Thursday, February 26, 2009

You're Reading Too Much Into This

I am a lesson in complexities. Or contradictions.
Pick your diagnosis.

Surprised? Don't be. Do the math.

I went in a bookstore today to look for a specific book. I left with two.
The Complete Beck Diet For Life
I Was Told There'd Be Cake

I avoid bookstores, actually. I don't feel well-read enough on what my top dozen scholarly reads should be - and therefore ill-equipped to choose. At the same time, there is always something I'd
like to read, -- but it shouldn't be higher on my to-do list than what's already waiting for me to do at home.
So, my solution is to limit my bookstore visits or book borrows.

Hubby is not a reader, and in life, circles me constantly at a breakneck pace of 'doing.' I (self-inflict) the motto that if I am going to be sitting around - I shan't be just reading - but best be hand-tailoring suits, spinning yarn, or re-soling worn clogs. But who's the wiser? The tortoise or the hare?

After long hours of school work yesterday, I felt free today to get some ordinary this & that done at my desk and around the house. The exact reasoning, in fact, that made me want to go outside.

I don't do staying in, very well. Well at least not for hours on end, and when it is beautiful outdoors.
One reason I went out today was to get some of that sunshine. But than, the only reason I needed sunshine, was because I had decided I wanted to stay indoors.
Did you get that?

It used to drive Hubby crazy when I would look out the window and exclaim, "Oh what a be-yooo-tiful day! Let's go to the mall!"
At least I've improved on those particular neurotransmitters . . . so that a beautiful day outside, does not necessarily an indoor mall trip, make.

Now if Shakespeare, Pluto, or Hemingway had written something, say, like, He's Not'th That Into'th You'th it would be a good balance for me, --attractive to the both sides of my brain.
Yes I realize Pluto is just a planet and Disney pup . . and if I were better-read I never would have used 'Pluto' as an example in my previous sentence. But like I said - I'm complex.

Books I'd read:
Pluto Six Degrees of Separation (from Mickey)
Plato Chicken Soup for the Western Philosopher
Aristotle Math for Dummies
Hemingway For Whom the Bell, Toll-house Chocolate Chip Cookies


If I sound like a reading snob, -I'm not. I'm practical.
I rarely clean my house as well as I should, finish on time - projects I should start, make dinners anymore from utter scratch, or stay ahead of instead of behind-on my studies.
Somehow I feel less self-imposed guilt doing nothing - than I do reading a book. Which I can see, --now that I've written it--doesn't make sense. Well if it's a school book, -I don't feel guilty . . . but I do feel sleepy. If it's a pop-book, I do feel guilty, but I don't feel sleepy. If it's an intellects' book, I feel low-IQ'y . . . and sleepy.

So I don't necessarily 'free-choice' read during the day. It seems unproductive to me. I read at night though, right before I go to bed. And at this rate I can usually finish maybe, two books a year?
I'm not good book club material.

I will buy a book before a vacation - and when the fantasy is that I will actually be on vacation, while on vacation. Sometimes the vacation part of a vacation gets a little mucky with all the action, cleaning up, or cooking. I've never vacationed in the lap-of-luxury, as it were.
I bring magazines on vacation - without fail. I pour over everything in a magazine. There are too many pictures and too many words to just skip through it. My camping buddy thinks it's very Dustin Hoffman/Rainman of me, because of my then ability to store and recall much ado (in magazines) about nothing.

I will give you an example.
Do you know what Lee's Art Shop is?

Because of my one day, today, of Rainman'ing -- I came across Lee's several times. I can now tell you in regular conversation (where it would so likely not come up), Lee's Art Shop is located in New York City, actually it's on 57th Street. Angelina Jolie was there recently with two of her litter. They left with white empty Easter baskets. (I bet the clerk just gave them to the girls.) I also know through my random-trivia-cataloging of the day, that the author of I Was Told There'd Be Cake (the book by the way, I ultimately decided not to get, and left behind), went there for stuff to use in her plexiglas dioramas. A diorama (in case you don't remember) (I got to see a picture, so that refreshed my memory) is a three-dimensional model, like what you might see a grade-school'er do for a science project.

Now look at all that I've learned -just by being aware of my environment and sticking my nose into bits and pieces of reading material, here and there. What is the likelihood I would have learned so much about Lee's, if I had been off reading some self-important book somewhere?
Is it all that more valuable than what Shakespeare would have me know? Or my Psych Professor? Maybe - maybe not
. Wouldn't I be better off just sucking it up and reading a classic, - so that's what's stuck in my head?
Well than I wouldn't be me.

And we wouldn't want that, now would we.

Besides, there have been some little jewels of books I've read - that I never would have even known about had I not peeked in newspapers or magazines. It's like I'm on a treasure hunt all day, but only strike gold occasionally. So what I'm really doing, is totally living life on the edge (--in case you hadn't given me credit for that).
And I take it back - I am a reading snob. I'm very selective, and I don't need to read a book just for the sake of reading. At the same time, if I learn one more tidbit in news or magazine passing, about the Acai berry, Dr. Phil, Big Love, or U2, I may slit my wrists.

My intellect marches to the beat of its own drum. What can I say. I have been known to yell out 'No Soup For You!' without provocation or even feeling an explanation of context, necessary.

How do you reason with a person like me?

Who knows. But I can tell you this -
Why don't you read up on it -
And get back to me

Friday, February 20, 2009

There's Only One Teeny Little Problem

Imagine in your worst dream your man wears a babyGap beanie while on snow trips with the family. Even with a head chuck-full of brains, it's a tiny babyGap beanie he puts on it. Now imagine from the large piles of ever present laundry in your home, you pull from the dryer his tiny cotton beanie that should never have even
gone in the dryer - but been cold-washed and stretched over a tire rim to dry . . . all to prevent even a quarter inch of shrinkage from attacking it . . . as you knew no matter how shrunken the beanie got, your man would still be wearing it . . . and in fact demanding it's whereabouts . . . every snow or ski trip for the rest of his (and your) life. (That there being the run-on sentence of all sentences, but then again, being the subject matter of all subject matters.)

Now imagine it wasn't a dream - but reality!

I so bawled when I pulled that petite thing out of the dryer. The beanie--now smaller than ever--begged to be tossed. Yet I knew at that same moment ~ in a small work office over 20 miles away, Hubby's SpideyHubby senses were tingling at the inkling of my hurling it - or giving it to poor babies in Gap-poor third world countries.

And alright, maybe it is actually a GapKids beanie --instead of a babies beanie - but then let me inform you it also has bouncy bubbly little pom-poms on top as well. I'm just sayin'.

And as I am a positive kind of person, --I'm always going to look for the positive.
So, --while on our same recent snow/ski weekend, --it was discovered that Hubby's stuffed-animal-reindeer-head, groin-attachment-thingy's, elastic, was all stretched out --and thereby rendered unusable.

Oh no, yeah, --you heard me right.
Stuffed animal-type, bouncy-reindeer-head, thingy.
It's about the size of a smallish pillow, goes on similar to a low slung belt, and is presented for All on the slopes to enjoy. Hubby first used it when he was a single, strapping young skier, and usually around the holidays. It always got a flirty giggle from the snow bunnies.
But need we remind him - those days are long over - and though his sons' thought it would be awesome for him to wear (
why?) -- Hubby was unable to accommodate. (Oh thank goodness nobody mentioned duct tape.)

Yes, it's true a grown man should not need answer to anyone about his clothing choices, reindeer packages, or pom-pom beanies. Sure. However, in extreme cases --that's a bunch of who-eee. And this is one of those cases.

Yes, some outfits you might look at in a picture-and realize, '
well, that was just a sign of the times. Everyone was wearing dolphin shorts in the seventies.' But the problem for us is we don't have any old pictures like that. All are crisply current. I don't know what for sure Hubby was wearing in the seventies (since he saved his short-shorts for now) --but it was probably something akin to knickers or English royalty wigs. You know - just to keep it fresh, --show he was certainly no slave to fashion, no sirree, Bob.

Yeah, yeah. I'm being a little rough. We all have our warts . . . and it
was just Valentines Day.
Tell you what - let's you and I make believe Hubby looks like a total hunk in his beanie, and this whole story is super sweet. . . . Oh - and that everyone loves a good reindeer-gag.

Hug-hug, Kiss-kiss, Hubby.
You're the man!

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

You're One Sick Puppy

. . . I don't like to say that to myself. But sometimes I have to. Like today.

Today was my birthday. Fun, right? One of the first things I like to Not do on my birthday, is weigh-in at Weight Watchers.
It just feels like such a bummer. Such an injustice from the Birthday Gods.

But I psyched myself up for it anyway, --and was even driving there in my slip and stockings (remember, I can't wear much), when I decided ~
Forget it! It's my Birthday and I'm taking the day off!

My decision came, coincidentally, right about the time I was in front of McDonalds. (
And herein comes the sick puppy part--)

Well first let me tell you (actually they would call this 'confession' in some religions) --
--I've been a very bad girl.

So the deal is, in my weigh-in for the last few months, I don't have breakfast before I go. I'm just too distraught to put
any ounces in--before they have the chance to get back out--ahead of my weigh-ins.
What that has done, is make me
soo starving by the time I get weighed. And since everyone knows the hour after a weigh-in is like, total party time - and since there is a McDonalds on the way home from my weigh-ins - I have taken to stopping there for a large diet coke and cinnamelts.


It's awful, isn't it?!
It's like, something I never in my life would do. You know, get a coke first thing in the morning, or have cinnamelts instead of six Kashi almonds and a slice of cheese (or something).
It's insane! It's madness! It's craziness!

It's Heaven.

And then, one morning in drive-through-- . . . ('cause I
never go inside) (I have like, nothing on, --remember?) (and heaven help me if I ever get in an accident in front of the Mcdonalds. They are Not getting me out of that car. I don't care if they use the jaws of life on me) . . . --they accidentally gave me hot cakes as well!
Oh my heck! Oh my gosh!
Yummo times four!
It's a breakfast Carb'avors like me can only
dream of! And is it such a sin now, really, to order diet coke, cinnamelts, and hot cakes . . . and just like, white flour and refined sugar PigOut? They're not, super sized or anything.

Oh yeah. It's unhealthy.

And anyways you're not the Boss of me.
Heck, at home I even cut my
fat-free milk with water! Blaaaa! I deserve a cinnamelt a week.
Besides, I'm not a machine, --I'm a real person, --with real feelings . . . and it's my birthday.

Leave me alone.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Shopping Frenzy

Well that was fun.

I ran to Costco (where I rarely go) to use up a gift card (I have had for far too long) on milk and such (massage tables, plasma tv, Jack LaLanne juicer . . .). Come to find out I did not have the card with me as I had supposed, and could not bring myself to shop without it. By the time I had turned around, grabbed coupons at home, and headed over to Vons - the clock was seriously ticking. There is nothing like picking up deliciously unspoiled (yeah, right) teenagers fifteen minutes later than when they
wanted to be picked up. (Sometimes I truly cannot remember who has who jumping through hoops.)

Occasionally I like to leave my purse in the car when I go grocery shopping, stick my debit card in my jeans, and just hold my coupons. I did that this time.

Now I should have you know here, the Coupon Ladies of yesteryear have evolved. We are not nearly as insane and homeless looking as we used to be. (For example, now I methodically run a comb through my hair and chew mint gum, every time I'm about to go in a grocery store.) And because the stores have taken all the fun out of coupon shopping (i.e., limiting use, not taking other store's coupons, etc.), we hardly even argue anymore with the cashiers.

Today I had a long line of rained on soaking wet carts to choose from, --and I hate that. (
Yes, that's right. I would not have made a good pioneer.) I pick one only to see it doesn't have the undercarriage part - which I way use - so I try another, and it will hardly budge. My third choice is so wet it has puddles in it. (By now there is a small crew of shopping peers stranded between my cart carnage and the other grocery carts.) I pick again, and this cart is absolutely repulsive! 'There should be a law against doing what I believe somebody did in here,' I think to myself (-or did I say it out loud?). Finally I find one I can stand (I believe I heard applause), and mosey on inside.

My OCD doesn't stop at the carts alone. How I wish I could just give up on coupons! Their very nature breeds OCD. But in my head every 50 cents I save -is another 50 cents toward something special like Easter bonnets, or sculptures. I keep my grocery list in one pocket, coupons I won't be using this time (I only coupon if the product is on sale) in another pocket, coupons I decide to save for Target in a third, and the coupons I will be using this trip in any remaining available orifice. (And see? Why burden myself with a purse?)

I worked at a grocery store a hundred years ago (that's right, --one hundred years ago. And we didn't call them grocery stores then either, --we called them village vendors) --and I was taught by my superiors to never take the first thing on the shelf. Always go back several items and you will find the fresher dated milks, breads, whatever. That was fine then, but now I am a freakish circus act as I stretch, dig, and mutilate to get to the furthest-away product. The little ones enjoy watching me - but the adults mostly look away in disgust.

Lastly, the guy who checked me out (kinda like the sound of that--), kept asking questions but couldn't seem to look me in the eyes. Therefore,
Did you find everything you need? sounded like Coffee, tea, or me? and Would you like help out? sounded like Do you really need to pout? --Both of which made just as much sense to me as what he was really trying to saying. I stopped short (thankfully) of answering 'Sorry pal, I'm married . . . plus what can I say? -I'm a pouter.'

(It's done. There is a long line of nutty bars - and I'm
right in the middle with the best of them.)

Physician heal thyself, comes to mind.

Monday, February 9, 2009

The Anti-Polka Dot Her


--obviously a work in progress . . .

~~The site, I mean -
Not me.
(Heck, me? - I am
this close to being done!)

Anyhow, I have fantastic ideas in my head for my blog decor, --but somehow I am not able to have them manifested.

The first problem --
Wouldn't you think it'd be easy to pick a background for the site, out of, like, over 400 choices?
I mean, is it me?
rhetorical question!)

And it's no help that I got sucked into a sparkling Webfetti download that left me with gadget choices such as these, to add to my page:
Bagel in Love
Zombie Head Bounce

Chopsticks Chasing a Fly

Toilet Drinking Dog ~and~
Old Woman Stuck Under a Shoe

While that last one did remind me a
little of myself . . . the rest, --no way!

My second problem arose right after I downloaded
Webfetti, --because it was then that I remembered Bliss isn't allowed to download anything.

Um, yea. 'Allowed' seems like a pretty severe word to use in a marriage of equal partnership and intelligence, such as Hubby's and mine is -- nevertheless. Even a monkey is allowed to download more stuff than I am. ~~But I'm wa
aay better at letting go of treats when my closed fist is stuck in a jar, -than monkeys are.

Anyhow, all this means is that soon Hubby was thickly involved with my site styling, as I didn't know how the heck to get rid of the cheesy download that was now sticking to everything on my screen like cheap polyester.
Then, the next thing I knew, each time I turned around he had another wilderness shot as my header or mountain'scape all up in my widgets. And if I needed a wilderness in my widgets, don't you think I'd tell him?!

It's just that I'm
particular about this sort of stuff - And I can't just have any old' design representin'.

For instance, I don't need bows, yellow smiley faces, and talk of 'Love is like Flannel Jammies in Winter' or 'Family Makes Me Giddy,' or 'Happiness is Twilight and Grandchildren'. Even my temporary '
Welcome Friends' is giving me the willies. It smacks of sugar on top of syrup.
I don't know.
Obviously I'm just a fussy, cold-hearted blogger, with no soul.

And I don't
mind being a cold-hearted unfeeling blogger, with no soul -- as long as my site looks pretty in the meanwhile.

And the Bliss in red you see below? --It's all wrong.
I'm just saying -- what the heck kind of color is that? And why all the curlies in my 'B' ?
And, am I mistaken, or does that 'B' make me look fat?

I'm just going to give it a rest.
I'll find something I like tomorrow.
'Tomorrow's a new day' --
. . . and all that other hogwash.

Or to put it another way --
too much 'cute' thinkin -
makes me feel like punkin'.

: ) (Smiley Face)

Friday, February 6, 2009

Hot Off The Press

Alright. I haven't got a lot of time, --so I'm going to have to make this fast . . .
But, I read a headline today that made me crazy! Why crazy? Well, --first, --the headline . . and see for yourself.

Women step up their walking when it's warm outside' ~~Oops, wait. That's not quite right . . . it's~~

Study-Women step up their walking when it's warm outside'

Oh my gosh.
Study? ~~What is going on America?? I mean if the newsworld is so dang interested in the mysteries that make us (women, in this case) tick - here's some more for ya ~~ 'Studies' show most women get haircuts several times a year, enjoy breakfast in bed, and have been known to make phone calls.

I mean, that is literally how lame this sounds to me.
The only thing worse than
reading a news quote that lame, --is knowing that someone was using time to sit around and think about something that lame before they wrote it. Let alone 'Headline' it!

And I'll go one further (or two or three--) ~ Since this was a 'study,' someone else, or ones'else, had to have drafted the study
and then used money on it! Huh?!

Marbles are literally falling out of peoples heads.

Oh man oh man, if only I were in charge.

Listen, I could save these groups, or research teams, a
ton of money, if they'd just come to me, ~and ask! I could tell them anything they wanted to know . . . and in fact, I want to tell somebody everything they need to know!
And heck, I took statistics. When it's all said and done, anything I say has got at least a 50% chance of being accurate. And they can do better? I doubt it.
Believe me, if this is the kind of stuff The Man is wondering about? --I could be of some definite help. ---
And I take grants, checks, gift cards, nickles, and stamps.
How much easier could it be??

Okay. So I did go a little nuts over this.
And maybe what they
really were researching was a cure for cancer - and they just stumbled across this 'walking outside is nicer when the weather isn't 10 below,' break-through stuff.


"Hey Betty - It's not as cold outside as it was yesterday. You wanna walk over to Subway for lunch?"

"Um . . . I don't know . . . Do you think I'll need a sweater?"

(Scientist busily scribbles away insights into his notebook . . .)


Well I jest. But do we need a news headline to speak to us like we're bored dimwits? I for one say,
It's like the news plug that comes on during a sitcom . . . the one they save for those emergency days where there really
isn't anything else news worthy to drum up ---
Obama - Boxers or Briefs? News at Eleven'

I gotta run . . . or I'd rant some more.

But - I will part with this final brainchild, --that was at the end of the article (
And yes, yes. I did go ahead and read the whole article. But I only did it for you! My audience of seven!)

In his research, Church has found that men are also more active in the summer than winter.'

Oh thank goodness. Research complete. Need I say more?

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Super Chaos Saturday

Well certainly there is nothing like getting new carpet one day before a SuperBowl party, to test a New Sheriff's heart! --But you know what? Sheriff Hubby did good! He did real good. The guests behaved, the game was played, and the Sheriff enjoyed himself.

I, on the other hand, did, --almost wet my pants when, while sneaking a bite of cupcake (yes, the 'none-diet' kind of cupcake) --over a dozen people screamed "No -- !!" ) (~~How relieved was I, right? --to see they were only barking at a Steeler, and not the poor-wretched-starving, hostess.)

Pre-Superbowl, on Saturday, --I came home from a lovely afternoon. I'd gone to a fantastic church meeting with the ladies, followed by dinner and lots of bonding. So inspiring!

flip side of me being gone the entire Saturday afternoon, was that that put the men in charge of house organizing. (Remember now, we'd just gotten carpet, --so everything we owned had been pulled out of rooms, spaces, and closets.) (--And for future reference, --in such a case? --I would not recommend leaving the guys solely in charge of the pre-party housework.)

You see when men (
well, at least my men) have mounds of stuff in front them, and are under directions to clean, some part of their brain has them extend their arms, and in wide swooshing movements, push and pile until there appears a space, and everything thing else has landed to one side or the other. The actual putting away of something -- doesn't seem to quite compute. This technique is what I like to call, -- The Perimeter Push.

Say you have a kitchen table full of things that belong somewhere else - like, a school book, bbgun, ketchup, welders mask, and flip-flops . . . What would you do? Would you ---

a) - For pete's sake, don't touch
anything! (the 'put-it-away fairy' is sure to come soon . . and besides, you wouldn't want to unintentionally throw her off her game.)
b) - Work around it! --It ain't so bad. In fact, --it's rather handy should you find yourself in need of studying for a test, hunting, eatin'tots, welding, and ready'ing for the beach, --all at the same time.
c) - Pretend you don't see it. (This can get tricky for periods longer than two months, but the more you practice, the easier it will become.)
d) - In one fell swoop, push everything you see to the edge of the table. This way you have cleaned up
and still kept everything handy.

If you guessed any of the above -- you have both failed miserably
and ~~if you are a man~~ should feel ashamed of yourself for believing in fairies.

Well. You can imagine what the Perimeter Push done to our mess of a just carpeted house looked like. I gasped a little, coming through the front door. Yet Hubby was feeling so proud. Every speck of furniture in the living room--and more found throughout the house--had been plastered side by side against all the walls, in one large continuous square. In fact, to even get to a chair you would have to be hurled into the empty center, and then scramble to the perimeter seating. All seats faced a tightly wedged in mammoth television that had been hauled in from the garage. Otherwise, the room was barren. The space looked cold, heartless . . . the opposite of all my years of hard work toward a homey feeling, --a woman's touch.
It kind of looked like, well . . I couldn't really put my finger on it until Hubby told me. The living room had been decorated in "
arena style," he happily explained.

Well of course! That was it! Apparently, I don't recognize a football or Twisted Sister venue, even when it's staring me in the face! I supposed if we wanted to, we could hold up lighters or cell phones in unison, and wave them back and forth during the game, --groupie'esc like.

As I continued through the house, it was easy to see very little had actually been put in it's proper place. Even on the back patio, --food storage, clothes, Christmas wrapping, shoe racks, toys, --had all been pushed up against one long wall. And oh how fooled I was! I could hardly spot it!

Well my goodness boys, if you hadn't shown me there was a 12 feet high precariously balanced tower of food storage potatoes, bedroom night stand, Sponge-Bob Christmas wrapping paper, Great Grandmother's china, Tiffany lamp, and three bags of Legos, I never would have noticed! Gee, how hard you have worked!~~

Certainly having nothing in it's place, didn't faze these guys a single bit. Me? A fantastic shrill was developing from deep within --

After passing the family room couches--still in the hall--with sons hanging from them seeing who could last the longest with blood racing to his face ---
I went upstairs to the
second floor Perimeter Push. It was worse than the downstairs, --and since even a healthy pushing couldn't clear a path, it appeared they had given up altogether. (Maybe in hopes that the 'put-it-away fairy' would again materialize and save them the trouble?)

Well no fairies showed up, --but a Drill Sargent did (-- And they are
much moodier than fairies. Plus they've been know to stare you down, blow whistles, and smack heads).

Listen -
I learned a great lesson Saturday, and for that I am grateful. --It is that there are no happy endings, --just because you get new carpet.
Life still throws you curve balls (--and then for no reason, leaves them in a pile on your bedroom floor . . . next to a spaghetti pot and bicycle shorts.)

Lesson Learned.