Yikes!, how things have changed in the past 20 years. I got my old high school year book out the other day, trying to confirm whether or not a few people actually graduated with us or not, but gee-whiz!, what a trip down memory lane (nightmare alley is more like it!!). Just looking at the cover of the yearbook is frightening enough... there's a picture of a desktop computer. It was this big boxy looking thing, with a tiny little monitor, and let's not forget that the keyboards used to be attached to the computer, and I don't mean by a cord. Floppy discs weren't anything like they are today either.
There's a bottle of Cherry Coke on the cover too. I'll take a wild guess that 85 or 86 must be when Cherry Coca-Cola hit the markets. I don't rightly remember, never cared for the stuff. But what's amazing about this bottle is that it's actually glass, with a metal cap. We've been drinking out of plastic bottles for so long, I'd nearly forgotten that sodas in glass bottles used to be the norm.
Several novels also pictured on the cover are: "To Kill A Mockingbird" (one of my all-time favorites, the book & the movie!) by Harper Lee, "The Good Earth" by Pearl S. Buck, "The Crucible", and "Puddin'head Wilson" by Mark Twain, and others... are any of these books still required reading in today's classrooms? What kind of literature are kids being forced to read nowadays?
Even the Monopoly board on the back cover looks antique compared to the many varieties of Monopoly that are available today.
And the Pentax camera that is pictured... I'm sure back then it was considered quite a nice camera, but in comparison to todays mini-sized digital cameras, it looks soooo obsolete!
It's hell getting older.
Monday, July 31, 2006
The I-71 giant
Have you ever let your eyes glaze over as you're staring at something, and suddenly it takes on a whole different shape? Or maybe ever stared at some funky wallpaper long enough 'til you start to see images in the meaningless swirls? Or sat and watched the clouds drift by, and try to pick images out of their ever-changing shapes?
I frequently try to see things that perhaps aren't there, and maybe nobody else would see, as I did on the drive to work this morning.
As I was driving up I-71 this morning, my mind a million miles away from where it should've been (which is the task of keeping my eyes on the road), my eyes finally locked in on an image ahead at the horizon. It was a sleeping giant.
If I'm lying I'm dying!
I kid you not, the shape of the treetops against the skyline looked just like a sleeping persons face, in profile. I could make out the indention of the eyes, the projection of the nose, the upper & lower lips, which were parted as if the giant were snoring, then on down the face to the chin. It was really kind of cool! I wish I'd had my camera with me.
I just wonder if I'll be able to see the giant again tomorrow, and I also wonder if anyone else has ever seen the sleeping giant.
I frequently try to see things that perhaps aren't there, and maybe nobody else would see, as I did on the drive to work this morning.
As I was driving up I-71 this morning, my mind a million miles away from where it should've been (which is the task of keeping my eyes on the road), my eyes finally locked in on an image ahead at the horizon. It was a sleeping giant.
If I'm lying I'm dying!
I kid you not, the shape of the treetops against the skyline looked just like a sleeping persons face, in profile. I could make out the indention of the eyes, the projection of the nose, the upper & lower lips, which were parted as if the giant were snoring, then on down the face to the chin. It was really kind of cool! I wish I'd had my camera with me.
I just wonder if I'll be able to see the giant again tomorrow, and I also wonder if anyone else has ever seen the sleeping giant.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Wives on Strike!!
After having an on-line discussion with my friend this morning, we've decided we need to go on strike from our husbands.
We both work full-time jobs, as do the husbands, but just because the husbands make the lions share of the income, that doesn't relieve them of the responsibility of helping out around the house.
Granted, there's a little tit-for-tat that goes on in our house, but gimme a break!, many of these men (and I don't just mean my husband) think that the housework is for the women and the yardwork is for the men.
Puh-leeze!
I'd be more than happy to cut our grass, if we'd get a new lawnmower. After our self-propelled mower died 2 or 3 years ago, my husband came home with an industrial size mower he "borrowed" from his dad (and never returned). I can't handle that monstrosity!!, so all the lawn work falls to the husband. So does that mean everything done indoors is now my job? I don't think so!!
As my friend put it: the men cut grass, once, maybe twice a week, for just a few months out of the year. Laundry is a never ending job. Cooking the meals is a never ending job. Buying groceries, taking care of the kids, maintaining the pool, balancing the checkbook... why does it all fall to me? Just last week I put this question to the husband: if I fall over dead tomorrow, would you know what to do to keep the pool maintained?
Well of course he didn't. Add some chlorine. That was his solution. **sigh**, there's so much more to it than that!
Okay, okay, perhaps I'm being too hard on John.
He does after all, change the cats' litter boxes, and does split the crate cleaning duty with me when Olivia has had an accident. And we split the dog doody cleaning up chore. But I'd say that's where the animal care ends for him. I don't think I've ever once seen him clean up after one of the dogs when they've thrown up in the house. Not once!
And he does on occasion sweep up the Olivia-tumbleweeds-of-hair in the hallway, but that's something that could be done half dozen times a day and still never make headway with, but when's the last time he ran the vacuum?
I'm almost certain he hasn't washed a dish or put any in the dishwasher in over 11 years, simply because he doesn't do it to suit me (his words, not mine). So how hard is it to learn "my way" (a.k.a, the correct way)? Same thing for washing clothes. I will say though, of late, if I leave his clothes in the laundry basket long enough, he has started lifting a finger to help put them away... even if his idea of putting them away is to stack them on top of his dresser.
I'm thinking a strike is in order. Wives unite!!
We both work full-time jobs, as do the husbands, but just because the husbands make the lions share of the income, that doesn't relieve them of the responsibility of helping out around the house.
Granted, there's a little tit-for-tat that goes on in our house, but gimme a break!, many of these men (and I don't just mean my husband) think that the housework is for the women and the yardwork is for the men.
Puh-leeze!
I'd be more than happy to cut our grass, if we'd get a new lawnmower. After our self-propelled mower died 2 or 3 years ago, my husband came home with an industrial size mower he "borrowed" from his dad (and never returned). I can't handle that monstrosity!!, so all the lawn work falls to the husband. So does that mean everything done indoors is now my job? I don't think so!!
As my friend put it: the men cut grass, once, maybe twice a week, for just a few months out of the year. Laundry is a never ending job. Cooking the meals is a never ending job. Buying groceries, taking care of the kids, maintaining the pool, balancing the checkbook... why does it all fall to me? Just last week I put this question to the husband: if I fall over dead tomorrow, would you know what to do to keep the pool maintained?
Well of course he didn't. Add some chlorine. That was his solution. **sigh**, there's so much more to it than that!
Okay, okay, perhaps I'm being too hard on John.
He does after all, change the cats' litter boxes, and does split the crate cleaning duty with me when Olivia has had an accident. And we split the dog doody cleaning up chore. But I'd say that's where the animal care ends for him. I don't think I've ever once seen him clean up after one of the dogs when they've thrown up in the house. Not once!
And he does on occasion sweep up the Olivia-tumbleweeds-of-hair in the hallway, but that's something that could be done half dozen times a day and still never make headway with, but when's the last time he ran the vacuum?
I'm almost certain he hasn't washed a dish or put any in the dishwasher in over 11 years, simply because he doesn't do it to suit me (his words, not mine). So how hard is it to learn "my way" (a.k.a, the correct way)? Same thing for washing clothes. I will say though, of late, if I leave his clothes in the laundry basket long enough, he has started lifting a finger to help put them away... even if his idea of putting them away is to stack them on top of his dresser.
I'm thinking a strike is in order. Wives unite!!
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Todays news
*Is it time for bed yet? I swear, I feel so sleep deprived of late, I can hardly hold my head up or keep my eyes open. I thought 9:30 was a reasonable time to be going to bed, but I may have to start rethinking that and going to bed at 8pm. Hmph!, if I thought I had a struggle on my hands before trying to get John to go to bed, I can just imagine the arguement if I try to shoot for anything earlier.
*Whoever (whomever?) is responsible for planning the high school reunions among my graduating class, seems to have totally dropped the ball. We had a 5 year reunion that was, at best, so-so. There was no 10 year reunion. I missed out on the 15th (I think I was out of town on vacation when that one took place), and they have yet again failed to plan one for our 20th. This just sucks. Pardon my French.
When I graduated from high school, the reunions at 5 year intervals was something I was looking forward to. I'd hear my parents tales of their reunions and they always seemed to have so much fun, that I couldn't wait to attend mine. What a let down this has all been.
I'm not much of an organizer, but hopefully with the help of a few friends, maybe we can salvage some kind of reunion and have a picnic with some of the old gang. We'll see what happens. More on this subject in the coming weeks.
*My tomato plants have now reached over 6 feet tall, and since the first 3 tomatoes were harvested last week, I've yet to find any more red ones. I'm waiting impatiently...
*For a brief moment last night, I felt as if I were on the set of the movie "The Birds". At about 9:20pm +/-, someone set off some kind of firework that sounded like a cannon being shot off. No sooner had the BOOM sounded, then my neighbor's giant pear tree erupted with a shower of birds as they took flight. The sky was suddenly filled with what seemed to be hundreds of birds that flew right over my head, at a low altitude. It was a rather scary sight. I suddenly knew just how Tippy Hedron's character must have felt in that movie.
*Whoever (whomever?) is responsible for planning the high school reunions among my graduating class, seems to have totally dropped the ball. We had a 5 year reunion that was, at best, so-so. There was no 10 year reunion. I missed out on the 15th (I think I was out of town on vacation when that one took place), and they have yet again failed to plan one for our 20th. This just sucks. Pardon my French.
When I graduated from high school, the reunions at 5 year intervals was something I was looking forward to. I'd hear my parents tales of their reunions and they always seemed to have so much fun, that I couldn't wait to attend mine. What a let down this has all been.
I'm not much of an organizer, but hopefully with the help of a few friends, maybe we can salvage some kind of reunion and have a picnic with some of the old gang. We'll see what happens. More on this subject in the coming weeks.
*My tomato plants have now reached over 6 feet tall, and since the first 3 tomatoes were harvested last week, I've yet to find any more red ones. I'm waiting impatiently...
*For a brief moment last night, I felt as if I were on the set of the movie "The Birds". At about 9:20pm +/-, someone set off some kind of firework that sounded like a cannon being shot off. No sooner had the BOOM sounded, then my neighbor's giant pear tree erupted with a shower of birds as they took flight. The sky was suddenly filled with what seemed to be hundreds of birds that flew right over my head, at a low altitude. It was a rather scary sight. I suddenly knew just how Tippy Hedron's character must have felt in that movie.
More on the subject of feet...
Apparently I'm not the only one with a foot fetish... of sorts.
I don't want to imply that I'm turned on by looking at other's feet, because I'm not. I do remember my grandfather telling me once that he had a foot/ankle fetish when he was a young man. Hey, whatever floats your boat! I'd rather not stare at other peoples feet, but my gaze is just uncontrollably drawn to them.
Anyway, in light of all the foot problems my husband has had, it has made me painfully aware of everyone elses feet whenever I see someone barefoot or in open-toed shoes. I cringe when I see the bunions and hammertoes, especially on young people.
I realize that some of these are hereditary conditions, beyond their control, but then again, a lot of it is caused by the shoes we wear.
We were at an outdoor wedding last year, and most every young woman there was wearing sandals or open-toed shoes. My eyes were drawn, against my will, to their toes. I cringed at 4 out of every 5 pairs of feet I saw. Almost all of these girls, ranging from 14 to 25 years of age, had one foot problem or another, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for them, and the problems they were going to have later on in life. And yes, most of these girls were also wearing, despite them being sandals (sort of) shoes that just made the problem worse. I can only recall one of these girls having actual sandals that looked comfortable. All the rest were either stilletos (sp?), platform soles, or just a very narrow opening.
So what is your fetish?
I don't want to imply that I'm turned on by looking at other's feet, because I'm not. I do remember my grandfather telling me once that he had a foot/ankle fetish when he was a young man. Hey, whatever floats your boat! I'd rather not stare at other peoples feet, but my gaze is just uncontrollably drawn to them.
Anyway, in light of all the foot problems my husband has had, it has made me painfully aware of everyone elses feet whenever I see someone barefoot or in open-toed shoes. I cringe when I see the bunions and hammertoes, especially on young people.
I realize that some of these are hereditary conditions, beyond their control, but then again, a lot of it is caused by the shoes we wear.
We were at an outdoor wedding last year, and most every young woman there was wearing sandals or open-toed shoes. My eyes were drawn, against my will, to their toes. I cringed at 4 out of every 5 pairs of feet I saw. Almost all of these girls, ranging from 14 to 25 years of age, had one foot problem or another, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for them, and the problems they were going to have later on in life. And yes, most of these girls were also wearing, despite them being sandals (sort of) shoes that just made the problem worse. I can only recall one of these girls having actual sandals that looked comfortable. All the rest were either stilletos (sp?), platform soles, or just a very narrow opening.
So what is your fetish?
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Sense & Sensability
Well I just heard the most ridiculous thing to come down the pike in a long time.
Apparently, nowadays, in order to maintain a sense of fashion, women (I'll presume it to be younger women) are having their 2nd toe on each foot, surgically removed, in order to make their pointy, narrow-toed, shoes fit better.
How insane is that???
Do these women, in an effort to maintain their fashion "sense", truly lack that much common sense that they'd do that to themselves? Do they even have a clue, or a care as to what kind of physical ailments (of the feet) they have in store for them when they get older? And it's all in the name of being "fashionable".
Ugh!, Gross!!!
I'd rather have all 10 toes, perfectly lined up and straight, and wear comfortable shoes than to be fashionable and have ruined feet.
Apparently, nowadays, in order to maintain a sense of fashion, women (I'll presume it to be younger women) are having their 2nd toe on each foot, surgically removed, in order to make their pointy, narrow-toed, shoes fit better.
How insane is that???
Do these women, in an effort to maintain their fashion "sense", truly lack that much common sense that they'd do that to themselves? Do they even have a clue, or a care as to what kind of physical ailments (of the feet) they have in store for them when they get older? And it's all in the name of being "fashionable".
Ugh!, Gross!!!
I'd rather have all 10 toes, perfectly lined up and straight, and wear comfortable shoes than to be fashionable and have ruined feet.
No Soliciting
What part of "No Soliciting" do these door-to-door salesmen(women) not understand?
Or for that matter, just what part of "I'm not interested" are they not understanding?
Monday evening, a car with a Utah license plate parked in our neighborhood. A young man got out and started randomly going door to door. He didn't come to ours, but he did stop out in the street and watch our house for a few moments, commented on Olivia, as I was playing with her out front, then he walked on down a couple of houses and started with his sales-pitch. At that time, I did not know what he was selling, nor did I care. I was just glad he'd by-passed our home.
I never buy anything from people that are selling door-to-door or by way of telemarketing. Never! If I should have want or need for their product, trust me, I'll contact them (or their competitor, if they've made the mistake of bothering me at home).
So after I got home from work yesterday, the husband informed me that this Utah man, Brian, had come a knocking on our door, trying to "give away" free security systems. Free. Yeah, right. My husband is such a sucker for these things. He has absolutely ZERO sales resistance. Makes me crazy. But at least he finally started passing the buck to me, and gives me the task of telling these people NO.
Thanks John.
When he informed me that Brian was going to come back and talk to me, I went into my usual tirade about just saying "no", just like the anti-drug slogan: just say no!
But it's free, my husband whined.
No, it's not free. Oh sure, maybe they'll give us the most basic of equipment and install it for free, but trust me, they'll try to up-grade us... for a fee, and then there's the monitoring service we'd have to pay for. No John, it's not free.
A short while later our doorbell rang and sure enough, it was Brian. As I stood there with a fist around two of the dogs' collars as I held them back, and a third dog standing behind me, their combined weight surpassing 350 pounds, I had the urge to push the screen door open and let the dogs go. Brian started in on his sales pitch and I immediately started shaking my head no and stated, "I'm not interested".
"Well, I understand, with three Great Danes, you probably don't have much need for a burglar alarm, but what if your house catches fire while you're not home?"
Again, "I'm not interested."
With a look of feigned surprise, he said, "Okay then", shook his head and walked away.
Ooh, makes me sooo mad!
Mad that they come knocking on the door in the first place.
Mad that they ignore the No Soliciting signs.
Mad that this man was from Utah (supposedly the corporate office), but couldn't he at least rent a car with KY license plates? I'm sorry, I just don't trust someone from that far away coming into my neighborhood trying to sell me something.
And I was especially mad about his comment about our house burning down with the dogs in it while we were away. I told John, I don't trust that man. I wouldn't' be surprised if he didn't come back and set the place on fire just so he could say "you should've listened to me". Paranoid, aren't I?
Or for that matter, just what part of "I'm not interested" are they not understanding?
Monday evening, a car with a Utah license plate parked in our neighborhood. A young man got out and started randomly going door to door. He didn't come to ours, but he did stop out in the street and watch our house for a few moments, commented on Olivia, as I was playing with her out front, then he walked on down a couple of houses and started with his sales-pitch. At that time, I did not know what he was selling, nor did I care. I was just glad he'd by-passed our home.
I never buy anything from people that are selling door-to-door or by way of telemarketing. Never! If I should have want or need for their product, trust me, I'll contact them (or their competitor, if they've made the mistake of bothering me at home).
So after I got home from work yesterday, the husband informed me that this Utah man, Brian, had come a knocking on our door, trying to "give away" free security systems. Free. Yeah, right. My husband is such a sucker for these things. He has absolutely ZERO sales resistance. Makes me crazy. But at least he finally started passing the buck to me, and gives me the task of telling these people NO.
Thanks John.
When he informed me that Brian was going to come back and talk to me, I went into my usual tirade about just saying "no", just like the anti-drug slogan: just say no!
But it's free, my husband whined.
No, it's not free. Oh sure, maybe they'll give us the most basic of equipment and install it for free, but trust me, they'll try to up-grade us... for a fee, and then there's the monitoring service we'd have to pay for. No John, it's not free.
A short while later our doorbell rang and sure enough, it was Brian. As I stood there with a fist around two of the dogs' collars as I held them back, and a third dog standing behind me, their combined weight surpassing 350 pounds, I had the urge to push the screen door open and let the dogs go. Brian started in on his sales pitch and I immediately started shaking my head no and stated, "I'm not interested".
"Well, I understand, with three Great Danes, you probably don't have much need for a burglar alarm, but what if your house catches fire while you're not home?"
Again, "I'm not interested."
With a look of feigned surprise, he said, "Okay then", shook his head and walked away.
Ooh, makes me sooo mad!
Mad that they come knocking on the door in the first place.
Mad that they ignore the No Soliciting signs.
Mad that this man was from Utah (supposedly the corporate office), but couldn't he at least rent a car with KY license plates? I'm sorry, I just don't trust someone from that far away coming into my neighborhood trying to sell me something.
And I was especially mad about his comment about our house burning down with the dogs in it while we were away. I told John, I don't trust that man. I wouldn't' be surprised if he didn't come back and set the place on fire just so he could say "you should've listened to me". Paranoid, aren't I?
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
My little princess
My sweet little darling was Queen of the Castle and claimed her throne after getting her Canine Good Citizen title. She deserved it, too!
Drum roll please......
Saturday morning, I got up early (for a saturday) and took Olivia over to the Shamrock Acres training facility. They were going to be administering the CGC (Canine Good Citizen) test that morning. As they only do the tests about twice a year, I decided it was now or never.
Olivia was one of four dogs being tested, and she was up first. The pressure was on.
I was a bundle of nerves, but Olivia was cool as a cucumber, oblivious to the special reason for being there.
There are 10 "stations" or individual tests they have to pass. We made it through the first 9 with little problem. The 10th test Beth waited to administer until the 2nd dog had done it's first 9 stations also. The 10th test was the "Three-minute separation" test. This is the one that I really dreaded. Linda (the instructor) took the other dog, Beth took Olivia and they sat on opposite sides of the room. We had to tell our dogs to stay, then go outside for 3 minutes (or until we were called back in). The other dog-mommy and I went outside and I collapsed onto a bench, as my shaking knees would barely hold me. We both admitted we were basket-cases and each of us felt we were about to have a nervous breakdown. We chatted, then suddenly the door opened and they called us back in. We just looked at each other, "it was too soon! This wasn't a good sign."
We walked back in and I declared to Beth, "That wasn't three minutes. I take it that's not a good thing."
"Yes it was, I was timing it."
We were sent to wait in the spectator area while the other 2 dogs tested.
Let me just say, out of the four dogs, only three of them passed.
Now, for the drum roll please..............................
It gives me great delight to tell everyone, especially all of you 'nay-sayers' that either tried to talk us out of getting Olivia, just shook your head with disgust(?), or wanted to put her down because of her "limited abilities", my little baby-girl now has a title after her name.
Olivia is now CGC certified. WOO-HOO!!!!!!!
Our next step is to get her certified with the Delta Society as a therapy pet, but I really don't plan on trying that until after she's turned 2 years old. She still has so much puppy in her that I'd like for her to settle down a little more. But hey!, we made it this far, I've no reason to believe we can't go all the way.
By the way, the dog that failed the test, pooped on the floor. That's an automatic disqualification. Oh, and in case you're wondering what Olivia did during the 3 minutes separation test, she straddled Beth's lap.
Olivia was one of four dogs being tested, and she was up first. The pressure was on.
I was a bundle of nerves, but Olivia was cool as a cucumber, oblivious to the special reason for being there.
There are 10 "stations" or individual tests they have to pass. We made it through the first 9 with little problem. The 10th test Beth waited to administer until the 2nd dog had done it's first 9 stations also. The 10th test was the "Three-minute separation" test. This is the one that I really dreaded. Linda (the instructor) took the other dog, Beth took Olivia and they sat on opposite sides of the room. We had to tell our dogs to stay, then go outside for 3 minutes (or until we were called back in). The other dog-mommy and I went outside and I collapsed onto a bench, as my shaking knees would barely hold me. We both admitted we were basket-cases and each of us felt we were about to have a nervous breakdown. We chatted, then suddenly the door opened and they called us back in. We just looked at each other, "it was too soon! This wasn't a good sign."
We walked back in and I declared to Beth, "That wasn't three minutes. I take it that's not a good thing."
"Yes it was, I was timing it."
We were sent to wait in the spectator area while the other 2 dogs tested.
Let me just say, out of the four dogs, only three of them passed.
Now, for the drum roll please..............................
It gives me great delight to tell everyone, especially all of you 'nay-sayers' that either tried to talk us out of getting Olivia, just shook your head with disgust(?), or wanted to put her down because of her "limited abilities", my little baby-girl now has a title after her name.
Olivia is now CGC certified. WOO-HOO!!!!!!!
Our next step is to get her certified with the Delta Society as a therapy pet, but I really don't plan on trying that until after she's turned 2 years old. She still has so much puppy in her that I'd like for her to settle down a little more. But hey!, we made it this far, I've no reason to believe we can't go all the way.
By the way, the dog that failed the test, pooped on the floor. That's an automatic disqualification. Oh, and in case you're wondering what Olivia did during the 3 minutes separation test, she straddled Beth's lap.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Ludicrous questionaire
I just had to fill out a questionaire of sorts, regarding my medical history for my empolyee medical file. My boss swears no one will see the questionaire, which I then have to think, "okay, then why fill it out if no one will see it?"
But I'll play their game, so I filled it out. Many of these questions were just ludicrous, not to mention redundant.
When they wanted to know my weight, I filled in the blank with "N.O.Y.B." (none of your business).
They asked if I was allergic to any kind of food or medicine.
If I answered "yes", then what causes me to have an allergic reaction to them?.... my answer: eating them
Is that not a stupid question or what?
Am I ever exposed to dust or something else (don't remember exactly) at home. Well Yeah!!
If I answered yes, for what reason am I exposed to them? I don't clean house
Do you ever experience wheezing? Yes, when I get around mouse turds (this is totally true!!)
Finally, the last question on the last page asks: Do you have any other physical complaints?
My answer: Filling out this paperwork
My boss was somewhat dismayed that I'd put such an answer (I said it aloud as I was writing it, that's how he knew), but I had to repeat his own words back to him: nobody is going to read it, so what difference does it make?
But I'll play their game, so I filled it out. Many of these questions were just ludicrous, not to mention redundant.
When they wanted to know my weight, I filled in the blank with "N.O.Y.B." (none of your business).
They asked if I was allergic to any kind of food or medicine.
If I answered "yes", then what causes me to have an allergic reaction to them?.... my answer: eating them
Is that not a stupid question or what?
Am I ever exposed to dust or something else (don't remember exactly) at home. Well Yeah!!
If I answered yes, for what reason am I exposed to them? I don't clean house
Do you ever experience wheezing? Yes, when I get around mouse turds (this is totally true!!)
Finally, the last question on the last page asks: Do you have any other physical complaints?
My answer: Filling out this paperwork
My boss was somewhat dismayed that I'd put such an answer (I said it aloud as I was writing it, that's how he knew), but I had to repeat his own words back to him: nobody is going to read it, so what difference does it make?
The D.O.T.
My daily travels up and down I-71 allow me to see and encounter all sorts of things... I've witnessed accidents, near-misses, maniac drivers, idiot drivers, lot's of deer and some other wildlife, both living and roadkill, police running radar, and of late, the D.O.T. Enforcement vehicle(s) out in force.
For the past week or two, every morning (with the exception of today), I've seen the D.O.T. car pull some unsuspecting trucker over, whether it be for a moving violation, improperly secured cargo, running lights that are burned out, or whatever infraction they can find.
I found out this morning, as my husband prepared to head off to work, that he too had been the victim of the D.O.T. Enforcement car this week.
Over the years, I've often heard my husband lamenting the fact that his company truck barely goes 55 mph. If he's lucky, it might reach 60 mph on a downhill run with a strong wind pushing him along.
So imagine his surprise when the D.O.T. car pulled him over yesterday morning for "speeding". Obviously this car didn't actually have him on radar going that speed, or else the officer would've backed up his claim. Once John was pulled over, the officer told him what the offense was and John just laughed at him and said, "no sir, I don't think so, not in this truck. This truck wouldn't do 65 (much less 74) going downhill in a jetstream".
The officer said he'd take his word for it and let him go on his way.
Now how stupid is that? These enforcement officers pulling drivers over for an offense they didn't commit? I mean, that right there is dangerous, forcing these drivers of big-rigs to have to pull off the interstate, making sure they're far enough over to get out of traffic, yet not too far over so that they get stuck, then have to take off and merge back into traffic. It's dangerous!!
I think these D.O.T. officers need to spend a little more time going after the ones that are in clear violation of some rule, or else driving like the maniacs that so many of them are.
For the past week or two, every morning (with the exception of today), I've seen the D.O.T. car pull some unsuspecting trucker over, whether it be for a moving violation, improperly secured cargo, running lights that are burned out, or whatever infraction they can find.
I found out this morning, as my husband prepared to head off to work, that he too had been the victim of the D.O.T. Enforcement car this week.
Over the years, I've often heard my husband lamenting the fact that his company truck barely goes 55 mph. If he's lucky, it might reach 60 mph on a downhill run with a strong wind pushing him along.
So imagine his surprise when the D.O.T. car pulled him over yesterday morning for "speeding". Obviously this car didn't actually have him on radar going that speed, or else the officer would've backed up his claim. Once John was pulled over, the officer told him what the offense was and John just laughed at him and said, "no sir, I don't think so, not in this truck. This truck wouldn't do 65 (much less 74) going downhill in a jetstream".
The officer said he'd take his word for it and let him go on his way.
Now how stupid is that? These enforcement officers pulling drivers over for an offense they didn't commit? I mean, that right there is dangerous, forcing these drivers of big-rigs to have to pull off the interstate, making sure they're far enough over to get out of traffic, yet not too far over so that they get stuck, then have to take off and merge back into traffic. It's dangerous!!
I think these D.O.T. officers need to spend a little more time going after the ones that are in clear violation of some rule, or else driving like the maniacs that so many of them are.
Tiny Tim
"I had a little turtle, his name was Tiny Tim,
I put him in the bathtub, to see if he could swim.
He drank up all the water, he ate up all the soap,
When I woke up in the morning he had bubbles in his throat."
There, I now pass this little diddy on to you to get stuck in your head, and by doing so, maybe it will finally leave my memory-banks for all time.
I learned that tune from my sister when she was but a small child, and for some ridiculous reason, it's been stuck in my head for over 25 years. Oh, it will leave for a short time, but then something happens (ie, seeing a turtle, hearing the name "Tim", seeing bubbles, whatever!), and the song pops right back into my head.
Arghhhhh!
I put him in the bathtub, to see if he could swim.
He drank up all the water, he ate up all the soap,
When I woke up in the morning he had bubbles in his throat."
There, I now pass this little diddy on to you to get stuck in your head, and by doing so, maybe it will finally leave my memory-banks for all time.
I learned that tune from my sister when she was but a small child, and for some ridiculous reason, it's been stuck in my head for over 25 years. Oh, it will leave for a short time, but then something happens (ie, seeing a turtle, hearing the name "Tim", seeing bubbles, whatever!), and the song pops right back into my head.
Arghhhhh!
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
First harvest
I planted only 2 tomato plants this year, that's quite a scale-back from the 11 or 12 I planted last year. Normally I plant them in the flowerbed surrounding our tree, but this year, I opted for a more out-of-the-way place, and put them at the edge of a small flowerbed situated at the corner of our fence row.
These 2 plants obviously love the new location. We've staked them to the fence, and they've grown to over 5 foot tall. I'm going to have to stake some more branches this evening, as they're starting to sag to the ground under the weight.
We've been watching the tomatoes that are growing on these plants, and they are reaching monsterous proportions. I couldn't tell you what variety of tomato I planted, I just picked a couple of plants, put them in the ground and then crossed my fingers.
This morning, I decided that one of the monsters was red enough to be picked. Besides, it was so heavy, it was resting on the ground, and I didn't want critters invading it. The stem was so thick and tough, I had to drop Olivia's leash and step on it, and use both hands to get the tomato free of the vine. I noticed a couple of others, well hidden by the leaves that were also red, and picked one more, also requiring two hands to break it free.
The larger of the two I was utterly amazed at how huge it was. It was all I could do to balance them in one hand while dragging Olivia back into the house. Once inside, I washed them, then got out my little food scale. The largest of the two pushed the scale all the way to the bottom, which bottoms out at approximately 20 oz. I wonder what the world record is for the largest tomato?
I do actually have about 3 other tomato plants that sprouted, rather unexpectedly in yet another flowerbed. Last year, I pulled a few 'maters off the vine that had splits in them and/or were rotting, and instead of carrying them to the trash, I just hurled them across the yard into the circular bed out front. I guess some of the seeds survived the mild winter we had and took root, as those plants are now about 4 foot high. I'm going to have tomatoes coming out my ears.
I think I'll fix B.L.T.'s for dinner tonight, just so I can try my first harvest of the season. :)
These 2 plants obviously love the new location. We've staked them to the fence, and they've grown to over 5 foot tall. I'm going to have to stake some more branches this evening, as they're starting to sag to the ground under the weight.
We've been watching the tomatoes that are growing on these plants, and they are reaching monsterous proportions. I couldn't tell you what variety of tomato I planted, I just picked a couple of plants, put them in the ground and then crossed my fingers.
This morning, I decided that one of the monsters was red enough to be picked. Besides, it was so heavy, it was resting on the ground, and I didn't want critters invading it. The stem was so thick and tough, I had to drop Olivia's leash and step on it, and use both hands to get the tomato free of the vine. I noticed a couple of others, well hidden by the leaves that were also red, and picked one more, also requiring two hands to break it free.
The larger of the two I was utterly amazed at how huge it was. It was all I could do to balance them in one hand while dragging Olivia back into the house. Once inside, I washed them, then got out my little food scale. The largest of the two pushed the scale all the way to the bottom, which bottoms out at approximately 20 oz. I wonder what the world record is for the largest tomato?
I do actually have about 3 other tomato plants that sprouted, rather unexpectedly in yet another flowerbed. Last year, I pulled a few 'maters off the vine that had splits in them and/or were rotting, and instead of carrying them to the trash, I just hurled them across the yard into the circular bed out front. I guess some of the seeds survived the mild winter we had and took root, as those plants are now about 4 foot high. I'm going to have tomatoes coming out my ears.
I think I'll fix B.L.T.'s for dinner tonight, just so I can try my first harvest of the season. :)
Goofy computer
Either my computer is acting goofy today, or the internet is. Either way, it's frustrating.
Each time I've gone in to check my email, it tells me I have 3 new messages waiting, yet when I get to the inbox, there's nothing there. I even shut the computer down and rebooted it and still got the same message.
I left a comment to a friends blog, yet when I checked back on her blogsite, it said there were zero comments posted. I knew I had typed a comment, so I clicked on the comments line and sure enough, my comment popped up.
So what gives? Has the computer or the internet suddenly lost the ability to count?
Each time I've gone in to check my email, it tells me I have 3 new messages waiting, yet when I get to the inbox, there's nothing there. I even shut the computer down and rebooted it and still got the same message.
I left a comment to a friends blog, yet when I checked back on her blogsite, it said there were zero comments posted. I knew I had typed a comment, so I clicked on the comments line and sure enough, my comment popped up.
So what gives? Has the computer or the internet suddenly lost the ability to count?
I have a snake in my house
Apparently, I have a snake in my house.
Now under normal circumstances, that would be cause for me to put the house on the market and move. But this snake, I think I'll keep around.
As I was standing at the kitchen counter this morning, eating my blueberry toaster pastries, Olivia was standing up against me, her head resting on the kitchen counter, eyeing the small plate that held the pastries, and was just beyond her reach. Everytime I forked a portion up to my mouth, her eyes would attempt to follow the forks movement, without raising her head (this is difficult for her as she has very little capability of moving her eyes), but her chin never left it's resting place on the counter. I started noticing that every few moments, her tongue would dart out as if to "taste" the air, just like a snake would do.
She wasn't licking her chops, nor was she licking her nose, she was just licking the air.
I finally bent down to rest my chin on the counter next to hers and told her (not that she heard me) that under no circumstances was she getting a bite. She just continued to taste the air.
Yep, I'll keep my fuzzy-white snake around for a while.
Now under normal circumstances, that would be cause for me to put the house on the market and move. But this snake, I think I'll keep around.
As I was standing at the kitchen counter this morning, eating my blueberry toaster pastries, Olivia was standing up against me, her head resting on the kitchen counter, eyeing the small plate that held the pastries, and was just beyond her reach. Everytime I forked a portion up to my mouth, her eyes would attempt to follow the forks movement, without raising her head (this is difficult for her as she has very little capability of moving her eyes), but her chin never left it's resting place on the counter. I started noticing that every few moments, her tongue would dart out as if to "taste" the air, just like a snake would do.
She wasn't licking her chops, nor was she licking her nose, she was just licking the air.
I finally bent down to rest my chin on the counter next to hers and told her (not that she heard me) that under no circumstances was she getting a bite. She just continued to taste the air.
Yep, I'll keep my fuzzy-white snake around for a while.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Dry Cleaning update
I thought it was time to update everyone on my continuing dry-cleaning saga.
I don't recall what I last told you, and I'm too lazy to go back and look, so bear with me if I repeat myself.
The 4th of July holiday weekend, I returned some items to Kohls that had shrunk in the wash, much like everything else that comes from that store. While there, I asked about the possibility of returning the pants the dry-cleaners had shrunk. They said, "no problem, just bring them back."
Okay, fine, great, but I don't have a receipt, and I don't remember when I bought them.
Oh, well, that's a different story. I could still bring them back, but I'd get the most recently discounted price, and, as one clerk told me, I'd likely only get .50 - $1.00 for them.
WHAT??? I don't think so!
So I stopped at the cleaners last week to see what they'd decided to do to compensate me for my pants. The woman said they'd been waiting on me to see what I wanted to do. Gimme a break!! I told them Kohl's wasn't going to take them back w/out a receipt. She said she'd send the matter back "downtown" and to check back on friday.
I didn't make it back in there 'til today and she said they'd tried "stretching them out some more", so I took them in the back and tried them on again. Oh, they stretched them out alright. The length was almost what it was before. Not quite as long, but they were an acceptable length. I could still get them zipped up, so the waist wasn't a problem.
But I just shook my head and walked out to show her. They looked like a pair of leggings, they were so tight around my thighs and belly. They hugged every curve. I just looked at her, "I would not wear pants like this on purpose. This is not how they should be."
This time she had me fill out a claim form with a guestimate of how much the pants cost me. I could only hazard guess. She was going to turn it into the the "downtown office". I asked, "what about the amount I paid for the drycleaning?" Oh yes, must add that to the claim.
I'm thinking, why not just go on and give me that amount back?
So that's where I'm at with my shrunken pants.
Grrrr
I don't recall what I last told you, and I'm too lazy to go back and look, so bear with me if I repeat myself.
The 4th of July holiday weekend, I returned some items to Kohls that had shrunk in the wash, much like everything else that comes from that store. While there, I asked about the possibility of returning the pants the dry-cleaners had shrunk. They said, "no problem, just bring them back."
Okay, fine, great, but I don't have a receipt, and I don't remember when I bought them.
Oh, well, that's a different story. I could still bring them back, but I'd get the most recently discounted price, and, as one clerk told me, I'd likely only get .50 - $1.00 for them.
WHAT??? I don't think so!
So I stopped at the cleaners last week to see what they'd decided to do to compensate me for my pants. The woman said they'd been waiting on me to see what I wanted to do. Gimme a break!! I told them Kohl's wasn't going to take them back w/out a receipt. She said she'd send the matter back "downtown" and to check back on friday.
I didn't make it back in there 'til today and she said they'd tried "stretching them out some more", so I took them in the back and tried them on again. Oh, they stretched them out alright. The length was almost what it was before. Not quite as long, but they were an acceptable length. I could still get them zipped up, so the waist wasn't a problem.
But I just shook my head and walked out to show her. They looked like a pair of leggings, they were so tight around my thighs and belly. They hugged every curve. I just looked at her, "I would not wear pants like this on purpose. This is not how they should be."
This time she had me fill out a claim form with a guestimate of how much the pants cost me. I could only hazard guess. She was going to turn it into the the "downtown office". I asked, "what about the amount I paid for the drycleaning?" Oh yes, must add that to the claim.
I'm thinking, why not just go on and give me that amount back?
So that's where I'm at with my shrunken pants.
Grrrr
Not your average dumb dog
I meant to blog this a couple of weeks ago, but it kept slipping my mind.
Back at the first of the month, I stopped in the vets office to pick up some Heartgard for the babies. Before leaving I asked, "doesn't one of my kids get shots this month?" The vet looked it up and confirmed that Olivia was due. I said, "I'll save you the postage of sending out a reminder and go ahead and schedule the appointment." We set the date for the 15th.
About a week or so later a card came in the mail to remind us Olivia was due for vaccinations. So much for saving him some postage!
John had gotten the mail that day and layed it on the dining room table for me to look at when I got home. However, before I could do so, Olivia had rummaged through the mail, picked out that reminder card, and chewed it up into several pieces which she promptly scattered around the living room.
I can only assume she was trying to get out of going to the vet. Little did she know I'd already made the appointment.
I'm sure it was only coincidence that she chose that piece of mail to eat. But it makes you wonder....
Back at the first of the month, I stopped in the vets office to pick up some Heartgard for the babies. Before leaving I asked, "doesn't one of my kids get shots this month?" The vet looked it up and confirmed that Olivia was due. I said, "I'll save you the postage of sending out a reminder and go ahead and schedule the appointment." We set the date for the 15th.
About a week or so later a card came in the mail to remind us Olivia was due for vaccinations. So much for saving him some postage!
John had gotten the mail that day and layed it on the dining room table for me to look at when I got home. However, before I could do so, Olivia had rummaged through the mail, picked out that reminder card, and chewed it up into several pieces which she promptly scattered around the living room.
I can only assume she was trying to get out of going to the vet. Little did she know I'd already made the appointment.
I'm sure it was only coincidence that she chose that piece of mail to eat. But it makes you wonder....
Inquiring Minds
Inquiring minds want to know...
*I have to plead ignorance here I suppose, but why on earth would anyone want to vacation in some of these middle-eastern countries (unless they were originally from there and were going back to visit relatives)???? And what are these universities teaching over there that can't be learned at American colleges, and that seem to be drawing so many American students over there?
I just don't get it!!
The news keeps claiming there are some 25,000 Americans trapped in Israel/Lebanon. I kept help but wonder: why were so many of them there in the first place??????
Inquiring minds want to know... (and this one is a tad harsh, I realize)
Why is it that every time 2 foreign countries, or for that matter, 2 different religions within one foreign country, or 2 different political parties, etc... start fighting with one another, dropping bombs, and such, that America (or at least, our politicians) feels the need to intervene? As long as they aren't aiming their missiles in our direction, then let them blow themselves up.
I say, if those people want to fight with one another, then let them.
*I have to plead ignorance here I suppose, but why on earth would anyone want to vacation in some of these middle-eastern countries (unless they were originally from there and were going back to visit relatives)???? And what are these universities teaching over there that can't be learned at American colleges, and that seem to be drawing so many American students over there?
I just don't get it!!
The news keeps claiming there are some 25,000 Americans trapped in Israel/Lebanon. I kept help but wonder: why were so many of them there in the first place??????
Inquiring minds want to know... (and this one is a tad harsh, I realize)
Why is it that every time 2 foreign countries, or for that matter, 2 different religions within one foreign country, or 2 different political parties, etc... start fighting with one another, dropping bombs, and such, that America (or at least, our politicians) feels the need to intervene? As long as they aren't aiming their missiles in our direction, then let them blow themselves up.
I say, if those people want to fight with one another, then let them.
Wasted days & wasted nights...
Sounds like the lyrics to a good tune doesn't it?
However, in this case, it refers to my husband. Yep, I'm getting ready to dump on him. I've already raised a ruckus with him to his face, but I feel the need to vent a little more, so here goes...
My parents are in the process of moving into a new house. Their closing was monday morning, but they spent sunday loading up the moving truck. I gave them strict instructions not to do any heavy lifting until John & I could get there to help, but my warning went unheeded. By the time we got there, they were finished for the day. So that was basically a wasted trip over there. We visited for a short while, and arrived back home between 4:30 & 5pm. I took care of the children while John started working on the lawn. It was awfully hot out that afternoon, so by the time he was done, he was miserably hot & tired. He got in the pool briefly, to cool off.
Afterwards, despite my disapproval, he went to the firehouse to wash/wax his car, with the empty promise of not staying out too late, as he knew he had to go help my parents move in the next day.
Just as I expected, his promise to come home at a decent time wasn't kept, and he arrived home around 7am, but only after I'd called and chewed him out for staying out all night. He arrived home and got in bed. I set 4 alarms to wake him up at 9:20, so he could get over to their house at a reasonable time. As he was going to use my car to help move, I drove his shiny clean car to work.
After I got off work, fed the kids, and changed clothes, I headed to Indiana to help with the move. We worked until shortly after 8pm and I finally convinced John we needed to leave, as it was approaching bedtime, and he was already dead on his feet. We left, I in my car, he in his, me in the lead, he followed.
As we drove down the windy country road that would take us out to the highway, I occassionally glanced in my rearview mirror, just to make sure he was still back there. Apparently though, between one of my glances, I missed his little mishap...
Less than a mile after leaving their house, he ran off the road, into a shallow ditch full of muck from the recent storm friday night, and covered his newly washed/waxed car with mud, sludge and ooze that resembled cow manure. All that effort spent cleaning it the night before... wasted!! And for what? So he could look good as he nearly wrecked the car, possibly killing himself and whoever might've been in the way?
Oh!, I could just scream!!!!!!
As I said, I missed seeing this happen. After we got out onto the highway, he called me on my cell and told me he needed to pull off at the Sav-a-step. Once there he told me what had happened after I saw all the mud. Needless to say, he got a severe tongue-lashing on the spot. Then he got another one after we got home.
Why John, do you do these stupid things? You know you needed to sleep so you could help them move? His response: "I don't know, just stupid I guess." Well, don't expect an arguement from me on this subject.
The man lives in a perpetual state of sleep-deprivation, but he brings most of it upon himself. It's like having a 46 year old 6 year old... I have to tell him to go to bed every evening, and half the time it's an arguement to get him to go by 9:30. I bet parents of young children don't have as much of a battle on their hands as I do. Who needs children?, I've got John.
However, in this case, it refers to my husband. Yep, I'm getting ready to dump on him. I've already raised a ruckus with him to his face, but I feel the need to vent a little more, so here goes...
My parents are in the process of moving into a new house. Their closing was monday morning, but they spent sunday loading up the moving truck. I gave them strict instructions not to do any heavy lifting until John & I could get there to help, but my warning went unheeded. By the time we got there, they were finished for the day. So that was basically a wasted trip over there. We visited for a short while, and arrived back home between 4:30 & 5pm. I took care of the children while John started working on the lawn. It was awfully hot out that afternoon, so by the time he was done, he was miserably hot & tired. He got in the pool briefly, to cool off.
Afterwards, despite my disapproval, he went to the firehouse to wash/wax his car, with the empty promise of not staying out too late, as he knew he had to go help my parents move in the next day.
Just as I expected, his promise to come home at a decent time wasn't kept, and he arrived home around 7am, but only after I'd called and chewed him out for staying out all night. He arrived home and got in bed. I set 4 alarms to wake him up at 9:20, so he could get over to their house at a reasonable time. As he was going to use my car to help move, I drove his shiny clean car to work.
After I got off work, fed the kids, and changed clothes, I headed to Indiana to help with the move. We worked until shortly after 8pm and I finally convinced John we needed to leave, as it was approaching bedtime, and he was already dead on his feet. We left, I in my car, he in his, me in the lead, he followed.
As we drove down the windy country road that would take us out to the highway, I occassionally glanced in my rearview mirror, just to make sure he was still back there. Apparently though, between one of my glances, I missed his little mishap...
Less than a mile after leaving their house, he ran off the road, into a shallow ditch full of muck from the recent storm friday night, and covered his newly washed/waxed car with mud, sludge and ooze that resembled cow manure. All that effort spent cleaning it the night before... wasted!! And for what? So he could look good as he nearly wrecked the car, possibly killing himself and whoever might've been in the way?
Oh!, I could just scream!!!!!!
As I said, I missed seeing this happen. After we got out onto the highway, he called me on my cell and told me he needed to pull off at the Sav-a-step. Once there he told me what had happened after I saw all the mud. Needless to say, he got a severe tongue-lashing on the spot. Then he got another one after we got home.
Why John, do you do these stupid things? You know you needed to sleep so you could help them move? His response: "I don't know, just stupid I guess." Well, don't expect an arguement from me on this subject.
The man lives in a perpetual state of sleep-deprivation, but he brings most of it upon himself. It's like having a 46 year old 6 year old... I have to tell him to go to bed every evening, and half the time it's an arguement to get him to go by 9:30. I bet parents of young children don't have as much of a battle on their hands as I do. Who needs children?, I've got John.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Eating money
Friday night, I needed to run to the Sam's Club to pick up some items for the office. Before leaving work that day, I had taken $96 out of petty cash, stuck it in an envelope along with the shopping list. After I arrived home, I laid the envelope on the kitchen counter. A couple of hours later, as I prepared my own shopping list, I stuck the envelope (or so I thought) in my purse.
Apparently I was mistaken.
When I arrived at Sam's, I couldn't find the envelope anywhere. Shoot!! Now what? Drive all the way back home to get it? With the price of gas, not on your life!!
I did my best to remember what items I needed for the office, and wrote a personal check. I'd just get the money back from the petty cash funds.
When I arrived home, I was greeted with a scene that made me instantly ill. One of my children (& I can eliminate Olivia as she was in her crate), and I have a pretty good idea which wiggle-butt child is responsible, had helped herself to the envelope off the kitchen counter, carried it into the living room, where she promptly took all the green-backs out of the envelope and proceeded to chew on them and scatter them around the room.
I would imagine it was much like a human that had just won the lottery, cashed in their ticket, thrown all their winnings on their bed, and then rolled around on it.
Yes, I had visions of Bootsy chewing on the bills, then rolling around in the money that was spread across the carpet.
I immediately dropped to my knees and pieced together the envelope, so I could see the dollar amount I'd written on the front, and know how much I needed to look for.
Blessedly, I found each and every dollar, and blessedly, none was chewed up too badly. Nothing had to be taped.
But I just looked at her and said, "That was about 4 bags worth of dogfood you tried to eat!"
Apparently I was mistaken.
When I arrived at Sam's, I couldn't find the envelope anywhere. Shoot!! Now what? Drive all the way back home to get it? With the price of gas, not on your life!!
I did my best to remember what items I needed for the office, and wrote a personal check. I'd just get the money back from the petty cash funds.
When I arrived home, I was greeted with a scene that made me instantly ill. One of my children (& I can eliminate Olivia as she was in her crate), and I have a pretty good idea which wiggle-butt child is responsible, had helped herself to the envelope off the kitchen counter, carried it into the living room, where she promptly took all the green-backs out of the envelope and proceeded to chew on them and scatter them around the room.
I would imagine it was much like a human that had just won the lottery, cashed in their ticket, thrown all their winnings on their bed, and then rolled around on it.
Yes, I had visions of Bootsy chewing on the bills, then rolling around in the money that was spread across the carpet.
I immediately dropped to my knees and pieced together the envelope, so I could see the dollar amount I'd written on the front, and know how much I needed to look for.
Blessedly, I found each and every dollar, and blessedly, none was chewed up too badly. Nothing had to be taped.
But I just looked at her and said, "That was about 4 bags worth of dogfood you tried to eat!"
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Deflating tire
The husband & I decided to go out for dinner this evening. We decided on El Tarasco on LaGrange Rd., as we hadn't been there for a while. It wasn't friday, so our discount card was valid, and it wasn't monday, so our favorite waiter should be there. We hadn't been in about 3 months, so we were looking forward to the meal.
Our waiter, David, saw us as soon as we got out of our car, and was directing us to a booth in his section before the hostess could even greet us. When we first sat down, the booth behind each of us was empty, but only a few moments passed before a young couple plopped down in the booth behind me. They had with them their two young (under 5 years old) sons, and their daughter (under 2). These three children proceeded to screech, squeal, scream at the top of their lungs, off and on for the next 45 minutes. Each time one would start to raise a ruckus, one of the parents would start shhhhhhhhhhhhh.
After a while, I was sure there was a tire leaking air behind me, as the shhhhhhhhhh never seemed to stop.
A couple of times I had to check and make sure there wasn't blood running out of my ears, as the shreaks these children let out nearly burst my eardrums on more than one occassion. At one point, the father started to sound like a broken record with his repeated threats & questions to one of the boys: Do you want to leave? Do you want to leave? Do you want to leave? Do you want to go home & watch a movie? Do you want to go home & watch a movie? Do you want to go home & watch a movie?
Then the kicking of the seat began, which made my seat jump everytime they kicked it.
Yeah, this was an enjoyable meal.... NOT!!
I told John that from now on, I'm going to make it a point to get a stand-alone table, and refuse to ever sit in a booth again, just for the sake of not being jostled everytime the person behind me moves around.
But honestly now, and I don't mean to offend those of you that are parents, but why allow that kind of behavior to go on? If my sister or I had acted like that in a restaurant (I don't care how young we were), our parents would've taken us out of there post-haste.
How enjoyable could the meal have been for those parents if they were constantly spraying their food all over each other each time they went SHHHHHHHHHHH ?
Our waiter, David, saw us as soon as we got out of our car, and was directing us to a booth in his section before the hostess could even greet us. When we first sat down, the booth behind each of us was empty, but only a few moments passed before a young couple plopped down in the booth behind me. They had with them their two young (under 5 years old) sons, and their daughter (under 2). These three children proceeded to screech, squeal, scream at the top of their lungs, off and on for the next 45 minutes. Each time one would start to raise a ruckus, one of the parents would start shhhhhhhhhhhhh.
After a while, I was sure there was a tire leaking air behind me, as the shhhhhhhhhh never seemed to stop.
A couple of times I had to check and make sure there wasn't blood running out of my ears, as the shreaks these children let out nearly burst my eardrums on more than one occassion. At one point, the father started to sound like a broken record with his repeated threats & questions to one of the boys: Do you want to leave? Do you want to leave? Do you want to leave? Do you want to go home & watch a movie? Do you want to go home & watch a movie? Do you want to go home & watch a movie?
Then the kicking of the seat began, which made my seat jump everytime they kicked it.
Yeah, this was an enjoyable meal.... NOT!!
I told John that from now on, I'm going to make it a point to get a stand-alone table, and refuse to ever sit in a booth again, just for the sake of not being jostled everytime the person behind me moves around.
But honestly now, and I don't mean to offend those of you that are parents, but why allow that kind of behavior to go on? If my sister or I had acted like that in a restaurant (I don't care how young we were), our parents would've taken us out of there post-haste.
How enjoyable could the meal have been for those parents if they were constantly spraying their food all over each other each time they went SHHHHHHHHHHH ?
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Repetitive dream
Over the past couple of weeks, I've had a dream, no less than 3 times. I don't think I've ever had anything like that happen to me, a repeating dream that is, so needless to say, it has me slightly un-nerved.
The dream isn't exactly the same each and every time, but the scenario is pretty much the same:
Bootsy (our black dane) ends up in our swimming pool.
Now whether she's falling in, jumping in, or what, I don't know. All I know is she's in the pool.
We've never had a problem with her trying to get in it before, so I don't know why I keep dreaming this over and over. I hope this isn't some kind of premonition.
The dream isn't exactly the same each and every time, but the scenario is pretty much the same:
Bootsy (our black dane) ends up in our swimming pool.
Now whether she's falling in, jumping in, or what, I don't know. All I know is she's in the pool.
We've never had a problem with her trying to get in it before, so I don't know why I keep dreaming this over and over. I hope this isn't some kind of premonition.
A kick in the pants
A few weeks ago, our companies website announced that they had acquired company "XYZ". This meant nothing to me, as I'd never heard of company XYZ. I just mentally rolled my eyes and thought, "woopty-doo".
So this morning, a memo comes across the fax machine that gives a little more detail about the acquisition. In all honesty, I normally place all such things either on someone else's desk, or in file 13 after I give it the briefest perusals. For whatever reason though, I stopped to read this one today. Boy, am I glad (or maybe sorry, I'm not sure) I did.
After reading the memo, I discovered that company XYZ used to be called company "ABC". I used to work for company ABC!!!
I started working at the cemetery in 1992. Four years later, in 1996, company ABC came in and bought our cemetery (& several others around the state). My previous years at the cemetery was grand-fathered in, and I immediately became a 4-year employee of ABC.
Then in 2001 (I think), ABC sold the cemeteries in our state to the company "A BUNCH OF MORONS". This was not a happy time for me, in more ways than one.
In 2003, A Bunch of Morons terminated my employment under the excuse of "downsizing"... yeah, whatever!
Anyway, so now company ABC/XYZ is a part of the company I'm now working for. I'd sure like to take my previous 8 years with ABC and be able to tack them onto my 3 1/2 years here.
I seriously doubt my current employer is going to do squat about it, but it would be nice to get that extra weeks vacation and possible increase in pay, not to mention seniority over some people. Hey, I can dream can't I?
It's such a kick in the pants in my opinion.
So this morning, a memo comes across the fax machine that gives a little more detail about the acquisition. In all honesty, I normally place all such things either on someone else's desk, or in file 13 after I give it the briefest perusals. For whatever reason though, I stopped to read this one today. Boy, am I glad (or maybe sorry, I'm not sure) I did.
After reading the memo, I discovered that company XYZ used to be called company "ABC". I used to work for company ABC!!!
I started working at the cemetery in 1992. Four years later, in 1996, company ABC came in and bought our cemetery (& several others around the state). My previous years at the cemetery was grand-fathered in, and I immediately became a 4-year employee of ABC.
Then in 2001 (I think), ABC sold the cemeteries in our state to the company "A BUNCH OF MORONS". This was not a happy time for me, in more ways than one.
In 2003, A Bunch of Morons terminated my employment under the excuse of "downsizing"... yeah, whatever!
Anyway, so now company ABC/XYZ is a part of the company I'm now working for. I'd sure like to take my previous 8 years with ABC and be able to tack them onto my 3 1/2 years here.
I seriously doubt my current employer is going to do squat about it, but it would be nice to get that extra weeks vacation and possible increase in pay, not to mention seniority over some people. Hey, I can dream can't I?
It's such a kick in the pants in my opinion.
Taking offense
This weekend is the annual "Oldham County Days", which I suppose, is the kick-off to the Oldham County Fair later in the week. There will be a parade on saturday, and other activities around town. I've never attended either event, despite my boss urging me to.
Am I going to get paid for coming out? Am I going to get paid mileage for driving all the way out here?
No to both questions. Okay then, I don't think I'll be there.
I'm not big on parades anyway. Much like firework shows... to me, you've seen one, you've seen them all.
And I suppose because I was in my fair share of parades back when I was in school, I got burned-out on them.
Anyway...
I'm always griping (big shock!) about not being able to bring my pet to work. That's when the boss says, "bring them out on saturday to watch the parade." (hence me asking if I would get paid or at the very least, mileage).
So yesterday afternoon, the minister from the church next door stopped into to hand out some fliers announcing that his church would have music, and cold bottle water (shouldn't that be 'cold bottled' water??)
I said, "sorry, I can't attend. If I were to come out on saturday, I'd have my dog with me, and I'm sure you wouldn't allow a dog in your church."
His response (this is where I get offended): "tie it up out by the railroad tracks"
**GASP!!** Did I hear him correctly? Yes, unfortunately I did.
"No, no, no, NO! I don't think so." I had to promptly turn my back to the man.
Okay, I admit, not everyone is a dog lover. But to insinuate tying my beloved 4-legged child up to the R/R trax? Yikes! What kind of minister is this fellow? Even if he didn't mean "tie it to the tracks" so a train could run it over, why would someone want to tie their pet up anywhere close to a R/R crossing? An oncoming train would terrify & traumatize a dog to death, and besides, what's to stop someone from coming along and stealing it?
I just lost any respect I may have had for the man.
Am I going to get paid for coming out? Am I going to get paid mileage for driving all the way out here?
No to both questions. Okay then, I don't think I'll be there.
I'm not big on parades anyway. Much like firework shows... to me, you've seen one, you've seen them all.
And I suppose because I was in my fair share of parades back when I was in school, I got burned-out on them.
Anyway...
I'm always griping (big shock!) about not being able to bring my pet to work. That's when the boss says, "bring them out on saturday to watch the parade." (hence me asking if I would get paid or at the very least, mileage).
So yesterday afternoon, the minister from the church next door stopped into to hand out some fliers announcing that his church would have music, and cold bottle water (shouldn't that be 'cold bottled' water??)
I said, "sorry, I can't attend. If I were to come out on saturday, I'd have my dog with me, and I'm sure you wouldn't allow a dog in your church."
His response (this is where I get offended): "tie it up out by the railroad tracks"
**GASP!!** Did I hear him correctly? Yes, unfortunately I did.
"No, no, no, NO! I don't think so." I had to promptly turn my back to the man.
Okay, I admit, not everyone is a dog lover. But to insinuate tying my beloved 4-legged child up to the R/R trax? Yikes! What kind of minister is this fellow? Even if he didn't mean "tie it to the tracks" so a train could run it over, why would someone want to tie their pet up anywhere close to a R/R crossing? An oncoming train would terrify & traumatize a dog to death, and besides, what's to stop someone from coming along and stealing it?
I just lost any respect I may have had for the man.
Supply & Demand
I was flipping through a catalog of catalogs that had come in the mail yesterday, just marveling at the variety of things there are actually catalogs for. I'm sure many of you have probably received this same catalog "Shop At Home Catalogs" Catalog...?
Anyway, I saw at least two different catalogs advertised for Medieval items, one in particular being clothing from the medieval period. Okay, I wasn't aware there was a big demand for medieval clothing. But I suppose, much like these ridiculous strip-malls that keeping popping up on every available parcel of land, if you build it, they will come. So if you sell it (the medieval clothing that is), they will buy it.
Anyway, I saw at least two different catalogs advertised for Medieval items, one in particular being clothing from the medieval period. Okay, I wasn't aware there was a big demand for medieval clothing. But I suppose, much like these ridiculous strip-malls that keeping popping up on every available parcel of land, if you build it, they will come. So if you sell it (the medieval clothing that is), they will buy it.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Inquiring Minds
Inquiring minds want to know...
Have you ever seen a pink lemon?
I haven't.
So what is pink lemon-ade made from?
Have you ever seen a pink lemon?
I haven't.
So what is pink lemon-ade made from?
The best laid plans
I went to the grocery last night with the intent of just purchasing a couple of loaves of bread, and some cheese from the deli.
Needless to say, that didn't happen.
I left after spending over $87 and getting only 1 loaf of bread, and, the deli was out of stock on the cheese I wanted.
I picked up some meat, among that a pound of bacon. My thought was that BLT's later in the week sounded good. But by the time I got to the check-out, I noticed the packaging wasn't quite right. Bacon is usually sealed up pretty darned tight. This stuff was all loose, and I feared for our safety, and handed it over to the cashier to dispose of, along with the 2nd loaf of bread which I discovered had a tear in the plastic. Didn't want stale bread.
I had stopped at the vitamin aisle to pick up some cranberry pills for Olivia, as she was almost out. While I scoured over the selection, my eyes landed on the calcium supplements. Hmmm, even though I think I'm in the clear with the osteoporosis stuff, it wouldn't kill me to take a supplement, and perhaps ward off any chance of it in the future.
So I looked over the calcium choices. I hate taking pills, so my eyes shifted to the chewables. Hmm, choc-mint, caramel, lemon, and some other flavor. The caramel sounded pretty good, so I picked up a box. Here is where a little truth in advertising would help. They had an artists rendition of what the caramel flavored chew looked like on the box. Had they actually had a picture, I'd probably not bought them.
This morning I opened the box, broke off one of the foil covered pieces, unwrapped it and immediately noticed it didn't resemble a caramel. Oh, it was the color of caramel, but that's where the similarity ended. It was like eating a Twix bar, in consistency that is. The inside was almost crunchy, not quite, but almost, and the outside was covered in a soft candy coating. And, I might add, this thing tasted nothing like any caramel I've ever eaten. It was more like a maple/butter cream candy. Blech!! It was all I could do to finish the piece and then wash the after-taste down with lemonade.
Oh well, so much for my calcium supplements. My intentions were good.
Needless to say, that didn't happen.
I left after spending over $87 and getting only 1 loaf of bread, and, the deli was out of stock on the cheese I wanted.
I picked up some meat, among that a pound of bacon. My thought was that BLT's later in the week sounded good. But by the time I got to the check-out, I noticed the packaging wasn't quite right. Bacon is usually sealed up pretty darned tight. This stuff was all loose, and I feared for our safety, and handed it over to the cashier to dispose of, along with the 2nd loaf of bread which I discovered had a tear in the plastic. Didn't want stale bread.
I had stopped at the vitamin aisle to pick up some cranberry pills for Olivia, as she was almost out. While I scoured over the selection, my eyes landed on the calcium supplements. Hmmm, even though I think I'm in the clear with the osteoporosis stuff, it wouldn't kill me to take a supplement, and perhaps ward off any chance of it in the future.
So I looked over the calcium choices. I hate taking pills, so my eyes shifted to the chewables. Hmm, choc-mint, caramel, lemon, and some other flavor. The caramel sounded pretty good, so I picked up a box. Here is where a little truth in advertising would help. They had an artists rendition of what the caramel flavored chew looked like on the box. Had they actually had a picture, I'd probably not bought them.
This morning I opened the box, broke off one of the foil covered pieces, unwrapped it and immediately noticed it didn't resemble a caramel. Oh, it was the color of caramel, but that's where the similarity ended. It was like eating a Twix bar, in consistency that is. The inside was almost crunchy, not quite, but almost, and the outside was covered in a soft candy coating. And, I might add, this thing tasted nothing like any caramel I've ever eaten. It was more like a maple/butter cream candy. Blech!! It was all I could do to finish the piece and then wash the after-taste down with lemonade.
Oh well, so much for my calcium supplements. My intentions were good.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Bone test done
Finally, after a two week delay, I got my bone density test done this morning. Totally painless. Well, except for having to lie flat on my back, that was a killer.
The lady that performed the test said my bones looked to be in good shape, but the radiologist would have the final say, so I'm feeling somewhat confident that I may not slump over like a jelly fish any time soon.
We (the technician & I) can only attribute my sister's misfortune in having been diagnosed with osteoporosis to her having had a hysterectomy at an early age... and to think I used to considered her somewhat fortunate. Not so now. I'll just continue to suffer from a woman's monthly curse and happily keep my bones in tact.
The lady that performed the test said my bones looked to be in good shape, but the radiologist would have the final say, so I'm feeling somewhat confident that I may not slump over like a jelly fish any time soon.
We (the technician & I) can only attribute my sister's misfortune in having been diagnosed with osteoporosis to her having had a hysterectomy at an early age... and to think I used to considered her somewhat fortunate. Not so now. I'll just continue to suffer from a woman's monthly curse and happily keep my bones in tact.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Going senile
I'm growing older by the moment, as we all are. But I think my old age, nay, senility, are zooming towards me at a frightening speed.
Recently, upon gazing into the mirrow while applying make-up (yes, I do wear it from time to time), I noticed that the age spots have started gathering in little cliques. No longer do they resemble cute little freckles, scattered across my nose. Now they're more like small birthmarks, splotched on my cheekbones. Were those there a month ago? When did they appear?
Then this morning I have somehow managed to misplace a stack of 4x6 photo paper. I had it lying right in front of me, next to the computer, and now it's gone. I've searched EVERYWHERE!, including the trash can, but simply can not find it. Now I'm beginning to doubt my sanity... did I actually have the paper to begin with?, maybe I imagined it!
Recently, upon gazing into the mirrow while applying make-up (yes, I do wear it from time to time), I noticed that the age spots have started gathering in little cliques. No longer do they resemble cute little freckles, scattered across my nose. Now they're more like small birthmarks, splotched on my cheekbones. Were those there a month ago? When did they appear?
Then this morning I have somehow managed to misplace a stack of 4x6 photo paper. I had it lying right in front of me, next to the computer, and now it's gone. I've searched EVERYWHERE!, including the trash can, but simply can not find it. Now I'm beginning to doubt my sanity... did I actually have the paper to begin with?, maybe I imagined it!
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Left holding the bag
Yesterday, Olivia discovered one of the drawbacks to being a deaf child... you get left holding the bag, literally.
I had a freshly opened bag of Fiddle-Faddle on the counter. We were preparing to go to a baseball game and I had sampled the goods, trying to decide if I wanted to sneak the contriband into the game via my backpack. As I hadn't made up my mind, I left it lying on the counter and went outside to perform some little task. I came back into the house and heard the crinkling of the foil bag. Not knowing what the dog(s) had gotten into, but sure that it was something that they shouldn't, I sprinted down the hallway, into the living room.
Eliott & Bootsy were standing behind Olivia, tails wagging, the picture of pure innocence. Olivia, obviously not having heard my entrance, and so engrossed in what she was doing, failed to feel the pounding of my footsteps as I came running. I burst into the living room to find her very intent on getting the remaining crumbs out of the Fiddle-Faddle bag.
I snatched the bag from her with one hand, while grabbing her by the collar in the other hand. She jumped up, I dropped the bag and swatted her with the now free hand, and marched her over to the dog grate. I didn't even have to drag her to it, she slunk low to the ground, tail tucked, and ducked in as soon as the door was opened.
Meanwhile, Eliott & Bootsy continued to stand, like statues, except for the wagging of their tails. I picked up the now empty F/F bag and marveled at how she had managed to consume the whole bag and not leave any crumbs. Then I turned towards the kitchen to go throw the bag away and I saw it. There was a trail of F/F leading from the kitchen cabinet, all the way across the kitchen, into the dining area before the trail ended. Apparenly she (or which ever dog was truly guilty) had snatched the bag from the counter by the bottom, and proceeded to spill the contents all over the place.
I strongly suspect Bootsy was the truly guilty child, just because of some prior offenses, but since she and Eliott heard me coming into the house, they both had time to stand back and look innocent, and leave Olivia holding the bag.... literally.
Poor Olivia.
I had a freshly opened bag of Fiddle-Faddle on the counter. We were preparing to go to a baseball game and I had sampled the goods, trying to decide if I wanted to sneak the contriband into the game via my backpack. As I hadn't made up my mind, I left it lying on the counter and went outside to perform some little task. I came back into the house and heard the crinkling of the foil bag. Not knowing what the dog(s) had gotten into, but sure that it was something that they shouldn't, I sprinted down the hallway, into the living room.
Eliott & Bootsy were standing behind Olivia, tails wagging, the picture of pure innocence. Olivia, obviously not having heard my entrance, and so engrossed in what she was doing, failed to feel the pounding of my footsteps as I came running. I burst into the living room to find her very intent on getting the remaining crumbs out of the Fiddle-Faddle bag.
I snatched the bag from her with one hand, while grabbing her by the collar in the other hand. She jumped up, I dropped the bag and swatted her with the now free hand, and marched her over to the dog grate. I didn't even have to drag her to it, she slunk low to the ground, tail tucked, and ducked in as soon as the door was opened.
Meanwhile, Eliott & Bootsy continued to stand, like statues, except for the wagging of their tails. I picked up the now empty F/F bag and marveled at how she had managed to consume the whole bag and not leave any crumbs. Then I turned towards the kitchen to go throw the bag away and I saw it. There was a trail of F/F leading from the kitchen cabinet, all the way across the kitchen, into the dining area before the trail ended. Apparenly she (or which ever dog was truly guilty) had snatched the bag from the counter by the bottom, and proceeded to spill the contents all over the place.
I strongly suspect Bootsy was the truly guilty child, just because of some prior offenses, but since she and Eliott heard me coming into the house, they both had time to stand back and look innocent, and leave Olivia holding the bag.... literally.
Poor Olivia.
Dress code
After having my friends blog on her husbands h.s. reunion and the way his classmates were dressed, and after seeing the woman at the store in her swimsuit, and after reading comments on both blogs, I decided to question (if you will), what has happened to our "dress code" in this country.
In the past 30 years (+/-), this country has gone to pot when it comes to dressing appropriately for given situations. Is my generation to blame for raising the children of today that are so lax in their clothing? Or was it my parents generation for not instilling in my generation, the need to dress appropriately? Who knows who is to blame?
The young men wear their pants down around their knees. I wonder if they still call it a waist-band on their pants, or a knee-band?
The girls wear their pants so low (low riders or hip huggers, whatever you call them), that we see more than we perhaps should, especially when they bend over. I'm not saying that seeing a man's butt crack is acceptable, but there was a certain amount of acceptance for "plumber's crack"... but not on women! A woman came into the funeral home to pay her mother's bill the other day and asked to use the phone. As she presented me with her backside, I couldn't help but see more than I cared too, included the sore that was located at the top of her crack. One girl was wearing her breeches so low, I actually saw her short & curlies sticking up over the waistband (If I'm lying I'm dying!!)
When I was a youngster, on the occasions we went to chuch, we dressed up. And I don't mean in khakis and polo shirt. The women wore a dress/skirt, the men either a suit or dress slacks and sweater. No tennis shoes either. And this was often the way we dressed to go out to dinner also (unless it was McDonalds). And we wouldn't think of going to someone's funeral in anything less than our Sunday best.
Today, I see people coming to their loved-ones funerals dressed in cut-offs, ripped jeans, t-shirts, halter tops, saggy-baggy pants, tennis shoes, flip-flops, bellies exposed, tattoes exposed, butt crack exposed... you name it!
I think it's incredibly sad what this country's dress code has come to.
In the past 30 years (+/-), this country has gone to pot when it comes to dressing appropriately for given situations. Is my generation to blame for raising the children of today that are so lax in their clothing? Or was it my parents generation for not instilling in my generation, the need to dress appropriately? Who knows who is to blame?
The young men wear their pants down around their knees. I wonder if they still call it a waist-band on their pants, or a knee-band?
The girls wear their pants so low (low riders or hip huggers, whatever you call them), that we see more than we perhaps should, especially when they bend over. I'm not saying that seeing a man's butt crack is acceptable, but there was a certain amount of acceptance for "plumber's crack"... but not on women! A woman came into the funeral home to pay her mother's bill the other day and asked to use the phone. As she presented me with her backside, I couldn't help but see more than I cared too, included the sore that was located at the top of her crack. One girl was wearing her breeches so low, I actually saw her short & curlies sticking up over the waistband (If I'm lying I'm dying!!)
When I was a youngster, on the occasions we went to chuch, we dressed up. And I don't mean in khakis and polo shirt. The women wore a dress/skirt, the men either a suit or dress slacks and sweater. No tennis shoes either. And this was often the way we dressed to go out to dinner also (unless it was McDonalds). And we wouldn't think of going to someone's funeral in anything less than our Sunday best.
Today, I see people coming to their loved-ones funerals dressed in cut-offs, ripped jeans, t-shirts, halter tops, saggy-baggy pants, tennis shoes, flip-flops, bellies exposed, tattoes exposed, butt crack exposed... you name it!
I think it's incredibly sad what this country's dress code has come to.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Fashion sense
I saw something at the Wal-mart last night that absolutely made me cringe!
If you haven't seen the 3rd installment of the "Blue Collar Comedy Tour: One for the Road", you really need to. I was somewhat disappointed with Ron White's segment, but overall it was a good show. Jeff Foxworthy did a bit on the fashion sense of Wal-mart shoppers. I'm a Wal-mart shopper, so needless to say I appreciated the bit and laughed myself silly. Jeff would truly have liked (well, not really) what I saw there last night.
I was standing in the self-checkout line, when a monsterously big woman crossed my line of view. Now, I'm a big girl, but this woman made me look anorexic. I'm talking big. And she wore nothing but her flip-flops, and her swim suit.
It was one of those sights that makes you want to scream: "I'm BLIND!!!!", and yet, for some inexplicable reason, you can't tear your eyes away. I suppose it's because your mind is refusing to reconcile what the eyes are seeing, so you keep staring.
What was this woman thinking? I mean, I know it was hot outside, but come on!, slip on some shorts and a t-shirt. I'm almost afraid to go out in my own backyard in my suit, much less out to the grocery store.
But the thing that horrified me the most is.....
She was wearing the same exact swimsuit that I have!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
If you haven't seen the 3rd installment of the "Blue Collar Comedy Tour: One for the Road", you really need to. I was somewhat disappointed with Ron White's segment, but overall it was a good show. Jeff Foxworthy did a bit on the fashion sense of Wal-mart shoppers. I'm a Wal-mart shopper, so needless to say I appreciated the bit and laughed myself silly. Jeff would truly have liked (well, not really) what I saw there last night.
I was standing in the self-checkout line, when a monsterously big woman crossed my line of view. Now, I'm a big girl, but this woman made me look anorexic. I'm talking big. And she wore nothing but her flip-flops, and her swim suit.
It was one of those sights that makes you want to scream: "I'm BLIND!!!!", and yet, for some inexplicable reason, you can't tear your eyes away. I suppose it's because your mind is refusing to reconcile what the eyes are seeing, so you keep staring.
What was this woman thinking? I mean, I know it was hot outside, but come on!, slip on some shorts and a t-shirt. I'm almost afraid to go out in my own backyard in my suit, much less out to the grocery store.
But the thing that horrified me the most is.....
She was wearing the same exact swimsuit that I have!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, July 03, 2006
Clothes Shopping
I was reading my friend's blog (http://lifetimelearning.blogspot.com) over the weekend, and she wrote about her clothes shopping experience. We both agree on how much we detest the task, and both agree on the t-shirt & jeans kind of wardrobe. But where I have to disagree is on how difficult it is to find clothing for petite women. Well, maybe not disagree, but I'm somewhat amazed at how much trouble she has finding clothing for her petite frame. She should try shopping in my shoes if she thinks she has trouble...
My current height is 5' 10 1/2". I say current as that is what I was at the dox office last week, and I know that my dowager's hump has already decreased my height some, and I'll continue to shrink as I get older. Maybe by the time I'm 70, I'll be a normal height of 5' 6", if only somewhat slumped over.
When I go shopping, I find it nearly impossible to find clothing to fit me. Pants and long-sleeved blouses are the absolute worse!!! If the pants fit me in the waist, then I look like I'm expecting a flood. If I can find them long enough, then it doesn't matter how much I suck in my gut, they won't zip up. It's like the clothing manufactures think if you're tall, then your slim, and if you're big in the butt/waist, then you aren't over 5' 3" tall. It doesn't seem to occur to them that some tall people are heavy too, and some short people are slim. And I can forget about finding long-sleeved blouses to fit me. The cuff, without fail, always stops well short of my wrist, which is why I always do one of three things: rolling the sleeves up to hide the fact they aren't long enough, just purchase short-sleeved shirts, or wear my husbands shirts.
I would think that shorter people would have a much easier time of things, especially in the pants department. I mean, the pants can always be hemmed up if they're too long, or taken in at the waist if too big.
I suppose that's why I'm such a t-shirt and jeans (or shorts) kind of gal.
My current height is 5' 10 1/2". I say current as that is what I was at the dox office last week, and I know that my dowager's hump has already decreased my height some, and I'll continue to shrink as I get older. Maybe by the time I'm 70, I'll be a normal height of 5' 6", if only somewhat slumped over.
When I go shopping, I find it nearly impossible to find clothing to fit me. Pants and long-sleeved blouses are the absolute worse!!! If the pants fit me in the waist, then I look like I'm expecting a flood. If I can find them long enough, then it doesn't matter how much I suck in my gut, they won't zip up. It's like the clothing manufactures think if you're tall, then your slim, and if you're big in the butt/waist, then you aren't over 5' 3" tall. It doesn't seem to occur to them that some tall people are heavy too, and some short people are slim. And I can forget about finding long-sleeved blouses to fit me. The cuff, without fail, always stops well short of my wrist, which is why I always do one of three things: rolling the sleeves up to hide the fact they aren't long enough, just purchase short-sleeved shirts, or wear my husbands shirts.
I would think that shorter people would have a much easier time of things, especially in the pants department. I mean, the pants can always be hemmed up if they're too long, or taken in at the waist if too big.
I suppose that's why I'm such a t-shirt and jeans (or shorts) kind of gal.
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