And into my appropriately selected car. Billy Ocean almost got it right. I bore witness to an atrocity the other day... several actually... but this one in particular was the spark that ignited the fuse of irritation that has exploded into this blog about appropriately selected cars. Why do people drive cars that are completely inappropriate for them!? I was leaving the grocery store the other day and saw someone driving a fairly new Lexus with one of those over-the-visor CD holders. WHAT!? Seriously? That's like buying a Picasso and hanging it in a Wal-mart frame. Would you buy a mansion and put an above ground pool in the front yard? Noooo. You wouldn't. There has to be an unwritten rule about the kinds of cars you are and are and are not allowed to drive! Am I right? Like this guy should have been driving a '99 Toyota Corolla. I don't really have a problem with over the visor CD holders... not really. But the people that use those are not the people who need to be driving Lexus. lexuses. lexi. Whatever the plural for Lexus is!
If you're the kind of person that puts CDs on your visor, hangs mardi gras beads on your rear-view mirror, is willing to post any kind of bumper sticker or decal on your car, or are younger than 25 then you limit yourself to the types of car you are qualified to drive. Anything with the words, "luxury, elite or upscale" are out of your league. Also, if you're not attractive please avoid driving sexy cars. Just because you can afford it doesn't make it appropriate. Okay, Frankie Muniz? If you have a perm or wear "mom-jeans" you don't need to drive a mustang. There are other perfectly acceptable convertibles that are more appropriate - the VW bug or the Chrysler Sebring come to mind. Oh, and Diane - yeah, you... the one driving the luxury SUV with your name on the license plate - you are not driving the appropriate car. What? Yes, I see that it has your name on it, but I believe you meant to purchase the yellow Ford Escape, not the pearl white Mercedes. And just a side note - if your name has 6 or 7 letters or can be spelled cleverly with letters and numbers, it does not mean you need to put it on your license plate. No one cares what your name is, who you are or how clever you are. Just get out of the way when you're lost and for God sakes - learn how things work at a 4-way stop. Please!
Of course there are always some blurred lines... like you're always qualified to drive any car that you've remodeled yourself or built from scratch... just PLEASE guys... not a VW rabbit...unless that's the statement you want to make. Pretty girls can drive whatever they want. I know it's not fair, but it's true. Nothing looks bad with a pretty girl driving it. However - you cannot be the judge of your own prettiness. Some of you have a skewed vision of yourself. The same is for hot guys over the age of 25. Guys younger than 25... oh wow... where do I begin. Let's just say this - you are not as awesome as you believe you are and I think all guys under the age of 25 should have to drive one P.O.S car without a stereo for at least 6 months and if it can't go over 55, then that's a bonus.
I also believe that the cars themselves should have certain rules. For example - sports cars and Jeeps should NEVER come in an automatic. If you want one - learn the gears. Consider it a right of passage. I also believe that particular cars should not be available in certain colors - yellow, for example, should only be used on really interestingly shaped SUVs (Hummers or FJs) and Jeeps or very fast sports cars. Classic cars are acceptable as well. If your car was made by Geo - it should not be yellow. Oh - and trucks don't need testicles. If you feel like you need to hang balls from your truck to let us know how "bad ass" you are, then you are not bad ass. You are just bad. Or ass. But not both. And your truck's balls, I'm guessing, are probably bigger than yours.
Am I taking the relationship with the car too seriously? Or are there others out there who feel this way, too? I should probably end this here... I just had a thought about men driving minivans like jerks to compensate for the fact that they're driving minivans and if I go off on that tangent there may be no return. So on that note I bid you good day, sir. I said, "good day!"
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Stupid Summer Break
When I decided to have a third child I failed to take into account a few minor details. Summer, for example. I did not consider the Summer months when I was thinking how nice it would be to have little red-haired, blue-eyed mini version of myself, (I'm convinced I willed those traits onto her) and now that Summer is here I find myself overwhelmed with the desire to climb to the back of my closet, lights off, deep in the corner, hugging my knees to my chest with a tight grip on a very stiff drink. I remember the days when I had one self-sufficient child and one fairly independent 2 year-old that would play in the back yard happily - trapped within the fence and only coming to me with drink requests or scraped knees. I remember it like it was just 365 days ago. I could do thinks like vacuum or shower. But, then I had to go and get knocked up with my selfish desire for ONE CHILD that looks like ME! Stupid Murphy Gene. I go through all the work and the trauma and the stretch marks and the future boob job only to look like the nanny in my family pictures. So I played the odds. Statistics is the only math that I was really good at, anyway... probably because it's easily manipulated.
The odds worked mostly in my favor... there are still little bits of her father in there. She's definitely fitting right in as a Murphy in that she couldn't look more Irish if she were drunk and made out of potatoes. I mostly won out, though. VICTORY!! And it was easy to get into a schedule. During school we spent every Tuesday and Thursday together while kid 2 was in preschool making art history, and kid 1, of course, in 1st grade. Kid 3 and I would clean and do laundry... go to the gym or Target and grab a Starbucks and go look at all the cute infant fashions. We would smile and laugh, the sun beaming down on us with rays of happiness and giggles.
And then it was May.
School ended.
I no longer have my Tuesday and Thursday adventures alone with the baby. Now I just have Monday - Sunday shouting, screaming, and whining. It didn't help matters that the first couple of weeks of summer break were filled with rainy indoor adventures. The girls were bored and it is, apparently, my job to fix this problem. Only every idea I come up with is shot down like a clay pigeon. My day is filled with "Mom! Watch THIS!!" which is usually followed by a time-out, a band-aid, or applause. Everything I put away is immediately taken back out to be played with because toys are not interesting until they have been placed back on the shelf. Dress up consists of taking all of the clothes off the hangers and dumping them on the floor - this normally happens right after I have put all of the laundry away. Art projects with glue and scissors become the "hairdresser" game. What happened to my normal children? The baby suddenly needs to be sitting up when she's lying down, lying down when she's sitting up, picked up when she's tired and put down when she's awake and no matter what - NEEDS me to be in her line of sight at all times.
So my house is a cluttered mess, which is driving me absolutely MAD! I'd get a Roomba to do the vacuuming, but there's only like 1 sq. foot of exposed floor throughout most of the day. There are earwigs EVERYWHERE! In the mailbox, in my shoes, on the ceiling... how do they stay up there!? My plants have fruit flies in the soil and they might be the single most annoying bug on the planet... next to the house fly. Although I don't expect ot be having a problem with them anymore... I chased a fly for 30 minutes with the vacuum, finally sucked it up and then just when it was really freaked out - I released it so that it would go and tell all of the other flies about the crazy lady with the fly sucking machine in the house on the hill. I don't expect to see anymore houseflies.
One just landed on my arm as I typed that. DAMN! Stupid daredevil flies.
And just when there might be one single moment of peace during the day, there will inevitabley be a HUGE diaper that has exploded all over everything. So now here I am... in the closet... hiding like a coward. Running like Dr. Frankenstein from my own selfish creation while they shout at me about how badly we need Wonderhangers or Oxyclean. Stupid infomercials.
I need a vacation! And I'm taking one! And I can't WAIT!!
Of course I'm really gonna miss these little buggers while I'm gone.
The odds worked mostly in my favor... there are still little bits of her father in there. She's definitely fitting right in as a Murphy in that she couldn't look more Irish if she were drunk and made out of potatoes. I mostly won out, though. VICTORY!! And it was easy to get into a schedule. During school we spent every Tuesday and Thursday together while kid 2 was in preschool making art history, and kid 1, of course, in 1st grade. Kid 3 and I would clean and do laundry... go to the gym or Target and grab a Starbucks and go look at all the cute infant fashions. We would smile and laugh, the sun beaming down on us with rays of happiness and giggles.
And then it was May.
School ended.
I no longer have my Tuesday and Thursday adventures alone with the baby. Now I just have Monday - Sunday shouting, screaming, and whining. It didn't help matters that the first couple of weeks of summer break were filled with rainy indoor adventures. The girls were bored and it is, apparently, my job to fix this problem. Only every idea I come up with is shot down like a clay pigeon. My day is filled with "Mom! Watch THIS!!" which is usually followed by a time-out, a band-aid, or applause. Everything I put away is immediately taken back out to be played with because toys are not interesting until they have been placed back on the shelf. Dress up consists of taking all of the clothes off the hangers and dumping them on the floor - this normally happens right after I have put all of the laundry away. Art projects with glue and scissors become the "hairdresser" game. What happened to my normal children? The baby suddenly needs to be sitting up when she's lying down, lying down when she's sitting up, picked up when she's tired and put down when she's awake and no matter what - NEEDS me to be in her line of sight at all times.
So my house is a cluttered mess, which is driving me absolutely MAD! I'd get a Roomba to do the vacuuming, but there's only like 1 sq. foot of exposed floor throughout most of the day. There are earwigs EVERYWHERE! In the mailbox, in my shoes, on the ceiling... how do they stay up there!? My plants have fruit flies in the soil and they might be the single most annoying bug on the planet... next to the house fly. Although I don't expect ot be having a problem with them anymore... I chased a fly for 30 minutes with the vacuum, finally sucked it up and then just when it was really freaked out - I released it so that it would go and tell all of the other flies about the crazy lady with the fly sucking machine in the house on the hill. I don't expect to see anymore houseflies.
One just landed on my arm as I typed that. DAMN! Stupid daredevil flies.
And just when there might be one single moment of peace during the day, there will inevitabley be a HUGE diaper that has exploded all over everything. So now here I am... in the closet... hiding like a coward. Running like Dr. Frankenstein from my own selfish creation while they shout at me about how badly we need Wonderhangers or Oxyclean. Stupid infomercials.
I need a vacation! And I'm taking one! And I can't WAIT!!
Of course I'm really gonna miss these little buggers while I'm gone.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
My Little Savant
I am currently writing two blogs because there are people who would actually like to hear what is going on with us as a family without having to weed through my ramblings about myself. I had not, however, considered the fact that I might encounter a crossover blog. One that is funny and relevant to my ramblings as a self-obsessed, crazy person, and one that is also based on my child. I actually sat here and stared at the screen for a moment... which do I pick? Where do I go with this blog? Do I make it a cute, short and to-the-point blog in my family section, or do I go in an entirely different direction and put it in my ramblings.
I did mention that I'm a self-obsessed, crazy person, right? Well, there's your answer and here we are. That doesn't mean that you won't see these same pictures in my family blog, but I had to write about it here - it's too funny.
Not, too long ago I went to my daughter's preschool to meet with her teachers. I'm always anxious about these meetings. Fearful of what judgment has been built up over the last few months... What phrases my daughter has repeated to the other 3-year-olds... or worse... her teachers. It doesn't help that this preschool is in my church and I actually go to church with some of the teachers there and a lot of the parents. So a meeting of this caliber is a bit terrifying. To add insult to injury, they make you sit in the little, tiny chairs so your eyes are almost level to the edge of the table... you're small and helpless, ready for your criticism. I'll admit I tend to be a bit overly dramatic, but don't think your kids don't talk at school! My 6 year-old came home and told me that one of her classmates' parents (who shall remain nameless to protect the innocent) sit naked together in the hot tub. They talk, my friends. Oh yes. You just don't know it.
So I'm sitting in my teeny chair looking like Kareem Abdul Jabar on the bench - sitting with my knees up to my ears, trying not talk too much and it turns out that the news isn't so bad. It's never, EVER as bad as I make it out in my head... one of the benefits of being dramatic. Some of it is actually pretty good. For example - she's only one of two kids in her class that can write her name. WONDERFUL! And, apparently she's a very gifted artist - all her people have torsos. Amazing. I realize you probably don't think this is a big deal. In fact, I shared that sentiment until I was shown the other kids' pictures of bubbles with arms and legs shooting out of them - no necks, no bodies... just giant, freak heads on sticks. Then I was shown Mallory's little people with heads and necks and bodies with feet and eyelashes and fingers... and hands... all the little details you expect a drawing of a human to have. Pretty cool! (She doesn't get any of that from me - I still draw bubbles with legs.) Whatever was said in the rest of the meeting, I'm not sure. I was just so impressed with her torso drawings.
After that I kept looking forward to the art projects that she might bring home to see what kind of inspirational artwork she would come up with on her own, without the influence of her older sister or me drawing next to her (of course I'm probably bringing her down). What kinds of masterpieces would our little smarty come up with to impress us? Of course most of what she brought home after that were projects where they dipped marbles in paint and rolled them around on paper or a similar project with sponges cut into shapes. Nothing remarkable... nothing, that is, until the following picture was sent home:
Artistic Genius!! To be honest I never really get abstract art anyway, so it might just be that it's beyond my comprehension... I can't be sure... A broken machine? I don't even know where it came from... we don't have one of those that we keep on hand. Maybe she's making a political statement. Can three-year-olds be poignant? Well if you look at my daughter's artwork then you'll know the answer is, YES. Yes, they can.
That's not it, though. The other day I was walking down the hallway at church when my husband pointed out her class' artwork hanging on the wall. They were drawing pictures of dandelions and then saying the things they had wished for. I took pictures of a couple of the other childrens' wishes, too:
Abby wants a dinosaur or a dog. Those are understandable wishes. I love dogs. And who didn't want to go to Jurassic Park... before the fences failed and the dinosaurs ate everyone? I know I did! I wouldn't say it's the work of a genius, but it's not bad.
Molly would like to go to Chuck E. Cheese. I get that. They have games there... and beer... I'd take her. Still... where's the message, Molly? Were you even really trying?
Then we have Mallory - my little prodigy:
Just in case you can't read that, I took a close up...
Just think about that for a moment... A stick made out of rope, indeed.
Indeed, Mallory.
I did mention that I'm a self-obsessed, crazy person, right? Well, there's your answer and here we are. That doesn't mean that you won't see these same pictures in my family blog, but I had to write about it here - it's too funny.
Not, too long ago I went to my daughter's preschool to meet with her teachers. I'm always anxious about these meetings. Fearful of what judgment has been built up over the last few months... What phrases my daughter has repeated to the other 3-year-olds... or worse... her teachers. It doesn't help that this preschool is in my church and I actually go to church with some of the teachers there and a lot of the parents. So a meeting of this caliber is a bit terrifying. To add insult to injury, they make you sit in the little, tiny chairs so your eyes are almost level to the edge of the table... you're small and helpless, ready for your criticism. I'll admit I tend to be a bit overly dramatic, but don't think your kids don't talk at school! My 6 year-old came home and told me that one of her classmates' parents (who shall remain nameless to protect the innocent) sit naked together in the hot tub. They talk, my friends. Oh yes. You just don't know it.
So I'm sitting in my teeny chair looking like Kareem Abdul Jabar on the bench - sitting with my knees up to my ears, trying not talk too much and it turns out that the news isn't so bad. It's never, EVER as bad as I make it out in my head... one of the benefits of being dramatic. Some of it is actually pretty good. For example - she's only one of two kids in her class that can write her name. WONDERFUL! And, apparently she's a very gifted artist - all her people have torsos. Amazing. I realize you probably don't think this is a big deal. In fact, I shared that sentiment until I was shown the other kids' pictures of bubbles with arms and legs shooting out of them - no necks, no bodies... just giant, freak heads on sticks. Then I was shown Mallory's little people with heads and necks and bodies with feet and eyelashes and fingers... and hands... all the little details you expect a drawing of a human to have. Pretty cool! (She doesn't get any of that from me - I still draw bubbles with legs.) Whatever was said in the rest of the meeting, I'm not sure. I was just so impressed with her torso drawings.
After that I kept looking forward to the art projects that she might bring home to see what kind of inspirational artwork she would come up with on her own, without the influence of her older sister or me drawing next to her (of course I'm probably bringing her down). What kinds of masterpieces would our little smarty come up with to impress us? Of course most of what she brought home after that were projects where they dipped marbles in paint and rolled them around on paper or a similar project with sponges cut into shapes. Nothing remarkable... nothing, that is, until the following picture was sent home:
Artistic Genius!! To be honest I never really get abstract art anyway, so it might just be that it's beyond my comprehension... I can't be sure... A broken machine? I don't even know where it came from... we don't have one of those that we keep on hand. Maybe she's making a political statement. Can three-year-olds be poignant? Well if you look at my daughter's artwork then you'll know the answer is, YES. Yes, they can.
That's not it, though. The other day I was walking down the hallway at church when my husband pointed out her class' artwork hanging on the wall. They were drawing pictures of dandelions and then saying the things they had wished for. I took pictures of a couple of the other childrens' wishes, too:
Abby wants a dinosaur or a dog. Those are understandable wishes. I love dogs. And who didn't want to go to Jurassic Park... before the fences failed and the dinosaurs ate everyone? I know I did! I wouldn't say it's the work of a genius, but it's not bad.
Molly would like to go to Chuck E. Cheese. I get that. They have games there... and beer... I'd take her. Still... where's the message, Molly? Were you even really trying?Then we have Mallory - my little prodigy:
Just in case you can't read that, I took a close up...
Just think about that for a moment... A stick made out of rope, indeed.
Indeed, Mallory.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
It's Not Easy Being Green
Paper or plastic no more... although I haven't been asked that question in years. I haven't been asked that question in so long that I was surprised to learn grocery stores still carry paper bags. Of course in every commercial you watch the woman (always a woman... I guess the grocery store has too many colors and bright lights for men to be successful grocery shoppers) carry her groceries in one, MAYBE two, but typically all of her groceries will fit into one, paper bag. I suppose it does look much nicer on TV than 400 plastic bags would. Is that an exaggeration? NO. Maybe... Okay YES it's an exaggeration, they don't actually give you 400 bags, but it's close! ATTENTION GROCERY BAGGERS: You don't need to separate EVERYTHING! I hate getting home from grocery store to find that they have placed a pack of gum and a card in one giant bag. What the Hell!? Does that really need it's own bag? If so, just hand it to me and I'll put it in my purse. I went to Wal-mart with my kids and bought 5 items... 5 not big, toiletry-type, not-misshapen items and the woman gave me 2 bags. What the? Seriously?
What it must be like to travel with these people! How many suitcases do you bring with you?? I mean, really! By the way you're bagging my groceries I can only imagine that you carry a separate suitcase with you for your shoes, shirts, pants, undergarments, socks and toiletries. And if one of those suitcases might appear half-way full... Get another suitcase!! Do you see my struggle with this logic?
So now I've got this cabinet that is dedicated to nothing, but plastic shopping bags... and it is FULL. I'm shoving them in there and it barely wants to close and I decide that this is ridiculous and I will no longer shop without my purchased, re-usable bags. The ones I keep buying and storing in my kitchen and then forgetting every time I go to the store. Those. From now on I will use those! If I don't forget them, of course. I've also stuffed handfuls of plastic bags inside the fabric bags so I can gradually dump them off in the recycling box at the store and take back my cabinet! I have so many plans for my new cabinet... what will I store in there!? Isn't my life exciting!?
So anyway, since I've dedicated myself to Earth-friendly grocery shopping I've learned something: Grocery store check-out people and baggers HATE these bags. HATE them. And as a result, they are starting to hate... ME. Anyone who knows me knows that I hate it when people hate me - I really identified with Pam on The Office when she said, "I don't even like thinking that Al Qaeda doesn't like me." Sad, but true. If they just got to know me...
You walk into the store with the bags and immediately everyone lazers in on you with their hate vision. "Great" they think to themselves... "This lady again." I know they're thinking this because I have yet to see anyone else carrying these bags. They make inaudible comments under their breath when they hand over my bags to the bagger. I get why they have a problem with this at Wal-mart, but have yet to understand it at Kroger or Food City. I've actually stopped going to Food City all together because the people there are just rude... and they quit carrying all my favorite things, but that's a different rant all together. I now drive an extra mile to Kroger, where they still hate me, but at least they hate me while smiling.
You see, at Wal-mart the check out person is also the bagger. And, at all of our locations (there are 3 Wal-marts within an 5 mile radius of my house) they don't have that conveyer belt that runs the groceries to a bagger person. Instead the check out person IS the bagger person and the bags hang from hooks next to the check out person and in some cases, they're on this spinning thing where the person can quickly go from bag to bag and then you are required to pull them and stick them in your cart (don't miss this step because that will also anger them... even though I don't remember signing up for this job) I learned the other day that they are timed on their scanning of items to make sure they don't suck, and since the check-out lines aren't set up to accomidate these bags, it makes it difficult for them to meet their quota. Okay! I get that! Thank you for telling me. Now here's where I say, "Sorry, but I don't care. I have already started making plans for my new cabinet." The lady actually told me that I could bring in the plastic bags to recycle them. Sorry - did we just eliminate reduce and reuse? Even my 6 year-old can tell you that it's not enough to just recycle! Don't tell me it's the same if I bring my bags in! Don't you know what it takes just to remember to bring in these bags!? And after I've say, "I just can't deal with the plastic bags anymore." The Wal-mart checker says, "I know! I use the fabric bags, too." Oooh... I see... it's only okay when YOU do it.
I give up.
But, I get why the Wal-mart folks get a little pissy. My bags can hinder their job performance. But I say "For Shame, Wal-mart." If you're not going to compensate for the bags, then why sell them in the first place? You want to encourage their use! How much money would your franchise save by not having to use plastic bags anymore? But that's Wal-mart. What about grocery stores? Here's what I see: You have the conveyer belt that slides the groceries away from the Checker to the Bagger - even if you're timed - my bags don't affect you. The Bagger doesn't have to separate every thing into coordinated bags - saving time! The Bagger doesn't have to use as many bags - saving time! I would think that if you're being timed, you'd look like a rock star! I don't see an issue. Would someone please explain to me why they still give me the furry eye-ball when I hand over my bags? Do they hate Earth? Does it disrupt their compulsive need to put everything into it's own bag? What is the problem here?
Maybe it wouldn't be such a big deal if ONE other person in Knoxville would join me in my quest. Take bag your plastic bag cabinet! Think of the things you could put in there... place mats... storage containers... pots... or pans... or you could go in a totally different direction and put shoes or... or crayons and art supplies in there! The possibilites are endless! Then maybe we could all be hated together, or the grocery store people will get used to us and I can return to a harmonious relationship with them. Please. I can't stand the hate! Help me love Earth (and open up some cabinet space).
What it must be like to travel with these people! How many suitcases do you bring with you?? I mean, really! By the way you're bagging my groceries I can only imagine that you carry a separate suitcase with you for your shoes, shirts, pants, undergarments, socks and toiletries. And if one of those suitcases might appear half-way full... Get another suitcase!! Do you see my struggle with this logic?
So now I've got this cabinet that is dedicated to nothing, but plastic shopping bags... and it is FULL. I'm shoving them in there and it barely wants to close and I decide that this is ridiculous and I will no longer shop without my purchased, re-usable bags. The ones I keep buying and storing in my kitchen and then forgetting every time I go to the store. Those. From now on I will use those! If I don't forget them, of course. I've also stuffed handfuls of plastic bags inside the fabric bags so I can gradually dump them off in the recycling box at the store and take back my cabinet! I have so many plans for my new cabinet... what will I store in there!? Isn't my life exciting!?
So anyway, since I've dedicated myself to Earth-friendly grocery shopping I've learned something: Grocery store check-out people and baggers HATE these bags. HATE them. And as a result, they are starting to hate... ME. Anyone who knows me knows that I hate it when people hate me - I really identified with Pam on The Office when she said, "I don't even like thinking that Al Qaeda doesn't like me." Sad, but true. If they just got to know me...
You walk into the store with the bags and immediately everyone lazers in on you with their hate vision. "Great" they think to themselves... "This lady again." I know they're thinking this because I have yet to see anyone else carrying these bags. They make inaudible comments under their breath when they hand over my bags to the bagger. I get why they have a problem with this at Wal-mart, but have yet to understand it at Kroger or Food City. I've actually stopped going to Food City all together because the people there are just rude... and they quit carrying all my favorite things, but that's a different rant all together. I now drive an extra mile to Kroger, where they still hate me, but at least they hate me while smiling.
You see, at Wal-mart the check out person is also the bagger. And, at all of our locations (there are 3 Wal-marts within an 5 mile radius of my house) they don't have that conveyer belt that runs the groceries to a bagger person. Instead the check out person IS the bagger person and the bags hang from hooks next to the check out person and in some cases, they're on this spinning thing where the person can quickly go from bag to bag and then you are required to pull them and stick them in your cart (don't miss this step because that will also anger them... even though I don't remember signing up for this job) I learned the other day that they are timed on their scanning of items to make sure they don't suck, and since the check-out lines aren't set up to accomidate these bags, it makes it difficult for them to meet their quota. Okay! I get that! Thank you for telling me. Now here's where I say, "Sorry, but I don't care. I have already started making plans for my new cabinet." The lady actually told me that I could bring in the plastic bags to recycle them. Sorry - did we just eliminate reduce and reuse? Even my 6 year-old can tell you that it's not enough to just recycle! Don't tell me it's the same if I bring my bags in! Don't you know what it takes just to remember to bring in these bags!? And after I've say, "I just can't deal with the plastic bags anymore." The Wal-mart checker says, "I know! I use the fabric bags, too." Oooh... I see... it's only okay when YOU do it.
I give up.
But, I get why the Wal-mart folks get a little pissy. My bags can hinder their job performance. But I say "For Shame, Wal-mart." If you're not going to compensate for the bags, then why sell them in the first place? You want to encourage their use! How much money would your franchise save by not having to use plastic bags anymore? But that's Wal-mart. What about grocery stores? Here's what I see: You have the conveyer belt that slides the groceries away from the Checker to the Bagger - even if you're timed - my bags don't affect you. The Bagger doesn't have to separate every thing into coordinated bags - saving time! The Bagger doesn't have to use as many bags - saving time! I would think that if you're being timed, you'd look like a rock star! I don't see an issue. Would someone please explain to me why they still give me the furry eye-ball when I hand over my bags? Do they hate Earth? Does it disrupt their compulsive need to put everything into it's own bag? What is the problem here?
Maybe it wouldn't be such a big deal if ONE other person in Knoxville would join me in my quest. Take bag your plastic bag cabinet! Think of the things you could put in there... place mats... storage containers... pots... or pans... or you could go in a totally different direction and put shoes or... or crayons and art supplies in there! The possibilites are endless! Then maybe we could all be hated together, or the grocery store people will get used to us and I can return to a harmonious relationship with them. Please. I can't stand the hate! Help me love Earth (and open up some cabinet space).
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Blogs From My Past, Part IV
Just as we're hitting Spring in full stride... a little tribute to Fall.
September 28, 2006 - Thursday
 | I love Fall... Autumn... whatever, I love it. There isn't anything you could say that could truly capture the essence of Fall. No witty quip or rhetorical slogan could ever sum up what it is to be "Autumn." I love the crisp bite in the air; the warm, sun-soaked afternoons and chilly evenings. This is the greatest time of year by far. Everything I love takes place in the Fall. Obviously I'm a nut when it comes to Halloween - the scary decorations, the movies, the Trick-or-Treating, the parties and ABOVE ALL - the costumes... oh...yeah... and my birthday. (That was my poor attempt and being coy) |
Blogs From My Past, Part III
This one doesn't really need an explanation.
August 30, 2006 - Wednesday
| I went to the dentist this morning for my semi-annual cleaning... and while I was sitting in the dentist's chair, waiting for her to come and poke at me, I saw a sign. It had a picture of horrible teeth and a question, "Do you have rampant cavities?" I'm sorry, what was that? RAMPANT cavities? The very idea is terrifying! Think about it... unmonitored cavities... just running wild and free... maybe they'll steal your purse... maybe they'll make your other teeth drink beer and smoke cigarettes... who knows! These aren't normal cavities... they're wild and crazy and getting bigger! I don't know why they feel like they have to use words like rampant to scare the crap out of us (sorry... scare the candy out of us... I'm trying to get my 4-year-old to stop saying crap) to sell the floride treatments... they should be ashamed. Why can't it just say, "do you have multiple cavities?" or something mild... Look Dentists and Hygenists of Amercia, you don't need to scare the candy out of us... we're already afraid of you! You in your rolly chair and your mask and your blinding light of torture. You sit up there with your magnified, judgement filled eyes... leaning us back and lowering our chairs to a state of submission just reaffirming your alpha status. Then, just because you can... you ask us questions and then stick hooks and knives in our mouth so we can't respond... Do you know what that does to a person like me!? It's Hell I tell you, HELL!!! I just sit there trying to talk around your massive mirror that you keep wiping on my cheek... get your own cheek! You giant eyed monster! Of course after we're scrapped and beaten you give us presents of toothpaste,a toothbrush and a cute little dental floss that you can stick in your purse. How can I hate you after you have offered me peace in the form of oral care products? And then the Dentist comes in and she makes the easiest money of her life... she pokes a couple of teeth... pretends like maybe she's counting something and the whole time telling me... "My, you have very pretty teeth... I can't imagine you've had to have much dental work, have you?" I blush, "thank you." I say, "I've had mostly orthodontal work done." (This is a conversation we have every time because she never remembers me...) but how can I hate you after you've showered me with compliments and oohed and aahed over my pearlies? And so I leave... unsure of how to feel... abused or flattered? They spanked me into submission, stuck things in my mouth while I was trying to talk, kept squirting water in my eyes, the sadistic bastards! But then made me feel wonderful and pretty... But I left there feeling pretty damn good. Not because they complimented me or, in all reality the cleaning was pretty uneventful... I left feeling so great because no matter what's going on in my life and I can feel good that I do not have rampant cavities. |
Blogs From My Past, Part II
This blog is from costume shopping before my 30th birthday Halloween party. This was a special day for me so I'm copying it over:
October - 2006
It's Better Than 60...
I went to a Halloween Warehouse yesterday with my best friend, Lindsay. She was very stressed out about not yet having the perfect Halloween costume in mind, and like me, was giving in to buying a pre-made costume. We actually did find the perfect costume. A tavern wench, which is basically a short leiderhosen skirt with a petticoat. It's very "St. Paulie Girl" and very cute so she purchased a blonde braided wig to go with it. Up until we found the costume, Lindsay was very distraught and not at all feeling the holiday spirit - pun intended. Finally we spied this very appropriate costume and snatched it from the shelf. It had all of the required elements - it was not frumpy, it had a male counterpart for her husband and it wasn't a fairy. It also had the bonus of being a hostess-esque costume, so assuming it fit it was perfect. Off we were to the dressing room.
For a costume place, they really dropped the ball in the dressing room department. Lindsay was forced to try on the costume in a tall, box-like structure with a torn shower curtain, hanging lazily over the opening. Standing outside of the "dressing room" I have now become the shower curtain as I stretch to pull up the draping corners to keep onlookers from peering at her goodies. Unbeknownst to Lindsay, I'm occasionally dropping the curtain in order to sip from my Latte as I act as a barricade for my naked friend. I finally am asked to assist with the zipper and offer an opinion. It was super and I said so. I really liked it. She was hesitant to exit the dressing room to peak in the mirror, however I explained to her if she couldn't wear it out of a dressing room she wasn't going to be able to wear it in front of 100 of our closest friends.
While I was waiting for Lindsay, a couple came up to try on their costume - a bowling ball and pin that says "spare me" on the front. Not a costume I would have chosen, but I'll admit it got a giggle out of me. Maybe I would have liked it better if the woman was the pin and not the ball. Anway, when Lindsay sprang from the dressing room looking like Gretle after her 21st birthday, they oohed and aahed over how much they liked it. Of course we then ventured on to talk about "The Party." As I said, "well that Saturday is my 30th birthday, so.." I was interrupted... "You're not 30!" The bowling pin said. I looked at his female counterpart and laughed and said, "I think you're required to say that." Technically he was right... I'm not 30.... I'm 29. But at that point it occurred to me... is this what people feel they have to say when they think you're old. I figured the couple was at least in their late 20's if not 30's so I was surprised by his shock at my age. Is turning 30 or any number above 30 kind of like hearing someone weighs over 200 pounds? If someone says to me, "I weigh 220 pounds" and they're not 6ft tall or a man the first thing I'm probably going to say is "You're not 220 pounds! No way." Which basically tells that person that 220 pounds means you're a fat ass and up until this moment I didn't realize you were such a fat ass.
I know that by saying this we think we've offered this fat person some sort of solace. We think we've convinced them that we never really figured they were fat. When actually our act of surprise does more harm than good by letting them know what we really think of their actual weight and how we will look at them from now on. We would actually do less damage if we just said, "oh okay." and left it at that.
So, knowing this, I've become very excited about reaching this personal milestone. If anything it'll give me a chance to make people really uncomfortable when they act so surprised that I'm "so old." But in the grand scheme of things, turning 30 is not a big deal. My mom just turned 60! That crazy kitten! Now try dealing with that one...She told me the other day that they don't even market beauty products to women in their 60's. There are skin regiments for every age group through your 50's... when you turn 60 they stop. They've just decided there is no help for you now and may God be with you. After hearing that - 30's a piece of cake. And as I've said before, who can be upset about having a birthday when you're going to have an awesome party!? 13 days!!! Be ready!
October - 2006
It's Better Than 60...
I went to a Halloween Warehouse yesterday with my best friend, Lindsay. She was very stressed out about not yet having the perfect Halloween costume in mind, and like me, was giving in to buying a pre-made costume. We actually did find the perfect costume. A tavern wench, which is basically a short leiderhosen skirt with a petticoat. It's very "St. Paulie Girl" and very cute so she purchased a blonde braided wig to go with it. Up until we found the costume, Lindsay was very distraught and not at all feeling the holiday spirit - pun intended. Finally we spied this very appropriate costume and snatched it from the shelf. It had all of the required elements - it was not frumpy, it had a male counterpart for her husband and it wasn't a fairy. It also had the bonus of being a hostess-esque costume, so assuming it fit it was perfect. Off we were to the dressing room.
For a costume place, they really dropped the ball in the dressing room department. Lindsay was forced to try on the costume in a tall, box-like structure with a torn shower curtain, hanging lazily over the opening. Standing outside of the "dressing room" I have now become the shower curtain as I stretch to pull up the draping corners to keep onlookers from peering at her goodies. Unbeknownst to Lindsay, I'm occasionally dropping the curtain in order to sip from my Latte as I act as a barricade for my naked friend. I finally am asked to assist with the zipper and offer an opinion. It was super and I said so. I really liked it. She was hesitant to exit the dressing room to peak in the mirror, however I explained to her if she couldn't wear it out of a dressing room she wasn't going to be able to wear it in front of 100 of our closest friends.
While I was waiting for Lindsay, a couple came up to try on their costume - a bowling ball and pin that says "spare me" on the front. Not a costume I would have chosen, but I'll admit it got a giggle out of me. Maybe I would have liked it better if the woman was the pin and not the ball. Anway, when Lindsay sprang from the dressing room looking like Gretle after her 21st birthday, they oohed and aahed over how much they liked it. Of course we then ventured on to talk about "The Party." As I said, "well that Saturday is my 30th birthday, so.." I was interrupted... "You're not 30!" The bowling pin said. I looked at his female counterpart and laughed and said, "I think you're required to say that." Technically he was right... I'm not 30.... I'm 29. But at that point it occurred to me... is this what people feel they have to say when they think you're old. I figured the couple was at least in their late 20's if not 30's so I was surprised by his shock at my age. Is turning 30 or any number above 30 kind of like hearing someone weighs over 200 pounds? If someone says to me, "I weigh 220 pounds" and they're not 6ft tall or a man the first thing I'm probably going to say is "You're not 220 pounds! No way." Which basically tells that person that 220 pounds means you're a fat ass and up until this moment I didn't realize you were such a fat ass.
I know that by saying this we think we've offered this fat person some sort of solace. We think we've convinced them that we never really figured they were fat. When actually our act of surprise does more harm than good by letting them know what we really think of their actual weight and how we will look at them from now on. We would actually do less damage if we just said, "oh okay." and left it at that.
So, knowing this, I've become very excited about reaching this personal milestone. If anything it'll give me a chance to make people really uncomfortable when they act so surprised that I'm "so old." But in the grand scheme of things, turning 30 is not a big deal. My mom just turned 60! That crazy kitten! Now try dealing with that one...She told me the other day that they don't even market beauty products to women in their 60's. There are skin regiments for every age group through your 50's... when you turn 60 they stop. They've just decided there is no help for you now and may God be with you. After hearing that - 30's a piece of cake. And as I've said before, who can be upset about having a birthday when you're going to have an awesome party!? 13 days!!! Be ready!
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