Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Nature or nurture

I've never really been a go-getter kinda person. I'm actually more of a sit-down-and-watch-other-people-go-get-it-on-tv kinda girl.

Today I was talking to one of my "active" friends and she was talking about how someone she knows just sits inside all day watching tv and playing on the computer.

....uh.....

I knew the response that she was looking for was something along the lines of "oh my gosh, what a waste! She should really get outside and do something!"

But because my actual reaction was "that sounds like the perfect life to me" I quietly smiled and refrained from comment.

My friend is up at like 5:30 in the morning so she can go workout and then take a half hour walk BEFORE work. Then after work she's riding her bike for another 45 minutes. I envy her and yet I cannot fathom doing that much activity in any given day, on purpose.

She said she'd go stir-crazy if she were to come home and sit around all night.

This is precisely what I do on any given night so I started to wonder: if she goes stir-crazy from lack of activity, would I go lazy-crazy from the lack of being lazy??

Makes sense to me.

If I have more than 3 social outtings scheduled for the week I start to panic and feel like I'm "never" home so I actually schedule time to be lazy. So there we go, lazy-crazy hypothesis confirm- I require lazy time to avoid going crazy.

I wonder if I'm genetically predispositioned to be this lazy or if my laziness is a learned behavior.
I'm leaning towards genetics because it's always easier to blame all my problems on that than to actually unplug my computer and heaven forbid go for a walk just because.

But if my theory is that I'm genetically predispositioned to be lazy, then my unborn children will all be lazy homebodies that play videogames all day long and never actually go out and play.

HERE is where I'd like to say that that thought motivated me enough to go outside for a walk. Instead, it caused me to practice my future-favorite motto "do what I say, not as I do."

Plus I don't want to have to fight my children for the computer. It's mommy's turn.

Monday, June 28, 2010

There's going to be a new infomercial soon- "Victoria's Secret" won't be a "secret" much longer

I recently went to my local Victoria's Secret to be fitted for a new bra. I had been putting this off for months and months but when I got a gift certificate, I knew it was the universe's way of telling me it's really time to get a fitting.

So off I go to get myself one of their cute little signature bags filled with pink tissue paper and the perfect bra.

It had been a while since as I was last fitted and times have really changed since then.

A consultant, I'll call her Helpful Heather, measured me in the hallway and handed me a bra to try on. She said when I had it on, I was to push the little doorbell-like button in my room.

So I did what I was told- I had it on, pushed the button and waited. I hear keys jingling, my fitting room door opens and she enters.

Whoa.

I guess I saw this coming but that didn't stop the awkward giggle that escaped me as I'm standing shirtless in front of a stranger who proceeded to jiggle my boobs with a straight face while making conversation test the straps.

I'm a pretty modest girl so this whole experience was kinda tough for me to swallow but I was on a mission to get the perfect bra so I told myself to suck up my self consciousness and stop that nervous giggle as she jiggled away.

She exits the room and hands me 5 more bras to try on. Within 30 seconds of her handing me the new ones, she's at my door asking if I'm ready for jiggle-test #2.

Uh, no but feel free to check back in 5.7 seconds....

Which she does.

This will be a whole lot easier if when I'm ready to be jiggle-tested again, I'll just let you know.

The bra has a huge security tag that's practically the size of a candy bar that they courteously attached exactly where the clasp is.

Thanks jerk. You know it was some guy with the security-tag-gun standing there giggling like "hehe, she'll never be able to put this on if I put it right....there. bang."

So I'm standing there, topless in a fitting room with Helpful Heather pounding on the door trying to get in but I can't get the stupid thing on because I'm totally panicking.

I have to give it back to her so she can adjust the tag.

Ah...much better this time because a woman did it.

She comes in, jiggles away and leaves.

On to the next one.

I soon discovered that the security tags are placed right on the clasp of all the bras.

Awesome.

I decided that Victoria's Secret's dressing rooms are bugged with cameras for America's Funniest Girls Gone Wild Homevideo as they tape unsuspecting women struggle to try new bras on.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Ignorance really is bliss

Unfortunately, I was not blessed with a good complexion. Having a mother that had acne as a teenager and a father with adult acne, my gene pool isn't exactly an anomaly when it comes to what my complexion will turn out to be. I was blessed with acne in my teens, starting at age 13 (thanks mom) which has continued into my 30's (thanks dad).

I'll never be a dewy face model that gently splashes water on my face in a skincare commercial as if it's the most refreshing experience I've ever had. Nope, I log many hours in the bathroom with my lengthy cleansing process in the mornings and evenings. Such is life.

I hate wearing my contacts so I generally wait until the very end of my regimen before putting them in (because those extra 15 minutes make a difference when I have them in for 15 hours a day?....uh....shutup and leave me alone). So really, I pretty much get ready for my day blind but even despite that, I like to tell myself that the end result generally works- not too many foundation jawlines or missed spots.

Well one Saturday I switched up my routine, I put my contacts in in the morning and then a couple of hours later went to start my regimen thinking- "ooh today's makeup is going to be great because I'll actually be able to SEE".

I look in my mirror with my contacts in and see myself sans makeup.

YIKES!

Holy #$%^#%^ do I really look like that??

Eesh, no thank you.

My skin is like a brand new car- shiny and bright red.

I'm pretty sure Rudolph would have some stiff competition for guiding Santa's sleigh. He only had the red glowing nose- I've got the red glowing/shiny nose, forehead, chin AND cheeks so take that mythical reindeer!

It had been so long since I've clearly seen myself, I forgotten what I really look like without the help of my wonderful camouflage makeup. So a big heartfelt thank you to Maybelline, MaryKay, Avon, CoverGirl, L'Oreal! Without you, I'd never leave the house.

Sometimes ignorance really truly is bliss. I think I'll go another 20 years without seeing what I truly look like again thank you.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Not too good at multi-tasking


The other morning I woke up with a new found excitement for the day. My brother-in-law had just told me about Dave Ramsey's approach to finances so I had a bunch of stuff on my mind- mainly how I was going to get my millions and millions of dollars even without the help of the lottery (although that is still plan numero uno).

Of course, I'm my usual 10 minutes behind schedule as I'm getting ready for work.

I had mouthwash in my mouth, applying makeup to my face, and money on the brain.

I send the following signals from my brain to my body:
Brain: crunch budget with new Dave Ramsey principles
Eyes: look in makeup bag for blush.
Hand: grab blush out of makeup bag.
Mouth: spit mouthwash into sink.

And the following signals were received:
Brain: crunch budget with new Dave Ramsey principles. Check. Message received.
Eyes: look in makeup bag for blush. Maintain eye contact with blush. Check. Message received.
Hand: grab into empty sink as the next message is being received:
Mouth: spit mouthwash into makeup bag.....UNCHECK. Message NOT received! Error! Error!
Mouth: after spitting mouthwash into makeup bag, let out string of colorful curse words.

Yep.

Awesome.

Somehow some messages were lost as they left my brain and were transmitted through the rest of my body.

Not only am I the standard 10 minutes behind schedule, I now have to rinse and dry the mouthwash I just spit on everything in my makeup bag and the makeup bag itself.

Swell.

Oh but wait, because I'm ME the fun just doesn't stop there.

I send the following signals from my brain to my body:
Brain: crunch budget with new Dave Ramsey principles
Hands: continue drying off now rinsed pressed powder then set down.
Eyes: look for the next thing I need to dry off.
Hands: grab the next thing I need to dry off. Dry, repeat.

And the following signals were received:
Brain: crunch budget with new Dave Ramsey principles. Check. Message received.
Hands: continue drying off now rinsed pressed powder and set down. Check. Message received.
Eyes: look in the mirror because hey, now is as good of time as any to admire myself. Uh, that's deviating from the original message but..... you do look nice today.....
Hands: attempt to grab at the next thing that needs to be dried off while keeping eyes focused on myself. Clumsily paw at favorite eyeshadow until it falls off the counter and shatters on the floor. Error! Message NOT received! System meltdown!
Mouth: resume previous string of profanities with a bit more enthusiasm this time.

So now not only do I need to finish drying off everything I just spit my mouthwash on, I also need to clean the newly shattered, favorite dual color eyeshadow (Bronze Star for those of you that's interested) that's all over my (freshly cleaned mind you) white textured bathroom floor as I crunch my new Dave Ramsey approved budget. AND leave for work in about........16 minutes ago.

In 1992 Mattel release Teen Talk Barbie that spoke the words "math is hard."

Touche Mattel. Touche.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Junk in the not-so-proverbial trunk weighing me down

There are many different types of baggage: emotional, physical, material...I'm sure there's more but they don't really suit my purpose so I'll just leave them off the list.

One of my vices is material baggage: I'm a pack-rat. I can't seem to get rid of anything and every time I try, I go through this mental battle of "but I might need this or fit into this again someday and then I won't have it and then I'll need to go out and buy it all over again and that's just a waste of money so I might as well just keep it all."

I'm not like one of those crazy hoarders or anything, I'm more of a tasteful pack rat- it needs to fit nicely in a cupboard somewhere. But when it comes to my clothes that I haven't fit into for four years but refuse to admit that I've gained that much weight that I don't fit into them anymore and kitchen supplies I just can't let it go because I'm always thinking I WILL lose those 10 new pounds I've gained and I love anything that belongs in the kitchen-gadgets, pots, pans, tupperware, bakeware- heck, even that EggGenie infomercial caught my eye.

And I really can't be blamed for being such a packrat because my entire family is like this. No one is ever allowed to throw anything away- you need to check with the rest of the family to see if they want it first. That's just how we roll.

It got so bad that my husband used to have to give me pep talks before walking into any family function as if he's preparing to send me into battle, "Mandy, whatever they try to give you, you don't need. You're not allowed to bring anything home with you because you never use it, you hold on to it for 3 years and then you bring it back to see if anyone else wants it." And because he's right, I can't argue.

Today is my day to tackle the dreaded spare bedroom which houses all of my summer clothes and clothes that don't fit anymore.

Ugh. Who wants to do that? Not I, my friend. Not I.

I go through this mental picnic twice a year: when it's time to change out winter to summer clothes and vice versa. And every fall I think, "ok I don't want to go through everything and get rid of things right now but in the spring when I take my summer clothes back out I'll go through them and get rid of some. I promise."

Then spring comes around and as I take out my summer clothes I think "well....maybe by the end of the season I'll be able to fit back into this, so I'd better keep it for now and then in the fall when I put my summer clothes away again, THEN I'll get rid of it if I still don't fit into it."

But because my weight is a never-ending cycle of up and down, I never actually get rid of anything. I just keep taking it out and putting it back in.

Speaking of my weight, that's another type of baggage I struggle with getting rid of.

I've been working out (something I do every summer for about 2 months and then quit. The 4th of July tends to be my optimal quitting time) and this weekend I wasn't able to get to the gym so I went running. And let me tell you, it was a whole different experience when you've got 15 extra pounds on you.

My foot hits the payment, a millisecond later my butt comes slamming down with a "BONG-GA-GA-gaaah."

As the last bounce of my butt is ending, the reverberation of my belly is still shaking. It's not just hard downward slap like my butt- oh no the belly is an all over tidal wave of jiggle. It's like a jello mold in an earthquake jiga-jiga-jiga-jiga-jigggggglllllleeee until it slowly teeters off.

So after running I was just thinking "oh this is so great, my stomach is actually kinda sore I must be getting a really good workout"......oh, wait, it's not sore from exertion- it's sore from the physical trauma of the gravity lifting and slamming my gut down, followed by waves of jiggles that ripple through after each foot step.

So with all the working out I've been doing and not really losing anything, it's time to say goodbye to anything that says size 6 and especially the straggling size 4's I still have (really, they look like children's clothes.....which kinda makes it even more awesome the I used to fit into them....and then sad because those cute shorts will never make it higher than my knees ever, ever again).

Goodbye cute little shorts. Hello sensible, cellulite covering, mom shorts in khaki colors. Welcome. You do your job of covering up all that jiggle and you and I will get along splendidly.

Friday, June 18, 2010

3 weeks and they haven't called....

I've never really been an athletic person. As a child, I really tried to be good at sports but my lack of balance, coordination and attention span has always got in the way. My mom was always getting me to try new things and explore the different types of sports in hopes to find one that I was good at. I tried gymnastics, swimming, tennis, soccer, basketball, softball and after failing at those 6 different kinds of sports she tried community drama, which didn't really work for me either because they made me the narrator. Narrator?? With as much drama as my body possesses they insult me with narrator? I think not.

So when I got a call three weeks ago to be a volleyball sub, I knew I wasn't their first choice. I learned later that all 5 players had called just about every girl they've ever met but I was the only one that could do it, so I was their last resort. Yep, their last.

So I got the call and was pretty hesitant to join in for two reasons:
#1. Me and volleyball have never really gotten along. I've always hated volleyball because with non-existent pain tolerance like mine, it hurts too much! And it's hard to play when you're crying like a baby in the corner because your wrists hurt.

#2. Knowing that it was "sand volleyball" I was scared that there'd be teams of cute little twenty-somethings (I can say that now that I'm 30. ugh) professional volleyball players in tiny little bikinis running around. I had just finished my workout so I was already sweaty in my basketball shorts and t-shirt, so joining a team of itty-bitty gym bunnies in bikinis wasn't really on my To-Do List for the evening.

But they needed help, so I made it abundantly clear to my friend that I had zero volleyball playing ability and told her no less than three times to be sure to tell the rest of the team this. And if they really, needed a 6th person, I could be a warm body on the court.

So I said yes, knowing this was not going to turn out well.

Luckily it's a bar league so I get there and there's already a pitcher of beer on the picnic table. I promptly order two more because courage doesn't come from within- it comes from beer, trust me on this. And I needed some courage, I didn't know anyone on the team other than the friend that asked me to come (and she clearly doesn't know me well since she thinks I could actually play) and my neighbor that came to support me in my I-know-this-is-going-to-be-embarrassing volleyball debut. Plus I was scared the other players didn't get the memo about my lack of skills and thought I was coming with some ability to play.

Nope, it's just me. Don't get your hopes up.

After a little beer time, I join the set that's already in progress and I'm lucky enough to avoid the ball most of the time. You know it's bad when you're on a team and all you do is silently chant "please don't come to me, please don't come to me" over and over and over.

I was going to be there for a total of 4 games. Game one was relatively painless....I don't think I actually touched the ball once. Which is exactly my kind of volleyball playing!

Beer Break.

Game two, I got a couple hits in- some went over the net, some didn't.

Beer Break.

Game three, we got creamed. They hit almost every single shot to the poor guy next to me who's actually a pretty good player but since he weighed 100lbs soaking wet I can understand why they'd assume he wouldn't be. I think I got a couple more shots in, again some went over and some didn't.

Beer Break.

Game four....Okay I'm feeling relaxed now, I haven't made a complete and total ass of myself, I've gotten a handful of good hits in, and the beer confidence is kicking in. I'm in the middle of the back row where all the balls go, but it's okay because I'm pretty much a professional volleyball player by now so you'd better get outta my way.

A ball sails over the net with a perfect arc heading straight for me but just a little short of where I am standing so I run forward to get it, with my arms extended in the customary volleyball stance.

Well my legs got a little overzealous and went further then I wanted them to go.

Volleyball comes down.

Ball comes down to where my hands SHOULD be, but because my legs got a little crazy, my face ends up in that exact same spot as to where my hands should be.

Volleyball hits face.

Volleyball bounces off face.

Volleyball goes over the net off face-shot.

Mandy falls to her knees.

Mandy then falls on her back.

The first logical thing out of Mandy's mouth as the two teams are "oh my gosh"ing and "is she all right??" is: "did it make it over?"

And yes folks, my face scored one of the few points of that game. I'm going to ignore the fact that the other team was probably missed because they were so shocked/concerned about the fact that the ball just came off of my face because it doesn't matter: a part of my body still got the ball over the net and scored a point!

Yep, I'm kind of a big deal now because of one night of volleyball playing where I wasn't the worst one on the team minus the face-shot incident.

And I had a really great time playing!

But it's funny.... I subbed for them three weeks ago and they haven't called to ask me to do it again....

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Sometimes MN Nice is stiffling

I'll admit that to say "I'm a feisty girl" would an understatement but because I'm a Minnesota Nice girl, I'm not really ready to take that next step and call myself a full-out biatch yet, so for now I'll settle on sassy.

Yes, I'm a sassy girl.

And nothing proves this more than what I would've liked to have happened while I was in a Christian Bookstore buying my godson (yep, you read that right someone is trusting me with guiding their child, lord have mercy) a gift.

I was walking up to the Information Desk when a guy wearing regular street clothes walking past me, looks at the stuff in my hands and says "oh those are so cute," does a 180 degree turn and comes with me up to the counter.

Uh....ok.....

I'm asking the employee about the price of an item while the man continues to elaborate on the cuteness of the possible gift choices I'm holding. So I graciously thank him (because seriously he is going on and on, and even I can admit it wasn't THAT cute) and resume ignoring him talking to the employee behind the counter.

He is standing directly behind me and asks what the occasion is for the type of gift I'm looking for, then tries to draw me into conversation about all endless number of choices I have for a gift for a baby godson's baptism.

And I should have prefaced, this man wasn't just a normal Joe-blow guy, he was super creepy. He was giving the my-neighbors-think-I'm-a-quiet-guy-but-I'm-really-a-psycho-killer vibe off. Plus, he's wearing a sweatshirt tucked into his stonewashed jeans, need I say more?

This guy proceeds to hold up different items, thinking I'd be interested in them. "Did you see this {hideous teal} cross?" "Look how cute these toys are {that have nothing to do with God, Jesus or Baptism}" "Oh look a nightlight of a little girl praying {when you're looking for a gift for a godSON}"

I look to the employees for help. Does this guy work here? Should I be concerned? Why are you not shutting him up? Do you have my back if this psycho tries anything crazy??

Sadly no, the employees working at this particular Christian bookstore on a Tuesday night are Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary and a Howard Bamboo (from glee) look alike that refused to make eye contact with me, so clearly neither of them are ready to throw down.

And because I'm in Minnesota Nice country, I smile at the man and thank him for his suggestions when I'm really a millisecond away from saying "are you f-ing employed here or are you just stalking me?! Shoo, go back to your corner."

And while I'm on the topic, I think that all store employees need to wear some sort of identifying clothing- shirt, vest, name badge -whatever just so I know that yes you are an ineffective employee trying to be helpful or no you are not an employee, you are just some fashion senseless creepy man with too much time on your hands suggesting ugly things for me to buy so get the hell away from me!!!

Had I been in New York, I would've been able to properly express myself with the appropriate ratio of swearing to belligerent comments. Ah, the big life. One can dream.

Alas, my momma taught me right and I'm in still in Minnesota, so I faked my acceptance of this uncomfortable situation with a polite smile and proceeded to the checkout.

Don't even me started on the words I would've had with checkout girl Sara Plain & Tall for winding the music box up before wrapping it and putting in the bag. I have a half hour drive with that little music box and I'd like to make it home without throwing it out of the freaking window! Why?! Why would she do that?!?

I think maybe this was a test from God to see just how far he can push me while in one of His stores before freaking out on someone.

Jokes on you though isn't it? Mandy 1 God 0

Better luck next time lord- oh and hey, can you please hook me up with the lottery please? Peace out.





If you think I'm a horrible person after reading this, keep in mind that I later discovered that the guy was NOT an employee so he really was just following me around with the I'm-gonna-stuff-you-in-the-trunk-of-my-car vibe. Judge all you want.

Friday, June 11, 2010

I wonder why teenagers get into more driving accidents than adults...

Because I commute 80 miles a day, 5 days a week I pride myself in being an exceptional driver. Honest I’m not being vain, I'm just good. And since I’m on a roll of being honest, I’ll admit that I have a few driving flaws.

For example, you won’t hear me boasting about my mad parking skillz because I'm honest enough to say that "hey, I'm not that great at parking." If you were to ask me to back-in to a parking spot, I’d smile sweetly and say “sure no problem, just let me drop you off at the front door first” then proceed to drive round and round the parking lot until I find a spot that I can pull all the way through, so it LOOKS like I backed-in to it (yep, I’m crafty), then promptly take all the credit for backing into said spot.

So yes, not counting parking, I’m pretty great driver but I haven’t always been and I can admit that too.

I learned how to drive in the metro area and pretty much only drove within the same 10 mile radius of my mom’s house so I hadn’t really experienced other types of driving like two lane passing and don’t even get me started on dirt roads (they still scare me) until I got out into the real world.

I was told this story is hard to understand because of the idiocracy of it, so bare with me I wasn't the bright bulb.

When I was 19 years old a young driver I went to visit my then-boyfriend in Willmar, which is two hours of two lane driving- not something that I was exactly Captain Awesome doing. On one particular trip, for whatever reason I decided that the old couple in the RV driving next to me were my friends- like REAL friends. I felt some sort of cosmic connection with them, like they were my long lost RV driving grandparents that I love but because they’re always on the road, I can’t always see them.

Anyway, because I was scared passing on two lane highways I just assumed everyone else was scared too.

So, this is what I’d do (wow, 11 years later and I’m still embarrassed- don’t worry I’m shaking my own head at myself-vigorously), I was always about a mile ahead of the RV and if I’d see my RV Grandparents attempting to pass a car on the left and I’d actually get over into the left lane of ONCOMING traffic for no other reason than to send them the message: “look, it’s clear! You’re safe to pass, no one is coming! I love you RV Grandparents!”

I did this for two hours folks, getting over into the left lane to show them they were clear. The fact that I was the one blocking their vision didn’t even occur to me. Nope, not once.

Until…

Until we pull into Willmar and they pull up next to me. I turn my head with a big expectant smile like “Hi RV Grandparents, I’m sorry I have to turn here but I love you! Hope to see you soon!”

Then…

I see the looks like their faces.

Both RV grandma & grandpa are CRAINING their necks to get a look at me. They have matching looks of absolute confusion/bewilderment/WTF/terror- as if I am a green alien with 7 eyes that just ate a toddler for breakfast and have a puppy on deck for dessert.

We continued to stare at one another until the stoplight turned green. We drove off in separate directions then the confusion of their look was starting to settle in, “huh? Why were they looking at me like that? Hmm, that was weird… I’m hungry.”

Clueless.

But now? Yep I get it.

Really. I am a good driver now I promise.







I wonder if RV Grandparents are thinking of me right now too....

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Today is the day.





Today is my 30th birthday.

I woke up in my townhome in Big Lake, MN.

Hmph.









Not actually MY birthday cake. Don't get crazy.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

My life at 30 begins.

In a few days I shall officially become 30. Yep, I said it: 30.

I didn't think the big 3-0 would have caused me to take a second look at my life but it has. 30. Seriously, 30.

I've still felt relatively young and hip because I'm in my 20's and that's just how people in their 20's feel.

But 30? Ick.

Just today I was talking to a client and having pretty laid-back fun (probably not quite professional) conversation when I got curious: how old is this guy anyway? So I looked and my gut reaction is "oh, he's old. He's older than I thought he would've been." Do you want to know how old he was? He was 31. 31 and I my gut reaction was: OLD. Here I am on the cusp of 30 and I'm thinking people 365 days older than me fall into a different generation- Generation Old.

I've always pictured my life a certain way and when I pictured being 30 I pictured a very different version. Here's what/where I pictured being as my 30 year old self:

- I'm living in one of those adorable (now don't confuse the word "adorable" with small) arts & crafts bungalows in a beachfront community. I have a kicka$$ kitchen and a huge walk in closet filled with trendy clothes that I can actually fit in to.



- I cook healthy gourmet-quality meals in said kicka$$ kitchen daily.

- All of my friends live nearby and frequently stop over in the middle of afternoon for a glass of iced tea and a nice chat in the sunroom.

- Twice a week I can be seen riding home the neighborhood farmers market with fresh flowers and a nice bottle of wine in the basket of my bike.


- Please note, as you see me riding my bike from behind MY behind can be compared to two perfectly ripened grapefruits and NOT two bowling balls shoved into my pants. Got it?

- I have gorgeous hair that's split-end free and naturally highlighted by the sun. And there's never any unsightly root regrowth.

- I don't have a single rogue hair growing out of any moles or anywhere else on my body where there shouldn't be hair (chin this means YOU).

- I don't work and yet my days are filled with purpose and meaning. My husband works 3, 5 hour shifts per week (hey, a girl needs her quiet time).

- And because his work schedule is so flexible we frequently travel to our villa in Italy.

And last but certainly not least:

- My 17 year affair with zit cream comes to an end. Permanently.

So as you can see, I have some HUGE things coming my way within the next 48 hours. Suddenly 30 isn't looking so bad!

Saturday, June 5, 2010

There's really no such thing as a free lunch


Today my good friend invited me out for lunch and a couple of Saturday afternoon Bloody Mary's. Without any children at home or plans for the morning, who could refuse?? Oh and did I mention that the Bloody Mary's come complete with: beef stick, cheese cubes, giant olives, pickle, (clean) celery, and a beer chaser so really each drink is like a small delectable full course meal. So how could anyone rightfully decline such an invitation?!?

Anytime someone invites me to do something fun, my Funometer screams: YES do it, it's going to be so much fun! And yet my more broke sensible side says: no, you can't go- you want a new couch that you need to save for!

But when the offer of Fun and Free comes my way I can't resist. The words "my treat" are heaven to my ears.

So I go and have a wonderful time of good company and yummy eats and drinks.

Then the bill comes.

And I dutifully pull out my debit card because by this time I know full well I've earned my fun so it's time to pay the piper. And let's face it a couple bucks here and there for Fun Time keeps me sane. And yes, I can easily rationalize each and every splurge with that statement. Hence being broke 90% of the time.

So when someone else pays for my meal, I can't help but feel like a total a$$hole.

I mean, the meticulous banker side of my brain rejoices but every other part of my brain feels like a chump. No one has money spurting out of their ears. You shouldn't need to buy my nachos. Not to say that I don't appreciate you buying my nachos but I don't want to eat away your own couch/wedding/car/baby fund either.

I recently heard my mother-in-law say "buy it, that's WHY you work." Which is so true. I work to make money. And I spend money to have fun.

Oh this could be dangerous. I work. Does that mean I can spend my money on whatever I want? Seems to me like that math adds up....

So wait, does that mean working ultimately equals fun?

Hmm.

I may need to remind myself of that on Monday morning when my alarm is going off and I'm doing the silent inventory of my body to see if there are any ailments where I can rationalize calling in sick.

Working=money=fun, so go to work already!

What I'm trying to say is that trite saying of "there's no such thing as a free lunch" really is true. Either I feel guilty for spending the money on my lunch or I feel like an a$$hole that's taking advantage of you for paying for my lunch. Is there no way to win??

Oh Lord of the Lottery, please allow me to win so I don't need to put myself through this every time I want a Bloody Mary.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

How did we go from swipe/swipe to scouring

I don't consider myself a naturalist or an organic person but I'm starting to be more and more concerned about the chemicals we come in contact with everyday. Some of these chemicals are elective- like things we choose to put on our faces or in our hair but others are out of our control- like in the foods we eat. And that's the scary part. They're everywhere.

Lately, every time I buy celery it's turned out to be a huge disappointment. I vigorously rub it under running water to clean it before eating and yet every time I take my first bite and it's like biting into a crisp, juicy stick of green pesticide disguised as celery.

After the first time this happened I assume it was operator error: me. So back to the sink I went to rescrub it.

No dice.

Didn't work.

I went as far as convincing myself that once I cut into the celery, I somehow unleashed an irreversible change to the composition of the celery where I opened the pores and embedded the chemicals further into it. Hey, in my head that was the only logical reason as to why I couldn't get the frickin' thing cleaned!

So out goes the whole package of celery.

And each time after that, I scrubbed harder and harder to make sure I was really getting it clean and each time I'd take two bites into my little green cyanide sticks and throw the entire stalk out.

Today, I tried a different approach.

I had a seriously hankering for some bumpless Bumps on a Log so I gave myself a peptalk about just how clean this celery needs to be. I don't want anything standing in my way of my bumpless Bumps on a Log, so I'm talking some seriously squeaky clean celery. I break out my Norwex vegetable scrubber washcloth (which is awesome by the way: https://www.norwexonline.com/shopping/proddetail.php?prod=20403) and SCOURED the hell out of that celery. There were stringy layers flying everywhere. My disposal looks like I scalped a poor defenseless green haired troll.

I take me first bite....

Ahhh {breath of relief}.

Finally.

Some celery that doesn't taste like a toxic popsicle. It may look funny since it's missing some vital stringy-ness but hey it's worth it.

Maybe it was just my naivety but I remember getting fruits and veggies from the store and simply swishing them under the water: swipe, swipe, rub, rub and you're good to go.

But now I feel like I need to boil my grapes before even consider eating them.

The easy solution of course would be to buy organic but I'm too poor frugal for that. As they inject more chemicals into our cows and spray more layers of insecticides on our fruits and veggies, I just may need to take that step. Now I just need an extra kidney to sell off in the blackmarket to make up for the $.89 per pound of bananas I'll be buying. Anyone know of a good dealer?

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

What is it about getting in trouble that's so terrifying?

I've had an overdue library book for like 5 days and it's been killing me. My mom used to say the guilt didn't effect me and for the most part she was right- I was a rotten fearless kid. But as an adult, if there's even a tiny possibility of getting scolded by any type of authority figure, I pretty much curl up into the fetal position until the fear and shame subsides.

It's sick & twisted weird how different I would handle the same situation, depending on my audience. If my friend/family/acquaintance is involved, I have no qualms with conflict. In fact, more times than not, I am the instigator and have no problem in challenging my beloved to a trip in the old cage match for a fight to the death competition. Just because.

However, if it's anyone with any shred of authority, I instantly feel the tears forming in my eyes and want to beg for absolution.

The overdue book for example, has literally plagued me for 5 days. I've thought about that damn book countless time within those five days. And to be honest, I was actually afraid to return it- like I'd walk in and sirens would go off that the book has finally been returned and my favorite librarian would stand up yelling GET HER and chase me down to pry the book out of my cold unconscious hand <-- and yes, I have a favorite librarian that I'm plotting to someday befriend so we can talk endlessly about books- that is only if she doesn't tackle me to get the overdue books out of my hand.

It's really sad how ruthless I can be with the ones I care about but I feel like a scolded puppy if a librarian of all people gives me a chiding look. I mean, where are my priorities?? And where's the Little Miss book to teach me about that??? I mean they have a Little Miss Somersault book of all things.

Really. They do. What kind of life lesson can Little Miss Somersault teach??

What about the Little Miss Ruthless Biatch That Will Cage Fight Her Friends If She Doesn't Get Her Way book? I haven't seen that at Barnes & Noble yet, have you?
How am I supposed to learn to deal with my shortcomings without a Little Miss book to guide me? Those cute little square books have been the foundation of my childhood with Little Miss Scatterbrain at the forefront of course.

Come on peeps, get with the program!


Ok, next career aspiration: re-write all the Little Miss books. Well maybe not "re-write" because you can't mess with perfection, maybe just add some books to their repertoire that will help the crazy, multiple personality children of the world like they did me.