Tag Archives: musings

Is That A Men’s Watch?

13 Sep

You know what I remembered today?

Something I had no business forgetting – that while I do care about other’s opinions, I care more about almost everything else… I have plenty of truly important things to concern myself with, including:

Is it still summer or is it fall? If it’s fall I can wear boots.

I MUST learn to French braid hair.

I wish Garnet Hill would have the Zinnia bedding again so I could have a matching set. Garnet Hill… that reminds me of  my favorite watch – the one David Sedaris told me he liked.

Is it 3:15p.m. or do I have 3 hours and 15 minutes of battery life left on my Mac?

Fortunately, my priorities are back in place… just in time for whatever’s next. 

Only you can prevent forest fires,

Amy

P.S. The grey (aka graphite) one…

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Today – A Guest Blog

1 Aug

For your enjoyment, I’ve asked a friend and fellow blogger, Jason at  Mongo Like Internets, to share an especially near and dear message. Read on and take heed.

Turn

 I’ve had bigger spots on my lip and I never stopped whistlin’. 

~ Max “No-No” Fry

 My late Grandfather No-No always told us this after an injury to make us tough. Recently I’ve come to realize it’s a useful metaphor for many of life’s troubles. Basically, for all of life’s troubles.  The message?  Don’t freak out about the small stuff.  A clichéd statement I know, but it seems to be one that most people forget about, as they get older.

 Speaking of getting older…

We live in the Future.  As children we played with technology our parents never dreamed about, and in turn, our children do the same.  Technology like cell phones, the Internet, blogs, etc. has created a sounding board for every thought, idea, and dream to be broadcast to anyone that will listen.  This seems to be the point where some people start to have issues about our newfound amplified voices; they become offended if our beliefs and thoughts don’t align with theirs.  They complain, gossip, and spread fear that our words are damaging to the Common Good.  In most cases those complaining don’t give a rat’s ass about any Common Good.  They’re just upset about something challenging their own sensibilities and thoughts about life.

 Well, I have a solution.

 Turn.

 Yes, TURN.

 Turn it off.  Turn your head.  Turn the channel.  Turn the page.  Turn to something positive in your life.  Turn into oncoming traffic.

 Just…turn.

If you don’t like it move your eyes, brain, fat ass, or whatever else is being affected to an area of less concerning stimuli.  I swear it won’t hurt our feelers.  We probably never even knew you were watching because, and here’s the Lesson, WE DON’T DO IT FOR YOU.  Shocking, I know.  Some of us, scratch that, most of us write about life, pass on funny videos, write songs, or draw penises on dirty car windows because we are expressing ourselves.  WE enjoy it, and if we’re lucky enough for some others to stumble across our work and it makes them think, or even crack the slightest smile, well then, it’s all gravy, baby.

 Shall we review one last time so we can leave this here lil corner of cyberspace on the same page?

 If you don’t like something you view upon your own free will, then…

 Turn.

And remember, if you ever get butt hurt about something you saw or read on the Internet, or anywhere else for that matter, the author of that content has probably had bigger spots on their lip and they never stopped whistlin’.

Sleep Deprivation Is No Laughing Matter

10 May

It isn’t funny. Babies don’t sleep. In fact, toddlers don’t sleep either, which means adults with children sleep, on average, 14 hours in a four-year time period. So that sucks.

But this book doesn’t suck. You should read it – even if you don’t have kids. 

Here it is: Sleep. 

Thank you to my friend JM for sharing.

Public Service Announcement

15 Feb
"Coughs and Sneezes Spread Diseases - As ...

Image via Wikipedia

Hi there.

This is going to be short and sweet. You might consider printing it out and sharing it with your disgusting co-workers or fellow airline passengers.

Under no circumstances is it appropriate to snort your snot LOUDLY and REPEATEDLY in a public place. You are startling people! If people clutch their chests in shock and cringe as they look over at you, yet you keep at it, expect fewer social invitations.

In addition, it is not acceptable to hack and cough in a manner that suggests you’re dying – I’m talking about the scary, loud, dramatic “look-at-me” cough that goes on for ten minutes – unless you are certain you are dying. Even then, it’s iffy.

At the very least, please escort yourself and your repulsive display of illness elsewhere.

KTHXBAI!

The Sedaris Empire

9 Jan
Me Talk Pretty One Day

Image via Wikipedia

I love David Sedaris and Amy Sedaris. The wit. The way they don’t temper their comments. Amy is ridiculous. Brilliant. David’s writing makes me feel like I’m drunk on a combination of wit, awe, and hysteria. The poignancy he weaves into his stories will sneak up on you and might even make you cry. If you’re a crybaby. Which I am.

Anyone who doesn’t find them funny is lacking in the intelligence department.

Read Naked or Me Talk Pretty One Day if you’re up for your sides to split wide open.

Amy’s latest book, Simple Times: Crafts for Poor People, is genius, too.

Some links for your viewing pleasure:

2011: Not the Year of the Busy Mom

3 Jan

I am concerned about the data that must exist about “busy moms” and their interests – particularly as it relates to the design and marketing of wall calendars and agendas. You should be concerned too… Someone is spending time and money researching this demographic in order to offer products that will generate income. Sadly, the resulting products are infantile and cartoonish, which obviously means that is what the market supports.

The next time you are browsing the calendar section at Barnes and Noble, take note. Squint your eyes and look for the yellow cartoony area – now focus.

I told you.

In the bid to win her business, marketing professionals saturate the packaging with information about the calendar’s hundreds of happy little stickers (soccer practice, doctor appointments, celebrations) that the suicidal mom can use in her new calendar. They might be meant as a subliminal message…

“There, there little lady. No need to engage your brain. Just keep up the good car-pooling work and have supper on the table by 5:30. These pretty stickers will make it all seem fun! You’ll see. Now run along.”

I love a pretty calendar or agenda, I admit it… something to take the tedium out of the scheduling of my weekly meetings with my parole officer… but my ability to process fairly complex thoughts (Where am I? Where are my kids? What’s for dinner? Does little Billy play baseball? If so, when and where?) also means I haven’t found the right one yet. I’ve shopped around, too – the selection at Amazon really might be a practical joke.

I guess I will hold on to my $13.95, unless one of these beauties suddenly excites my hypothalamus:

WHERE ARE WE GOING?

15 Dec
From left to right: Swiper (in background), Do...

Image via Wikipedia

“In English we say clean up. In Spanish we say (something else that I can’t spell),” Dora yells at the top of her lungs. Dora is trying to teach Swiper the Fox how to live a better, more rewarding life temporarily so he can get some presents for Christmas.

Whether or not you have children, you have probably heard of Dora the Explorer. Consider yourself lucky if that is the extent of your relationship with Dora and her pals. Pals like Swiper the Fox, for example. Swiper is the poorly disguised troublemaker who steals from all the other characters. He wears a mask that does almost nothing to hide his identity and answers by name, even in the midst of robbery.

As for Dora, she clearly needs better parental supervision. She’s always lost, yet yelling at the audience in a condescending manner as if we were somehow involved. She repeats the same thing at the top of her lungs for extended periods of time (“WHERE ARE WE GOING? WHERE ARE WE GOING? WHERE ARE WE GOING? MAGIC MOUNTAIN!!”), which would be great if I had an IQ of 7 and was deaf.

Thanks to Dora, though, today my child and I are learning about how much better Swiper’s life would be if he would just stop swiping. Santa put him on the naughty list because he steals from all the other kids. Well let me tell you, Swiper learns his lesson, alright. After much loud-talking from Dora, the lesson is clear. DO NOT STEAL RIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS. Any other time throughout the year, but not now because hello… Santa!

Swiper quickly learns to work the system… he hasn’t led a life of crime without being crafty and manipulative. He changes his ways just in time for Santa to deliver him a HUGE bag of presents.

So there’s your lesson kids. Do whatever you want in life, just try to avoid getting caught. If you do, though, no worries… tell everyone you’re sorry (Jeez. Sorry.) and a giant bag of toys is yours.

Unlike A&E’s Intervention, there is no follow-up or update at the end to indicate whether or not Swiper stayed on the straight and narrow, but really, I think not. Why would he bother? Dora and her pals are a bunch of latchkey-kid suckers who never learn to lock up their valuables. That’s the real lesson. Take better care of your toys and don’t go wandering off without your parents.

Merry Christmas!

A Meeting of The Eyes

8 Dec
Tap dancer at Tokyo Disney Sea

Image via Wikipedia

Sigh. My new physical therapist is kind of shy.

No eye contact.

Eye contact is important when you communicate with other humans… window to the soul and all that.

He also struggles to make small talk, which is at the opposite end of the spectrum from my last boyfriend… or physical therapist… you know what I meant. He would no more presume to touch my hip flexor than to break into a tap dance number.

“So, what do you do besides run?” he asked, as he gazed at the wall. I didn’t know if he meant in my free time or in addition to side-to-side squats with a band around my ankles.

I really didn’t.

“Do you mean… like… do I have a job?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Well, I’m a stay-at-home mom and I ummm…

No. I don’t have a job.”

“Oh. That’s good. That’s good.”

It was ridiculous. I smiled over at him and laughed, but I think I embarrassed him.

Jesus. He probably thought I was laughing at him, but I swear I wasn’t. I was laughing at his pleated pants, and that is not the same thing. I think he may have loosened up a bit by the end of the hour, but he’s very formal so I can’t be sure.

One hour together… twice a week… for months.

But don’t worry, I’ll corrupt him by next Thursday… he might even say a bad word, like “hell” or “damn”, but at the very least he will look me in the eyes.

Poor guy.

Was That A Date?

3 Dec

I think I was just on a date. A second date, as a matter of fact.

I injured my leg running in August and am just now able to begin to exercise again, albeit with the help of a physical therapist.

The first appointment was kind of awkward. S., my PT, immediately skipped the b.s. and tried to get to “know me better” by asking me to let him see me walk. Yes, that’s right. “Let me see you walk,” said S.

Guess what I did? I stood right up and sashayed my ass around so he could see my gait – like a show pony… or a hooker.

“Hmmm. Yes. You have a bit of a limp” he said, and then had the nerve to write something down in a notebook – right in front of me!

“Now, come over here and lie down on this table (which is in a big open room with all the other PTs and patients  – he didn’t even have the decency to take me to a private room).” “Does it hurt when I push here?” he asked as he pushed on my hip flexor.

“No, but you best be careful. This is a bit much for a first appointment. I didn’t even know you five minutes ago.”

He talked non-stop, eventually telling me to move to the stationary bike where he stayed, leaning against the bike next to me with his arms crossed in that testosterone cool guy way. And talked. And talked. I learned about his athletic prowess, his travels to England, his upcoming trip to the moon. He never even asked me about my interests, which is how I knew it would never work between us. I need to be the center of attention at all times – just ask my husband.

My second appointment was almost worse. I mean, yes, we did have that getting to know you part out of the way, but now he really went for it. He asked me to lie down on my back on another table and he slid a band around my feet, over the knees, all the way to mid-thigh. THEN he told me to push my knees apart and push my butt off the table (a bridge).

And I totally did it, people. It was more than awkward.

He told me to hold it for 10 seconds and repeat while he stood there and tried to make small talk. Trust me, there is no way to make small talk when you’re in that position. Then he had the nerve to have me get off the table, stand on my bad leg, and catch a medicine ball he threw at my face to “work on balance”.

I meet with a different physical therapist next week who works specifically on returning to running programs – my current PT told me he had already let the guy know all about me… What does that mean? What does that mean??

I know what it means. It means:

“She’s eager to be able to run again so she’s completely gullible – or maybe she’s just stupid… wait til you see what you can get her to do.”

In that case, I’m changing it up for the next one. I’ll be ready for him. He will be the one who walks for me AND catches the medicine ball I repeatedly throw at his head.

So there.

Stay tuned.

Do Not Eat

1 Dec

I have a list of things I long to do but don’t, based solely on the warning labels that accompany the objects of my temptation. Thankfully, someone out there (in legal) has repeatedly saved me from myself and my complete disregard for common sense.

When I read these warnings I automatically fill in the blank at the end of the message with “you freakin’ idiot”, as in:

Do not eat the cardboard box that contains your scalding hot pizza. Only eat the pizza. Do not eat the box. Only the pizza. Which contains dairy. And maybe came in contact with soy. Or peanuts. Eat the pizza. Not the box. You freakin’ idiot.

I mean, seriously – it’s clearly implied, as is the sneer on the face of the author.

I would prefer that evolution and survival of the fittest supersede these warnings, but what do I know (besides how to spell supersede and use it in a sentence).

My latest temptation was to eat seventeen bars of soap at  my local grocery store. Fortunately I saw the warning just in time:

 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to exercise my random act of kindness for the day and shoot an e-mail to legal at a few companies. I have some suggestions for future labels:

“This hairdryer is not a toy. If you plug it in, turn it on, and then toss it to your babbling baby who is playing nearby in the bathtub, something bad will happen. Also, the hairdryer will stop functioning and the warranty will be void.”

“This package of candy Lifesavers is NOT actually going to save your life. If you cannot swim and you choose to jump into the ocean relying solely on this candy as a flotation device, you will drown.”

“Do not attempt to wear this pillow as a hat, as it may decrease your ability to see while driving. Which reminds us, do not attempt to rest your head on this pillow while driving either, as you may fall asleep. Do not sleep while driving.”

You freakin’ idiot.

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