Wednesdays
Wednesday is my least favorite day to drive home from work, and I'll tell you why:It's all because of the Baptists.You see, there's a large Baptist church down the street from my house. And, apparently their membership is so large, they had to build a parking deck directly across the street from the church. So, every Wednesday, 2 cops come out to direct traffic so that the Baptists can cross from the parking deck to the church entrance.Now, I have no problem with the parking deck. I have no problem with Wednesday church attendance. I even understand why one wants to cross safely from the parking deck to the church.My problem is this - long before the parking deck, there was a light with a crosswalk and walk signal from the side of the street where the parking deck is to the church.Why can't the Baptists walk the 1/20 of a mile (yes, I got frustrated the other day and measured it), from their cars to the crosswalk? Why do they need a policeman to direct them? Do they really have to be ferried directly across the street? Seriously, I cover the same amount of ground walking from my bathroom to my kitchen, and I have yet to be winded by the journey. Also, I am capable of looking at the lights ahead of me and knowing when the cars are stopping and when they're going.Why must there be a special crosswalk just for the Baptists on Wednesday evenings and Sundays when there is already a perfectly acceptable crosswalk the rest of us use all the time?Also, I feel that I must point out that it's not like the policemen wait for an onslaught or build-up of Baptists to stop traffic. Every time 1 or 2 people want to cross the street, the cops stop the cars. Some days this fiasco adds 15 minutes to my drive home from work, and I only live 10 minutes from my office.I'm not asking for recklessness here, and I'm certainly not advocating jay-walking (the horror!), but I do think we can all use the same crosswalk, Baptists and non-Baptists alike.Maybe it's a bit presumptuous, but I think God would want it that way.And, don't even get me started on the Catholics...
Trouble Sleeping
It seems that all of those "always a bridesmaid, never a bride" jokes have infiltrated my subconscious.Last night I dreamed that I was in a wedding for someone I didn't even know. (I spent most of the dream complaining that I had never met the bride before the rehearsal.) And, worst of all, the dress was pink satin with vertical stripes. Vertical stripes?!? Obviously, you can imagine how traumatic this was. I didn't quite wake up in a cold sweat, but I did not wake up in a good mood.And, for those of you wondering, I do indeed have the most transparent subconscious ever. I have a recurring dream about "emotional baggage" wherein I spend the entire time packing my clothes into actual luggage.There's no need for Freud at my house.
And Mama Thought She Raised me Right
Occasionally, I eat like a 10 year old boy.When I go to the grocery store, I'm sure that strangers in line think I'm some sort of harried single mother since my cart usually includes: bottles of wine, lean cuisines, dog treats, mini corn dogs, bagel bites or Tostino's pizza roles, and juice boxes. (Hey - I need those juice boxes for long car trips. And by "long," I mean anything taking over 15 minutes. If I have to drive past the 459 interchange, I am an unhappy camper.)I am the only grown-up (obviously I use this term loosely) I know that has a punch card for Pizza Hut personal pan pizzas. About twice a month, I have to have a personal pepperoni pizza with breadsticks and a drink. (And, yes, they give me the child-size drink since this is obviously such a"kid" meal.)When I'm in polite company, I can pretend that I enjoy salad, chicken paillard, steamed vegetables, etc. But, the truth is that most of the time I would kill for some tater tots and birthday cake that's heavy on the icing flowers. Of course, as I am used to being a Southerner, I spend much of my time torn between the foods I really want and the desire not to be morbidly obese. (Oh, deep fryer - why must you tempt me with all of your delectable treats!)However, this past Tuesday I think I reached a new low. As my friend Josh and I were driving to Atlanta, I decided to snack on a chocolate bar I had tucked away in my purse for the trip. (After all, if 15 minutes is an arduous haul, you can only imagine how I felt about 2 hours in the car.) But, a couple of minutes after finishing off my Choxie bar, I noticed chocolate on my hands and was worried that I had gotten it in my hair. Then, I found a smear of chocolate across my knee and another on the back of the opposite leg.I thought I had eaten neatly, but apparently in my mad dash to consume sugar, I had gotten myself dirty in a way I thought I had gotten past when I turned 5. Even Josh seemed a little disturbed and like he wasn't sure he wanted to be in the car with me.But, rather than giving up my chocolate in the car, I've decided that I just have to amend my previous statement - Occasionally, I eat like a 4 year old...
Life Crisis
I never thought I'd say this, but I think I may have watched too much Quantum Leap lately.
I know, I know, I didn't think it could happen either, but I believe my love of Dr. Sam Beckett's adventures through time may be affecting my ability to make decisions.You see, if Dr. Beckett really is "putting right what once went wrong" by changing one event in people's lives, that means we all have one pivotal moment in time when we can either succeed or fail miserably.
Now, with some of the episodes, I can see the big moment -- one should not turn tricks because the rent is late, posing naked for a sleazy photographer in the midst of the "Miss Deep South" beauty pageant is bad, if someone is trying to kill you, calling and telling someone about your every move -- even if that person is a "friend" -- usually doesn't work out well, etc.
And, some of these life-changing moments are just based on the fact that Sam has more information than anyone else -- stopping serial killers, saving people from falls off large rock formations in national parks, figuring out that the creepy albino maid has more up her sleeve than just good disinfectant products ...But, it's the simpler ones that get to me -- a well-timed kiss to reunite exes, taking one job over another, telling a young "Stevie" King that he should write scary novels ... What if I don't see these moments?!?!
What if I miss the tiny cue that keeps me from being buried alive in a silo or spending my life surrounded by cats and well-meaning relatives who use me as a cautionary tale of how not to end up a spinster?Of course, the fact that I'm job searching right now (and, oh yeah, have an anxiety disorder) isn't helping either. As sad as it is to say, I may have to stop watching Quantum Leap for awhile.
But, then I remember how much I learn from the show. Just the other day, in the "Private Dancer" episode, Sam taught me how to say "Quantum Leap" in sign language because as a male stripper named "Rod the Bod" he was trying to help a young deaf girl become a professional dancer rather than spending her life as a prostitute. Now, if I ever meet a deaf person, I can quickly discern whether or not he or she is also a sci-fi geek, and, since the only other sign language I know is the first half of the alphabet, we can embrace over our common bond while I repeatedly spell words like "cab" and make horribly interesting statements like "ab bad" (to denote my aversion to crunches) and "gab gab" (to express my interest in celebrity gossip).
Although I could have lived without watching Scott Bakula's attempt at modern dance to bond with the deaf girl, (it was the sweeping hand motions that killed me), I think I took more from the episode than I lost.Which is why, despite my minor protestations, I can never really give up Quantum Leap. It means too much to me. And, I'll just have to hope that my continued devotion to the show gives me greater insight into my life rather than paralyzing my ability to choose for myself.
In light of what fine actors Scott Bakula and Dean Stockwell are, I think this is a risk I'm willing to take.
Some Enchanted Evening...
Bargain Days
This past weekend, I made a little stop at the old Dollar General store. (For those of you who don't know about "Dollar General," I should clarify that it is not the same as the plain old"Dollar Store," or, if you live in my neighborhood, it's more pathetic incarnation, "4 Quarters." The Dollar General does contain items that cost more than a dollar. It's name choice seems deceptive at first, but then you learn that it's a lot like Big Lots, and we know how I feel about Big Lots.) Anyway, I was running in for my usual knock-off Gillette brand Daisy twin-blade razors, which cost $1 as opposed to $5 for the real thing, and some rawhide treats for Cassidy.And, that's when I spotted the knee-length white bathrobe. Now, I've wanted a knee-length bathrobe as opposed to the full floor-length terry for quite some time now, but I can't bring myself to spend much money on it when I already own quite a few robes. I also own a few towels that have been sewn together and had elastic put at the top so that they give the illusion of just being casually tied about your chest but are actually held there by the elastic and therefore won't fall down at inappropriate moments. (My mother thinks these are genius inventions. She likes to have them monogrammed and then give them to my sisters and me.) As you can see, I am more than well taken care of in the post-shower moments.But, the one at Dollar General was only $8. Eight dollars! It was like God was smiling on me at that moment. I could finally have the shorter, more summer appropriate robe that I had been longing for without the guilt of over-spending! I was so excited, I just threw it in my basket and almost skipped to the check-out counter.When I got home, though, I realized that the robe was short-sleeved. Now, another reason I have been avoiding the shorter robe is that all the ones on sale have short sleeves. I don't like the short sleeves. They make me feel like I'm dressed like a fat man about to climb into the sauna or some sort of icky pervert. (I'm not entirely sure where the pervert image comes from, but I think it has something to do with my new obsession with Dateline's sexual predator stings. Whenever the men show up, I imagine that the ones who don't immediately get completely naked take a few moments to find a short-sleeved white terry cloth robe that they will wear until their plan of gas station plastic roses, Thunderbird, and a dip in the hot tub successfully seduces the pre-teens they met in an internet chat room. The fact that the robe is white started to bother me too...)Anyway, I spent a few hours hating the robe. I was mad at myself for even spending $8 on such a heinous creation. I swore off the Dollar General and my impulse buys there.But, gradually, I decided that maybe I should wear the robe a couple of times before I completely gave up on it. I started out in the bathroom, and when that seemed to be going well, I slowly began to make my way through other rooms in my apartment.Before I knew it, I was in love with the robe. Now I can't take it off. I rush home from work just for the joy of being in my robe. And, while there are still occasional flashes when I think of Chris Hansen and feel an impending sense of dread, for the large part I've found myself relaxed and quite cool.Thank you Dollar General. I never should have doubted you.
Mine!
I have a pace for walking down the aisle that is near perfect, and I can remember the names of family members and their relation to the bride and groom with about 85% accuracy. With all of the experience I've been getting lately, I really am that good.
Anyway, this particular wedding was for my friend Sarah who I have known since kindergarten. And, since I do have a blog, I thought I should take this opportunity to address a rumor/possibly embellished story that has been bantered about since Saturday's big event: I might have gotten a bit too "enthusiastic" during the bouquet toss, but I would like the chance to explain further.
First of all, I was the tallest bridesmaid in the wedding. This was quite a shock to me. Other than my summer as a Mother's Day Out teacher for two-year-olds, I have never been the tallest person in the room. In fact, I'm normally the shortest person around. During class pictures in elementary school, I was usually off to the side in a little chair because I was the shortest person in the entire grade. And, today, even though I'm pretty average in height, I'm still on the short side.
I tell people that I'm 5'6", but the truth is that I'm barely 5'4". Fortunately, due to a carefully plotted history of lying and never being seen without heels on, most people, including my own family, have no idea how short I really am.
But getting back on task, the point is that I was the tallest bridesmaid, and since nothing like this has ever happened to me, I think I let it go to my head. Plus, it only got worse when I got my hair done, and the hairstylist added another inch and a half to my height with the volume on the crown of my head. I loved it, but there would have been nothing out of place about me performing the best loved hits of "Diana Ross and the Supremes" at the reception.
Well, unfortunately, during the bouquet toss, I was placed next to the shortest person at the wedding. Which means that I may or my not have used my height advantage to grab the bouquet out of her reach. And, there may or may not have been an incredibly awkward moment afterwards in which we both had our hands on the bouquet and wouldn't let go. And, there may or may not be photographic evidence of said event. (I will say this in my defense - eventually I conceded the bouquet.)
There are several factors, other than the height, that might have contributed to my mild wedding faux-pas.
1. I know how awkward it looks in pictures when no one goes for the bouquet, and it just hits the ground. I couldn't let this happen to one of my best friends. After all, humiliation lasts for a few moments, but wedding albums are forever.
2. Weddings make me feel a bit single. A bouquet might have given my hope. Sometimes we all need a little encouragement from the cosmos.
3. Open bar.
4. I had been wearing my super spanx/girdle since 2:30 that afternoon. I was spandexed from just above the knee to right below the boobs. This probably prevented a lot of blood flow to my brain. It's hard to think straight when half of your body is lycra-ed.
And, while all or some of these factors might play a role, I think the biggest truth lies in the fact that I just have quite a competitive edge. I was never good at sports as a child, but when board games or opportunities to excel are on the table, something happens.
At that moment, it wasn't about the bouquet, it was about beating other people. Just like I think you should have to provide the full, given name in Trivial Pursuit, I think you should accept the fact that if someone can grab the flowers out from above your head, you've lost.
What can I say? I come to play, and I play to win.
Shocking, but True
The headline from today's Birmingham News reads: "Teens Lie About Sex." The sub-heading is "Virginity Pledge Unreliable."I, for one, am shocked and appalled. Teenagers lie about sex? When did this start happening? Has the whole world gone mad? Do teens lie about drinking too? Smoking cigarettes? Maybe even experimenting with the reefer? If we can't trust adolescents to be upfront and honest about everything that they're up to, who can we trust?And good journalism/strong investigative reporting is supposed to be a thing of the past? Without today's Birmingham News, I might still be living in the la-la land of naivete and gumdrop waterfalls where teenagers are open books with nothing to hide.
Send in the Clowns
Now, what you can't tell from this photo is that my mother didn't really realize when she signed us up for the classes that by the time the recital rolled around, she would be 8 months pregnant.
Everyone picked their own costumes, and my mom and I had to go with the clown outfit because it was the only one that could accomodate her rather big belly.
Of course, my father was terrified by this whole venture, as it is hard to imagine wanting your very pregnant wife to get into somewhat precarious tap shoes and start throwing herself around stage. Plus, if you know my father, risk is his arch nemesis, so something like this was just too much for him.
I'm sure my father tried to talk my mother out of this recital on a daily basis, but I was insistent that if we had gone through all the classes, my mother could not deny me my big moment on stage. And, she didn't. We danced in all of our polka-dotted, pom-pom button glory in May 1985.
So, if I ever doubt that my mother loves me, all I have to do is remember the time she got on stage, pregnant and in a clown costume, to tap dance with me in front of a rather large crowd of strangers.
On a quick sidenote, there was 1 boy in mother/daughter tap class. His mother didn't have any daughters and really, really wanted to participate in some sort of mother/child performance. Years later, that boy from tap class was one of the stars on the WB network's short-lived series "The Mountain." You have to wonder if he would have gotten so far without those tap classes...
Psst...
The allet-bay uild-gay just sent me an e-mail reminding me about a party they're throwing in a few weeks. It's a top ten list. That rhymes. (Well, really, it kind of ryhmes. I don't count "movie" and "Suri" or "steam" and "seen.") It's incredible.Yet, despite all the slant rhyme and word play ("You can see the decorations without being lost in a sea of people." Where do they come up with these things?), my favorite reason to attend is #9: "This is casual...You don't have to dry clean. Come as you are, wash and wear..."Of course, "come as you are," "casual," and "wash and wear" are quickly followed by, "but no jeans."Let's just say that another reason you know that this isn't really my crowd is that there is nothing about my "come as you are" that would indicate a freshly pressed and dry cleaned outfit, heels, done hair and a date who's default mode is coat and tie. Telling me to "come as I am" and then following it up with "no jeans" is like telling me to "be myself, but not say anything too out there." It just doesn't work. My soul is perplexed.On a somewhat related note, I think I reached a new "business casual" low today. Of course, my office isn't "business casual," we're just "casual," but I still don't think anyone expected me to show up in gym shorts, sports bra, and t-shirt with tennis shoes, pink ankle socks that don't go and a white hoodie this morning.What can I say? I really was just that tired.
Not My Kind of White Wedding
I just don't think I can move on with my life until I get these feelings off of my chest. In short, I need to vent.
Here's my issue: This woman is ridiculously wealthy. Ridiculously. We all know this. Yet, even with what should be "the best that money can buy" she still seems to make so many missteps.Let's look at the facts.
Misstep #1: Her plastic surgeon. Tori has the most plastic looking breasts I have seen on a woman outside of a pink Mattel box. How did this happen? Her father owns Hollywood. Couldn't Daddy Aaron refer her to someone capable of not turning her chest into the equivalent of the upper half of a mannequin? After all, he found someone capable of covering up all of Alyssa Milano and Rose McGowan's tattoos on Charmed. He made Gabrielle Carteris popular for awhile. He even tamed Shannen Doherty briefly -- at two different points in modern history. He should be able to keep his daughter from play-doh boobs. Come on.
Misstep #2: Hair. It looks more crimped than casual, day-on-the-beach wave. If a passerby looks at your hair and even thinks "crimped," it's bad.
Misstep #3: What is going on with this dress? Why does it appear to have a strange, unnecessary cut-out in the back? Did Tori want to assure everyone that she was indeed wearing a bra by specifically setting it off from the rest of the dress? Is the wedding dress really just an elaborate cover-up for her swimsuit? ("We were lying on the beach in Fiji when I just tied this old thing over the front of my bathing suit and said, 'Dean, let's get married!'") And, what's with the explosion of eyelet in the front? I just don't understand. My eyes are overwhelmed. Do I look at the bow? Do I stare at the lace ruffles? Patch of exposed back skin? Tori's button nose? Wafting hair ends? It's too much. I just feel tired.
And, that was all before I saw the bottom half. Why is she encased from torso to knee and then outfitted with a rounded tuft of white? This picture clearly shows Tori dancing, but I have a hard time believing that with the style of this dress she can really move her legs in a way that is conducive to dancing or walking.In fact, I imagine much more shuffling.
Is anyone else reminded of Donna Martin's mermaid costume from the high school Halloween party where Kelly was almost date raped in her slutty witch get-up?
Anyway, all I'm saying is that I ever earn an income that lifts me into a decent tax bracket, I promise to use my money for fashion good and not evil.
Mother's Day Inspiration
I cooked this weekend.For those of you who know me well, this should come as quite a shock. But, hey, it was Mother's Day, and it seemed like my mom shouldn't have to make dinner for everyone on this particular evening of the year. So, I cooked. My sister was supposed to help out, but she got caught up at school, and I was left alone. This obviously worried my dad as he kept checking on me to make sure neither I nor the kitchen was in flames. And, in all honesty, I was a bit worried about this myself.Now, I used to cook. When I first graduated college, I would read cookbooks, make grocery lists, prepare meals that required more than ripping the tab on the Lean Cuisine box and shoving a plastic tray in the microwave, etc. Not to brag, but I could even make a lasagna that held together and some rather popular/often-requested party dips. But, one day, I got tired of it (I can't remember the particular reason now), so I just stopped.That was sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas of 2001.In fact, I was so used to not cooking and so dependant on the man who delivered our Chinese food, that when I decided to cook some spaghetti one day (for budgetary reasons), I became confused. My roommate actually came looking for me in the kitchen because I'd been gone for so long after declaring I was going to make myself dinner."You've forgotten how to boil water, haven't you?" he said. "It really is that bad, isn't it?"I didn't answer for the sake of my dignity, but I wasn't sure about boiling water and testing noodles anymore. At that moment, it seemed far more complicated than I remembered it being. So, that's when I really gave up cooking. (And, now you can see why my family was as concerned as they were this past Sunday.)But, somehow it worked out. I came out with an artichoke dip as an appetizer and pan-seared asparugus, twice-baked potatoes, and pork tenderloin medalions wrapped in bacon for the entree. It was a success.And, I was inspired. I have decided to try cooking more often. So, today I called up the maintenance people for my apartment complex and requested that they come out to fix my oven.You see, when I moved into my apartment, I obviously had to have the gas man come out to turn on my gas in my name. When he got there, he informed me that my oven was broken and that only 2 of the eyes of my stove worked. I was supposed to call and have everything fixed then.That was January of 2005. I never got around to calling that week and haven't really missed my oven in the time since.And, I know what you're thinking: Yes, I am a marvel, and, yes, it's a wonder I manage to show up places dressed and clean every day. (Or, at least, almost every day...)
I Don't Feel Good About This
Friday afternoon, I decided to do a little shopping. As I was wandering through some stores not far from my house, I noticed that there was a sale on Madame Alexander dolls in one of the shops. Now, this might have intrigued me because I fondly remember Madame Alexander dolls from my childhood even though they were the dolls I was never actually allowed to play with, and we had to keep their original boxes so they wouldn't depreciate in value over the years. However, it is much more likely I was intrigued because there was a "sale," no matter what the actual sale item was, because I have horrendous spending habits and no ability to grasp the actual value of the paper in my wallet, what goes on my many plastic cards, and the worth of consumer goods and services. (My father dies a little on the inside every time I admit to this - and the fact that I don't actually balance my checkbook.)Well, as I was doing that, I noticed one particular doll in the glass case. And, I noticed her because she looked just like a hooker.I thought this was strange for 2 reasons: 1. Most parents prefer that their little girls not dress like/try to emulate/play with dolls that resemble women of the night and 2. These are Madame Alexander dolls for goodness sake! The most contemporary I thought Madame Alexander got was having a doll who's costume resembled a member of the Mickey Mouse Club. (And, I'm talking Annette Funicello Mouseketeer, certainly not the Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera Mickey Mouse Club.) This was bizarre.Upon closer inspection, I realized that hooker Madame Alexander was actually referred to as "Harley Davidson Girl." Although, I have to add that the choice of all leather to complete the "biker look" only meant that this particular doll looked more Dominatrix/S&M hooker than the more common torn fishnets and miniskirt street whore. And, as we all know, it's the common whores who might redeem themselves by having hearts of gold - not the Dominatrix.I can't help but wonder what went wrong during the planning and design stages to lead to such debauchery at the Lousia May Alcott-loving Madame Alexander headquarters. Was there a head injury? An unfortunately ill-timed maternity leave? Corporate sabotage?But, perhaps more importantly, why when the store decided to display sex-fiend Madame Alexander doll did they choose to place her next to the Pope and a U.N. translator/bell boy from one of those resorts in the third world where Europeans live it up, and everyone around the hotel suffers in abject poverty? Really - one of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong...
T.G.I.F.
Ok, I know I should write something. I really do. And, I'm trying really, really hard to come up with something to put in this space. But, you see, here's the problem - last night I bought many, many DVDs during what was properly an ill-advised trip to Best Buy, and now I can't seem to tear myself away from the home entertainment system.Yesterday, around 4:00, I drove to Best Buy to get the 1st season of "Murder She Wrote" on DVD as a Mother's Day present for my grandmother. (Ok, actually, that was a lie. I drove to Best Buy to get "Quantum Leap" on DVD. Somewhere in my heart of hearts, I am a bit of a sci-fi geek. This is hard to admit. When I was younger, I insisted on seeing every episode of "Quantum Leap." I kept a list. I recorded it off the sci-fi channel on a daily basis. I could not rest until I had seen all of Dr. Sam Beckett's adventures through time. If anyone speaks ill of Scott Bakula or Dean Stockwell in my presence, I go cold. I become an angry person. I slash their tires. (Well, not really, but I think about it.) And, I may or may not have spent 2 hours of my work day online looking at "Quantum Leap" fan sites to figure out which season of the series I should buy first. I also may or may not have entered onto some message boards and shared my thoughts on what was one of television's greatest moments. All I'm saying is that I had no idea there was an alternate ending for the "Quantum Leap" season finale, and now said alternate ending forever resides on my computer's hard drive.) Anyway, I picked up "Murder She Wrote" and season 3 of "Quantum Leap." (It features Sam's battle with the devil and the 2-part leap home- those were the selling points.)Well, then I spotted the sale sticker on the 1st season of CSI:. How could I pass up the chance to get 22 episodes of forensic fun for the bargain-basement price of $19.99? The answer is simple - I couldn't. Plus, sometimes I forget that long before I loved Hugh Laurie with the reckless abandon of a schoolgirl, I loved George Eads, a.k.a. Nick Stokes. I loved him in such a way that let's just say I can't bear to watch repeats of the finale where he was buried alive. Having to go through that kind of emotional turmoil was almost too much for me the first time.I now own at least 30 hours of television. I may not leave my apartment for quite a long time. If I ever make it to the grocery store, I might even find a way to sustain myself during this marathon. Sad, but true.I hate to think what the Best Buy clerk thought when she saw me buying "Quantum Leap," "Murder She Wrote," and "CSI:." I could venture a guess, but I imagine it was something like pity or great confusion.
Terror in the Suburbs
For the large majority of my life, I have been afraid of squirrels. Sure, it's not a paralyzing fear like some of those other nagging anxieties I have about flying, being underground, etc., but I still really don't like the glorified rats with bushy tails.When I was little, my mother told me not to try to pet, feed, or trap squirrels. I really don't ever remember having the inclination to do any of those things, but she still told me not to. She said that squirrels could give you rabies and that her childhood friend Beth got rabies from a squirrel and had to get shots in her belly button so she wouldn't die. As neither death nor needles appealed to me, I listened and stayed away from squirrels.In general, this wasn't a problem until I got to college and encountered the dangerously domesticated squirrel (DDS). The DDS is so used to living on a diet of discarded Cheetos and having drunk frat boys want to love on it that it is immune to the fears of most squirrels and will actually approach humans. The DDS might get your hand as your tossing something in the trash bin, approach you when you're napping on the quad, or climb in your dorm room window on a sunny day. None of these things should happen.My friend Amy was attacked by a DDS one morning as she went to her job as a lifeguard in the school's gymnasium. The squirrel flew out of a trash can, arms and legs wide, as it tried to land spread-eagled on her back. Luckily, Amy saw it coming and had the chance to dodge the oncoming squirrel in the nick of time.I also firmly believe that whenever more than 1 squirrel is gathered together in the same place, they are conspiring against the humans. Notice that they look at you more furtively when they're in packs. Also, who can really look at a group of 4 or 5 squirrels huddled together under a tree and not feel a bit uneasy?My sophomore year roommate liked to feed squirrels. She kept some treats in her jacket pocket for trips to the library and around campus. When I learned about this, I had to tell her the sordid tale of Beth and the rabies. Whether or not she heeded my warning, I never heard about her encouraging the DDS again.Anyway, here comes my point. My dog likes to chase squirrels. I try to discourage this, but secretly (or not so secretly), it makes me feel safe. This morning, Cassidy was closing in on a squirrel, when, instead of the squirrel running away in fear, the squirrel began coming in our direction.It leaped toward the dog and hopped on top of the nearby fence. I was convinced that the squirrel was actually going to land on my head. Therefore, I did the only sensible thing under such dire circumstances - I screamed like a little girl and ran away.Of course, I have never liked running either. I've always said that I would only run to escape a charging animal or get out of some other life-threatening situation.I just had no idea that the menacing, charging animal of my nightmares would be a squirrel.
Early Warning Signs
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A Helpful Hint
I have found yet another tenet of basic logic and normal human reasoning that I thought could go unstated, but apparently must be shared aloud: If Richard Karn tries to sway you away from your original "Family Feud" answer, for God's sake, listen.Here's what happened yesterday, during "The Biggest Losers Week." (No, this is not a reference to wait loss. It's much more appropriately named. Families that never won a game on the Feud get to come back for one more shot. Obviously, this should have been my first clue.)The question is "Name something people can't wait to do when they get to a party." The Mitchell family is playing and they've already taken "eat" and "drink" off the board.Mitchell Family Member #1: Meet someone!And, lo and behold, "Socialize/Mingle" is an answer.Mitchell Family Member #2: Get some phone numbers!Richard scrunches his face up a little as we all know getting phone numbers requires socializing and mingling, but the phrasing is so different, he leaves things alone."Get some phone numbers" is not on the board.Mitchell Family Member #3: Meet up with someone!Now, this Richard must take issue with.RK: That's socialize and or mingle. I'll need another answer.Mitchell Family Member #3: No, I said "meet up with somebody."RK: Yes, "meet someone" has already been taken off the board.Mitchell Family Member #3: No, meet UP! Not meet.Ah, of course. How could I not have known that meeting up with someone and meeting someone were 2 entirely separate events? Yes, yes. Meeting "up" with someone implies that you already know them and made plans to meet, but just plain old meeting someone means that you probably didn't know each other before the party. This is brilliant. And, I'm sure in a survey of 100 normal people the subleties and nuances between the 2 were explored. There should certainly be 1 answer for socializing and mingling and another for meeting up.Richard gave Mitchell #3 a good long stare as if allowing reason to set in. After all, if, as the host, he's telling her that terrain has been covered, it seems he might know something she doesn't.Mitchell Family Member #3: Meet up! Meet up! (She chants while clapping for herself in a commonly recognized Feud move for assuring yourself and the audience of your answer. Even her family members half-heartedly join in the clapping although you can clearly tell Mitchell Family Member #1 is thinking, "I knew we shouldn't have brought that dumb bitch with us. When we were kids, she never could remember to keep her fingers out of the electrical sockets.")RK: Meet UP with someone! (Richard sighs as he turns to the big board and hangs his head.)And, as should be no surprise - it's a strike.I mean, really, what kind of pride/stupidity leads someone to stick with an answer even after the host of the show has clearly stated that that particular train of thought has been exhausted? It boggles the mind. And, I thought it was bad when Richard laughed directly in their faces upon hearing an answer.In short, should you ever find yourself on the Feud and Richard Karn thinks your first answer is a bad idea, pick something else, don't just try enunciating various parts of your original answer. You'll thank me when you and your near and dear are playing for the big money.
Unsettling, but True
Last night, during my bout of insomnia/late night television viewing, I discovered what has become of Ethan Embry.It seems that in Ethan's post "Can't Hardly Wait" oblivion, he has resigned himself to guest-starring roles on shows like "The [New] Twilight Zone." Now, I can't fault him just for being on "The Twilight Zone." After all, you can also find Jessica Simpson and Jeremy Piven on the Forest Whitaker vehicle, and both of their careers seem to be just fine. (Yes, Elizabeth Berkeley and Lou Diamond Phillips also show up, but I'm trying to look at this with a "glass is half full" perspective.)What bothers me is that Ethan seems to have spent a considerable portion of the last few years growing and keeping a soul patch. Yes, a soul patch. Ethan seems frighteningly unaware that he looks like he's barely out of puberty so the soul patch is decidedly sparse. And, he seems completely oblivious to the fact that his blondness makes the sparse soul patch seem even more spotty in that "is he actually growing something there or did he miss a spot shaving?" kind of way.Also, I think I am not out of line when I say that the soul patch is the most ridiculous and unnecessary facial hair growth there is. At least a handlebar mustache can be a tribute of sorts to days gone by. The sould patch obviously doesn't keep anyone's face warm in the winter. And, there is no way anyone who gets up and begins shaving in the morning does both sides of their face and then thinks, "I just can't get to my chin today. It's too much." If for some reason, your arms do give out 90% of the way through the shave - take a breather, grab a muffin, and get back to it! You'll thank me later. Having hair just on your chin only works if you're in a trio of pigs yelling insults at the Big Bad Wolf.I suppose the only question that remains is which came first - the death of Ethan Embry's career or the soul patch? Did he start losing roles because of the soul patch, or did he grow the soul patch to keep busy as his career began tanking?The world may never know.
Best Idea Ever
It seems that 2 of my great loves have finally come together - this August, Lifetime will air a made-for-television movie about Fantasia of "American Idol" fame. A "based on a true story" movie about a reality TV star! This is beyond fabulous. And, who will play Fantasia? Why, Fantasia herself of course. I'm picturing a slower, more contemplative version of "Baby Mama" played over a montage of shots showing Fantasia taking her kid to school, dealing with difficult customers in her fast-paced service industry job, finally getting in bed at night - exhausted but knowing she's doing her best.I also hope that Jack Scalia plays Simon Cowell. This is a ridiculous casting decision, but Jack Scalia is quickly becoming Lifetime Old Guard, and his voice will not take to a British accent well. (The kind of mediocrity I want will ensue.) I also think someone from Melrose should be considered for the role of Paula.This might replace "Pregnant at 15" starring a young Kirsten Dunst in my Lifetime list of favorites.
Channel Surfing
Further evidence that the local news is not always cutting edge (as if I didn't know that already):Last night the local NBC station here ran a story about how "My Name is Earl" represents a different idea of karma that what is in the actual Hindu doctrine.I, for one, was fascinated. Apparently, pinning my hopes of paradise and a happy eternity on Jason Lee and his character's code of ethics is not a good idea. Who knew.