For whatever reason, (I just don't ask anymore) Mark decided to inventory all of the cell phones that we have used, stopped using, and saved over the years. Hey, it keeps him off the streets and out of my hair, so who am I to complain? Not to mention, detangling the charger cords keeps him occupied for hours.
We have discovered, much to our surprise, that it is in no one's best interest to insult the quality of a Samsung cell phone.
The first phone that Mark pulled from the abyss that is his junk drawer was a recently purchased, but less than welcome, addition to the collection. (Both of our sons love Samsungs. Dad does not.) In response to the phone lying quietly in his hand, he expressed a personal opinion that the phone was a piece of {fill-in-the-blank} and tossed it back in the drawer.
After some time spent organizing the remainder of the drawer's contents, he went back in for the Samsung. It was nowhere to be found! Nowhere at all!
We have now determined that either the phone or our personal gremlin took serious offense to the derogatory comment. I wonder if the phone will ever reappear.
You know, it seems like just yesterday that I could sit here - working away on the computer - and see what I was doing, well into the evening. What happened?! Oh, yeah. Winter!
No, technically, it's not winter, yet. But this dark-at-five-pm is really annoying!
Just now, for example, I was plugging away at about a hundred online searches, trying to come up with some information I need for a product review. Suddenly, without warning, the whole room was dark! Not just getting-hard-to-see dim, but turn-on-the-lights-or-trip-over-the-furniture dark!
It doesn't help that I know it's only going to get worse until the winter solstice - December 21! That's a full 53 days from now! Fifty-three days of the days getting shorter!
Alright, the earliest sunset actually occurs about 2 weeks before the shortest day. But, that's still 39 days of less and less daylight! Egads!
I went shopping today. (You're shocked, I know.) But, really, it had to be done. Mark needed test strips for his glucose monitor.
While wandering toward the pharmacy, I just happened to notice {wink, wink} the 75% off sign. They're probably still scrubbing the skid marks off the floor. But, seriously, 75% off! is not to be lightly dismissed. And it was summer sweats and PJs!
Unlike the stereotypical work-at-home schlub who wanders to the PC in pajamas, I do get dressed every morning (or whatever time of day I finally roll out of bed) in something that some people might actually wear in public. Hey, I even brush my hair - at some point in my search for caffeine and the computer. Sweats - especially lightweight sweats - are critical to the success of this process.
Okay, back to the sale: I'd found the deal. Now I had to find something that fit. Not easy, when you're 5'11" and most of that is legs. It becomes even more of a challenge when you realize that the 'standard' sizes in our area are somewhat ... munchkin. Must be the heat; shrinks everything.
Years ago I bought several tops and dresses in my normal medium, only to find that medium is an extremely relative term. It is, apparently, equivalent to size 10-12 in Michigan and size 3-4 in Arizona. I'm still hoping to regain function in my left shoulder after trying to put on a tank top I bought 3 years ago. (At least I can feel my fingers again and my eyes aren't popping out of my head anymore.)
Given my experience with clothes here, I figured extra-large would be just about right. I even managed to find a great pair in black with a white stripe down the side, in extra-large. A happy camper, I made my purchase and went home.
Now, Mark and I will be going camping in a few weeks - and we'll be sleeping in my sweats!
Sometimes all you can do is shake your head . . . and laugh!
There was a knock on our door earlier, which is quite uncommon for us. (We tend to discourage drop-in visitors.) I opened the door to a young man I had never seen before.
He asked for someone I'd never heard of, so I made the natural assumption that he was looking for one of the former residents of our new apartment. I assured him that his friend wasn't here. This was when the conversation became amusing.
Straight-faced and serious as a heart attack, he then stated "So, nobody lives here?"
I was completely dumbfounded! It actually took me a few seconds to process this comment! Was I invisible? Did he have vision or hearing problems? He didn't look overly confused.
Regaining my composure, I looked him straight in the eye and pointed at myself and Mark, who was sitting at the computer ignoring the entire exchange. With all of the confidence I could muster (trying desperately not to laugh out loud), I assured this young man . . .
This is an open letter to all of my mothers - be they natural, adoptive, or mothers-by-marriage:
To all of the beautiful women who helped raise me and 'grow me up' and despaired of my ever creating (from scratch) a pie crust that wasn't laughable - or worse - toxic . . .
I MADE AN EDIBLE PIE CRUST!!
I finally did it! I read the directions in the cookbook, I didn't overcompensate, and I didn't overwork the dough. I did - however - forget to prick the sides of the crust (I'm making a chocolate cream pie and needed to 'blind bake' the crust), so it's a tad puffy around the edges.
At this point, I just don't care! The next one will be closer to perfect - I'm just thrilled that this one is going to be edible! At 52, I finally have hope!
PS: One of my favorite clerks at the corner store even wants a piece!
Over the years, living in our old apartment, things started quitting; stopped working. Many of the problems could be traced to a teenager who hated cleaning the apartment and himself, so he tended to abuse the vacuum, mop, broom, shower ... you name it. We didn't let him dust the furniture, because we didn't want our bric-a-brac damaged.
Well, since we've moved:
The vacuum on/off switch works again.
The vacuum 'bag full' indicator works.
The carpet shampooer works again.
The shower faucet works.
So . . .
The only conclusion I can draw is that even our appliances are happy to be in the new apartment! I know that we're thrilled with the 'new' TV, too - the one we found under all of the dust. (Mark insisted on cleaning it years ago, but I just didn't think it was a good idea to take apart expensive electronics and apply cleaner. Boy, was I wrong!)
Years and years ago, (sorry, Howie) I saw Howie Mandel do a character named 'Bobby' and have remembered that 'little boy' ever since. He is, without a doubt, one of my favorite characters.
Today, I found a video of one of the routines and just had to share it. For anyone who has or knows little kids, this is such a great re-creation of kids telling stories. It wanders, it rambles, and it is totally realistic.
(Warning: The story finishes a little harshly. Remember, this was many years ago; sensibilities were slightly different. And, after all, little kids are little kids.)
There is not much worse (I was going to say nothing worse, but then I started thinking about it and - oh, yeah there is worse) at my age than getting a glimpse of your first-thing-in-the-morning face in the mirror. At least for those of us who are a little hit-or-miss with the skin care regimen. So, you know me, after the initial shock at having age spots and 2 new pimples on my 52-year-old face, I went shopping.
First, whatever skin care products I use have to be easy; just pluralizing product, as in I have to use more than one thing, is daunting. I am the laziest person in the world when it comes to my skin. Like this morning, I'll get a shock and dedicate myself to improving the quality of my skin - for about 3 days. Then, lazy kicks in. A couple of weeks later I get another shock, dedicate myself and ... you get the idea. Not good.
Since I truly do not know what I need, it made sense to start with the anti-aging page. Egads! I'm in trouble! There are 3 general categories for aging skin types - hormonal, genetic, and environmental. Thanks to time, nature, and laziness - I'm suffering the effects of all three. Ah, crud. Now what do I do?
Due to the overwhelming I-truly-have-no-idea situation, I determined that the Which products are right for me? test would be the logical place to start. With serious trepidation, fear, and sweaty palms, I clicked the link. Oh, dear heaven! So far, I have somewhat oily, dull, sagging skin with age spots and giant pores. (There went any hope of keeping my sense of humor - I'm a hideous monster!) The rest of the questions were equally embarrassing, but the last one did make me laugh. Out loud!
When asked about my daily skin care regimen, there was one option that was - obviously - directed at me: Less than 1 step (I barely wash my face). Suddenly, I felt better. If they'd added that option, then I couldn't be the only lazy non-skin-caring soul in the world. Maybe there was hope, after all.
Nope! Abandon all hope, ye who have destroyed this skin!
I have done so much damage, through neglect and indifference, that my recommended regimen involves somewhere in the neighborhood of 5,000 internal and external products. And that's just for my face. Frankly, in order to repair my face and return to anything even approaching decent skin, I would have to move into the bathroom - for the foreseeable future. Or until I die, whichever comes first.
And we haven't even begun to discuss ... the dreaded, horrible ... cellulite.
I stumbled across a serio-comic story in All Headline News that initially made me laugh. It was about a 10-year study, from the Canadian Red Cross, on water-related injuries and deaths. The risk of drowning appears to be highest for fishermen and swimmers. Which, undoubtedly, led to the story being titled as 'Obvious File: ...'
Naturally, one would expect that those who are around water - fishermen and swimmers and boaters - would be more at risk than me sitting here at my computer. But, there were also some unusual statistics. Apparently, road travel and bathing are also quite risky water-related behaviors. Even walking or playing near water resulted in the third highest number of fatalities.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not pooh-poohing any loss of life. It was just the obvious nature of the findings that seemed amusing.
I'm not certain which (what?) gods I have offended. But it would be terribly nice if they would . . . leave my computer alone! Because I am no longer amused.
Granted, it was never really all that amusing, but it was different and more than slightly odd; not altogether bad - in the short-term. Unfortunately, while I am not short, my patience is. In fact, I believe that this sensation could best be described as annoyed.
I received a notice to update the driver for my touch-pad. Why? I don't know; everything was working fine yesterday. So I updated it. Why? I don't know; I was thinking fine yesterday.
Suffice it to say - the cursor now shoots to the bottom of every screen . . . when it's not shooting to the top of every scream. Um, I mean screen.
But that's not the only problem.
Mark is making dinner. Well, Mark is attempting to make dinner. The poltergeists/demons are playing in the kitchen, too.
The chicken is crispy; it isn't supposed to be. The potatoes are hard; they aren't supposed to be. (Oops - there went the cursor again - ZOOM!)
Does anyone have any sage? I need to clean this place - really, really . . . NOW!
The person who said, "You train a dog, but a cat trains you," certainly knew animals. Paka has recently trained us to play a new game. It's actually really cute, and odd for a cat. And I started the nightmare a few days ago.
When we go into the bathroom to smoke, Paka now comes charging in - voice raised, rubbing on everything, and leading us to the shower. That's my cue to fill a glass with water and - slowly - pour it into the tub, so that he can watch it go down the drain. The odd part is - he absolutely hates getting wet or anything to do with water and the bathtub.
At first, that was enough. He would balance on the edge of the tub and enjoy it from a healthy distance. Then, still balanced on the edge, Paka started leaning over as far as he could to sniff the tub. Quite a sight, a cat-behind sticking out of the shower - pointing straight up in the air and tail waggling in happiness. And it was enough.
Paka wouldn't climb into the tub at all and if I poured more water, he wouldn't even look. But, you know cats! Ever curious, he eventually had to climb into the bathtub, shaking his wet paws in disgust, just to get a closer look and smell. When the water and the smell were gone, he would come out. Simple, quick; not a problem.
Then, I showed Mark how Paka loved his game -- and a feline ritual was born. After a second baptism of the shower floor, Paka walks along the edge of the tub until he can sit on the shower chair. Once he's comfortably settled, we are required to open the other shower door and play "Peek-A-Boo," one of us on each side of the open doors.
When I got up today, Mark was going back to bed. Paka yelled for 15 minutes - until I told him we weren't going to play in the bathroom and Mark shut the door.
Now, Paka is pouting! It's either terrible-twos or teenage rebellion (he's almost 3 years old) - true-age or 'cat-years' - he's just plain demanding.
Well, another Christmas season has come and gone. The days leading up to the 'big day' are so filled with stress that, by the time Christmas arrives, I'm too exhausted to enjoy the day.
Now, it's time to think about New Year's resolutions. I don't usually make resolutions, because I habitually fail to keep them. Why promise myself, or anyone else, something that I know I won't follow up on?
Though, with all of the changes in the economy and a new President - this might be the year to think about ways that I can make some positive changes in my life, too.
What about you? Any resolutions on your mind this year?
Everyone has their favorite Christmas-season movie - It's a Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street, some versions of A Christmas Carol, and White Christmas. Not to mention, the animated stories of Rudolph, the Grinch, and Charlie Brown that I've been watching since I was almost as small as the Peanuts gang.
At our house, we watch all of those (most years). But we have a couple that we - traditionally - have to see or it just isn't Christmas.
One of my must-see movies is Scrooged the manic remake of 'A Christmas Carol' starring Bill Murray and a cast of dozens. It's funny and, at the end, always makes me a little verklempt. If you haven't seen it - I won't spoil the ending. Suffice it to say that their take on 'Tiny Tim' always gets to me.
Now, Mark likes most of these movies. But his must-see is A Christmas Story. When I say must-see, I mean MUST-SEE!
We missed it one year and the holidays just weren't the same. I've gotta find a copy of that movie - this year!
Zoo handlers in Northern Japan brought in a 'friend' to mate with their female polar bear. The two animals got along well, but the zookeepers started to notice some odd similarities.
After two DNA tests and a physical exam . . . oops! Apparently, although determined to be a male from the age of three months, Tsuyoshi just wasn't going to be that-kind-of-friend, after all.
Note to zookeepers: might wanna check these things out - early?!
I am a sucker for a funny story. What can I say? I love to laugh. Not a little laugh, either. I need, on a regular basis, one of those tears-rolling-down-your-cheeks, gonna-wet-my-pants belly laughs.
Today, I found Peter McKay and I haven't stopped laughing since. Okay . . . maybe while I was trying to catch my breath about 20 minutes ago. But that's it!
It's the little, commonplace occurrences in our lives that are the most aggravating. Waiting - anywhere - in line; the moron - in front of us - who waits until the light's turning red to make that left turn; telephone customer service reps - for the most part - who don't think and don't care. You get the idea.
However, if you turn your head to the side a little - gain a different vantage point - there's humor to be found in almost anything. (Well, anything where you have no major bleeding or loss of body parts.) I'm not above a little slapstick, either; like watching the cat try to turn and run on the newly waxed floors. Never fails to make me giggle.
Honestly, I don't eat chocolate (or any sweets) on a regular basis. It's a habit I developed years ago when I was having serious problems with my blood sugar levels. My pancreas works a bit too well and overcompensates for sugary foods. But brisk walks? Maybe for nicotine cravings, although . . .
First, I'd have to take a shower, which generally involves a 3 hour wait for hot water and a mad scramble to finish before the warm water does. This exercise in frustration is followed by 40 minutes detangling my hair, 30 minutes lotioning 6 feet of arms and legs, and . . .
aw hell! I just lit a cigarette!
Then, I have to dig through the closet to find something to wear - something that's clean (eliminate 50% of the closet), that fits (there goes another 40%), that suits the weather (kiss 8% goodbye). Now . . .
aw hell! I just lit a cigarette!
See? Brisk walks are just a bad idea! And I haven't even found my shoes, yet.
Messaged the Chef this morning. The job is good, but his feet are really sore! I can remember those days.
I thought I'd died and gone to heaven when I got my first office job. Wouldn't be spending 8+ hours on my feet anymore. It was just wonderful!
The worst (on my feet) job I had in my youth was at the cheese shop at the local mall. Vanity had me in heels; but the shop had a cement floor behind the counter, for health reasons. I don't think my feet ever hurt as badly as they did after all day standing on that floor. The steakhouse had a concrete floor, too. But I wore more sensible shoes in those days.
So, I'm sure that he's spending his entire shift on the same type of floor. If nothing else, I know what to get him for Christmas . . .
