Ok....so my family is everywhere and encompasses alot of somebody's not related by blood (thank GOD!). I am blessed by the inclusion I enjoy into many families to create a more robust feeling of comfort, home and love. I grew up as a Navy brat so my view of family has boundaries which have become mecurial. What an amazing feeling it is...so thank you if you have put your hand, heart or homes out to me!
Now, with that said....the Creitz family has a holiday. I feel pretty strong about this being important throughout the time I was growing up. I can guarantee it is a time revered by many Americans, but in our household there was a different excitement and enjoyment which gave our day a more holiday feel. Funny, but the man I married comes from a household which celebrated very similarly. Whereas my mother collected her Thanksgiving cut outs with which she would decorate walls and tables, my mother in law has a cache of footballs, goal posts and pom poms which she uses to festoon festivity into her household on that oh holy of all days...SUPERBOWL SUNDAY!
Banal I am sure many of you are mouthing. Yet it truly is a day of hedonism and a relentless exercise in WOOOO HOOOOOOO! There is a feeling of freedom during the Super Bowl. There are no traditions to mindlessly adhere to, there are no rules save for those you treasure, and everyone will enjoy some aspect of the day. It is truly an American holiday....bone crushing sports, nauseausly huge media coverage, extreme consumption levels, and rooting for your choice of winners. So this year, we are celebrating!
For THE holiday, we are flying in a most welcomed and necessary participant....my sister in Philadelpia. She will show up with her GEN-U-INE NFL jersies and her appetite for sports and the true spirit of football. In Utah, we need an infusion of professional sports enthusiasm to build up against the GO UTES ferver building for some bowl game in New Orleans! Go Utes!
With each holiday there are steadfast traditions. Food being the most important for the Creitz (and now Davidson) household. Unfortunately I approach ferver level when it comes to this. In Faye's honor, we have California dip (onion soup mix & sour cream....lifeblood of any party) with ridged chips, and 7 layer dip. Now in our house, 7 layer dip tends to vary on the number of layers and the ingredients of those layers based on 1) who is making it and 2) who is eating it. I am not a fan of guacamole...whereas my husband is a huge fan, so that is a "side". In the past I got fancy with my 7 layers and would use marinated chicken, but as time has passed, I find comfort in plain old hamburger.
In another homage to Creitz food, I have made (with Shawn's expertise) Lumpia. Shawn & I are pretty infamous for our Lumpia. It is a Philipine egg roll that my Canadian mom learned how to make before I was born. In other families, recipes are passed for generations to make sure it is made the same....Shawn & I have certainly walked past where Faye was and emboldened ourselves to become Lumpia effiicianados....but I digress.
In years past, I have brought in the makings for individual pizza's as well as mini hamburgers (slammers as the bar folk say). Our celebrations are fairly limited so this is easily managed. Many years ago when I partook of the grain, we would have jello shots in the colors of the team (augmented of course with various alcohol) and for each touchdown, you would "do" a shot. That one year, we became desperate enough to celebrate at each possession.
Again, I digress. What I have neglected to mention so far was football. In my mind, the SuperBowl starts with the All Madden team. Born within cheering distance from the Oakland/Alamedia County stadium, I teethed on the Raiders and next to Santa, John Madden was the next important portly older man in my life. His philosophy on football was remniscent of what the sport was meant to be....heart, fight, blood and dirt! I still tear up at the sight of Mike Singletary being nominated to the All Madden team as he came out of a play with a chunk of grass in his helmet & the WILD Singletary focus to kick some ass!
The more modern part of the Super Bowl festivities has become the commericals! They are certainly a shot game in their own right. YEARS AGO when commercials started to become more interesting than the game itself, I recall leaving the room to restock my plate DURING the game only to run like hell back to see the commercials. I remember first seeing "You have just won MVP of the SuperBowl, what are you gong to do? We're going to Disneyland!" Now it is just like the game, it is a time of too much money, too much ego, and too little regard for the true love of the day.....and commercials have exceeded themselves in their importance.
The game. It is hard as of late to truly become involved in the game. I remember in the last two games that the tear jerker stats were to the point of being contrived. Are they looking to pull in the female viewers by including heart? Are they working to find the long lost true "underdog" that they dig to find which player has had the most recent family loss? I think as with the withering patheticism of the half time show, that interest in the game is waning....and the producers of the event are just that...desperate engineers paid to re-inflate flagging interest in an over inflated contrivance of a once precious time.
So, regardless of how the rest of the world will celebrate February 1....I am looking forward to eating well, checking out cute butts, and criticizing lame commericals! To each his own....thank God!
Be great to you!
H
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Elvis got us a Christmas present!
I have 3 dogs. Bo, Luke & Daisy. We are very heartful about pets in our home. Now don't get me wrong, they are dogs. They sleep not in our bed, they don't get people food (much), and I can leave them outseide without guilt. But we are heartful about pets.
One morning before I left for work, our three angels, went NUTS. That kind of bedlam was reserved for the garbage/recycling man. Mike went out to look. There was a beautiful American bull dog (may be a pit) but well cared for and certainly a loved member of a family. Me being over 40, could NOT read his tag. We got the numbers from Elvis's tag. Mike tried to call. I text one of the numbers "Elvis has apparently left your building and is hanging with us". Mike left a message.
I get a call from Mike. He had put Elvis out in the back yard with our group and they were playing. Then I heard Mike "Daisy, leave Elvis alone. Daisy NO BITE. Daisy....I gotta go". Apparently all 12 pounds of Daisy was either enamoured or pissed off at Elvis. Let me go through the 3 dogs: Bo....just like me...fearful of everything until he has someone with him or time passes. Luke...the old man of the group....he was fostered for most of his life & we think was abused by aggressive dogs. He knows how to bob & weave! Now Daisy....she tends to go after big dogs. One time in a soon-to-be abandoned "obedience class" Daisy had to be faced AWAY from the 120 pount pit as she would go after him (at 9 pounds & 4 months). Mike told the class "Just like her momma, always looking for a bar fight"....not sure how to respond.
I received a call from Elvis' owner. 19 year old kid. I gave him Mike's number & let them work out the delivery details. It turned out, that the mom & dad owned a pretty popular steak place. I threatened Mike NOT to ask for a gift certificate as payment. Apparently the kid's father was struggling with Lukemia & the mom truly appreciated the thought & care we afforded Elvis.
For the next week, the dogs would go NUTS in the middle of the night....Elvis was here. Apparently, Elvis would push his way into the back yard looking for the kids to play with. It just so happened to be 4 in the morning. We would call the kid. One time we brought him into the house, all 80 pounds of him. He jumped up on our bed kinda making himself at home. He was quite endearing. He sat at the door of the guest room where we had coralled our darlings. Pandemonium ensued. I figure the kid was playing video games & absently put the dog out & went back to life. We found out later that Elvis would jump up on the trampoline & would come to search out the Dukes of SLC. Mike offered to have Elvis visit & play, but that never came to fruition. We figured Elvis would trap himself in our yard as the gate only swings in. One morning, I went to let the dogs out and I was bringing Daisy out (who has to go out seperately due to her own stubbornness) and I opened the door & there stood Bo. Apparently during the night Elvis had entered the yard, when he coudn't find the Dukes, he pushed his way out of the chain link gate doors. Elvis had left the yard. We haven't heard from Elvis in a while which is a mixed blessing...no more frightening barking alarms, yet no bouyant beefy face looking to play!
I took a half a day of vacation & there was a bag with a bow hanging on the door. I left it as I thought it was from the neighbors. I left it for Mike to open. The card was to "Elvis' friends from Elvis". There were puppy treats & human treats as well as a picture of a tail wagging, tongue lolling Elvis. Now we have no idea of the numbers any more, nor did we really share names. But we helped someone out by giving a dog the care we would want our dogs given when they are lost and we got the greatest surprise! Thank YOU!
Unfortunately when Daisy has gotten out and they tell me what an amazing dog she is, I hesitate from blurting "SOLD". Because on some deep.....deep....way deeper level, I would miss her. As a matter of fact, I was in Northern California for business last year & received a few voicemails that Daisy had been found. It turned out that she had been turned over to the animal control for the weekend. I was livid with Mike. "You go back in there & get my baby! She is in a cold kennel without the boys & has no pillow. I am SURE she is scared." I continued every so irrationally "This is the weekend before Christmas, she is a cute dog...if someone adopts my baby because YOU didn't get her out, YOU WILL PAY!" Mike kept mumbling "I hope she learns a lesson being in jail over the weekend". Not sure who was more delusional.
Sigh...yes, I do laugh about it now. First thing Monday morning, Mike went to the pound, paid the fee, and took possession of our baby. He called me with "I got Daisy. They gave me her picture with her number and her paw prints they took!" I fell for it. Like she needed smokes in her weekend in the doggie slammer. I really don't think this dog, nor Elvis, could be redeemed, but they are a pair to draw to!
Be great to you!
H
One morning before I left for work, our three angels, went NUTS. That kind of bedlam was reserved for the garbage/recycling man. Mike went out to look. There was a beautiful American bull dog (may be a pit) but well cared for and certainly a loved member of a family. Me being over 40, could NOT read his tag. We got the numbers from Elvis's tag. Mike tried to call. I text one of the numbers "Elvis has apparently left your building and is hanging with us". Mike left a message.
I get a call from Mike. He had put Elvis out in the back yard with our group and they were playing. Then I heard Mike "Daisy, leave Elvis alone. Daisy NO BITE. Daisy....I gotta go". Apparently all 12 pounds of Daisy was either enamoured or pissed off at Elvis. Let me go through the 3 dogs: Bo....just like me...fearful of everything until he has someone with him or time passes. Luke...the old man of the group....he was fostered for most of his life & we think was abused by aggressive dogs. He knows how to bob & weave! Now Daisy....she tends to go after big dogs. One time in a soon-to-be abandoned "obedience class" Daisy had to be faced AWAY from the 120 pount pit as she would go after him (at 9 pounds & 4 months). Mike told the class "Just like her momma, always looking for a bar fight"....not sure how to respond.
I received a call from Elvis' owner. 19 year old kid. I gave him Mike's number & let them work out the delivery details. It turned out, that the mom & dad owned a pretty popular steak place. I threatened Mike NOT to ask for a gift certificate as payment. Apparently the kid's father was struggling with Lukemia & the mom truly appreciated the thought & care we afforded Elvis.
For the next week, the dogs would go NUTS in the middle of the night....Elvis was here. Apparently, Elvis would push his way into the back yard looking for the kids to play with. It just so happened to be 4 in the morning. We would call the kid. One time we brought him into the house, all 80 pounds of him. He jumped up on our bed kinda making himself at home. He was quite endearing. He sat at the door of the guest room where we had coralled our darlings. Pandemonium ensued. I figure the kid was playing video games & absently put the dog out & went back to life. We found out later that Elvis would jump up on the trampoline & would come to search out the Dukes of SLC. Mike offered to have Elvis visit & play, but that never came to fruition. We figured Elvis would trap himself in our yard as the gate only swings in. One morning, I went to let the dogs out and I was bringing Daisy out (who has to go out seperately due to her own stubbornness) and I opened the door & there stood Bo. Apparently during the night Elvis had entered the yard, when he coudn't find the Dukes, he pushed his way out of the chain link gate doors. Elvis had left the yard. We haven't heard from Elvis in a while which is a mixed blessing...no more frightening barking alarms, yet no bouyant beefy face looking to play!
I took a half a day of vacation & there was a bag with a bow hanging on the door. I left it as I thought it was from the neighbors. I left it for Mike to open. The card was to "Elvis' friends from Elvis". There were puppy treats & human treats as well as a picture of a tail wagging, tongue lolling Elvis. Now we have no idea of the numbers any more, nor did we really share names. But we helped someone out by giving a dog the care we would want our dogs given when they are lost and we got the greatest surprise! Thank YOU!
Unfortunately when Daisy has gotten out and they tell me what an amazing dog she is, I hesitate from blurting "SOLD". Because on some deep.....deep....way deeper level, I would miss her. As a matter of fact, I was in Northern California for business last year & received a few voicemails that Daisy had been found. It turned out that she had been turned over to the animal control for the weekend. I was livid with Mike. "You go back in there & get my baby! She is in a cold kennel without the boys & has no pillow. I am SURE she is scared." I continued every so irrationally "This is the weekend before Christmas, she is a cute dog...if someone adopts my baby because YOU didn't get her out, YOU WILL PAY!" Mike kept mumbling "I hope she learns a lesson being in jail over the weekend". Not sure who was more delusional.
Sigh...yes, I do laugh about it now. First thing Monday morning, Mike went to the pound, paid the fee, and took possession of our baby. He called me with "I got Daisy. They gave me her picture with her number and her paw prints they took!" I fell for it. Like she needed smokes in her weekend in the doggie slammer. I really don't think this dog, nor Elvis, could be redeemed, but they are a pair to draw to!
Be great to you!
H
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Just My Thanksgiving
So....my mother has passed. My follow up quip is that "I hate to say I have lost my mother, as I know where she is. She is in a canister on a shelf in my brother's garage."
As I type that it really seems not funny. Thanksgiving was one of her holidays. I don't know what happened to them, but she had a cache of 30 year old (at the time)Hallmark cut outs of cute Pilgrims and Indians. Then over the years, she added Indian corn, a conrucopia, and other festivus effluvia of the season. Since her death, if my sister was not with us, my husband and I have been graciously adopted by friends. My husband was raised in a family where Thanksgiving was huge. The two of us are lost this time of year without our birth families.
I can still feel how Thanksgiving day started at my mom's house. As with all of the memories in our pudgy household, it starts with food. Bacon, fried potatoes and eggs. Eaten while watching the parade, mom loved the bands. THEN the stuffing had to be made. Call it what you will, but my mom had control issues. For years she would "teach" me to cook and part of that wisened tutealage was creating the base for the stuffing. I close my eyes and can still FEEL the small blackened cast iron frying pan (older than myself) where I would put a cube of butter, a chopped onion, leftover bacon, and celery. Added to that, I would sprinkle in (only under mom's expert eye) poultry seasoning & paprika. That is how our day started. What a joy!
Over the years, mom got creative with the turkey. NEVER with the dressing. We had standard side dishes, and of course pies. My sister and I faithfully recalled this year how my mother would scare everyone away from the food, yet it was HER who would take a tiny slice of pumpkin pie to taste it. The awesome maternal part was her feigned indignance at being caught. The regal distaste was stunning. How dare we question that she had the right to taste her pies. I think later in life she just said "I don't give a shit what you think, I wanted a piece". To her credit, that bravado had nothing to do with the cancer, I think she just wanted what she wanted.
The hilarious part of this holiday is that mom was/is Canadian! Yes, the Canadians do have Thanksgiving...though I do doubt that Alexander MacKenzie stopped in his explorations to share maize and pheasant with locals as he searched to plunder the North in search of the Northwest passage for his employer. But I digress. This young, new wife arrives in America and somewhat soon after is abandoned in Navy housing as the brash brave husband goes to war. My mother claimed that she learned how to cook from the other Navy wives in the complex in Hawaii. I can also imagine that women in California helped the funny, petite and engaging new arrival in the neighborhood.
So my mom really did kind of embody what Thanksgiving originally is attempted to be replicated after...new arrivals, in a new area, without comforts of home, learning from the people who were there already. Now my mother was not a Puritan, nor did she encounter dysentry, or spread small pox over the Bay area, but she was definitely pioneering with all of the other wives who were alone together. Before my mom is canonized, I know she learned quite a bit with either a bottle of wine or a rum and coke in her hand....definitely housewarming.
With my sister, we became adept with mom at whipping through the list of Thanksgiving tasks. The end of the day is the meal. I think my mom sat down to most dinners last and motioning everyone to go ahead and eat. But mom being mom, would load up her plate and eat....nothing. Yup...nothing. Can't say why, but she would just not be interested in eating what she slaved over. The meal was NOT the event, the event was the day...the preparations, the traditions, and most assuredly the finely pressed linens! But never the food!
There was the Thanksgiving where mom put the cooked turkey out one the porch to get out of her miniscule kitchen so she could finish. What was happening as we continued with the meal was my brother's two lab puppies were eating as much as they could before they were caught. As my brother and his wife drove home, whining and a horrible smell eminated from the back of the truck. When they had stopped, they noticed the results of the rich meat which had ravaged the pup's systems. We laugh about that. Then there was one of mom's last Thanksgivings where we were told to turn the turkey over 2 hours into the cooking. This was my brother's first adult situation with my mom's turkey creativity. He looked at the 25 pound bird which had been in a hot oven and wanted to know how to turn the "fucker" over. Hiding in the kitchen, the three of us offered a fairly adept yet overly dramatic interpretation of the turkey turning with mom being NONE the wiser that the bird hadn't moved.
So, we sat with our adopted family over this Thanksgiving offering them thanks for including them into their stories, traditions and holiday! Yet still being reminded that ALL families are full of the same stories, siblings and food!
Be good to you!
H
As I type that it really seems not funny. Thanksgiving was one of her holidays. I don't know what happened to them, but she had a cache of 30 year old (at the time)Hallmark cut outs of cute Pilgrims and Indians. Then over the years, she added Indian corn, a conrucopia, and other festivus effluvia of the season. Since her death, if my sister was not with us, my husband and I have been graciously adopted by friends. My husband was raised in a family where Thanksgiving was huge. The two of us are lost this time of year without our birth families.
I can still feel how Thanksgiving day started at my mom's house. As with all of the memories in our pudgy household, it starts with food. Bacon, fried potatoes and eggs. Eaten while watching the parade, mom loved the bands. THEN the stuffing had to be made. Call it what you will, but my mom had control issues. For years she would "teach" me to cook and part of that wisened tutealage was creating the base for the stuffing. I close my eyes and can still FEEL the small blackened cast iron frying pan (older than myself) where I would put a cube of butter, a chopped onion, leftover bacon, and celery. Added to that, I would sprinkle in (only under mom's expert eye) poultry seasoning & paprika. That is how our day started. What a joy!
Over the years, mom got creative with the turkey. NEVER with the dressing. We had standard side dishes, and of course pies. My sister and I faithfully recalled this year how my mother would scare everyone away from the food, yet it was HER who would take a tiny slice of pumpkin pie to taste it. The awesome maternal part was her feigned indignance at being caught. The regal distaste was stunning. How dare we question that she had the right to taste her pies. I think later in life she just said "I don't give a shit what you think, I wanted a piece". To her credit, that bravado had nothing to do with the cancer, I think she just wanted what she wanted.
The hilarious part of this holiday is that mom was/is Canadian! Yes, the Canadians do have Thanksgiving...though I do doubt that Alexander MacKenzie stopped in his explorations to share maize and pheasant with locals as he searched to plunder the North in search of the Northwest passage for his employer. But I digress. This young, new wife arrives in America and somewhat soon after is abandoned in Navy housing as the brash brave husband goes to war. My mother claimed that she learned how to cook from the other Navy wives in the complex in Hawaii. I can also imagine that women in California helped the funny, petite and engaging new arrival in the neighborhood.
So my mom really did kind of embody what Thanksgiving originally is attempted to be replicated after...new arrivals, in a new area, without comforts of home, learning from the people who were there already. Now my mother was not a Puritan, nor did she encounter dysentry, or spread small pox over the Bay area, but she was definitely pioneering with all of the other wives who were alone together. Before my mom is canonized, I know she learned quite a bit with either a bottle of wine or a rum and coke in her hand....definitely housewarming.
With my sister, we became adept with mom at whipping through the list of Thanksgiving tasks. The end of the day is the meal. I think my mom sat down to most dinners last and motioning everyone to go ahead and eat. But mom being mom, would load up her plate and eat....nothing. Yup...nothing. Can't say why, but she would just not be interested in eating what she slaved over. The meal was NOT the event, the event was the day...the preparations, the traditions, and most assuredly the finely pressed linens! But never the food!
There was the Thanksgiving where mom put the cooked turkey out one the porch to get out of her miniscule kitchen so she could finish. What was happening as we continued with the meal was my brother's two lab puppies were eating as much as they could before they were caught. As my brother and his wife drove home, whining and a horrible smell eminated from the back of the truck. When they had stopped, they noticed the results of the rich meat which had ravaged the pup's systems. We laugh about that. Then there was one of mom's last Thanksgivings where we were told to turn the turkey over 2 hours into the cooking. This was my brother's first adult situation with my mom's turkey creativity. He looked at the 25 pound bird which had been in a hot oven and wanted to know how to turn the "fucker" over. Hiding in the kitchen, the three of us offered a fairly adept yet overly dramatic interpretation of the turkey turning with mom being NONE the wiser that the bird hadn't moved.
So, we sat with our adopted family over this Thanksgiving offering them thanks for including them into their stories, traditions and holiday! Yet still being reminded that ALL families are full of the same stories, siblings and food!
Be good to you!
H
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Hypocrite!
Years ago the word HYPOCRITE was thrown out as an insult. HOW DARE YOU...that is horrific to criticize what I do when you do the same without any thought towards remorse.
In college my friend & I just owned it...we sat in our dorm room & decided...yup...we ARE happily hypocritical. We felt relieved. Honored. Pious. Why not? We were willing to admit that YES you are an idiot and I am going to mock you for what you do even though I do it as well. Beyond pointing out how wrong it is that you are doing it, we are going to ENJOY mocking you for it. People were shocked. I still look back & wonder at either our egoism or naiviate. But we felt justified point out flaws because we OPENLY ADMITTED that we had flaws. It just seemed logical.
Things haven't changed over the years. I know I have rationalized the attitude over the years! "I see stupid people. They are everywhere but they don't know they are stupid!". So it feels like a public service now. To qualify, I was raised in a home where you would have an option to mock or be mocked. I mentioned to someone yesterday that it truly was an Olympic event. As we got older, the sphere of mocking extended to cousins. It became a global event if you did not mention an incident first. I can't think of any of my early exploits which were training events for my mocking....but I am sure many of them came when I began drinking at 19. Before anyone becomes outraged, my mom was Canadian. The drinking age in British Columbia is 19. SO with all of my eager cousins, we would commute to the Vancouver suburbs and LEGALLY drink.
One situation that comes to mind is my first school reunion. I went to kindergarden in the town where my mom grew up. Now this town is sooooo small that they didn't have high school reunions for specific classes, they simply had annual school reunions. So I was eligible to attend. I cannot recall what I drank...but the 15 hour drive home was brutal. 2 hours before we arrived home, I crawled out of the back seat to drive. My brother & my mother mocked me because I was so hung over I only drove 2 hours. During the time my family drove, they competed to see who could drive the longest at 90 & 100 miles per hour. I get behind the wheel & 30 minutes later, I am pulled over & ticketed for driving 67. Yah. Needless to say it was a quiet ride home. Arriving home, my brother gleefully told of how he drove so fast & that I got ticketed.
It was a stupid thing. But we celebrate it. So I feel enlightened to mock others. Now my sister has a MOCKER dance. I cannot describe it. But even thinking of it now, I giggle. She embraces the ability to mock people. It is a celebration of our greatness....and a minimizing of yours. Every so often I feel a twinge of guilt when I see the bumper sticker which states "Mean people suck"....to be truthful I do, but that has no bearing on any relationship other than mine & my husband's. But I digress....I feel I am NOT mean pointing out the blatent humor of the lesser people in my world. The guy who was so mad that I passed him that he (doing 60 mph on the freeway) leaned out his door to flip me off. How can you NOT mock him? Come on, you snicker at stuff like that.
I will not mock people who are legitimately challenged, in pain or suffering. That is not fair. But if you are able minded, able bodied and within my realm doing stupid things....YEEEE HA! Sometimes I even wait for you all to catch yourselves. We were talking one day at lunch about Sweedish fish. A friend (who indeed is blonde) said "How do you fix those?". I paused. Hoping she was setting us up for a joke. My conversation companion & I waited for the qualifier from her acknowledging she was joking, but alas none came. SO we dove in. "Well, Jeff....do you cook yours with lemon & dill?". "That is good Heather, sometimes I put them on the grill". Everyone was laughing as we did this. Then my friend figured it out & was almost contrite. But come on.....who doesn't know what Sweedish fish are? No one is safe.
Nor am I. I know that I have tons of things to accentuate my stupidity. I don't have the time to share the yarn about my car's cd player in Hip Hop mode so it skipped more. I admit the stupidity of it....as a trainer, I have shared that story in at least 50 classes. HAH....I do it before anyone else can. I celebrate my stupidity! Why shouldn't I celebrate YOURS?
Be good to you!
H
In college my friend & I just owned it...we sat in our dorm room & decided...yup...we ARE happily hypocritical. We felt relieved. Honored. Pious. Why not? We were willing to admit that YES you are an idiot and I am going to mock you for what you do even though I do it as well. Beyond pointing out how wrong it is that you are doing it, we are going to ENJOY mocking you for it. People were shocked. I still look back & wonder at either our egoism or naiviate. But we felt justified point out flaws because we OPENLY ADMITTED that we had flaws. It just seemed logical.
Things haven't changed over the years. I know I have rationalized the attitude over the years! "I see stupid people. They are everywhere but they don't know they are stupid!". So it feels like a public service now. To qualify, I was raised in a home where you would have an option to mock or be mocked. I mentioned to someone yesterday that it truly was an Olympic event. As we got older, the sphere of mocking extended to cousins. It became a global event if you did not mention an incident first. I can't think of any of my early exploits which were training events for my mocking....but I am sure many of them came when I began drinking at 19. Before anyone becomes outraged, my mom was Canadian. The drinking age in British Columbia is 19. SO with all of my eager cousins, we would commute to the Vancouver suburbs and LEGALLY drink.
One situation that comes to mind is my first school reunion. I went to kindergarden in the town where my mom grew up. Now this town is sooooo small that they didn't have high school reunions for specific classes, they simply had annual school reunions. So I was eligible to attend. I cannot recall what I drank...but the 15 hour drive home was brutal. 2 hours before we arrived home, I crawled out of the back seat to drive. My brother & my mother mocked me because I was so hung over I only drove 2 hours. During the time my family drove, they competed to see who could drive the longest at 90 & 100 miles per hour. I get behind the wheel & 30 minutes later, I am pulled over & ticketed for driving 67. Yah. Needless to say it was a quiet ride home. Arriving home, my brother gleefully told of how he drove so fast & that I got ticketed.
It was a stupid thing. But we celebrate it. So I feel enlightened to mock others. Now my sister has a MOCKER dance. I cannot describe it. But even thinking of it now, I giggle. She embraces the ability to mock people. It is a celebration of our greatness....and a minimizing of yours. Every so often I feel a twinge of guilt when I see the bumper sticker which states "Mean people suck"....to be truthful I do, but that has no bearing on any relationship other than mine & my husband's. But I digress....I feel I am NOT mean pointing out the blatent humor of the lesser people in my world. The guy who was so mad that I passed him that he (doing 60 mph on the freeway) leaned out his door to flip me off. How can you NOT mock him? Come on, you snicker at stuff like that.
I will not mock people who are legitimately challenged, in pain or suffering. That is not fair. But if you are able minded, able bodied and within my realm doing stupid things....YEEEE HA! Sometimes I even wait for you all to catch yourselves. We were talking one day at lunch about Sweedish fish. A friend (who indeed is blonde) said "How do you fix those?". I paused. Hoping she was setting us up for a joke. My conversation companion & I waited for the qualifier from her acknowledging she was joking, but alas none came. SO we dove in. "Well, Jeff....do you cook yours with lemon & dill?". "That is good Heather, sometimes I put them on the grill". Everyone was laughing as we did this. Then my friend figured it out & was almost contrite. But come on.....who doesn't know what Sweedish fish are? No one is safe.
Nor am I. I know that I have tons of things to accentuate my stupidity. I don't have the time to share the yarn about my car's cd player in Hip Hop mode so it skipped more. I admit the stupidity of it....as a trainer, I have shared that story in at least 50 classes. HAH....I do it before anyone else can. I celebrate my stupidity! Why shouldn't I celebrate YOURS?
Be good to you!
H
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Thank you to the Management
There are always things you notice (or are sent in a huge email) that just strike you as dumb. One which was pointed out to me years ago started me noticing the somewhat assanine trivial things in life. In restrooms where they have the "automatic towel" machines, where a continuous roll of towel is pulled down...there is a notation...nah, sad but true a WARNING, stating NOT to insert your head into the loop of the towel. Honestly I thought that I normally see those machines in rest stops along the highways or in really seedy bars, so there may be some merit to those warnings. But if you are that drunk (I can see my friend Ros & I daring someone to do it years ago) to put your head in that loop, I imagine the warning is moot as your eyes are so crossed you wouldn't notice it.
So, I was in the restroom praying and I looked at the toilet seat covers. Lo & behold "Provided by management for your protection"! Being an ever so low part of management, I was somewhat embarassed to be lumped in to that gratuity due entity. I mean come on, if I were providing something for protection, it wouldn't be a water permeable toilet seat cover. I know I have "embarassed" myself a few times in those afore mentioned seedy bars (after trying to put my head in that fucking towel loop) attempting to 1: pee pee dance and pull out ONLY one of those protective sheets 2: place it properly on the seat (to maximize protectability I suppose) and 3: keep it in place while I struggle to get my pants down (I was never dumb enough to drink in a skirt as I tumble in heels). In public (like they are in private) restrooms where I want to appear safe, I pull one from the wall & wad it up instead of using it....then the restroom monitors will certainly give me an A.
I approached a few of my employees that day. "I am expecting a Thank You". After enough of the exasperated stare, I said "Because I provided you with the toilet seat protectors". Dubious, I walked a few in to the restroom ever so proud of my accomplishment as a manager. Needless to say I think THAT story spread with some quickness. I think I will put that on my monthly evaluation "Provided safety" and let it go. I feel I have done my part.
Now in using one of those things, I feel compulsed to separate the little uvulua like thing from the center oval (thank you to the 1 person who is at least getting what I was trying to spell there). If not, won't the pee roll off of it & on to YOU....now THAT is unsafe. I think I am one of a very small minority who separates the center thing before proper placement. It just seems like I am following the rules when I do that.
Does this mean I am LESS considerate as I don't provide them to guests at my HOME? Wow, I am certainly not a good hostess then. I shudder to think if Costco has a gross of them so I can have them on stock. I can't hang them on the back of the door as I hang my towel & bathrobe there. OOOHHHH.....Idea for Glade....scented ones with ever so discrete dispencers placed possibly on the SIDE of the home toilet so your guests can relax, enjoy and BE SAFE all from YOUR consideration. The mind never stops working!
I have shared this story with a friend & we were in a restroom later & both noticed & laughed...you will too next time!
Be good to you.
So, I was in the restroom praying and I looked at the toilet seat covers. Lo & behold "Provided by management for your protection"! Being an ever so low part of management, I was somewhat embarassed to be lumped in to that gratuity due entity. I mean come on, if I were providing something for protection, it wouldn't be a water permeable toilet seat cover. I know I have "embarassed" myself a few times in those afore mentioned seedy bars (after trying to put my head in that fucking towel loop) attempting to 1: pee pee dance and pull out ONLY one of those protective sheets 2: place it properly on the seat (to maximize protectability I suppose) and 3: keep it in place while I struggle to get my pants down (I was never dumb enough to drink in a skirt as I tumble in heels). In public (like they are in private) restrooms where I want to appear safe, I pull one from the wall & wad it up instead of using it....then the restroom monitors will certainly give me an A.
I approached a few of my employees that day. "I am expecting a Thank You". After enough of the exasperated stare, I said "Because I provided you with the toilet seat protectors". Dubious, I walked a few in to the restroom ever so proud of my accomplishment as a manager. Needless to say I think THAT story spread with some quickness. I think I will put that on my monthly evaluation "Provided safety" and let it go. I feel I have done my part.
Now in using one of those things, I feel compulsed to separate the little uvulua like thing from the center oval (thank you to the 1 person who is at least getting what I was trying to spell there). If not, won't the pee roll off of it & on to YOU....now THAT is unsafe. I think I am one of a very small minority who separates the center thing before proper placement. It just seems like I am following the rules when I do that.
Does this mean I am LESS considerate as I don't provide them to guests at my HOME? Wow, I am certainly not a good hostess then. I shudder to think if Costco has a gross of them so I can have them on stock. I can't hang them on the back of the door as I hang my towel & bathrobe there. OOOHHHH.....Idea for Glade....scented ones with ever so discrete dispencers placed possibly on the SIDE of the home toilet so your guests can relax, enjoy and BE SAFE all from YOUR consideration. The mind never stops working!
I have shared this story with a friend & we were in a restroom later & both noticed & laughed...you will too next time!
Be good to you.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Finally my dawgs....
I have held off about my dogs. But I can no longer hold back.
My husband & I find the best part of our days is the time when we are in bed with our dogs reading before we fall asleep. "Seepy Nigh Nigh" is what we say. Sincerely all 3 of the dogs run to do this. One burrows under the sheets to snuggle. One cuddles in between Mike and I ever elongating himself to get as much real estate as possible. Those are my boys...Bo & Luke.
I did say 3 dogs. Yes. Then there is the third Duke Dawg in our household. Daisy. 3 year old Jack Russel terrier. All 12 pounds of her runs the household. Now I am aware that we are a fairly sedantary group and the JRT's are the most energetic dogs....this becomes painfully obvious as we Seepy Nigh Nigh. Daisy brings to the bed whatever toy she can find to pass the time. As we will NOT allow her to "inquire" towards the boys' pee pees, she brings her doughnut. I have grown tedious of repainting the hallway wall as the paint from the doughnut as I threw it. So at one point....I dropped the toy through the rungs of our wrought Iron bed. Daisy was aghast. Then she squat to look against the wall to see it. We watched as she observed the situation, evaluated where the toy could be, and then how to get it. First time was 20 minutes until she got off of the bed, crawled under the bed & retrieved the doughnut. Second time just a few minutes less. We were laughing....Bo licked himself, Luke avoided eye contact (he figures if he looks at us he has to move out of our way) and Daisy....was weighing and measuring the doughnut situation.
The other night, we dropped the doughnut....and Daisy took a setp back and sat. She looked to her left, cocked her head....looked to the right, cocked her head...sniffed both sides and they ran off to the left side of the bed. What she had discerned was that the toy had been dropped in the middle of the bed, YET fell on one side or the other. We laughed. Daisy retrieved the toy & dropped it for another attempt. We dropped it....she evaluated, & went to the right side of the bed. It scares me that my dog has the cognitive capacity to discern the "right" side of the bed to look for her toy. I worry that she will take this knowledge and flush the toilet when I am in the shower....I wouldn't put it past the little bitch.
Be great to you.
H
My husband & I find the best part of our days is the time when we are in bed with our dogs reading before we fall asleep. "Seepy Nigh Nigh" is what we say. Sincerely all 3 of the dogs run to do this. One burrows under the sheets to snuggle. One cuddles in between Mike and I ever elongating himself to get as much real estate as possible. Those are my boys...Bo & Luke.
I did say 3 dogs. Yes. Then there is the third Duke Dawg in our household. Daisy. 3 year old Jack Russel terrier. All 12 pounds of her runs the household. Now I am aware that we are a fairly sedantary group and the JRT's are the most energetic dogs....this becomes painfully obvious as we Seepy Nigh Nigh. Daisy brings to the bed whatever toy she can find to pass the time. As we will NOT allow her to "inquire" towards the boys' pee pees, she brings her doughnut. I have grown tedious of repainting the hallway wall as the paint from the doughnut as I threw it. So at one point....I dropped the toy through the rungs of our wrought Iron bed. Daisy was aghast. Then she squat to look against the wall to see it. We watched as she observed the situation, evaluated where the toy could be, and then how to get it. First time was 20 minutes until she got off of the bed, crawled under the bed & retrieved the doughnut. Second time just a few minutes less. We were laughing....Bo licked himself, Luke avoided eye contact (he figures if he looks at us he has to move out of our way) and Daisy....was weighing and measuring the doughnut situation.
The other night, we dropped the doughnut....and Daisy took a setp back and sat. She looked to her left, cocked her head....looked to the right, cocked her head...sniffed both sides and they ran off to the left side of the bed. What she had discerned was that the toy had been dropped in the middle of the bed, YET fell on one side or the other. We laughed. Daisy retrieved the toy & dropped it for another attempt. We dropped it....she evaluated, & went to the right side of the bed. It scares me that my dog has the cognitive capacity to discern the "right" side of the bed to look for her toy. I worry that she will take this knowledge and flush the toilet when I am in the shower....I wouldn't put it past the little bitch.
Be great to you.
H
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Squeeze me some more?
I can still picture the Harry Belafonte album cover WITH liner notes my dad had. I remember listening to it with him for years. He just was enraptured by the smooth voice and amazing rhythms. I am sure I was taken with it as well. As children are wont to do, when I started making my own way, I wanted to give my dad some prize with my hard earned (in this generation??) money. Harry Belafonte was in town with the Oregon Symphony. I was glad I asked before I bought them. I remember my dad pausing...."Thank you. But I want to remember him as he was years ago". Of course I criticized my dad in my head for missing out on life. For living his life in his green naugahide chair ignoring the great pleasures in life. I forgot that my dad was a professional singer & performer so I can see that he listened differently than most of us.
This anecdote came to my head this morning when Squeeze was featured on a special today. Not the Squeeze that I had enjoyed almost 20 years ago, but the Squeeze of today. A few years ago VH1 had a show where they stalked old band members to see if they could reunite them. Was terribly awkward to see the show where they ever so hopeful host followed DIfford & Tillbrook around to get them to reunite. They fervently declined. So I was elated at my luck to find this show with a reunited Squeeze. Until I saw them perform Tempted. Dude...I will write this where I cannot edit it...My Dad Was Right. I want to remember us dancing to the 30 something band with amazing energy enticing so much enthusiasm out of me that I was sore & hoarse for days.
I am not like the amazing Kym where her range of music tastes are so intriguing that we all are wow'd by her coolness. Nah...I have seen Journey 3 times, Def Leppard 4 times and Bruce Hornsby 11 times. I am pedantic with what I listen to. Needless to say, I love the 20 year old version of Pulling Mussels from a Shell. I love Journey with Steve Perry. I do dissent for a moment and say that I appreciate the latest genesis of Styx without the energy draning drama of Dennis DeYoung. I don't think that the Spinners or Frankie Vallee should be touring either. I am struggling with the Rolling Stones still touring close to 70.
In college I was introduced to The Who. Certainly their 3rd reunion tour has to be enough. I mean that lifestyle has to cut some of the verve out of the performance. Can Pete still windmill? I can almost guarantee Roger can't hit those high notes the same. A few years ago I saw Billy Joel (totally mainstream I know) but he was offering an opening to An Innocent Man. He introduced a young man. He explained "When you write a song at 30, it is totally different to sing it at 50!". I respected him for that. Plus it sounded more like I wanted to hear.
So, I am an old fart. At some point, I do not want to see the guys from Def Leppard on a stage at 60 doing "Poor Some Sugar on Me"...do you mean in an IV drip in the home? Yah...I really do want the Song to Remain the Same.
This anecdote came to my head this morning when Squeeze was featured on a special today. Not the Squeeze that I had enjoyed almost 20 years ago, but the Squeeze of today. A few years ago VH1 had a show where they stalked old band members to see if they could reunite them. Was terribly awkward to see the show where they ever so hopeful host followed DIfford & Tillbrook around to get them to reunite. They fervently declined. So I was elated at my luck to find this show with a reunited Squeeze. Until I saw them perform Tempted. Dude...I will write this where I cannot edit it...My Dad Was Right. I want to remember us dancing to the 30 something band with amazing energy enticing so much enthusiasm out of me that I was sore & hoarse for days.
I am not like the amazing Kym where her range of music tastes are so intriguing that we all are wow'd by her coolness. Nah...I have seen Journey 3 times, Def Leppard 4 times and Bruce Hornsby 11 times. I am pedantic with what I listen to. Needless to say, I love the 20 year old version of Pulling Mussels from a Shell. I love Journey with Steve Perry. I do dissent for a moment and say that I appreciate the latest genesis of Styx without the energy draning drama of Dennis DeYoung. I don't think that the Spinners or Frankie Vallee should be touring either. I am struggling with the Rolling Stones still touring close to 70.
In college I was introduced to The Who. Certainly their 3rd reunion tour has to be enough. I mean that lifestyle has to cut some of the verve out of the performance. Can Pete still windmill? I can almost guarantee Roger can't hit those high notes the same. A few years ago I saw Billy Joel (totally mainstream I know) but he was offering an opening to An Innocent Man. He introduced a young man. He explained "When you write a song at 30, it is totally different to sing it at 50!". I respected him for that. Plus it sounded more like I wanted to hear.
So, I am an old fart. At some point, I do not want to see the guys from Def Leppard on a stage at 60 doing "Poor Some Sugar on Me"...do you mean in an IV drip in the home? Yah...I really do want the Song to Remain the Same.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
I am a child of Television
A story my father used to tell about me was that he was in the beginning of waking up on a Saturday and he had this feeling of unease. He said he felt like someone was watching him. And I was. In my little feeted (footed) jammies, I stood near my father's face and he said you could only see my little nose & two big eyes. He knew what I wanted. I never bugged him, I just stood there until he woke up. He would get me my Cheerios and turn on the TV. He went back to bed.
My brother is 2 years younger than I am. He and I trained ourselves to climb the cabinets to get our bowls & situate ourselves with our cereal in front of the tv. Apparently truth be told, my mother was not a morning person. I recall throughout my school years, I would get up...open my mom's door, and let the dog in to sleep with her. Mom would unconciously lift the covers to let the aging dog under the sheets so the two of them could continue sleeping.
Apparently once in a fit of guilt, my mother started getting up with my brother and I to get us ready for school. After a few days, we voted and per my mother...asked her not to do this anymore. With this newfound independence came responsibility. We would have to be ready to go as the third cartoon on Ramblin Rod was on. (In Chicago it was Bozo the Clown, who I apparently met & CRIED when he shook my hand. Wuss!) Every city had a Ramblin Rod show. We could probably plot the decline of children as we know it by the disappearance of those quaint little morning shows. Rod I am sure was a good man, but quite unaware of the importance he played in our morning rituals. Before Popeye (Yes I am that old) had started, we had to be leaving for the bus, with or without toast in our mouths.
The same could be told about bedtime, but unfortunately I can't remember the shows. For the LONGEST time my bed time was 8pm. JESUS CHRIST...who could I survive without seeing ANYTHING. Then by the grace of the television gawd, it was moved to 8.30 (Note....Rick's stayed at 8pm. Don't know HOW my mom survived the tormenture!). But 8.30 sucked as most of the shows were AN HOUR and I had to go to the bed in the middle of them. GOOD GAWD! I will say that my mother saw through the pretend sleeping in front of the tv to make it to 9...bitch!
Tonight I am watching the Emmys...well, have been since the PRE red carpet crap started. But it brings back memories of being a kid. My mom would pull us out of bed to watch special shows so we could "learn". I mean in college as we watch the Emmys and did shots with each ugly dress, I was the ONLY one who knew who Red Buttons was and could qualify that he was looking old! Didn't EVERY parent make their kids watch Hatari! on Saturdays? My mom remembered distinctly pulling us out of bed to watch a Ed Sullivan anniversary show. I am the only person I know of who has SEEN Topo Gigio perform on TV and was once mesmerized by the spinning plate dude. S'allright? S'allright!
I still cry through the posthumus recognition of those who have passed. My husband, sister and I still alert each other when the older actors pass on. I just got weepy now when Don Rickles SHAMED every comic in the building with his genius during his acceptance speech. I am a child of television and am an adult of television as well now.
I learned all I know about funny from tv. My mom (again) would commandere the tv for her British Comedy Nights. Her laugh could be heard throughout our neighborhood on summer nights! I learned about funny from those comedies, Monty Python, Carol Burnett, The Smother's Brothers and Laugh in. Even now when people struggle with true British accents, to me it is second nature. I do know who Morgle the friendly droud is. Can be impressed with the erudition of Tommy Smother's stupidity. And cried for HOURS when Harvey Korman died because one of the best moments in my life spent with my mom was watching Tim Conway and Harvey Korman be Sleeping Beauty and Prince Charming in a close up with HUGE fake boobs. I know my mom and I almost died for laughing...and how great that was!
Now I am addicted to my DVR. This afternoon (Football Sunday upstairs, DVR catch up downstairs) I watched my shows Eureka, Burn Notice, The Closer (what will I do on Mondays until January!), History Detectives, Antiques Roadshow, several Food Network shows (Michael Symon & food...why have PORN??), and then Jon and Kate plus 8...sigh! Life is great!
My mornings now are regimented by dogs peeing and NPR. Times have changed. The other morning on vacation I looked through the local Utah channels and there were NO Ramblin Rod's...apparently Utah mornings are fraught with the anxiety over muffins and tasty wraps for kids lunches. The saving grace is PBS (gawd bless PBS!)and their array of morningness for kids! Thank goodness they are there...how else would someone know when they needed to be out for the bus!
Be good to you!
H
My brother is 2 years younger than I am. He and I trained ourselves to climb the cabinets to get our bowls & situate ourselves with our cereal in front of the tv. Apparently truth be told, my mother was not a morning person. I recall throughout my school years, I would get up...open my mom's door, and let the dog in to sleep with her. Mom would unconciously lift the covers to let the aging dog under the sheets so the two of them could continue sleeping.
Apparently once in a fit of guilt, my mother started getting up with my brother and I to get us ready for school. After a few days, we voted and per my mother...asked her not to do this anymore. With this newfound independence came responsibility. We would have to be ready to go as the third cartoon on Ramblin Rod was on. (In Chicago it was Bozo the Clown, who I apparently met & CRIED when he shook my hand. Wuss!) Every city had a Ramblin Rod show. We could probably plot the decline of children as we know it by the disappearance of those quaint little morning shows. Rod I am sure was a good man, but quite unaware of the importance he played in our morning rituals. Before Popeye (Yes I am that old) had started, we had to be leaving for the bus, with or without toast in our mouths.
The same could be told about bedtime, but unfortunately I can't remember the shows. For the LONGEST time my bed time was 8pm. JESUS CHRIST...who could I survive without seeing ANYTHING. Then by the grace of the television gawd, it was moved to 8.30 (Note....Rick's stayed at 8pm. Don't know HOW my mom survived the tormenture!). But 8.30 sucked as most of the shows were AN HOUR and I had to go to the bed in the middle of them. GOOD GAWD! I will say that my mother saw through the pretend sleeping in front of the tv to make it to 9...bitch!
Tonight I am watching the Emmys...well, have been since the PRE red carpet crap started. But it brings back memories of being a kid. My mom would pull us out of bed to watch special shows so we could "learn". I mean in college as we watch the Emmys and did shots with each ugly dress, I was the ONLY one who knew who Red Buttons was and could qualify that he was looking old! Didn't EVERY parent make their kids watch Hatari! on Saturdays? My mom remembered distinctly pulling us out of bed to watch a Ed Sullivan anniversary show. I am the only person I know of who has SEEN Topo Gigio perform on TV and was once mesmerized by the spinning plate dude. S'allright? S'allright!
I still cry through the posthumus recognition of those who have passed. My husband, sister and I still alert each other when the older actors pass on. I just got weepy now when Don Rickles SHAMED every comic in the building with his genius during his acceptance speech. I am a child of television and am an adult of television as well now.
I learned all I know about funny from tv. My mom (again) would commandere the tv for her British Comedy Nights. Her laugh could be heard throughout our neighborhood on summer nights! I learned about funny from those comedies, Monty Python, Carol Burnett, The Smother's Brothers and Laugh in. Even now when people struggle with true British accents, to me it is second nature. I do know who Morgle the friendly droud is. Can be impressed with the erudition of Tommy Smother's stupidity. And cried for HOURS when Harvey Korman died because one of the best moments in my life spent with my mom was watching Tim Conway and Harvey Korman be Sleeping Beauty and Prince Charming in a close up with HUGE fake boobs. I know my mom and I almost died for laughing...and how great that was!
Now I am addicted to my DVR. This afternoon (Football Sunday upstairs, DVR catch up downstairs) I watched my shows Eureka, Burn Notice, The Closer (what will I do on Mondays until January!), History Detectives, Antiques Roadshow, several Food Network shows (Michael Symon & food...why have PORN??), and then Jon and Kate plus 8...sigh! Life is great!
My mornings now are regimented by dogs peeing and NPR. Times have changed. The other morning on vacation I looked through the local Utah channels and there were NO Ramblin Rod's...apparently Utah mornings are fraught with the anxiety over muffins and tasty wraps for kids lunches. The saving grace is PBS (gawd bless PBS!)and their array of morningness for kids! Thank goodness they are there...how else would someone know when they needed to be out for the bus!
Be good to you!
H
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Sexually Adept Canadian Man....Oxy moron
So I was at Costco.....thus begins the sentence of my first book I am imagining. I was walking down the book aisle & I noticed a woman who was looking at a book I had opened the cover a few times. I asked her "Tell me why you want to read that book? (puzzled WTF look) Because I have picked it up a few times and found it intriguing but haven't bought it yet. My thought is that if you tell me to read it and I hate it, I can blame it on 'that Costco woman'". We laughed
We started to read the beginning of the synopsis two words stood out "sexually adept". I pointed them out to her..."Wait a minute....sexually adept AND a male author....that doesn't work". She agreed heartly. Then I noticed he was from Winnipeg, Manitoba (the Canadian equivalent of the Dakotas). I pointed that out...."Sexually adept man from Canada"???? We both laughed and purchased the book as these revelations only intrigued us MORE.
Costco is truly a happy place for me. A while ago my husband wanted to make Chile Verde (green chile, go figure) and wanted to go to a REAL Mexican market. We found one. I clutched my Coach bag closer to me as we walked in. If you are not familiar with a true Mexican market, one thing that is evident is that there are no FAT Mexicans. Well, at least that shop here. I was immediately anxious. I went to the produce section and everything seemed off....like Charlie & the Chocolate Factory off. My husband was in his element...."Dude, I LIVED in the barrio"...he said with a smile of someone who had "come home". "Dude, you were raised in Riverside".
Next to the produce was the meat. There were Spanish words next to the meat which I am SURE said cat, possum, and BO LUKE & DAISY (my babies). Pork was $1.99 a pound...now THAT scared me...I threw up a little bit at the idea. I dispatched Michael to get 2 pounds of the...ahem...pork. I found my tomatillos, and garlic & was perusing the peppers when sweat broke out on my brow....I had no cash, what if they didn't have DEBIT CARD machines. I panicked. Immediately I whipped out my Costco card and rubbed it against the side of my face reassuringly as I whimpered "There's no place like home, there's no place like home". Mike saw me, mocked me & told me I was banned from Costco for 2 weeks because I was a surburban wus.
Don't threaten me with a Costco ban. Serious, I would need more Benedryl to stave of the hives. It was around Thanksgiving and my mom was still alive when I walked into Costco and STOPPED. I was stunned at what I saw. I looked around and hardly anyone was looking at what I saw. They all thought it was normal. HELL NO. I dialed my mom. "Hello" I whispered. "Heather is that you?". She yelled in that irritated elderly woman voice "what in the hell are you doing? I can't hear a damn word you are saying". I had to calm her down. If she wasn't calm, she wouldn't understand the gravity, the wonder, the MIRACLE of what I was witnessing.
"I FOUND JESUS". I said...there was quiet she aske for clarification. "No really....Jesus is back and he is in COSTCO! Right here in Salt Lake City UTAH, and I am looking right at him!". My mom was just as shocked "How much is he?" Valid question, but in true Costco fashion, he came in a bulk set "I can't see how much he is but you gotta get him with Mary, Joseph, a camel, a sheep, and a wierd angel...but son of a bitch, I found Jesus". I have never looked at Sam's Club or Walmart AGAIN.
Be good to you!
H
We started to read the beginning of the synopsis two words stood out "sexually adept". I pointed them out to her..."Wait a minute....sexually adept AND a male author....that doesn't work". She agreed heartly. Then I noticed he was from Winnipeg, Manitoba (the Canadian equivalent of the Dakotas). I pointed that out...."Sexually adept man from Canada"???? We both laughed and purchased the book as these revelations only intrigued us MORE.
Costco is truly a happy place for me. A while ago my husband wanted to make Chile Verde (green chile, go figure) and wanted to go to a REAL Mexican market. We found one. I clutched my Coach bag closer to me as we walked in. If you are not familiar with a true Mexican market, one thing that is evident is that there are no FAT Mexicans. Well, at least that shop here. I was immediately anxious. I went to the produce section and everything seemed off....like Charlie & the Chocolate Factory off. My husband was in his element...."Dude, I LIVED in the barrio"...he said with a smile of someone who had "come home". "Dude, you were raised in Riverside".
Next to the produce was the meat. There were Spanish words next to the meat which I am SURE said cat, possum, and BO LUKE & DAISY (my babies). Pork was $1.99 a pound...now THAT scared me...I threw up a little bit at the idea. I dispatched Michael to get 2 pounds of the...ahem...pork. I found my tomatillos, and garlic & was perusing the peppers when sweat broke out on my brow....I had no cash, what if they didn't have DEBIT CARD machines. I panicked. Immediately I whipped out my Costco card and rubbed it against the side of my face reassuringly as I whimpered "There's no place like home, there's no place like home". Mike saw me, mocked me & told me I was banned from Costco for 2 weeks because I was a surburban wus.
Don't threaten me with a Costco ban. Serious, I would need more Benedryl to stave of the hives. It was around Thanksgiving and my mom was still alive when I walked into Costco and STOPPED. I was stunned at what I saw. I looked around and hardly anyone was looking at what I saw. They all thought it was normal. HELL NO. I dialed my mom. "Hello" I whispered. "Heather is that you?". She yelled in that irritated elderly woman voice "what in the hell are you doing? I can't hear a damn word you are saying". I had to calm her down. If she wasn't calm, she wouldn't understand the gravity, the wonder, the MIRACLE of what I was witnessing.
"I FOUND JESUS". I said...there was quiet she aske for clarification. "No really....Jesus is back and he is in COSTCO! Right here in Salt Lake City UTAH, and I am looking right at him!". My mom was just as shocked "How much is he?" Valid question, but in true Costco fashion, he came in a bulk set "I can't see how much he is but you gotta get him with Mary, Joseph, a camel, a sheep, and a wierd angel...but son of a bitch, I found Jesus". I have never looked at Sam's Club or Walmart AGAIN.
Be good to you!
H
Thursday, September 11, 2008
How can you NOT love Pizza??
OMG! My husband I & just returned from a pizza date. I remarked to someone today that I was going out for pizza and they said they aren't real pizza fans. I truly present a face of understanding when people are totally out of my realm of comprehension, but how can you NOT love pizza? I mean, dude....pizza. Then they said, well....when I feel the need for pizza we send out for xxx....a take and bake place. My stomach clenched with anxiety. Sigh...I mark my life around food, but I can describe the high points of my life with pizza.
How it started....my mom...sigh....DA MAMMA! Granted it was 40 years ago, but add to that my mom was Canadian....so my first memory of pizza was from the little Chef Boyardee box and hamburger. BUT oh Lord I recall that as being my favorite meal. My brother and I would watch mom mix the dough (biscuick I am sure), press it to the pan, slurp out the sauce, add the hamburger, and sprinkle the CHEESE on (overly overly processed parmesan) then put it in the oven. I guarantee my mom created with the warning "the more you open the oven to look, the longer it takes to cook" because Rick and I would want that pie done SO quickly. It is so much the core of a happy memory that now as an adult (a fairly cogniscent cook if I must brag) I have on a few occasions, hesitated at the box of Chef Boyardee pizza (it still exists). I remember Rick and I in jammies with our slippers on thinking this was HEAVEN as we ate the pizza HOT.
My mom progresses in her culinary experiences. I recall my brother's 10th birthday where mom had a a passel full of boys & let them make their OWN pizzas. She was a GENIUS as she let US do the leg work. Now she had the sauce down...her own which took HOURS to blossom on the stove. Her dough was still bisquick but the toppings were abundent...peppers, hamburger (family of the 70's), onions, olives and grated mozzerella with the parmesan. The boys as well as the one interloper (me) were again cast into the sky, heaven.
We had a high school hang out. Giovannis. Oh Lord help me. I remember being young and asking for extra cheese, and they looked at me and shook their head. Bliss. Thank goodness we lived at home as Giovannis was a regular place to be seen and eat. As I returned home for a visit, my high school friend and I would have our catch up visits at Giovannis. It is still there and I still visit it as I pass through Portland.
When we could drive, we discovered Nona Emilias....sigh. It was outside where we would have prowled in High School. But working and Junior College made us more mobile. I recall the first time I took my husband there with my parents, sister and high school friend. We were happy. Great slabs of pizza with so much cheese that it made cows weep. When you would eat in the restaurant (yes, a restaurant) there was a strolling accordian player for ambiance. THIS was upscale. I recall when I was first in Utah, my brother taunted me that he was eating at Nona'. The next day I found a calzone in a Fed Ex box quasi fresh from beautiful downtown Hillsboro, Oregon. I have NEVER loved my brother as much as I did in that forkfull!
Let's talk college. Yah....Track Town pizza in Eugene, Oregon. I had SO many happy thoughts that when I had been out of college 10 years and was leaving the state, I drove 4 hours round trip to get the pie. Lord, it was worth it. Now let's take a minute and review the reality of college life. Broke, buzzed, and lazy...our cafeteria laden diets were punctuated with cheap pizza we picked up to avoid delivery fees and tips. Bless Track Town, they had weekly coupons left at the dorms as well as in the school and local papers. My roommate and I would secretly get a pizza, shut off the lights, and eat our prize in the dark to avoid the mooch of the floor. It was regular pizza, but was such a break from real life that it became a memory versus a meal.
Each place I have lived, there is a pizza place. I have become astute enough to believe if you want great pizza, hunt where the college students do. Seattle had Atlantic Street pizza which had a slanted floor 1/2 of a room take out place which was well worth sitting in line with smelly, stoned grunge heads to get. I felt URBAN!
I felt hopeless when I arrived in Utah. I mean REALLY....what do people in the west know about PIZZA...that requires Italians. I can't imagine many Italians converting to the LDS church. But, as I saw on PBS, an amazing little cache of Italians did land here to farm and set up the marketing system to support their eating habits. I digress. I bless the Summers brothers, Danny most especially who told us about The Pie (voices of angels). It is right on the University of Utah campus. It is a HOLE. People have signed their names for years on the bricks. Mike and I would celebrate West Wing night with the Pie and cheese pullaparts (dough with cheese in it...but definitely a must have for the lactose intollerant, ask my sister!). They have spread to the Burbs so those folks are happy. ME? I have them on speed dial (Da Pie) and when they enter my phone number into the system they say "Hello Heather". I weep silently.
Tonight we went to Mike's discovery. He was on the internet studying Napoleonase pizza (like you don't do that) and found there is one HERE. So we went. Just so you know, a maghreta pizza is dough, olive oil, chopped tomatoes, basil and fresh mozzerella. This is put in a stove oven. Let me say, I love the overfilled pizza of Giovannis, Nona's, Track Town, as well as Da Pie...but when you return to the beginning of food time....it is worth appreciating. My husband Mike is still prancing around congratulating himself for this find. My one complaint is that I want to ask for extra ham (Italian cooked ham) and more cheese. Mike was offended..."That is an AMERICAN habit...you do not do that in Napoli". On the inside, I growled...this is the damn US of friggin A buddy....give me my extra cheese!
Be good to you!
H
(go get yourself a slice this weekend!)
How it started....my mom...sigh....DA MAMMA! Granted it was 40 years ago, but add to that my mom was Canadian....so my first memory of pizza was from the little Chef Boyardee box and hamburger. BUT oh Lord I recall that as being my favorite meal. My brother and I would watch mom mix the dough (biscuick I am sure), press it to the pan, slurp out the sauce, add the hamburger, and sprinkle the CHEESE on (overly overly processed parmesan) then put it in the oven. I guarantee my mom created with the warning "the more you open the oven to look, the longer it takes to cook" because Rick and I would want that pie done SO quickly. It is so much the core of a happy memory that now as an adult (a fairly cogniscent cook if I must brag) I have on a few occasions, hesitated at the box of Chef Boyardee pizza (it still exists). I remember Rick and I in jammies with our slippers on thinking this was HEAVEN as we ate the pizza HOT.
My mom progresses in her culinary experiences. I recall my brother's 10th birthday where mom had a a passel full of boys & let them make their OWN pizzas. She was a GENIUS as she let US do the leg work. Now she had the sauce down...her own which took HOURS to blossom on the stove. Her dough was still bisquick but the toppings were abundent...peppers, hamburger (family of the 70's), onions, olives and grated mozzerella with the parmesan. The boys as well as the one interloper (me) were again cast into the sky, heaven.
We had a high school hang out. Giovannis. Oh Lord help me. I remember being young and asking for extra cheese, and they looked at me and shook their head. Bliss. Thank goodness we lived at home as Giovannis was a regular place to be seen and eat. As I returned home for a visit, my high school friend and I would have our catch up visits at Giovannis. It is still there and I still visit it as I pass through Portland.
When we could drive, we discovered Nona Emilias....sigh. It was outside where we would have prowled in High School. But working and Junior College made us more mobile. I recall the first time I took my husband there with my parents, sister and high school friend. We were happy. Great slabs of pizza with so much cheese that it made cows weep. When you would eat in the restaurant (yes, a restaurant) there was a strolling accordian player for ambiance. THIS was upscale. I recall when I was first in Utah, my brother taunted me that he was eating at Nona'. The next day I found a calzone in a Fed Ex box quasi fresh from beautiful downtown Hillsboro, Oregon. I have NEVER loved my brother as much as I did in that forkfull!
Let's talk college. Yah....Track Town pizza in Eugene, Oregon. I had SO many happy thoughts that when I had been out of college 10 years and was leaving the state, I drove 4 hours round trip to get the pie. Lord, it was worth it. Now let's take a minute and review the reality of college life. Broke, buzzed, and lazy...our cafeteria laden diets were punctuated with cheap pizza we picked up to avoid delivery fees and tips. Bless Track Town, they had weekly coupons left at the dorms as well as in the school and local papers. My roommate and I would secretly get a pizza, shut off the lights, and eat our prize in the dark to avoid the mooch of the floor. It was regular pizza, but was such a break from real life that it became a memory versus a meal.
Each place I have lived, there is a pizza place. I have become astute enough to believe if you want great pizza, hunt where the college students do. Seattle had Atlantic Street pizza which had a slanted floor 1/2 of a room take out place which was well worth sitting in line with smelly, stoned grunge heads to get. I felt URBAN!
I felt hopeless when I arrived in Utah. I mean REALLY....what do people in the west know about PIZZA...that requires Italians. I can't imagine many Italians converting to the LDS church. But, as I saw on PBS, an amazing little cache of Italians did land here to farm and set up the marketing system to support their eating habits. I digress. I bless the Summers brothers, Danny most especially who told us about The Pie (voices of angels). It is right on the University of Utah campus. It is a HOLE. People have signed their names for years on the bricks. Mike and I would celebrate West Wing night with the Pie and cheese pullaparts (dough with cheese in it...but definitely a must have for the lactose intollerant, ask my sister!). They have spread to the Burbs so those folks are happy. ME? I have them on speed dial (Da Pie) and when they enter my phone number into the system they say "Hello Heather". I weep silently.
Tonight we went to Mike's discovery. He was on the internet studying Napoleonase pizza (like you don't do that) and found there is one HERE. So we went. Just so you know, a maghreta pizza is dough, olive oil, chopped tomatoes, basil and fresh mozzerella. This is put in a stove oven. Let me say, I love the overfilled pizza of Giovannis, Nona's, Track Town, as well as Da Pie...but when you return to the beginning of food time....it is worth appreciating. My husband Mike is still prancing around congratulating himself for this find. My one complaint is that I want to ask for extra ham (Italian cooked ham) and more cheese. Mike was offended..."That is an AMERICAN habit...you do not do that in Napoli". On the inside, I growled...this is the damn US of friggin A buddy....give me my extra cheese!
Be good to you!
H
(go get yourself a slice this weekend!)
Monday, September 8, 2008
Action Item: I don't need your tongue in my mouth please
I am a frustrated comic. My job as a corporate trainer fulfilled that need of mine as I had a captive audience who didn't have to pay $9 for a watered down bad drink to listen to me....and they laughed. Alot.
I am a burgeoning writer. This is feeding that need. BUT for several years I have been playing with titles of either short stories or books I would write. It became a hobby. Years ago I found a precious book entitled "At the Sign of the Naked Waiter". I bought it for the title alone. It is still on my bookshelf. But I have seen many titles which were created for that shock purpose or to cause the potential reader to look twice and when we did, we realized it was really dumb.
The other day, the littlest of my doglets jumped onto me as a morning greeting (much to my husband's joy) and immediately licked my face. At one point I croaked from under my covers: "I don't need your tongue in my mouth please". So another potential title was added to my list. I mean I really don't need my Daisy's tongue in my mouth, I was polite. But it seems to be an indicator of my life lately....dogs dogs dogs and everywhere dogs!
My first title was "How in the Hell do you Drive a Buick". I thought of that one with a thwarted short story using the type of car you drive as a metaphor for the place you are in your life. At that point, I had a 4-door gray sedan (huge mistake...boyfriend said it looked like a getaway car!). I also was looking forward in mylife to a time where I would have a Buick and be in my "Buick" stage of my life and it being so unfamiliar to me so much so that I am incable of driving it. Deep I know but being 22 and imagining you will one day HAVE TO DRIVE A BUICK was pretty scary...not daunting but scary.
SO....list what an outrageous title for your life's story would be. I once had a list of these preposterous eye grabbers and regret "re-organizing" them out of my life!
Be good to you!
H
I am a burgeoning writer. This is feeding that need. BUT for several years I have been playing with titles of either short stories or books I would write. It became a hobby. Years ago I found a precious book entitled "At the Sign of the Naked Waiter". I bought it for the title alone. It is still on my bookshelf. But I have seen many titles which were created for that shock purpose or to cause the potential reader to look twice and when we did, we realized it was really dumb.
The other day, the littlest of my doglets jumped onto me as a morning greeting (much to my husband's joy) and immediately licked my face. At one point I croaked from under my covers: "I don't need your tongue in my mouth please". So another potential title was added to my list. I mean I really don't need my Daisy's tongue in my mouth, I was polite. But it seems to be an indicator of my life lately....dogs dogs dogs and everywhere dogs!
My first title was "How in the Hell do you Drive a Buick". I thought of that one with a thwarted short story using the type of car you drive as a metaphor for the place you are in your life. At that point, I had a 4-door gray sedan (huge mistake...boyfriend said it looked like a getaway car!). I also was looking forward in mylife to a time where I would have a Buick and be in my "Buick" stage of my life and it being so unfamiliar to me so much so that I am incable of driving it. Deep I know but being 22 and imagining you will one day HAVE TO DRIVE A BUICK was pretty scary...not daunting but scary.
SO....list what an outrageous title for your life's story would be. I once had a list of these preposterous eye grabbers and regret "re-organizing" them out of my life!
Be good to you!
H
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Are you there God, its me...Heather!
Last year I went to see Dolores the psychic. Mock, applaud or be disgusted....it is no matter. She freaked me out. During my session, she said "I see you sitting on the toilet yelling 'Jesus Christ can I just go to the bathroom alone??!!'".
Again, I am an over thinker. Many things disturbed me out about that observation (what do you call a psychic vision?). Dude, I wanted to look back at her and say "Jesus Christ can I just go to the bathroom alone?", because apparently NOW I had to worry about fucking psychics attending "the event".
The primary shock was that she was exactly right. Many times as I sit at home, there is a little white paw attached to a spotted forearm reaching under the door to urge me to hurry, next to that there is a larger shadow sitting right next to the door whining at my re-appearance. Finally there are times when there is a knock and "Are you gonna be in there long?". Again "Jesus Christ can I just go to the bathroom alone?". I can understand why that vision stood out to Dolores.
This leads me to work. I am a fairly well known personality (most assuredly) in our center. Everywhere I go is a stage for Heather. Many times there is little chance of privacy for me regardless where I am.
Honestly, being in the bathroom is sometimes the only time alone I get during a day. Forget going to church on Sundays, my pontificating is done a la John. More often than not, I get situated and take advantantage of the peace to just talk to God, or god depending on my holiness of the day.
I remember the day I noticed that that I did settle in, sigh, and call on the Father. "Dear God, please let me meet xx deadline". "Dear God, please let (marital strief) come out ok". "Dear God, please let me NOT see xx today". I figured if I partook of this spirituality moment in a far back stall, I was enabled to commune more peacefully. After I accepted my predilictation for potty praying, it became liberating. I began to be more thoughtful about my conversations and pontifications as the days progressed. Can't say whether it helped or not...I still ran into the people I didn't want to see, I still had marital strief and I didn't get the job I spent a few IBS weeks worth of time cajolling "the big guy" into seeing my way of thinking. But I felt comfortable with my liberated sense idea of God and I.
It is not as easy to commune with my maker at home. There are times when the little white dog sneaks in and sits next to me in her makeshift bed and the "right moment" just disappears. Not that I believe she can understand my prayers or thoughts, but you know....God is something I do alone. I make due with what ever snippets of private time God can give me or I can give God.
In the end, the flush becomes less of a closing of the conversation and more so of an AHHHHMEN.
Be good to you!
H
Again, I am an over thinker. Many things disturbed me out about that observation (what do you call a psychic vision?). Dude, I wanted to look back at her and say "Jesus Christ can I just go to the bathroom alone?", because apparently NOW I had to worry about fucking psychics attending "the event".
The primary shock was that she was exactly right. Many times as I sit at home, there is a little white paw attached to a spotted forearm reaching under the door to urge me to hurry, next to that there is a larger shadow sitting right next to the door whining at my re-appearance. Finally there are times when there is a knock and "Are you gonna be in there long?". Again "Jesus Christ can I just go to the bathroom alone?". I can understand why that vision stood out to Dolores.
This leads me to work. I am a fairly well known personality (most assuredly) in our center. Everywhere I go is a stage for Heather. Many times there is little chance of privacy for me regardless where I am.
Honestly, being in the bathroom is sometimes the only time alone I get during a day. Forget going to church on Sundays, my pontificating is done a la John. More often than not, I get situated and take advantantage of the peace to just talk to God, or god depending on my holiness of the day.
I remember the day I noticed that that I did settle in, sigh, and call on the Father. "Dear God, please let me meet xx deadline". "Dear God, please let (marital strief) come out ok". "Dear God, please let me NOT see xx today". I figured if I partook of this spirituality moment in a far back stall, I was enabled to commune more peacefully. After I accepted my predilictation for potty praying, it became liberating. I began to be more thoughtful about my conversations and pontifications as the days progressed. Can't say whether it helped or not...I still ran into the people I didn't want to see, I still had marital strief and I didn't get the job I spent a few IBS weeks worth of time cajolling "the big guy" into seeing my way of thinking. But I felt comfortable with my liberated sense idea of God and I.
It is not as easy to commune with my maker at home. There are times when the little white dog sneaks in and sits next to me in her makeshift bed and the "right moment" just disappears. Not that I believe she can understand my prayers or thoughts, but you know....God is something I do alone. I make due with what ever snippets of private time God can give me or I can give God.
In the end, the flush becomes less of a closing of the conversation and more so of an AHHHHMEN.
Be good to you!
H
Friday, September 5, 2008
Staying home and Top Ramen...
Today is my last day of vacation before I return to work. I still haven't gotten over the feeling I had when I was a kid & stayed home from school.
When I was growing up, if you stayed home from school you relinquished ALL priviledges. You were home because you were SICK. The one thing that was a constant in our house was this new stuff (I am serious here) called Top Ramen. I really am that old. For lunch I was excited to have Top Ramen, chicken of course and be able to watch Perry Mason. Now I can't tell whether my mother was a genius or we just gave up....but a few episodes of Perry Mason cured us from staying home from school. I mean sure, his critical thinking techniques as well as the every so dashing Paul Drake made him a terror for the secretly guilty. And of course what kept Perry's wheels every so oiled was the faithful and reliable Della Street. Yah, I relished the time at home. But Perry Mason can only be watched in small doses. So we gave up & just enjoyed our Top Ramen.
I had to go to the store for things for a birthday cake & I passed the Top Ramen. Couldn't help but buy a few packs to celebrate my freedom. As I drove home, I still felt the edge of excitement that I was free from work and there were people where I should be NOT enjoying Top Ramen in front of bad afternoon tv. Where is Perry, Paul & Della when I need them!
Be good to you!
H
When I was growing up, if you stayed home from school you relinquished ALL priviledges. You were home because you were SICK. The one thing that was a constant in our house was this new stuff (I am serious here) called Top Ramen. I really am that old. For lunch I was excited to have Top Ramen, chicken of course and be able to watch Perry Mason. Now I can't tell whether my mother was a genius or we just gave up....but a few episodes of Perry Mason cured us from staying home from school. I mean sure, his critical thinking techniques as well as the every so dashing Paul Drake made him a terror for the secretly guilty. And of course what kept Perry's wheels every so oiled was the faithful and reliable Della Street. Yah, I relished the time at home. But Perry Mason can only be watched in small doses. So we gave up & just enjoyed our Top Ramen.
I had to go to the store for things for a birthday cake & I passed the Top Ramen. Couldn't help but buy a few packs to celebrate my freedom. As I drove home, I still felt the edge of excitement that I was free from work and there were people where I should be NOT enjoying Top Ramen in front of bad afternoon tv. Where is Perry, Paul & Della when I need them!
Be good to you!
H
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Do you really need to put panties on for the Fed Ex dude?
So, this is one of my last days of vacation. I didn't go anywhere, for a myriad of reasons, so I stayed home with the doglets.
I am waiting for a delivery and I am struggling with a mass of anxiety based around: WHAT IF I MISS THE FED EX DUDE? Seriously, if I miss him I have to wait until it is returned to the warehouse sometime late and then drive out there to get it. Really, so I can't take a shower. I can imagine these guys have seen TONS of tittilating stuff along their careers but a pudgy towel covered anxious Utah housewife is NOT on that list. Thus the reason for no shower.
Now, I do have 3 dogs, so I threw on sweats before I let them out today. Didn't really think about it as I went through the house stuff I do. With it being close to the time of the anticipated arrival I really can't have a shower, but new dilemma...do I undress and THEN put foundation garments on then REDRESS just for the Fed Ex dude? I mean I will see him for about 90 seconds through a door, is it really gonna matter? My dogs have YET to complain about my lack of appropriate attire and my husband is home at 4 so I have plenty of time to "take care of things".
If you take a moment and really care, is it fair to constantly subject these poor working folk to the injustices of morning hygene, bad attire, and no underwear? I mean do they get hazard pay? I am sure that is why they focus so intently on their computerized clip boards. Hell, I don't want to see or smell much of myself in the morning why would some random stranger forced into my company.
Yah...so I sit and mull this over as I wait for the Fed Ex dude....and it comes to pass that my computer chair is really not that comfortable without the undies!
Be good to you!
H
I am waiting for a delivery and I am struggling with a mass of anxiety based around: WHAT IF I MISS THE FED EX DUDE? Seriously, if I miss him I have to wait until it is returned to the warehouse sometime late and then drive out there to get it. Really, so I can't take a shower. I can imagine these guys have seen TONS of tittilating stuff along their careers but a pudgy towel covered anxious Utah housewife is NOT on that list. Thus the reason for no shower.
Now, I do have 3 dogs, so I threw on sweats before I let them out today. Didn't really think about it as I went through the house stuff I do. With it being close to the time of the anticipated arrival I really can't have a shower, but new dilemma...do I undress and THEN put foundation garments on then REDRESS just for the Fed Ex dude? I mean I will see him for about 90 seconds through a door, is it really gonna matter? My dogs have YET to complain about my lack of appropriate attire and my husband is home at 4 so I have plenty of time to "take care of things".
If you take a moment and really care, is it fair to constantly subject these poor working folk to the injustices of morning hygene, bad attire, and no underwear? I mean do they get hazard pay? I am sure that is why they focus so intently on their computerized clip boards. Hell, I don't want to see or smell much of myself in the morning why would some random stranger forced into my company.
Yah...so I sit and mull this over as I wait for the Fed Ex dude....and it comes to pass that my computer chair is really not that comfortable without the undies!
Be good to you!
H
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
In the beginning there was....
Rhetoric, sarcasm, and cynicism....and Heather said...."This is good"!
Not always true, not always limited to these three basics of my life, but something had to start this off!
Here is who I am....well, not who I am but what you may take into consideration when you start to read my drivel....
1) I live in Utah. For NOW, but am not from there originally! I feel there is a necessity to preface that. Wow, I feel better for getting that off of my chest!
2) I will prostitute any one for a laugh or audience reaction...so be prepared. As was told to my by my husband "You weren't funny until you met me"...My response was "Honey I was always funny...you just gave me more material!".
3) I have no kids but 3 dogs. Yup. Deal with it. I wanted a forum to tell my dumb dog stories nearly daily.
4) I work in corporate America. Yah...cubicle farms....veal fattening pens....whatever you call it.
5) I am a frustrated comedianne. SO, one of my goals is laughter.
6) Am over 40. Not such a big deal but mostly pointed it out as I can and will pull it as a card to get out of something bad or get me something good or just offer an excuse.
7) I am alot of things but mostly opinionated. Not so much that I burn your eyebrows off, but expect it on occasion.
8) I want to grow up & be like be like Kim. No doubt she knows who she is & I have told her this on many occasions, but she had a blog so I needed to have one. She is younger, thinner, with kids and has way cooler music tastes! Happy 40th my friend!
9) I just like to hear myself talk...well, in this case....watch myself type. So if you don't wanna read, don't.
10) Why not start a blog? I truly don't believe people will read it...but some may out of the sheer excitement that THEY may be talked about. I will NOT be hiding any identities, offering pseudonyms, or honoring any witness relocation programs...so deal!
Thanks for being YOU!
Not always true, not always limited to these three basics of my life, but something had to start this off!
Here is who I am....well, not who I am but what you may take into consideration when you start to read my drivel....
1) I live in Utah. For NOW, but am not from there originally! I feel there is a necessity to preface that. Wow, I feel better for getting that off of my chest!
2) I will prostitute any one for a laugh or audience reaction...so be prepared. As was told to my by my husband "You weren't funny until you met me"...My response was "Honey I was always funny...you just gave me more material!".
3) I have no kids but 3 dogs. Yup. Deal with it. I wanted a forum to tell my dumb dog stories nearly daily.
4) I work in corporate America. Yah...cubicle farms....veal fattening pens....whatever you call it.
5) I am a frustrated comedianne. SO, one of my goals is laughter.
6) Am over 40. Not such a big deal but mostly pointed it out as I can and will pull it as a card to get out of something bad or get me something good or just offer an excuse.
7) I am alot of things but mostly opinionated. Not so much that I burn your eyebrows off, but expect it on occasion.
8) I want to grow up & be like be like Kim. No doubt she knows who she is & I have told her this on many occasions, but she had a blog so I needed to have one. She is younger, thinner, with kids and has way cooler music tastes! Happy 40th my friend!
9) I just like to hear myself talk...well, in this case....watch myself type. So if you don't wanna read, don't.
10) Why not start a blog? I truly don't believe people will read it...but some may out of the sheer excitement that THEY may be talked about. I will NOT be hiding any identities, offering pseudonyms, or honoring any witness relocation programs...so deal!
Thanks for being YOU!
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