Whose Milk Is It Anyway?

Babies scare me.  They always have, and having a child of my own did not change this.  I attribute my own imp’s survival to no less than divine intervention.  So you can imagine my surprise when our good friends entrusted their beloved 4-month old daughter to my care recently.

The drop-off was smooth, with only a fear tears shed (by the mother…it was her first time using a sitter).  I revelled in the opportunity to savor all that is baby goodness (without all of the sleep deprivation badness).  Baby Boo smiled and cooed…everything a good baby ought to do.  I was starting to think that I had finally mastered the essence of baby caretaking.  And then came the tears.  Nothing will move me to action quicker than a baby’s cry.  I must figure out what is wrong and make it right.  I tried all the old tricks I could recall using on my own imp– rocking, walking, singing silly songs, and sticking an Elmo doll in her face.  Nothing worked.  Then I remembered that I had taped Sarah Jessica Parker on The View.  If anything could make a person happy, it was Sarah Jessica Parker in a pair of hot-pink Manolo Blahniks.  Baby Boo was sound asleep in two minutes.  Mission accomplished. 

Baby Boo awoke (conveniently just as the episode ended) in a much better mood.  This lasted about 15 minutes until she started showing some telltale signs of hunger.  I observed a look of panic entering her eyes as she began to sense that she was being cared for by a non-lactator.  I quickly revealed a bottle of pumped milk to assure her that I had a handle on the situation, and was rewarded with a squeal of delight and complete bottle acceptance.

Like a moth to the flame, my imp materialized from nowhere to gaze at the bottle with a mixture of awe and adoration.  The conversation that followed went something like this:

Imp:  Can I hoooold it (referring to the bottle)?

Me: Maybe (using evasive tone)

Imp: Can I drink it?

Me: NO

Imp: Can I hoooold it?

Me: Do you cross-your-heart-promise that you won’t drink it?

Imp: Yes (mischievous glint in her eye)

Imp picks up bottle and attempts to drink.  Now my imp adores my friend and vice versa, but this seems to be crossing some invisible line.

Milk preserved, Baby Boo made it through the rest of the night unscathed.  I hope they let me watch her again.

Choose Your Table Wisely

Have you ever found yourself in (or next to) a conversation to which you have absolutely nothing to contribute?  That’s where I was today.  Actually, I was in the middle of two such conversations.  I attended a lunch/training session today and ended up seated at a table with 6 other women.  On my right, 3 women discussed every possible aspect of Vera Bradley products.  [Vera who?]  On my left, 3 women discussed white outfits adorned by cherries for their babies.  [I don't spend a lot of time thinking about my kid's clothes, as I know they are going to be soiled or mangled instantly.] 

Rather than attempting to participate, I passed the time studying how each woman ate her dessert (options were chocolate and coconut cream pies).  One woman only ate the topping on her pie.  Two women split their pieces in half and swapped halves to provide variety.  Another woman declined pie altogether *gasp*.

Thankfully, a presentation on time management brought an end to the small talk.  Unfortunately for me, the speaker mentioned that his wife was in the audience.  Highly distractible, I became obsessed with trying to figure out who was his perfect match.  I eventually gave up and started paying attention to the lecture, which turned out to be quite good.  He started choking up a bit at the end when he asked us to finish the statement:  At the end of my life, I wish I would have spent more time _______.  This will, no doubt, have me thinking all night.

 

Showing My Age: 80’s Style- Vol. 3

Just when I thought I was over striped jeans and Jiffy Pop popcorn, Taoist Biker had to publish a comprehensive series of 80’s music blogs.  That, coupled with finding an image of McDonald’s Garfield mugs I once owned, launched another nostalgia bender.

Was there any better way in 1981 to express your friendship than to place a bunch of beads on a safety pin, christen them friendship pins, exchange them with anybody who had a decent pin to trade, and proudly affix them to your showstrings?  I didn’t think so.  Moving along to 1985, was there anything more annoying to teachers than hearing the bells of these Charmies necklaces jingle?  If nothing else comes from this blog post, other than I finally figured out what those necklaces were called…it will all have been worth it.  And Swatches.  Everybody knows Swatches.  I think you could even buy some little guards to protect the watch face.

Summer was all about playing outside with friends when I was a kid.  My friend down the street, Jenny, had these Smurf walkie-talkies.  If Thou shalt not covet thy friend’s Smurf walkie-talkies, had been a commandment, I would have perished long ago.  They definitely looked better than they worked.  For us to be able to hear one another, we had to be so close that we could have read lips instead.  I had a pink Schwinn bike with a banana seat very similar to the one pictured below.  The seat had flowers imprinted on it, and I had a bell with a deer on it.  I’m willing to bet that the banana seat would be a lot more comfortable than the seat I have now.  I also played with roller skates outside.  Mine were smurf skates, of course.

Mr. Men.  I can’t quite express how happy I am to have stumbled upon these little characters.  How could I have forgotten about Mr. Men?  Each character in the books taught some kind of moral lesson, in a creative and humerous way.  I always responded well to humor and bright colors as a child.

As we approach the summer Olympics, let me take a minute to reflect on some of my favorite Olympians of the past.  Mary Lou Retton- Every girl my age wanted to be her.  I still get excited when I see her today…even if it’s on a commercial for arthritis medication.  Greg Louganis- I held my breath every time he dove…and nearly passed out when he hit his head on that springboard in 1988.  Flo Jo- Remember her fingernails?

If you look closely, you’ll see that the Barbie and the Rockers doll came with a cassette tape.  This cassette tape contained the Rockers theme song and, well…I played it often.  It was just as bad as you might think.  Imagine a less talented version of Jem.  I also had a My Little Pony and a Pound Puppy. 

The majority of my summer hours were spent at the city pool.  My mom dropped me off when it opened and picked me up when it closed.  For sustenance, I ate Chick-O-Sticks from the canteen.  I also liked Chucky bars and Pop Rocks back in the day.  As an FYI, Pop Rocks, once moistened, will stain wood surfaces.  A camera flash lasts longer than a stick of Fruit Stripes gum, but the temporary tattoes made up for that.  Fun Dip…mmmmm.  I know somebody who eats the candy stick and throws away the Pixie Stick-like powder.  That’s just wrong (unless you’re throwing away the lime flavor).  I think Zero might be a misnomer.  Zero what–  Calories?  Flavor?  I think not.

Rainy days and winter were meant for board games.  I loved playing Cathedral and Payday with my BFF Stacy.  I owned Operation but lost several of the bones/organs, so it was a little challenging to play according to the rules.  I tried to make articifical body parts to replace, but didn’t have much medical success.  This might explain any aversion I ever had about going into the medical field.

I have Tinkerbell Costmetic’s Peel-Off nail polish to thank for helping me kick my nail chewing habit.  My mother bribed me, and it worked.  I had Strawberry Shortcake paraphernalia out the wazoo…dolls, bedspread, tins, dishes, and the lunchbox pictured below (back when they were metal, and susceptible to rust).  I also had numerous Hello Kitty items.  I got a Hello Kitty diary for my 8th birthday, which started a lifelong tradition of journaling.

Of course, I can’t mention the decade of my childhood without paying tribute to a few cartoon such as Gummi Bears, Snorks and Rubik, The Amazing Cube.  Of these, Snorks was my favorite…probably because the Snorks reminded me of Smurfs.  Incidentally, I seem to recall a cartoon movie based on a children’s book about a teacher who was secretly a witch.  I think a couple of her students found out about it, and she let them ride on her broom with her.  It aired every now and then on Saturday mornings.  Does anybody else remember this???

A big thanks to Jenefur for reminding me about the Kodak Disk Camera and giving me a link to a commercial for it. 

                        

I don’t miss the perms, high bangs or Aqua-net, but I do sometimes miss those Garfield Mugs.  Oh, and kudos in advance to anyone who comes up with an answer to my cartoon questions.

Volume 1     ◊     Volume 2

 

 

Confessions of a Double (La)crosser

Is it false advertising to wear a shirt representing a sport you don’t play, spectate, or even recognize?  A recent purchase of mine definitively answered this question. 

I was on a quest to find the perfect workout shirt– fitted, but not too tight; anti-wicking, but not over-polyesterish; stylish, but not impractical.  I was having no luck, and began to suspect a conspiracy against me.  Each aisle and rack delivered a fresh wave of disappointment.  Just as I was starting to lose hope, I spotted something previously undetected in the distance.  I diligently pursued my target and was rewarded with the discovery of a semi-secret rack of Under Armour® shirts.  They were everything I wanted and more…fitted, anti-wicking and cute.  There was just one small problem.  Each shirt was emblazened with some form of sport symbol.

I had always subscribed to a full-disclosure policy for my clothing.  I never wore sweatshirts touting colleges I hadn’t attended; I never wore Coca-Cola shirts when I really preferred Pepsi; and I never wore apparel promoting sports I didn’t play.  As I didn’t play any sports, I didn’t buy any clothing depicting sport-like activities.

So there I was– a rack of perfect shirts begging to be purchased on one hand, and my fear of being called out as a sport faker on the other hand.  I couldn’t make this decision alone.  I pulled a drooling Matt out of the tennis department for a consult.  He took one glance at the shirts and said, “Quit being ridiculous.  It’s just a shirt.”  He quickly returned to the tennis department and I heard his voice echoing down the aisle, “Buuuuyyyyy itttttt.”  I conceded, but opted for the most obscure sport I could think of, lacrosse, assuming that nobody would suspect I actually played it.

The shirt offered nothing but delight initially.  It resisted post-washing shrinkage.  It even wicked (or should I say anti-wicked?) as promised.  Best yet, nobody looked at me accusingly or suspiciously…that is, until the fateful day a man jumped off his stairmaster and approached me as I entered the fitness center.  He asked, “Do you play lacrosse?” with a hint of desperation in his voice.  “Um, no, it’s just a shirt,” I answered meekly.  “Oh,”  he responded with a crestfallen look upon his face, “I coach a women’s lacrosse team, and we really need players.”  I apologized for the misunderstanding and wished him luck on his search.

Ironically, I ended up working out next to a woman wearing the exact same lacrosse shirt one day.  I considered telling her about the man looking for lacrosse players, but thought better of it.

If you want to see the shirt in question, click here.  Do you think I’m giving the wrong impression?

Are You Smarter Than a 4th Grader?

I’m pretty sure I saw a guy I remember from grade school today.  Given the length of time that has passed since then, I tried to do some kind of reverse missing-child age progression to verify…but eventually I started creeping myself out with my staring and opted against approaching him.  [I am simultaenously cursed/blessed with an insanely good memory for names and faces...I usually keep it to myself in the interest of avoiding any kind of stalker vibe.]

I’ll always remember that kid because he taught me a very important life lesson.  In the 4th grade, he told me that dinosaurs had very small brains relative to their body size.  Now I had absolutely no knowledge about dinosaurs, but I just knew that he could not be right about that.  No way could something that big have a small brain.  And that’s what I told him.  Vehemently.  Adamently.  Self-righteously.  He, of course, defended his position and sought affirmation from the teacher.  The teacher told me that he was right and I nearly died from embarrassment.  The lesson I learned was this– don’t talk about what you don’t know, and for crying out loud, don’t ever, ever disagree with somebody unless you are right (and even then, it’s probably not worth it).

Modern Day Harriet the Spy

Back in the day when I aspired to be Harriet the Spy, the tools of my trade were binoculars and a notebook.  These days, my tools are a little more sophisticated, and carry with them a monthly bill.  I try to mind my business for the most part, but every now and then curiosity gets the better of me.  That’s when I break out my internet arsenal– Google, Classmates, and MySpace.

This happened to me a few weeks ago.  I thought of a guy from junior high/high school and my insatiable nosiness inquisitiveness compelled me to investigate.  Popular, athletic, good-looking with a cheerleader girlfriend on his arm, he was the equivalent of junior high royalty.  He was also a complete and utter jerk.  He made fun of people maliciously, defied teachers, and gave the shy, slightly awkward kid in algebra class a wet willy†.  His vocabulary was extensive and oftentimes offensive.  He was the first to expose me to the see-you-next-Tuesday word (in reference to an English teacher).  Despite his behavior issues, he managed to evade punishment by flashing a charming smile and being related to higher-ups in the school system.

His behavior continued to escalate in high school.  One day in physics class, he caught my attention and held up a sign upon which he had written, “I’m suffering from a semen retention headache.”  I was too mortified to even react at the time.  In hindsight, I can’t believe I didn’t rip the notebook from his hand and shove it down his throat.  I wasn’t the only girl he harrassed.  He told my best friend that he wanted to make her, “get down on all four and howl like a dog.”  Eventually four of us ended up in the principal’s office (I never did figure out who give the principal my name) to tattle testify against him.  Predictably, nothing ever came of it.

I had an epiphany about him on senior awards night.  As he walked onto the stage to accept an award, he flashed the audience his infamous Eddie Haskell grin, and I heard several mothers (including my own) gasp and whisper, “He’s so handsome.  What a catch.”  Right then and there, I told myself that he was going to end up in politics or prison (not that the two are mutually exclusive).

So when I saw a political ad and an orange jumpsuit on the same day a few weeks ago, I decided to investigate what became of him.  It took a little digging, but I finally found him on MySpace.  Purportedly, he’s a chef in the sunshine state now.  The only picture he had posted was one of him with his mother.  I guess I was wrong after all.

†This was actually pretty extraordinary to behold.  Shy kid was a frequent victim of jerk-boy’s malevolence, but the wet willy incident proved to be his breaking point.  Shy kid jumped up (knocking his desk over in the process) and pummelled jerk-boy.  The look of shock on jerk-boy’s face was priceless.  After that incident, Jerk-boy kept his distance from the shy kid.  I’m happy to report that I saw shy boy a few years ago doing well with an attractive woman at his side. 

“He Doesn’t Want to Hear Me”

If you have ever studied psychology, befriended a psychology major, or attended any “soft skills” training, you’ve probably taken a Myers-Briggs personality test at some point.  This test identifies you as one of 16 personity types, and is intended to help improve your understanding of, and interaction with, others (Click here to take an abbreviated version online).  I learned that I tend to be an ISTJ, but I didn’t need a personality test to tell me that I’m an introvert.  I’ve known this ever since pre-school, when I went a whole year without talking to any of the kids in my class because I was afraid of them.  I’m much better now about conversing with strangers, but I’m still an introvert at heart preferring the solitary work of accounting to the extraverted work required of my prior social work profession.

In a strange twist of fate, I seem to have been blessed with an extraverted imp.  I have suspected for a while that my imp was socially inclined.  My suspicions were confirmed on our walk last night.  Upon observing a 6-yr old boy riding a scooter, she yelled (for a little imp, she has a big voice), “Hi there boy riding a scooter!”  He ignored her completely.  Undeterred, she repeated herself even more loudly.  He continued to ignore her.  She just shrugged her shoulders and said, “He doesn’t want to hear me.”  Extraverted and perceptive.  I appear to have an ESFP on my hands.

Six Sex and the City’s to Savor

In preparation for the upcoming Sex and the City movie, I’ve been “studying” a sampling of each season’s best.  

Season 1- Models and Mortals

This episode explored the attraction (of men in particular) to models, initiated by Miranda’s dating encounter with a “modelizer”.  I personally have never been attracted to men who look model-perfect.  This might have something to do with my possibly unfair assumptions about vanity and fidelity.  Or it might have something to do with not wanting my guy to be prettier than I am.  In any case, I prefer something a little more rugged…a scar here, a cowlick there.  Men on the other hand (or at least the ones in this episode) don’t seem to have the same concerns about dating female models.

Season 2- Twenty-Something Girls vs. Thirty-Something Women

This episode delved into the differences between the two, one being that a twenty-something will hold her friend’s hair when she vomits (and is more frequently in the position to do so).  Charlotte got crabs at the Hamptons while masquerading as a twenty-something and Carrie was crushed when she discovered that Big moved back from Paris and became involved with Natasha, a twenty-something.  This got me to thinking about my life has changed since my twenty-something days…I have an imp child now,  I wear sunscreen (sometimes) now, and I no longer participate in late nights with David Letterman to name but a few.  I may have a few more laugh lines now, but I like to think that I’m a whole lot smarter now than I was then and that’s worth a laugh line or two.

Season 3- No ifs, ands or Butts

 This one was all about the deal-breakers.  For Charlotte, it was a bad kisser (the guy licked her teeth) and for Carrie’s new love interest, Aidan, it was smoking.  The episode ended with Carrie affixing a nicotine patch to her arm.  Everybody has or had deal breakers of their own.  Some of the ones I can recall were bad breath, being rude to waiters/waitresses, and reckless driving. 

Season 4- Change of a Dress

I have an intense emotional reaction everytime I watch this episode.  Carrie wore Aidan’s engagement ring around her neck instead of on her finger claiming, “It’s closer to my heart this way.”  Carrie was crazy.  Aidan was a saint, and Carrie was lucky to have him.  So what if she didn’t love him enough to marry him?  He sanded her floors and made leather chairs for a living.  Isn’t that enough?  In the end, I coped by telling myself that Aidan deserved somebody better than Carrie (I like Carrie, but she definitely had relationship issues) and was happy to see that he had moved on the next season.

Season 5- Plus one is the Loneliest Number

 This episode addressed the secrets we keep at the beginning of a relationship…Charlotte withheld her marriage and pending divorce from her fling, Miranda withheld the fact that she has a child from her date, and Berger waited until after Carrie became smitten with him to mention his girlfriend.  I don’t think you necessarily have to throw all your cards on the table on a first date but marital status and the existence of a child or boyfriend/girlfriend seem pretty important.  Oh, and Samantha had a chemical peel gone awry.  I could completely relate as I once had a violent allergic reaction to a facial product (some kind of Aveeda product designed especially for senistive skin).  Think Rocky from Mask.

Season 6- An American Girl in Paris (part deux)

 This is my favorite episode in the whole series.  I laughed, I cried, I watched it over and over again.  Carrie moved with her boyfriend, Aleksandre, to Paris;  Miranda and Steve dealt with his mother’s dementia (I cried during the scene with Miranda showing uncharacteristic gentleness in bathing her mother-in-law);  Samantha underwent treatment for breast cancer and works through a “dry spell” with Smith;  Charlotte and Harry experience the heartache and joys of the adoption process (which also made me cry).  Carrie’s relationship with Aleksandre deteriorated rapidly ultimately ending with a backhanded slap.  Moments later,  Carrie discovered Big in the hotel lobby, and managed to stop Big from avenging the slap.  That was probably the moment I finally started liking Big.  Or should I say John?

Should I be this invested in a show?  It is normal to ask WWCD (What Would Carrie Do) when faced with a dilemma?  And I promise I’ll quit referencing SATC episodes so often in my blog comments.  Let the countdown to the movie begin!

Five Talkin’

The always entertaining Bet Me tagged me for this meme, and I daren’t disregard the tag of a Texan packin’ heat.

FIVE THINGS FOUND IN MY BAG

1. Stationery supplies- You never know when a blog idea is going to hit you (e.g., waiting to be seated at a restaurant, driving to work, visiting your favorite retail establishment).  One must always be prepared to take notes at a moment’s notice. 

2. Calculator- I consider this to be an extension of my right arm.  I use it to compute tips, what a marked-down price should be, and just how much damage I have done in Target.

3. Lip gloss-  A girl can never have enough of these in her purse.  And bonus points to a husband who keeps his wife supplied.

4. Technological goodies- I resisted these items for a long time (gave in to cellphone 10/05; gave in to MP3 player 12/07), and now I don’t know what I would do without them.

5. Brag book- Perfect for showing off my imp to friends, family, or any unwitting passerby.

FIVE THINGS IN MY ROOM

           

              

1.  Clinique Happy- I am extremely cautious about adopting a new perfume…I start with free samples and work my way up to the full-blown committment of 1.7 fl oz bottle (that will last forever).

2.  Baby monitor- Just can’t seem to give this thing up.  I sleep best with the droning of a fan, air purifier, and a sound machine.  Without the monitor, we wouldn’t hear if the imp screamed bloody murder.

3.  Alarm clock- My nemesis (shown at the time for which it is set).  

4.  My favorite picture- I bought this picture as a present to myself on my 18th birthday.  It has made 12 moves since then.

5. Secret chocolate supply- Hidden deep within the recesses of my closet…shhhhhh.

5 THINGS I AM INTO

1. Reading- I like to read a little bit of everything…biographies, WWII and other historical nonfiction, memoirs, chick lit, murder/mystery.  I get most of the reading done at the gym because I am usually requested to read books about choo-choo trains and ponies at home.

2. Date nights- This is an absolute must for marital satisfaction.  You need to have a chance to be with your spouse when you’re not saying sentences like, “Keep your finger out of your nose,” or “Let go of her tail right NOW.”  (To be clear, I’m saying these to my imp, not my spouse.)  We like to dine out, go for walks, go to plays, and spend hours minutes perusing bookstores.

3. Working out- Though I enjoy people-watching at the gym, I get most excited about hiking and riding my bicycle outside.  (Time to re-inflate the tires!)

4. The Olympics- I don’t normally follow sports, but I’m an avid fan of even the most obscure sport (archery, luge, checkers) during the Olympics.  

5. Music- Country is my favorite, but I listen to a little bit of everything.  As an experiment, I hit the forward button on my MP 3 player 5 times and this is what I found:

     1. One of Those Girls Avril Lavigne

     2. Never Too Late Three Days Grace

     3. Everywhere Tim McGraw

     4. Not Ready to Make Nice Dixie Chicks

     5. Good Life Kanye West

5 THINGS I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO

1. Learn to kayak.

2. Hike part, or all, of the Appalachian Trail.

3. Visit Washington, D.C.

4. See Garth Brooks in concert.

5. Participate in a Trixie Belden convention.

 In lieu of a tag-fest, feel free to copy if you would like.

The Mane Event

Have you ever noticed the prevalence of intended puns in the hair-styling industry?  Take for instance salon names such as Cuttin’ Up, Hairizons, Prime Cut, Shear Perfection/Attractions/Joy/Magic, or my personal favorite, Bangz.  I’m not saying that they can’t provide excellent service, but I did feel a little relieved that my new salon opted for something more original. 

My recent post about stylist issues drew a lot of entertaining and useful bits of advice.  To follow-up, my experience with the new stylist on Friday was fantastic.  My only regret is that I didn’t make the switch sooner (thus saving myself from the pain of the cap and the humiliation of the cuts).  My new stylist used foil to highlight, employed the straightener technique for cutting that Catie mentioned, and did some kind of extraordinary scalp massage when she washed my hair.  She wasn’t a gay man, Pammy Girl, but I think she was the next best thing (and there were gay men stationed on either side of me, if that counts for anything).

After the appointment, I enjoyed lunch with my husband at our favorite Mexican restaurant (he took a picture if you want to see) and a shopping excursion to purchase my summer kick-off items– sandals, nail polish, and sunglasses.  You could say the day was sheer perfection.

Let’s just say, I was a lot happier with the current outcome than I was with this little number courtesy of Fantastic Sam’s back in 1988.

My Sordid Pop-Tart Past

Each morning, I start my day the same as I did the day before…with breakfast.  I don’t think I’ve skipped breakfast a day in my life.  And every day, I have the same thing for breakfast– a bowl (or two) of some kind of healthy cereal, usually something with the words twigs or bark featured prominently on the box and a fiber content that would satisfy even Sophia from The Golden Girls.  I must confess that my breakfast choices have not always been this boring healthy.  Quite the contrary, in fact.

There once was a time when I was addicted to sugary cereals of every shape, size, and hidden toy imaginable.  I breakfasted on Captain Crunch, Lucky Charms, Fruity Pebbles, Cocoa Puffs, as well as others.  My personal favorite, however, was undoubtedly the Pop-Tart.   Mmmmmm…Pop-Tarts.  Two pieces of pie crust joined in holy matrimony by ooey-gooey filling goodness, covered by icing (I shunned the non-iced variety), and topped with candy sprinkles.  It just doesn’t get any better than that.  Others (e.g., Nabisco Toastettes, Pillsbury Toaster Strudels, store brands) may imitate, but they will never be able to duplicate the goodness that is Pop-Tarts.

My childhood mission was to sample every available flavor of Pop-Tarts.  My absolute favorite was the chocolate-vanilla creme kind.  It had a chocolate crust- need I say more?  Tied for second place were the frosted cherry and frosted strawberry varieties.  Technically, I liked the taste of the cherry Pop-Tarts better, but I couldn’t seem to resist the rainbow colored sprinkles on the strawberry Pop-Tarts.  I’d also like to take a moment to pay tribute to the discontinued Peanut Butter and Jelly Pop-Tarts.  They were enjoyably edible in a comfortingly familiar way (not to mention the cool graham cracker crust).  I ate my Pop-Tarts straight from the package 95% of the time, being far too impatient to toast and cool the pastries. 

My Pop-Tart consumption had to come to an end eventually.  The beginning of the end for me began when I actually began to read and comprehend the food labels I had once completely ignored…especially when I considered that one pastry was never a complete serving size for me (Is it for anybody else?  if so, kudos to you for your self-restraint.)  This probably happened sometime in college, when I came to the stark realization that my childhood metabolism was a thing of the past.  I actually starting eating vegetables like peas and green beans for the first time in my life.

I still miss Pop-Tarts every now and then.  Like when a former co-worker used to eat Cherry Pop-Tarts during every Wednesday morning staff meeting.  I salivated worse than Pavlov’s dogs on those days and secretly cursed her for tempting me.  I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to have one every now and then (especially considering that I never gave up cookies or chocolate), but I’m afraid that I won’t be able to exercise moderation with them.  Would I be able to stop at one, or even two, pastry(ies)?  Magic 8-Ball says: Not at Chance.   I guess I’ll stick with my Nutty Nuggets for now.

Happy Days are Here Again

Do you remember how good the last day of school felt?  You had already turned in your textbooks, so there was no chance of learning anything.  Your biggest chores were cleaning out your desk and removing your artwork and essays from the walls (and even that seemed fun).  Everybody revelled in anticipation of their big summer plans…long days at the pool, summer camps of every variety, riding bikes until dusk, and savoring all that Tastee-Freez had to offer.

That’s exactly how I feel today.  All of the tax returns have either been filed or extended.  Stacks of receipts and ledgers have vanished from my office.  Nobody is inquiring about how quickly I can transform a shoebox full of crumpled papers into something resembling a tax return. 

And just as it was back in my school days, I have big plans.  I’m going to make up for lost time with my family– playground-hopping with the imp, long walks with my husband, and a canoe trip with my dad.  I’m finally going to catch up with my friends.  I also fully intend to indulge in a few completely selfish endeavors like getting my hair cut, going for blissfully solitary bike rides, and immersing myself in my compelling John Adams biography.  The sky’s the limit.  I might even go to Tastee-Freez.

Breaking up (With a Stylist) is Hard To Do

Everybody knows the “rules” for trying to end a relationship amicably- do it face-to-face, say “It’s not me, it’s you,” “It’s not you, it’s me,” and wait at least two weeks before going public with your new flame.  But does anybody know the proper way to snip, snip a hair stylist out of your life?  This is my dilemma.

I’ve been seeing my current hair stylist for nine years.  For the most part, I’ve enjoyed our time together.  She is friendly, offers reasonably priced services (and therein may lie the problem), and she shares a love of books with me.  Despite these admirable qualities, I’ve been considering making a change for a while.  For starters, I’m not sure she’s using the most modern techniques in hairdressing (which may have been too much to ask for the low amount I was paying).  I’m basing my idea of modern techniques on what Nick Arrojo does on What Not to Wear.  He’s my hair idol.  She highlights using the painful cap method rather than the more modern (and less painful-appearing) foil method.  Yes, I confess to the occasional chemical enhancement.  She also uses scissors instead of a razor to do snippety things to the ends of my hair.  Nick always uses a razor.  Then there was the time she mistakenly created bangs when I had spent two whole years growing them out.  I think she got distracted by our book discussion, and I didn’t have the heart to complain.

I believe the time to strike is now.  It’s been 12 weeks since my last haircut (due to tax season hours).  Maybe she’s forgotten about me by now, and won’t notice if I never come back.  I scheduled a hair appointment with my officemate’s stylist for this Friday.  Incidentally, my officemate’s hair always looks perfect.

My big question is- What do I do if I don’t like the new lady?  Should I go crawling back to my regular lady?  And if so, how do I explain my recently highlighted hair?

The Art of Donning Stretch Pants

Spring is in the air- the dogwoods are blooming, the grass is turning green, and I’m starting to roast in my turtlenecks and wool trousers.  This morning I ransacked my closet seeking seasonally appropriate apparel until I found of pair of Gap stretch khakis that required neither laundering nor ironing.  I eagerly ripped them from the hanger and began putting them on one leg at a time.  Everything was proceeding smoothly until my pants reached my derriere.  Instead of my usual quick pull and button, it took an extended tug and twist.  Once on, the snug fit was less than aesthetically pleasing.  I was horrified.  My backside had either doubled in size over the winter, or the stretch fabric had shrunk in its last laundering. 

I had to know the answer, and stepping on the scales was not an option.  I did the only think I could think to do- insanely ridiculous wiggles and squats in an effort to stetch them back to their original size.  I did this until I was satisfied that I could sit down without rippage.  Then I went to work and wriggled a little more.  (Have I mentioned how tolerant and understanding my officemate is?)  Throughout the day I noticed a gradual improvement in fit leading me to believe that the dryer was the culprit afterall…though I can’t say with complete certainty that my winter pastries and goodies are entirely blameless.  Perhaps the time has come to distribute some of my long-hoarded chocolate booty. 

Based on this experience, I think I have a pretty good understanding of why this woman has chosen to writhe.  Is it a demonstration of comfort, or an attempt to make them fit?  I vote for the latter.

Right Place, Wrong Girl

Those of you who know my husband (either personally or through his blog) know he has the gift of wit.  I urge those who aren’t yet acquainted to click here at once for a sample.  Matt has a snappy comeback for every possible scenario- the more awkward the situation, the cleverer the retort.  Speechless moments are rare, so when I cause one, I like to brag.

It happened a few weeks ago.  Matt’s nephew, Luke, and his girlfriend were visiting from out of town.  They, along with my sister- and brother-in-law, convened at our house for an evening of Loaded Questions and pumpkin roll.  Luke’s girlfriend mentioned that they had recently been to a Dixie Stampede performance and Matt said, “Yeah, we went to one of those a long time ago.”  I quickly interjected, “That wasn’t me.”  Matt reddened and became silent.  I had him.  I smiled and everybody started laughing.  Matt let out a sigh of relief.  I wasn’t upset.  It could happen to anyone.  I just enjoyed leaving him speechless for once.