spewing out clean clothes.
We own a home in Chesapeake, VA that we are renting to a military family. I love my Neptune washer and dryer in that house - but since it is a front loading washer, Sears requires a $180 service call to "pin" the mechanisms for the move- or it will void the warranty purchased with the machine. So long $300. Plus, the laundry room was built around the appliances -so we left the washer and dryer with house. After all, how hard is it to get a new washer and dryer? They sell them everywhere - as a matter of fact, I saw one for sale in the parking lot of 7-11.
As it turns out - if your purchasing a major appliance from Sears - the answer to the previous question is "pretty (expletive expletive expletive) hard.
I did my research. I knew exactly what I wanted and did not want. I'm a simple kind of gal -I move about every two years - so no gadgets, no digital readouts, no front loaders. It has to be a large capacity - there are 5 of us. I'd be happy with an on/off switch and maybe an optional fabric softener disposal - but if that is too frilly - back to the on/off. Same with the dryer. Ultimately, I purchased a GE Energy Star qualified washer and dryer. Yea me. I even managed to go green. This was done on June 29. I chose this particular combo because it had the shortest delivery time - even though all through the Sears Appliance Center I read "NEXT DAY DELIVERY" on almost every wall. "Jarel" said the delivery delay was due to the holiday weekend, even though by my calendar, the holiday was a good 6 days away. I'm nice. I didn't push. I could enjoy a laundry free 4th of July. (Although I'd been without a washer since June 23rd.)
July 2 I can't stand it any more and go to the Laun-do-rama in this cute little picturesque Maybury like town. I took in four loads of clothes figuring I had enough towels to get me through until the delivery.
It was hot. It was hard work carrying in all the clothes baskets. It was expensive - although maybe I really didn't have to buy the iced latte, dammit, I deserved it. It wasn't until I was folding the clothes I realized I had not washed one single shirt, short or sock of my eldest son. Kind of funny. But not really. He could wait until the 7th. I was home by 10:30 a.m. and fantasized about how my life would change when Sears showed up at my door.
Apparently, while I was gone, everyone decided to change their clothes at least 3 and shower 4 times a day with a fresh towel. I found myself back at the laund-do-rama July 7. This time it's 8 loads of clothes and two loads of towels. Again, by myself, hot, dirty, and nothing to read. Someone had cleaned out my quarter stash in the car. Miang, the attendant, and my new best friend, offered me a job because "You very efficient." Not so efficient that I failed to notice my 2nd son didn't have a stitch of clothing in the lot. There was nothing funny about that. I bought an iced latte and a muffin. God was against me, too. The muffin was burnt.
Ah, sweet Jesus. July 7 arrived and my bounty pulled up at 10:15. 10:45 I make my first service call to Sears. I try to explain to them that while water is in the washer - there is no movement of any sort. Yes, the water will drain, but again, no movement and the clothes are sopping wet. Deborah tells me to make sure the washer is plugged in. The tells me to drop the lid the magnet connects. Great suggestions if your an idiot and are not familiar with a washing machine. Seven phone calls and several hours later, Sears, Sears Delivery, Sears customer Service, Sears Customer Solutions and Sears Credit all confirm that a new washer will be delivered on July 14 and the other washer taken away. It is important to understand that each department is a separate entity of Sears and there is no communication between any of them. Although each did suggest I wait for a repairman on July22. Thank you, no. I want a new washer, not a new washer that has been fixed.
July 14 comes. Manuel and Jesus pick up my washer in the Irony Mobile - a panelled van that says "Next Day Delivery, Guaranteed." They load up the washer, but, wait a minute, they want my dryer, too - and guess what - there is no replacement for either. After Jesus makes several phone calls - he hands me the phone and Bonnie in Delivery tells me the replacement order is currently in production and will arrive on July 27.
Uh, no. Thus begins my 9 hour session with Sears where I finally realized Sears could give a crap about me, my laundry, my life, my dirty clothes, my second grade teacher, the wheels on the bus or the possible demise of No Child Left Behind.
Too late for a long story short - but basically, every single department blamed every single other department to include the the offspring of Jesus. Bottom line - their solution was to make me wait until July 27 - the magic day GE would give birth to this special appliance. I could, if I wanted to, go back to Sears and pick out another washer and dryer - but they couldn't promise a delivery before June 23 due to the tremendous success of the July 4 holiday sale. Oh for God's sake. I live 30 miles from Washington, DC. Not one Sears has this washer in a warehouse?
At 4:30 I just gave up. I put my head on the table and upon opening my eyes saw I had been resting on a Lowes advertisement. What the hell.
I got in my car. Drove to Stafford. Walked in to Lowes. Asked if they had this particular washer in stock. Yes, they did. How soon could I have it? Next day delivery. Bought within two minutes of entering the store - and cheaper than Sears.
Hmm. Sears is right in front of Lowes. The exact same Sears I started at. Walked in, slammed my receipt down - made them credit my account in front of me and take the delivery charge off. Buck need permission to do that - because after all, the product was delivered. It got ugly. I won, though. Delivery charge credited as well. And account cancelled - card cut up in front of Buck. Tears in his eyes. Glee in mine.
Doorbell rang at 7:30 this morning. I had a full load of laundry spinning by 8:00.
Day went exceedingly well. Tide. Bleach. The smell of clean clothes. Phone rings at 3:00. Sears wants to know when they can pick up my washing machine that had been delivered.
I hope Lowes sells carpet cleaners to clean up the remnants of my head exploding.
We own a home in Chesapeake, VA that we are renting to a military family. I love my Neptune washer and dryer in that house - but since it is a front loading washer, Sears requires a $180 service call to "pin" the mechanisms for the move- or it will void the warranty purchased with the machine. So long $300. Plus, the laundry room was built around the appliances -so we left the washer and dryer with house. After all, how hard is it to get a new washer and dryer? They sell them everywhere - as a matter of fact, I saw one for sale in the parking lot of 7-11.
As it turns out - if your purchasing a major appliance from Sears - the answer to the previous question is "pretty (expletive expletive expletive) hard.
I did my research. I knew exactly what I wanted and did not want. I'm a simple kind of gal -I move about every two years - so no gadgets, no digital readouts, no front loaders. It has to be a large capacity - there are 5 of us. I'd be happy with an on/off switch and maybe an optional fabric softener disposal - but if that is too frilly - back to the on/off. Same with the dryer. Ultimately, I purchased a GE Energy Star qualified washer and dryer. Yea me. I even managed to go green. This was done on June 29. I chose this particular combo because it had the shortest delivery time - even though all through the Sears Appliance Center I read "NEXT DAY DELIVERY" on almost every wall. "Jarel" said the delivery delay was due to the holiday weekend, even though by my calendar, the holiday was a good 6 days away. I'm nice. I didn't push. I could enjoy a laundry free 4th of July. (Although I'd been without a washer since June 23rd.)
July 2 I can't stand it any more and go to the Laun-do-rama in this cute little picturesque Maybury like town. I took in four loads of clothes figuring I had enough towels to get me through until the delivery.
It was hot. It was hard work carrying in all the clothes baskets. It was expensive - although maybe I really didn't have to buy the iced latte, dammit, I deserved it. It wasn't until I was folding the clothes I realized I had not washed one single shirt, short or sock of my eldest son. Kind of funny. But not really. He could wait until the 7th. I was home by 10:30 a.m. and fantasized about how my life would change when Sears showed up at my door.
Apparently, while I was gone, everyone decided to change their clothes at least 3 and shower 4 times a day with a fresh towel. I found myself back at the laund-do-rama July 7. This time it's 8 loads of clothes and two loads of towels. Again, by myself, hot, dirty, and nothing to read. Someone had cleaned out my quarter stash in the car. Miang, the attendant, and my new best friend, offered me a job because "You very efficient." Not so efficient that I failed to notice my 2nd son didn't have a stitch of clothing in the lot. There was nothing funny about that. I bought an iced latte and a muffin. God was against me, too. The muffin was burnt.
Ah, sweet Jesus. July 7 arrived and my bounty pulled up at 10:15. 10:45 I make my first service call to Sears. I try to explain to them that while water is in the washer - there is no movement of any sort. Yes, the water will drain, but again, no movement and the clothes are sopping wet. Deborah tells me to make sure the washer is plugged in. The tells me to drop the lid the magnet connects. Great suggestions if your an idiot and are not familiar with a washing machine. Seven phone calls and several hours later, Sears, Sears Delivery, Sears customer Service, Sears Customer Solutions and Sears Credit all confirm that a new washer will be delivered on July 14 and the other washer taken away. It is important to understand that each department is a separate entity of Sears and there is no communication between any of them. Although each did suggest I wait for a repairman on July22. Thank you, no. I want a new washer, not a new washer that has been fixed.
July 14 comes. Manuel and Jesus pick up my washer in the Irony Mobile - a panelled van that says "Next Day Delivery, Guaranteed." They load up the washer, but, wait a minute, they want my dryer, too - and guess what - there is no replacement for either. After Jesus makes several phone calls - he hands me the phone and Bonnie in Delivery tells me the replacement order is currently in production and will arrive on July 27.
Uh, no. Thus begins my 9 hour session with Sears where I finally realized Sears could give a crap about me, my laundry, my life, my dirty clothes, my second grade teacher, the wheels on the bus or the possible demise of No Child Left Behind.
Too late for a long story short - but basically, every single department blamed every single other department to include the the offspring of Jesus. Bottom line - their solution was to make me wait until July 27 - the magic day GE would give birth to this special appliance. I could, if I wanted to, go back to Sears and pick out another washer and dryer - but they couldn't promise a delivery before June 23 due to the tremendous success of the July 4 holiday sale. Oh for God's sake. I live 30 miles from Washington, DC. Not one Sears has this washer in a warehouse?
At 4:30 I just gave up. I put my head on the table and upon opening my eyes saw I had been resting on a Lowes advertisement. What the hell.
I got in my car. Drove to Stafford. Walked in to Lowes. Asked if they had this particular washer in stock. Yes, they did. How soon could I have it? Next day delivery. Bought within two minutes of entering the store - and cheaper than Sears.
Hmm. Sears is right in front of Lowes. The exact same Sears I started at. Walked in, slammed my receipt down - made them credit my account in front of me and take the delivery charge off. Buck need permission to do that - because after all, the product was delivered. It got ugly. I won, though. Delivery charge credited as well. And account cancelled - card cut up in front of Buck. Tears in his eyes. Glee in mine.
Doorbell rang at 7:30 this morning. I had a full load of laundry spinning by 8:00.
Day went exceedingly well. Tide. Bleach. The smell of clean clothes. Phone rings at 3:00. Sears wants to know when they can pick up my washing machine that had been delivered.
I hope Lowes sells carpet cleaners to clean up the remnants of my head exploding.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Joy of Moving
Ah, truly - there is joy in moving. While it may not be fun or enjoyable to watch coffee tables fall off moving trucks, finding broken antique marble heirlooms in your driveway or a suit jacket mixed in with pots and pans --- moving really does bring me some private joy in a way that nothing else can.
It's not the meeting of new people. Or the excitement of finding new haunts and hangouts. Or even the thought of getting something new whether it be a lamp, a pillow or even curtains. It's the simple joy of remembering where things have come from.
The big ticket items like the furniture and carpets - eh - who cares. They were purchased with care - but to me they are just things. Maybe my kids will have fond memories of the green sectional sofa that has been delegated to the basement because I hate it and this basement is the only place it has ever fit. I'm talking about the little things that don't mean anything to anyone except me.
Unpacking the kitchen can be a chore - but it is always the first thing I tackle. As I unwrap each dish, crock or serving utensil - I can remember where it came from. I have a blue checked plate that reminds me of a birthday in Okinawa from my friend Meg. It was made in her hometown in Massachusetts - and the thought of her carrying it back from a vacation to give to me for my 30th birthday just makes me smile. I have a quiche plate that is the only thing I have ever won at Bunko. I don't make quiche all that often, but I refuse to get rid of the plate that made me a winner. I have a cake cutter from a friend in NC. Nothing special about it - I just like it and she knew I needed one.
I have a lot of stuff from my mother's kitchen. Two of my favorite items are cook books from when I was a little girl. The Cooky Book is my favorite book - I remember poring through it with my sister wondering why my mom never made any of the cool cookies. (Could it be because she had 4 kids and no time? Maybe!) There is a gingerbread house that I swore I would make one day. I haven't done it yet, but as long as the book is here - there is hope. The other book is a Betty Crocker collection my mother received as a shower gift. I have a picture of me sitting on the counter at the age of two licking batters with the cook book next to the bowl. There is something oddly comforting about that photo, the book and the beaters.
My favorite kitchen serving ware also came from my mother. She gave me a sterling silver lazy Susan tray with individual crystal serving dishes for vegetables and dip. I had never seen it until I got married. She had received it as a wedding gift from a relative and always thought it was too nice to use. The gift card was still attached. That makes me sad. How can something be too nice to use? I use it at every party even though the silver is a little tarnished. It makes me think of my parents in the early part of their marriage.
The other piece or pieces my mother gave me were used by her. I had some girls over for a Mary Kay party when I was 18. I didn't even know what Mary Kay was let alone why I would be have some friends over. My father had recently died and it felt kind of weird to be doing something so trivial as to trying out make up. But Mom said to have them over. Mary Kay requires a food treat - so who the heck knows what I planned to serve Mary, Bobbi and Jan - (yes, really!) - but I do remember being shocked when Mom pulled out these adorable triangle plates with matching cups! Who cares what your eating when your eating off something as cute as this bridge set! I never knew my mom had anything as darling as these dishes! Again - she thought they were too nice to use. There is something ironic about pulling out the good dishes after someone dies.
Anyway, I own them now - and while I don't use them every day - if someone is over for lunch - they are my dish of choice!
So, while everyone else organizes bedrooms and alphabetizes the garage - I have my own private memory party in my kitchen and dining room. And it lasts until someone informs me that we have no food.
It's not the meeting of new people. Or the excitement of finding new haunts and hangouts. Or even the thought of getting something new whether it be a lamp, a pillow or even curtains. It's the simple joy of remembering where things have come from.
The big ticket items like the furniture and carpets - eh - who cares. They were purchased with care - but to me they are just things. Maybe my kids will have fond memories of the green sectional sofa that has been delegated to the basement because I hate it and this basement is the only place it has ever fit. I'm talking about the little things that don't mean anything to anyone except me.
Unpacking the kitchen can be a chore - but it is always the first thing I tackle. As I unwrap each dish, crock or serving utensil - I can remember where it came from. I have a blue checked plate that reminds me of a birthday in Okinawa from my friend Meg. It was made in her hometown in Massachusetts - and the thought of her carrying it back from a vacation to give to me for my 30th birthday just makes me smile. I have a quiche plate that is the only thing I have ever won at Bunko. I don't make quiche all that often, but I refuse to get rid of the plate that made me a winner. I have a cake cutter from a friend in NC. Nothing special about it - I just like it and she knew I needed one.
I have a lot of stuff from my mother's kitchen. Two of my favorite items are cook books from when I was a little girl. The Cooky Book is my favorite book - I remember poring through it with my sister wondering why my mom never made any of the cool cookies. (Could it be because she had 4 kids and no time? Maybe!) There is a gingerbread house that I swore I would make one day. I haven't done it yet, but as long as the book is here - there is hope. The other book is a Betty Crocker collection my mother received as a shower gift. I have a picture of me sitting on the counter at the age of two licking batters with the cook book next to the bowl. There is something oddly comforting about that photo, the book and the beaters.
My favorite kitchen serving ware also came from my mother. She gave me a sterling silver lazy Susan tray with individual crystal serving dishes for vegetables and dip. I had never seen it until I got married. She had received it as a wedding gift from a relative and always thought it was too nice to use. The gift card was still attached. That makes me sad. How can something be too nice to use? I use it at every party even though the silver is a little tarnished. It makes me think of my parents in the early part of their marriage.
The other piece or pieces my mother gave me were used by her. I had some girls over for a Mary Kay party when I was 18. I didn't even know what Mary Kay was let alone why I would be have some friends over. My father had recently died and it felt kind of weird to be doing something so trivial as to trying out make up. But Mom said to have them over. Mary Kay requires a food treat - so who the heck knows what I planned to serve Mary, Bobbi and Jan - (yes, really!) - but I do remember being shocked when Mom pulled out these adorable triangle plates with matching cups! Who cares what your eating when your eating off something as cute as this bridge set! I never knew my mom had anything as darling as these dishes! Again - she thought they were too nice to use. There is something ironic about pulling out the good dishes after someone dies.
Anyway, I own them now - and while I don't use them every day - if someone is over for lunch - they are my dish of choice!
So, while everyone else organizes bedrooms and alphabetizes the garage - I have my own private memory party in my kitchen and dining room. And it lasts until someone informs me that we have no food.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Say What?
I was born in and raised in a small Ohio town called Zanesville. Easy to say. Easy to spell. Not many variations on either. I guess I was lucky all those years. If someone shook their head in my "Zanesville" response - it was usually because they didn't know where it was located - not because it had a different pronunciations.
I've had my share of living in towns that don't quite have the same easy sound as Zanesville. At 23 I moved to Topsail Island, North Carolina. You'd think Topsail would be easy to say and understand. It took me at least 4 months to realize the Topsol Island and Topsail Island were the same place. I guess it is easy to weed out foreigners - strange folk would say Topsail and locals would shake their heads and giggle amongst themselves. I never did pronounce it correctly.
Topsol took us to Camp Lejeune, NC. Ok - this could be a hard one - but pretty much everyone calls it Camp Lejune. Unless you're over 40 - then you reach back to the French and suddenly your walking around saying Lejurn. True story. At the age of 40 you must submit to the French pronunciation. It was true in the 1980's - and it still holds true today. Those youngsters don't even know what they're saying.
Then on to Kentucky - home of the most garbled name I've ever heard for a city...Louisville. Growing up where I did - we said Lewieville. Imagine my surprised to find Kentuckians refer to this great city as Lllvlll. You almost have to swallow to say it correctly. I found myself saying Lllvlll a about a year into our sojourn. I found myself saying Lewieville again the day after we moved out of the state.
Onto Fort Leonard Wood. Not much you can do with that. Except it's located in Missouri. Or to the uninformed - Missourah. Never did figure that out - nor did I succumb to saying the "ah." I sleep easy at night knowing I could never pass for a Missouri local.
We then found ourselves in Okinawa, Japan. That really is a whole other post. Okinawwa vs Okinowa. Futenma vs Futeenma. Gushikawa vs Kitanakagusku. Another day.
New Orleans! Oh no! I was flogged for three years because I said New Orleans. Neighbors from the Crescent City would ask me what city I lived in just to mock me. Everyone knows it's New Orlins. Or N'awlins. Or Norlins. I could never do it.
Later we moved to Richlands, NC. But don't say it like you just did. Say it Rich Lands. Richlands makes it sound like your in a hurry. It's Rich Lands. I still say that. I think it sounds nicer.
Not too much going on in Havelock, NC. Fairly easy to pronounce - although a lot like to say Havenot. Visit there sometime. You'll understand why.
Then we receive orders to Norfolk. My whole life I would say Norfolk. Oh no. Norfick or Norfuk. That's why we live in Chesapeake.
We're getting ready to move again - this time to Northern Virginia and a little town called Quantico. I'm anticipating a lot of fun with this one! Lot's of mangled letters and vowels.
I miss Zanesville.
I've had my share of living in towns that don't quite have the same easy sound as Zanesville. At 23 I moved to Topsail Island, North Carolina. You'd think Topsail would be easy to say and understand. It took me at least 4 months to realize the Topsol Island and Topsail Island were the same place. I guess it is easy to weed out foreigners - strange folk would say Topsail and locals would shake their heads and giggle amongst themselves. I never did pronounce it correctly.
Topsol took us to Camp Lejeune, NC. Ok - this could be a hard one - but pretty much everyone calls it Camp Lejune. Unless you're over 40 - then you reach back to the French and suddenly your walking around saying Lejurn. True story. At the age of 40 you must submit to the French pronunciation. It was true in the 1980's - and it still holds true today. Those youngsters don't even know what they're saying.
Then on to Kentucky - home of the most garbled name I've ever heard for a city...Louisville. Growing up where I did - we said Lewieville. Imagine my surprised to find Kentuckians refer to this great city as Lllvlll. You almost have to swallow to say it correctly. I found myself saying Lllvlll a about a year into our sojourn. I found myself saying Lewieville again the day after we moved out of the state.
Onto Fort Leonard Wood. Not much you can do with that. Except it's located in Missouri. Or to the uninformed - Missourah. Never did figure that out - nor did I succumb to saying the "ah." I sleep easy at night knowing I could never pass for a Missouri local.
We then found ourselves in Okinawa, Japan. That really is a whole other post. Okinawwa vs Okinowa. Futenma vs Futeenma. Gushikawa vs Kitanakagusku. Another day.
New Orleans! Oh no! I was flogged for three years because I said New Orleans. Neighbors from the Crescent City would ask me what city I lived in just to mock me. Everyone knows it's New Orlins. Or N'awlins. Or Norlins. I could never do it.
Later we moved to Richlands, NC. But don't say it like you just did. Say it Rich Lands. Richlands makes it sound like your in a hurry. It's Rich Lands. I still say that. I think it sounds nicer.
Not too much going on in Havelock, NC. Fairly easy to pronounce - although a lot like to say Havenot. Visit there sometime. You'll understand why.
Then we receive orders to Norfolk. My whole life I would say Norfolk. Oh no. Norfick or Norfuk. That's why we live in Chesapeake.
We're getting ready to move again - this time to Northern Virginia and a little town called Quantico. I'm anticipating a lot of fun with this one! Lot's of mangled letters and vowels.
I miss Zanesville.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Yogi Bear Hates Me
Why in the world does everyone get excited about picnics? The weather clears and everyone starts talking about picnic lunches, picnicking in the park, taking a picnic on a hike...why does this sound like so much fun to everyone but me?
I guess you can think of some good things about picnics. Picnics do sound romantic as you imagine your honey's head on you lap as you feed him grapes. Of course, you're dressed in a romantic soft skirt and lace and hat and he's handsome. Sure, that sound fun. Or you can think of your adorable family all sitting on a checkered blanket eating watermelon - and how cute that is with seeds in their mouths and Junior missing his front teeth. Or even hosting a gals lunch of crackers and cheese with a bottle of wine discussing Proust. Tittering over "Remembrances of Things Past" while eating pate.
Then reality sits in. Someone has to make the picnic - and in my house - that would be me. We don't have any picnic foods in this house. We have stuff for a barbecue. We have supplies for a gourmet dinner. We have a lot of cereal. But a romantic picnic for two a la champagne and grapes? Ain't happening. And the romantic skirt? Do I even own a skirt - let alone a hat?
A family picnic? Oh, I guess I could throw together some sandwiches and throw in a bag of chips. But we don't have portable drinks - as soon as they are bought they disappear - so I gave up that fight long ago. And the requisite watermelon? I guess when I pick up the drinks - I can grab one of those too. The fun factor of the family picnic just went way down. Who's carrying all this crap when we get to the picnic site? And don't forget the knife to cut the watermelon - because I didn't have time to cut it before we left because everyone was ready but me. And soon enough I'll have watermelon seeds being spit at me. Again. No.
I don't like sitting on the ground. I don't like hauling things to the middle of nowhere. I don't like setting up or cleaning up. I'd much rather stop at Burger King or Subway and get it to go - instant picnic. I'm not in charge of anything - and when we're done - we throw it away.
As for the gals get together. Sure. I like my wine. I like Proust. I like pate. How about that same combination in a French Bistro with a cute bartender? Now that's a picnic!
I guess you can think of some good things about picnics. Picnics do sound romantic as you imagine your honey's head on you lap as you feed him grapes. Of course, you're dressed in a romantic soft skirt and lace and hat and he's handsome. Sure, that sound fun. Or you can think of your adorable family all sitting on a checkered blanket eating watermelon - and how cute that is with seeds in their mouths and Junior missing his front teeth. Or even hosting a gals lunch of crackers and cheese with a bottle of wine discussing Proust. Tittering over "Remembrances of Things Past" while eating pate.
Then reality sits in. Someone has to make the picnic - and in my house - that would be me. We don't have any picnic foods in this house. We have stuff for a barbecue. We have supplies for a gourmet dinner. We have a lot of cereal. But a romantic picnic for two a la champagne and grapes? Ain't happening. And the romantic skirt? Do I even own a skirt - let alone a hat?
A family picnic? Oh, I guess I could throw together some sandwiches and throw in a bag of chips. But we don't have portable drinks - as soon as they are bought they disappear - so I gave up that fight long ago. And the requisite watermelon? I guess when I pick up the drinks - I can grab one of those too. The fun factor of the family picnic just went way down. Who's carrying all this crap when we get to the picnic site? And don't forget the knife to cut the watermelon - because I didn't have time to cut it before we left because everyone was ready but me. And soon enough I'll have watermelon seeds being spit at me. Again. No.
I don't like sitting on the ground. I don't like hauling things to the middle of nowhere. I don't like setting up or cleaning up. I'd much rather stop at Burger King or Subway and get it to go - instant picnic. I'm not in charge of anything - and when we're done - we throw it away.
As for the gals get together. Sure. I like my wine. I like Proust. I like pate. How about that same combination in a French Bistro with a cute bartender? Now that's a picnic!
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Benny and the Jets
I'm driving the girls to an away soccer game when about about 45 minutes into the trip I realize that not only has no one told me to stop singing Benny and the Jets- but not a single girl is talking. There are 4 girls in the car. Certainly two of the girls should be communicating. I'm sure they aren't sleeping. At the next light I turn around - and you know full well what they were doing. Each of them had some type of earphone in enjoying their own source of music and they were all involved with their own personal text messaging.
WHAT A WASTE OF TIME! Some of my best memories of growing up involve road trips to "away" meets and field trips. It doesn't matter how the meet went, the game was played or what activity was at the other end - the travel to and from was ALWAYS the best part.
One of my earliest recollections involved a trip to the Henry Ford Museum. Our troop leader and a few parents car pooled our Girl Scout troop from central Ohio to Michigan. I don't know how long it took us to get there - it seemed like 30 minutes to me. There were 6 of us in the back of a station wagon. At one point we put the seats down (this was still legal) and we all road in the wagon. I distinctly remember every time we passed a sign that read "NO U Turn" we all said "No, you turn" like it was the most clever line ever uttered. I can see and hear my friend Sarah singing "Rock the Boat." I think of her every time I hear that song. (Well I'd like to know where you got the notion....Yes, I'd like to know where you got the no oo tion.)
Sounds silly - but what a great time! We learned about 4th grade crushes. Mean 5th grade teachers. Who had a new pet. Serious 10 year old bonding time.
Trips continued - some better than others - but always fun. At one swim meet I got paired with two girls I didn't know very well. I think the coach realized I could make a conversation with a cantaloupe if I had to. By the end of the meet and subsequent ride home we kept yelling "Yum Yum Roast Beef." I don't know why - but I think if I saw either of them on the street today and yelled "yum yum" I'd surly hear a "Roast Beef" response.
High school trips were just as fun if not better. Rocking to Queen in the backseat of my friend Mary's parent's car. How cool is that? I'll tell you. Way cool. Sitting between two cute boys in the back of my Dad's LaBaron. Changing the words of the song "Feelings" to "Felix. Nothing more than Felix." Going to Canada in a van with a nun. Holding up signs to passing motorists. Holding up underwear to passing motorists. Just laughing and carrying on.
I feel sorry for the youth of today. I'm sure they bond in their own way - but 20 years from now will they remember the two hour trip or anything that happened on the way to or from the game? Probably not. So I guess that means I'm free to sing at the top of my lungs "Bbbbbbenny and the jets."
WHAT A WASTE OF TIME! Some of my best memories of growing up involve road trips to "away" meets and field trips. It doesn't matter how the meet went, the game was played or what activity was at the other end - the travel to and from was ALWAYS the best part.
One of my earliest recollections involved a trip to the Henry Ford Museum. Our troop leader and a few parents car pooled our Girl Scout troop from central Ohio to Michigan. I don't know how long it took us to get there - it seemed like 30 minutes to me. There were 6 of us in the back of a station wagon. At one point we put the seats down (this was still legal) and we all road in the wagon. I distinctly remember every time we passed a sign that read "NO U Turn" we all said "No, you turn" like it was the most clever line ever uttered. I can see and hear my friend Sarah singing "Rock the Boat." I think of her every time I hear that song. (Well I'd like to know where you got the notion....Yes, I'd like to know where you got the no oo tion.)
Sounds silly - but what a great time! We learned about 4th grade crushes. Mean 5th grade teachers. Who had a new pet. Serious 10 year old bonding time.
Trips continued - some better than others - but always fun. At one swim meet I got paired with two girls I didn't know very well. I think the coach realized I could make a conversation with a cantaloupe if I had to. By the end of the meet and subsequent ride home we kept yelling "Yum Yum Roast Beef." I don't know why - but I think if I saw either of them on the street today and yelled "yum yum" I'd surly hear a "Roast Beef" response.
High school trips were just as fun if not better. Rocking to Queen in the backseat of my friend Mary's parent's car. How cool is that? I'll tell you. Way cool. Sitting between two cute boys in the back of my Dad's LaBaron. Changing the words of the song "Feelings" to "Felix. Nothing more than Felix." Going to Canada in a van with a nun. Holding up signs to passing motorists. Holding up underwear to passing motorists. Just laughing and carrying on.
I feel sorry for the youth of today. I'm sure they bond in their own way - but 20 years from now will they remember the two hour trip or anything that happened on the way to or from the game? Probably not. So I guess that means I'm free to sing at the top of my lungs "Bbbbbbenny and the jets."
Friday, February 20, 2009
It's Official - I'm Addicted
Is there a 12-step program for those of us addicted to Facebook? I'm bent and broke and I need support.
My addiction started innocently enough. A friend from several years ago sent a note via Facebook stating they were relocating. I had to go to Facebook to access the message. I then had to open an account on Facebook to read the message. I needed to know where this family was headed (in the military community - we're always on the move and you never know when you'll be neighbors again) so of course I joined Facebook and read the message. I took her new information and didn't give Facebook another thought. End of story.
Or so I thought.
Several months later, I received a message stating my crazy friend on the West Coast sent me a book suggestion on Facebook. Strange - but I like to read so I again went to Facebook. Oh, cool, she has a list of books she's read. That intrigued me. I wanted to do that, too. Oh, what's that's - "find friends?" Sure, let's give it a go. With the input of my email address - suddenly a list of about 40 friends and acquaintances appeared with Facebook accounts. The owners of the emails addresses were varied - everyone from people I talk to every day to a little league softball coach from seven years ago. I carefully selected who I wanted to send a friend request to - there is sort of a desperation involved - "Be my friend!" What if they say no? Oh, what the heck - I clicked about 20 potential new Facebook friends.
As I started adding friends - I started perusing their friends. Hmmm. I know some of these people. I then started sending them friend requests.
I started to get new requests from other people. The Spartan would come from work and ask who I made friends with that day. Sometimes they were his friends - but now they were my friends because I had the Facebook account, not him!
Then I discovered pages and groups. One click could bring my entire high school Facebook crowd. JOIN! College alumni. JOIN. The best pizza ever? JOIN! The Things I Would Do to Dylan McKay. No brainer. JOIN!
Now I've got Facebook friends from every part of my life. Grade school. Synchronized Swimming. High School. College. Prison. Every duty station. Every place of employment. I've got relatives that are friends that I'm sure we've never shared a conversation as adults. A couple of kids I used to baby sit -(not so much kids anymore - and not so much younger than me it turns out!)
My criteria for friendship is not hard - but it is solid. I ask myself "Would I cross a street to say hi to them?" If so, then, baby, you're in. Not everyone passes this test. Remember - in my test I would have to cross a street to make contact- so an email requesting friendship is the same thing as minimal effort.
Sadly, your request can be turned down. I've had a former boss delete a friend request. I know this because a month after I sent her a request I noticed the line "add as friend" was back. If you have requested their friendship it reads "friend requested" in italics.
(I told you I was addicted.) Why would she not add me to her friend list other than she's a cold hearted sadistic witch of a woman who is unhappy in her own life and jealous of my stupendous success? I'm just guessing.
I also had a 40 + year old boy, yes, boy, deny my friendship. I noticed him on several of my friends' pages so I requested his friendship. We went on one date. 26 years ago. To a movie. He has totally blocked me from accessing him on Facebook. I can only surmise he didn't especially like "Revenge of the Nerds" or he is in love with me and can't face his feelings. Or both.
I am in total need of help. They say admitting your addiction is the first step. I wonder if here is a Facebook page for this problem.
My addiction started innocently enough. A friend from several years ago sent a note via Facebook stating they were relocating. I had to go to Facebook to access the message. I then had to open an account on Facebook to read the message. I needed to know where this family was headed (in the military community - we're always on the move and you never know when you'll be neighbors again) so of course I joined Facebook and read the message. I took her new information and didn't give Facebook another thought. End of story.
Or so I thought.
Several months later, I received a message stating my crazy friend on the West Coast sent me a book suggestion on Facebook. Strange - but I like to read so I again went to Facebook. Oh, cool, she has a list of books she's read. That intrigued me. I wanted to do that, too. Oh, what's that's - "find friends?" Sure, let's give it a go. With the input of my email address - suddenly a list of about 40 friends and acquaintances appeared with Facebook accounts. The owners of the emails addresses were varied - everyone from people I talk to every day to a little league softball coach from seven years ago. I carefully selected who I wanted to send a friend request to - there is sort of a desperation involved - "Be my friend!" What if they say no? Oh, what the heck - I clicked about 20 potential new Facebook friends.
As I started adding friends - I started perusing their friends. Hmmm. I know some of these people. I then started sending them friend requests.
I started to get new requests from other people. The Spartan would come from work and ask who I made friends with that day. Sometimes they were his friends - but now they were my friends because I had the Facebook account, not him!
Then I discovered pages and groups. One click could bring my entire high school Facebook crowd. JOIN! College alumni. JOIN. The best pizza ever? JOIN! The Things I Would Do to Dylan McKay. No brainer. JOIN!
Now I've got Facebook friends from every part of my life. Grade school. Synchronized Swimming. High School. College. Prison. Every duty station. Every place of employment. I've got relatives that are friends that I'm sure we've never shared a conversation as adults. A couple of kids I used to baby sit -(not so much kids anymore - and not so much younger than me it turns out!)
My criteria for friendship is not hard - but it is solid. I ask myself "Would I cross a street to say hi to them?" If so, then, baby, you're in. Not everyone passes this test. Remember - in my test I would have to cross a street to make contact- so an email requesting friendship is the same thing as minimal effort.
Sadly, your request can be turned down. I've had a former boss delete a friend request. I know this because a month after I sent her a request I noticed the line "add as friend" was back. If you have requested their friendship it reads "friend requested" in italics.
(I told you I was addicted.) Why would she not add me to her friend list other than she's a cold hearted sadistic witch of a woman who is unhappy in her own life and jealous of my stupendous success? I'm just guessing.
I also had a 40 + year old boy, yes, boy, deny my friendship. I noticed him on several of my friends' pages so I requested his friendship. We went on one date. 26 years ago. To a movie. He has totally blocked me from accessing him on Facebook. I can only surmise he didn't especially like "Revenge of the Nerds" or he is in love with me and can't face his feelings. Or both.
I am in total need of help. They say admitting your addiction is the first step. I wonder if here is a Facebook page for this problem.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Silence is Golden???
It has been eerily quiet in our house the last couple of days. I made a simple request. Can everyone go one week without saying the words "I want" or "I need." To hear the hooligans talk, one is left to assume they live in a hut, have no access to any electronic equipment, are forced to go naked and eat only grubs. I do feel badly for them. In actuality, we don't have a home sauna, HBO, $150 Coach shoes and we don't eat out every night. Poor things.
A typical conversation from Son #1 will start simply enough and somehow merge into "I want a new phone. Brandon got a new cellphone that is so cool. It has numbers and letters, can make a peanut butter sandwich, my bed, replenish the Kool-Ade supply, cut the grass, make good grades, solve world hunger, make soccer goals and has been elected to the Papal Council." I sort of zone out after I hear "I want."
The Bubster, son number 2, isn't quite as direct as his brother. His conversation will start out seemingly innocent enough. "I think I got an A on my French test. Jeff did pretty well, too. His mom told him if he made the honor roll all year they might send him to a fantasy football camp. I want to go." Yeah. Who do I make the check to? I'll give him credit, though...he builds up to his wish - he doesn't blow it at the beginning of the conversation.
Now Queenie...hmm. She's hard to predict. She's quite social and spends a lot of her time talking anyway. (I swear I don't know where that comes from.) She usually intersperses conversation with dew drops of I wants and needs so subtle you didn't know you were besieged with requests until long after the conversation is over. She can start a conversation by mentioning a grilling practice and end with she's going to bed - yet somehow manage to convey she needs cleats, a new bed, a book bag, a three hole punch, to go to a movie Friday and a Mini Cooper when she's 16 without blinking an eye.
Back to the request. Could they go a week without saying "I want" or "I need." I soon found out I didn't raise any dummies. They propositioned back "Can you go a week without saying 'I want you to' or 'You need to' (Notice the variation. Apparently I am bossy.) We all agreed to give a try.
I haven't said a word in two days.
A typical conversation from Son #1 will start simply enough and somehow merge into "I want a new phone. Brandon got a new cellphone that is so cool. It has numbers and letters, can make a peanut butter sandwich, my bed, replenish the Kool-Ade supply, cut the grass, make good grades, solve world hunger, make soccer goals and has been elected to the Papal Council." I sort of zone out after I hear "I want."
The Bubster, son number 2, isn't quite as direct as his brother. His conversation will start out seemingly innocent enough. "I think I got an A on my French test. Jeff did pretty well, too. His mom told him if he made the honor roll all year they might send him to a fantasy football camp. I want to go." Yeah. Who do I make the check to? I'll give him credit, though...he builds up to his wish - he doesn't blow it at the beginning of the conversation.
Now Queenie...hmm. She's hard to predict. She's quite social and spends a lot of her time talking anyway. (I swear I don't know where that comes from.) She usually intersperses conversation with dew drops of I wants and needs so subtle you didn't know you were besieged with requests until long after the conversation is over. She can start a conversation by mentioning a grilling practice and end with she's going to bed - yet somehow manage to convey she needs cleats, a new bed, a book bag, a three hole punch, to go to a movie Friday and a Mini Cooper when she's 16 without blinking an eye.
Back to the request. Could they go a week without saying "I want" or "I need." I soon found out I didn't raise any dummies. They propositioned back "Can you go a week without saying 'I want you to' or 'You need to' (Notice the variation. Apparently I am bossy.) We all agreed to give a try.
I haven't said a word in two days.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
The List
When my husband makes his daily "to do" list - he draws a little square in front of each activity and checks it off when he has completed the chore. But we never have to look at the list to know what he has to do or where to find him.
We have a joke in our house - if your looking for Dad - look no further than the yard - he's probably out picking up sticks. Or sweeping the street. Raking leaves. Picking up debris. If it's a nice day - washing the windows. He's an easy man to figure out and these are the things he likes to do.
If it is dark, cold or rainy you might find him filing away bills, credit receipts, tax papers or rabies vaccinations. Or crunching some type of number into a statistic. Or analyzing this month's water bill to last year's water bill for the same month.
After dinner you can find him making coffee for the next morning. Everything from filling the water and coffee chamber to setting out a spoon and sugar. If there is a pan that needs scraped and cleaned - he's the man for the job.
Scheduled car maintenance is a holy day of obligation. If the car maintenance sticker says February 26 - you better believe the car is in for service on that day. Tags for the car about to expire? Not on his watch. Never.
At the kids' sporting events - he's the go to guy with the clip board making notes on all the stats that he will compile in booklet form for the parents at an end of season event.
He cleans the litter box and shares his morning milk with the dog, although he claims to dislike both immensely. The pets go crazy when he gets home each trying to outlove him.
I make fun of him relentlessly for all these activities. Spontaneity is not his strongest attribute.
But he takes care of all of us. And that is just the first entry on my list of why I love him.
We have a joke in our house - if your looking for Dad - look no further than the yard - he's probably out picking up sticks. Or sweeping the street. Raking leaves. Picking up debris. If it's a nice day - washing the windows. He's an easy man to figure out and these are the things he likes to do.
If it is dark, cold or rainy you might find him filing away bills, credit receipts, tax papers or rabies vaccinations. Or crunching some type of number into a statistic. Or analyzing this month's water bill to last year's water bill for the same month.
After dinner you can find him making coffee for the next morning. Everything from filling the water and coffee chamber to setting out a spoon and sugar. If there is a pan that needs scraped and cleaned - he's the man for the job.
Scheduled car maintenance is a holy day of obligation. If the car maintenance sticker says February 26 - you better believe the car is in for service on that day. Tags for the car about to expire? Not on his watch. Never.
At the kids' sporting events - he's the go to guy with the clip board making notes on all the stats that he will compile in booklet form for the parents at an end of season event.
He cleans the litter box and shares his morning milk with the dog, although he claims to dislike both immensely. The pets go crazy when he gets home each trying to outlove him.
I make fun of him relentlessly for all these activities. Spontaneity is not his strongest attribute.
But he takes care of all of us. And that is just the first entry on my list of why I love him.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Mornings Aren't for the Weak
A snippet of a morning in our house...
Light knock on the door before I open it. "It's 7:15. Time to get up." Child #1 shows no sign of life.
2nd Bedroom "Bubby. Time to get up." Child number 2 rolls towards me, eyes still closed. "I AM UP."
3RD Bedroom. I don't even get to say anything as my daughter cuts me off "Oh hi, Mom. Can I go to Annie's after school and go and get some new shoes tomorrow. Marci said she doesn't like Nick any more but I thought we could have pizza for dinner on Sunday since my birthday is Wednesday. I might go running in the morning but I need to talk to Mr Summers about my history paper. Do we have any Pop Tarts?"
10 minutes later...
No courtesy knock for child number one. "Son, get up!" I hear faint grumblings and what sounds like a book falling off a bed.
No courtesy knock for #2, either. Just a call. "Bubby. It's 7:30." Again, same defiant response. "I AM UP." Although I can't see him, I know his blanket is up to his chin and his eyes are closed.
No need for 2nd call to #3. She's my Posturpedic Queen. She's happily eating her PopTarts, reading the paper, petting the dog. "Have you ever had a pedicure? I think I'd like one but I have to get some cleats soon. Janie dropped her Ipod down the sewer drain but she's getting another one. Can we go somewhere on Spring Break?"
7:35. I'm pulling out the big guns. I send our toy fox terrier to do the dirty work. She runs up the stairs to #1 and commences to lick his face out of his sleep coma. I hear "Get down, Corky." She leaves his room and immediately runs to the another room to wake up #2. I can faintly hear Bubby responding to her barks and whines and slowly hear him get out of bed. Success!
Meanwhile I hear Posturpedic Queen singing, texting, playing with the dog, yelling at her brother to leave her stuff alone.
7:40. Bubby is at the table, eyes closed, but he is eating breakfast. No word from #1. I make my second climb to his room. He looks at me and give me a thumbs up. I don't know what this means, but I take it as progress. Queenie has appeared in her third set of clothing for the morning.
7:45. Bubby has left a trail of crumbs as he stumbles back upstairs. We may or may not need to check on him. This is the iffy part. He may go back to bed. Wait, I hear him say something to his sister. I won't repeat what he said but communication usually means he's up for good. This is a good sign. Queenie is looking for an accessory to match her earrings. I think I hear a groan from the first bedroom.
7:50 Queenie is in the foyer waiting for the bus waving and yelling at everyone that walks by. Bubby appears with toothpaste around his mouth, somewhat dressed and exhausted from his morning ritual sits on the steps, places his head against the wall and closes his eyes. In a distance I hear a bathroom door slam shut.
7:55 Queenie informs me she is leaving, she wants Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the store, she needs some new socks and that Henry in math sure is cute but he sags his pants and that just wont do. I nudge Bubby and tell him to get his shoes on, wash his face and his lunch is in the fridge. With his eyes clothes he says "I AM." #1 son is foraging in the kitchen yelling because SOMEONE ate all the Pop Tarts.
8:00 I see Queenie get on the bus but hear an entire chorus of "HI Queenie!" as her friends welcome her to the bus. #2 has his shoes on his feet, has used his arm to wipe his face and is leaning against the door struggling to stand. I remind him to get his lunch. #1 appears dressed, clean, book bag and lunch in hand and in a remarkably polite manner asks "Can I drive?"
8:02 Boys both leave, I reward Corky for her hard work in the endeavor with a treat.
8:03 #2 comes sauntering back as he has forgotten his lunch. "If you'd get me up on time I'd have time to remember my lunch."
Momma needs a treat.
Light knock on the door before I open it. "It's 7:15. Time to get up." Child #1 shows no sign of life.
2nd Bedroom "Bubby. Time to get up." Child number 2 rolls towards me, eyes still closed. "I AM UP."
3RD Bedroom. I don't even get to say anything as my daughter cuts me off "Oh hi, Mom. Can I go to Annie's after school and go and get some new shoes tomorrow. Marci said she doesn't like Nick any more but I thought we could have pizza for dinner on Sunday since my birthday is Wednesday. I might go running in the morning but I need to talk to Mr Summers about my history paper. Do we have any Pop Tarts?"
10 minutes later...
No courtesy knock for child number one. "Son, get up!" I hear faint grumblings and what sounds like a book falling off a bed.
No courtesy knock for #2, either. Just a call. "Bubby. It's 7:30." Again, same defiant response. "I AM UP." Although I can't see him, I know his blanket is up to his chin and his eyes are closed.
No need for 2nd call to #3. She's my Posturpedic Queen. She's happily eating her PopTarts, reading the paper, petting the dog. "Have you ever had a pedicure? I think I'd like one but I have to get some cleats soon. Janie dropped her Ipod down the sewer drain but she's getting another one. Can we go somewhere on Spring Break?"
7:35. I'm pulling out the big guns. I send our toy fox terrier to do the dirty work. She runs up the stairs to #1 and commences to lick his face out of his sleep coma. I hear "Get down, Corky." She leaves his room and immediately runs to the another room to wake up #2. I can faintly hear Bubby responding to her barks and whines and slowly hear him get out of bed. Success!
Meanwhile I hear Posturpedic Queen singing, texting, playing with the dog, yelling at her brother to leave her stuff alone.
7:40. Bubby is at the table, eyes closed, but he is eating breakfast. No word from #1. I make my second climb to his room. He looks at me and give me a thumbs up. I don't know what this means, but I take it as progress. Queenie has appeared in her third set of clothing for the morning.
7:45. Bubby has left a trail of crumbs as he stumbles back upstairs. We may or may not need to check on him. This is the iffy part. He may go back to bed. Wait, I hear him say something to his sister. I won't repeat what he said but communication usually means he's up for good. This is a good sign. Queenie is looking for an accessory to match her earrings. I think I hear a groan from the first bedroom.
7:50 Queenie is in the foyer waiting for the bus waving and yelling at everyone that walks by. Bubby appears with toothpaste around his mouth, somewhat dressed and exhausted from his morning ritual sits on the steps, places his head against the wall and closes his eyes. In a distance I hear a bathroom door slam shut.
7:55 Queenie informs me she is leaving, she wants Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the store, she needs some new socks and that Henry in math sure is cute but he sags his pants and that just wont do. I nudge Bubby and tell him to get his shoes on, wash his face and his lunch is in the fridge. With his eyes clothes he says "I AM." #1 son is foraging in the kitchen yelling because SOMEONE ate all the Pop Tarts.
8:00 I see Queenie get on the bus but hear an entire chorus of "HI Queenie!" as her friends welcome her to the bus. #2 has his shoes on his feet, has used his arm to wipe his face and is leaning against the door struggling to stand. I remind him to get his lunch. #1 appears dressed, clean, book bag and lunch in hand and in a remarkably polite manner asks "Can I drive?"
8:02 Boys both leave, I reward Corky for her hard work in the endeavor with a treat.
8:03 #2 comes sauntering back as he has forgotten his lunch. "If you'd get me up on time I'd have time to remember my lunch."
Momma needs a treat.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Oh Yes They Freaking Do
I don't ever mind waking up in the middle of the night. I do it about three times a week. On these nights I usually fall asleep with no effort and then within thirty minutes I find myself wide awake. I then quietly meander my way downstairs to my own private party.
Sometimes I play on the computer - you can find messages and emails from me all hours of the night. Every once in a while I'll pick up a project that I started during the day. Much of the time I'll read for several hours. But I hardly ever turn on the TV. No reason, exactly. I think I just like the quiet.
But last night after finishing a book by Amy Sedaris, I found myself turning on the TV. My TV fate sealed when Bridget Jones's Diary was on Oxygen. Yippie!
I love this movie and watch it every time I see that it is on TV - which is about every other week. The Bridget Jones movie has the distinction of being one of the few movies I like over the book. That almost NEVER happens.
I could actually skip the whole movie except for my two favorite scenes. I adore the scene where Bridget is leaving a dinner party and Mark Darcy walks her to the door. After a lot of fumbling and what have you - Mark admits he like Bridget "just as she is." Perfect Pompous Jerk actually is a nice guy. Who knew?
The second scene is almost at the end of the movie after Bridget chases Mark in her underwear to find him buying her a new diary. (Really, if you've never seen this movie - put it in your NetFlix queue NOW!) They kiss. Bridget looks at Mark questioningly and says "Nice boys don't kiss like that." And the response "Oh, yes, they freaking do." Eeeeh! I want me some Mark Darcy.
I think I like this movie so much because I was a budding Bridget in my younger day. No self esteem, no fashion sense, overweight, made terrible choices in men, and boy did I like to drink. I had a good time, oh yes I did, but deep down I probably thought I'd end up eaten by cats alone in my apartment.
Somehow, I managed to catch the eye of a handsome straight laced Marine officer candidate. I don't know what he saw in me (see above list of attributes), but believe me when I say I thank God daily for whatever it was. Through the course of our relationship, I came to realize that he did like me "just as I was."
So, for you nay sayers - when you say good looking, honest, hard working men don't marry schlumpy, unfashionable beer drinkers - all I can say is "Oh, yes, they freaking do!"
Sometimes I play on the computer - you can find messages and emails from me all hours of the night. Every once in a while I'll pick up a project that I started during the day. Much of the time I'll read for several hours. But I hardly ever turn on the TV. No reason, exactly. I think I just like the quiet.
But last night after finishing a book by Amy Sedaris, I found myself turning on the TV. My TV fate sealed when Bridget Jones's Diary was on Oxygen. Yippie!
I love this movie and watch it every time I see that it is on TV - which is about every other week. The Bridget Jones movie has the distinction of being one of the few movies I like over the book. That almost NEVER happens.
I could actually skip the whole movie except for my two favorite scenes. I adore the scene where Bridget is leaving a dinner party and Mark Darcy walks her to the door. After a lot of fumbling and what have you - Mark admits he like Bridget "just as she is." Perfect Pompous Jerk actually is a nice guy. Who knew?
The second scene is almost at the end of the movie after Bridget chases Mark in her underwear to find him buying her a new diary. (Really, if you've never seen this movie - put it in your NetFlix queue NOW!) They kiss. Bridget looks at Mark questioningly and says "Nice boys don't kiss like that." And the response "Oh, yes, they freaking do." Eeeeh! I want me some Mark Darcy.
I think I like this movie so much because I was a budding Bridget in my younger day. No self esteem, no fashion sense, overweight, made terrible choices in men, and boy did I like to drink. I had a good time, oh yes I did, but deep down I probably thought I'd end up eaten by cats alone in my apartment.
Somehow, I managed to catch the eye of a handsome straight laced Marine officer candidate. I don't know what he saw in me (see above list of attributes), but believe me when I say I thank God daily for whatever it was. Through the course of our relationship, I came to realize that he did like me "just as I was."
So, for you nay sayers - when you say good looking, honest, hard working men don't marry schlumpy, unfashionable beer drinkers - all I can say is "Oh, yes, they freaking do!"
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
My mornings used to be relaxing
I love my morning ritual. I wake up a good hour before my kids need to get up (yet a full hour after my husband rises) and have that entire time to myself. I get my coffee fix, walk the dog then rush to my computer to see who has thought of me via email during my slumber. I can't quite explain the rush I get from seeing a number under the mailbox indicating that is how many messages I have received. Almost akin to receiving that pile of mail on your birthday - but every day!
But my school district has made me want to avoid the computer in the morning like a lukewarm cup of coffee. They send Edline reports every single morning. Edline, Blackboard, Parents In Touch, etc. They are all the same thing. They are your kids' current grades, assignments, homework, test grades, projects, missing work, cafeteria dues, parking lot rules, library fines...pretty much everything you would ever want to know about your child and school.
In theory, this is great. You can see every bit of information about your child's school progress in one glance. Awesome. But who wants to see this in black and white first thing in the morning? Invariably, I will see someone didn't turn in homework, got a 77 on a test and owes $66 in lab fees. And this is just one kid! Multiply this times three - and you can see our mornings don't get off to a good start.
The husband says don't read them first thing in the morning. In his black and white world - this works. But they are still there in my inbox and the number 3 will stare back at me biding me to open the mail until I give in and read the reports.
Of course, we can back to my school days. I didn't tell my parents anything - nor did the school. I didn't want them to know anything and they probably didn't want to know, either! But, it made me responsible for everything. A failing grade was mine alone - my parents bore no responsibility for it. I had to deal with the consequences of not turning in homework, projects, assignments and permission slips. If I brought home a sub par report card - I knew my ass was going to be at home for the next nine Friday and Saturday nights. Perhaps not studying - but certainly not raising hell with my friends.
What's the compromise? Hell if I know. Let me know if you do! Until then a big number 3 will glare at me all day.
But my school district has made me want to avoid the computer in the morning like a lukewarm cup of coffee. They send Edline reports every single morning. Edline, Blackboard, Parents In Touch, etc. They are all the same thing. They are your kids' current grades, assignments, homework, test grades, projects, missing work, cafeteria dues, parking lot rules, library fines...pretty much everything you would ever want to know about your child and school.
In theory, this is great. You can see every bit of information about your child's school progress in one glance. Awesome. But who wants to see this in black and white first thing in the morning? Invariably, I will see someone didn't turn in homework, got a 77 on a test and owes $66 in lab fees. And this is just one kid! Multiply this times three - and you can see our mornings don't get off to a good start.
The husband says don't read them first thing in the morning. In his black and white world - this works. But they are still there in my inbox and the number 3 will stare back at me biding me to open the mail until I give in and read the reports.
Of course, we can back to my school days. I didn't tell my parents anything - nor did the school. I didn't want them to know anything and they probably didn't want to know, either! But, it made me responsible for everything. A failing grade was mine alone - my parents bore no responsibility for it. I had to deal with the consequences of not turning in homework, projects, assignments and permission slips. If I brought home a sub par report card - I knew my ass was going to be at home for the next nine Friday and Saturday nights. Perhaps not studying - but certainly not raising hell with my friends.
What's the compromise? Hell if I know. Let me know if you do! Until then a big number 3 will glare at me all day.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Touch...Touch...Touch...Steal?
Kleenex has a new commericial - a variation of everything you touch during the day. It's rather interesting and I especially like touch "I Q-U-I-T" touch "delete." So, Worker Chick goes through her day touching everything and then she grabs a random tissue. Likes the feel of it - next thing - Worker Chick has a new box of tissues.
I'm not saying Kleenex is promoting work desk theft - but that is exatly what they are doing. How many times has someone rifled through you desk for a pen, stapler or paper clip? Or you go to the break room and your Diet Coke that you've been dreaming about is missing. Or the umbrella you have stashed in the closet for rainy days is suddenly being used by "Klepto Chick" in accounting? (You can tell because you've secretly marked it with a red thread.)
Come on, Kleenex. When I have a cold I want my own box of tissues. I don't want Stinky from the Mail Room taking my box on his rounds.
Tissue theft is just one of the reasons I refuse to get a job.
I'm not saying Kleenex is promoting work desk theft - but that is exatly what they are doing. How many times has someone rifled through you desk for a pen, stapler or paper clip? Or you go to the break room and your Diet Coke that you've been dreaming about is missing. Or the umbrella you have stashed in the closet for rainy days is suddenly being used by "Klepto Chick" in accounting? (You can tell because you've secretly marked it with a red thread.)
Come on, Kleenex. When I have a cold I want my own box of tissues. I don't want Stinky from the Mail Room taking my box on his rounds.
Tissue theft is just one of the reasons I refuse to get a job.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Childhood Theories
When I was growing up - I would often dream that my family was moving. I never knew exactly where we were moving to in my dream, and I never actually saw a house - but the theme was always the same - and I was never happy about it.
I lived in my childhood home from the time I was 4 until I went away to college. I never once heard my parents discuss moving, leaving the neighborhood, or in fact, anything to do with relocation. But still I would dream this every month or so. Probably until I went away to school.
Here it is - some 25 years after I've graduated from high school - and I have lived in 20 different homes. I married a Marine and we move about every two years.
I think in the big cosmos of things - somewhere deep in my soul - I knew I would always be moving and relocating. I've given my children the exact opposite childhood I had. I attended parochial schools for 12 years - mostly with the same group of kids. You knew moms, dads, siblings, cousins, cars and even what pets they had. My eldest son will graduate from his 3rd high school.
Do my children dream at night that they have had the same bedroom their entire life? Do they find respite in their sleep knowing the backyard in Louisiana is their dream sanctuary? Are their daydreams filled with the endless years of the same furniture layout?
I want to compare notes with my kids in 25 years.
I lived in my childhood home from the time I was 4 until I went away to college. I never once heard my parents discuss moving, leaving the neighborhood, or in fact, anything to do with relocation. But still I would dream this every month or so. Probably until I went away to school.
Here it is - some 25 years after I've graduated from high school - and I have lived in 20 different homes. I married a Marine and we move about every two years.
I think in the big cosmos of things - somewhere deep in my soul - I knew I would always be moving and relocating. I've given my children the exact opposite childhood I had. I attended parochial schools for 12 years - mostly with the same group of kids. You knew moms, dads, siblings, cousins, cars and even what pets they had. My eldest son will graduate from his 3rd high school.
Do my children dream at night that they have had the same bedroom their entire life? Do they find respite in their sleep knowing the backyard in Louisiana is their dream sanctuary? Are their daydreams filled with the endless years of the same furniture layout?
I want to compare notes with my kids in 25 years.
Resolutions in February
I really don't make New Year resolutions. It has always seemed a little silly - if you want to do something - do it now. Don't wait six months, 30 days or 1 week to start something. (I feel the same way about the idea of driving to a track to run. Run to the track for God's sake! Not that I run or even know where a track is.) But, I digress. When I make up my mind to do something - I want that something to start right now. That's not to say everything I start is successful - or that I even start everything I desire to do - it just means once I make up my mind to try something - I do it now and without a lot of fanfare. I do it now - sometimes with varying degrees of success.
Thus my decision to blog. Because people really want to know what's going on with me. I'm sure of it.
Then I had another idea as I was watching How Clean is Your House - an obsession of mine - I decided that I need to wear heals more often. I noticed Kim Woodburne, the mistress of clean on the show, wears heals to clean - so why shouldn't I wear them, as well? I went out and bought a pair of 2" heals that will look adorable with jeans. I haven't worn them yet - but who wears shoes when your sitting on your butt typing on your blog?
Thus my decision to blog. Because people really want to know what's going on with me. I'm sure of it.
Then I had another idea as I was watching How Clean is Your House - an obsession of mine - I decided that I need to wear heals more often. I noticed Kim Woodburne, the mistress of clean on the show, wears heals to clean - so why shouldn't I wear them, as well? I went out and bought a pair of 2" heals that will look adorable with jeans. I haven't worn them yet - but who wears shoes when your sitting on your butt typing on your blog?
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