Wonderings

I wonder a lot of things. Some of these things stick in my head and become what I would call,  "mini-obsessions"...the kind of things that I think about so much that I find myself asking complete strangers if I hit a dead end.  I don't bring it up out of left field, I find a segue so as not to seem like a weirdo.  For instance I spent a lot of my time growing up trying to understand why anyone would order a banana pudding blizzard. Pudding in ice cream is like a biscuit in a croissant...or gravy in a soup.  It doesn't make any sense. It's gross.  At more than four Dairy Queens I have just flat out asked them how many people, on average, order the banana pudding blizzard.  The younger kids will usually get awkward, shrug, giggle, and say they aren't really sure.  But the seasoned DQ employee, usually the day shift, will elaborate and provide some insight.  They might say, "Oh honey you would be surprised, we get quite a few orders for that.  I personally haven't  tried it, I don't like bananas too much, but people say it tastes really good, very creamy."  It doesn't make it any less of a mystery really, but I keep asking.  I guess I don't really want an honest answer..I am really looking for someone to say what we are all thinking...something like, "OMG I know, SIIIICCCCKKK...we have all of these awesome choices and they order THAT???"....or maybe they would say, "Well I know that old couple that had their tongues removed ordered it...but that's the only two I know".
I'll keep asking.  In the meantime I have a new obsession...

Who chooses what the prize puzzles will be on Wheel of Fortune and how much do they get paid?  What are their qualifications?  Do you have to know somebody?  How would such a position be advertised?

Seeking:  Outgoing and talented person with a strong grasp of the English language, particularly words that do not include RSTLNE.  Experience with phrases that hint at a 5 day 4 night all expense paid trip to Hawaii strongly preferred.

I wonder if they are paid on commission?  Do they get a bonus if it takes more than 6 spins to guess the puzzle or something?  I bet they reserve a job like that for Pat's nephews. Vanna's daughter is probably an intern and she gets to test the puzzles or something awesome.  This is a real question that poses a real threat to my sanity.  It runs a close second to the half a year I spent obsessing on not just the science of, but whether or not there was any logical reason for, breeding tiny ponies.  It plagued me until just a few weeks ago when I found out that along with dogs they are the only approved service animal for the blind.  This means that you could bring one to your job if you were visually impaired.  While I feel better about my question, I now spend a lot of time thinking about how I might convince the boss that I am legally blind.  It's sick, I know.  But...its a pony....and it's tiny.

Random the red-nosed reindeer...

Random holiday thoughts....here goes:

Every time I see a "Toys for Tots" drive I picture someone in uniform giving a nicely wrapped gift to a tater tot.  I know that's not what really happens but I still donate things that I think a tater tot would appreciate....like an Aquadoodle or something.

I bet Santa takes Lipitor.  You can just kind of tell.

Egg Nog is nasty.  You know something is gross when people only have it for one holiday...and even then only SOME people will eat it.  It's like cranberry sauce. If it's so awesome why don't people have like a bologna sandwich and cranberry sauce for lunch every day?


Where is the warehouse that stores those holiday perfume and makeup gift boxes at Walgreens that are EXACTLY the same as the ones that I got for Christmas 20 years ago?  Did we even have Walgreens then?  Are "LipSmackers" still that popular? Is there really someone out there that asks for Windsong? If so, I really want to meet them.  I want to also meet the people that ask for Jovan Musk or Malibu Musk.  I personally don't know anyone that wears anything with musk in it.  Isn't musk the smell of under old peoples beds or something?

Zhu Zhu pets remind me of those creepy fake "sleeping cats" made with real cat hair at truck stops and gas stations.  They are usually right around the sno-globes and caffeine tablets. That's a dumb toy. People don't even like real hamsters.

The marshmallows in Swiss Miss hot chocolate are super tiny. You expect them to puff up like those capsules that you put in water and the next morning they are big sponges...but they don't.  They dissolve first.  I drink it anyway and they probably count on that, but I really don't appreciate it.

For me, stars are the clear choice for a tree topper.  Angels are too weird because the top of the tree goes straight up their dress....so where IS the tip of the tree?

Exactly.  Go ahead, grab a star.

Merry Christmas everyone!  Peace and Love!

Some guys have all the luck...

I didn't realize until last summer that craptastic off-brand toys aren't the only thing you can get at Family Dollar. No No...for me Family Dollar is the new match.com and I am always at the top of my fellow shoppers search rankings apparently. Anytime I go at least one fella is going to ask for my number, and I'm always willing to bet my White Rain conditioner that they would blow me up on their Tracfone if I gave it to them. Lucky for me these aren't the kind of guys all obsessed with fancy things like big named cell phone carriers or cars...or deodorant....or... teeth. These aren't flashy guys all caught up in changing their shirts just because there are a few holes in it or the dog pissed all over it. No, these guys are happy with the finer things in life, brown tipped cigarettes, a tall boy, and a good woman. That's where I come in.

I'm not sure what exactly it is about me that draws them in. I know that my sweatpants from 97' are pretty hot, so that's probably part of it. Every time I pull them on and head out to the Family Dollar I secretly spend a moment in the mirror, prepping myself for the attention they bring. I don't mean to brag, its just that you can only hear, "Damn girl.. you have a NICE fat booty" so many times before it gets to your head.

Maybe its the glasses. The last guy that asked for my number hinted at it.

"I like your glasses. You must be one of them smart girls. Damn. A fat booty and you smart. I like you. You got a boyfriend?"

He was nice. It didn't bother me that his eyes didn't look in the same direction, that way he could get a glimpse of my glasses and my ass at the same time. It might have been true love but he was buying those really hard iced oatmeal cookies and I knew I couldn't be with anyone with such an unrefined palette...they even had Softbatch cookies at this Family Dollar, what was he thinking?

Perhaps my biggest "what might have been," Family Dollar romance was the one that happened just this past summer. I must have caught his attention when I pulled into the lot. Either that or he was hoping I could give him a jump because a lot of smoke was coming out from under his hood and various liquids were pooling underneath it. I parked far away, but only because I was worried that the 3 inch long ash from his half smoked GPC was going to fall into one of those pools and blow us all to pieces. I dashed into the store hopeful that Swiss Vanilla wasn't the only St. Ives bodywash scent left. It wasn't until I was leaving the store that he approached me.

"Baby girl" "Hey" "Hey".

I pretended not to hear him by talking to Kellen. Unfortunately Kellen was quick to point out that "that man over there" was talking to me. Get in the van son. Get in the van. It was too late, he was starting to walk toward us. I walked behind the back of my van to get to my door and jumped in. Now he was yelling and motioning me to roll down my window. I tried to smile and wave and pretend I couldn't tell what he was doing but he was not a quitter...no sir. Actually I already knew that because by looking at the oil and sweat stains on his wifebeater he had been working on that car since March at least. I could also tell that he didn't take the easy way out just by looking at his hair. Most men that prefer not to wash or comb their hair would simply shave it off. Not this guy. He was gonna keep his braids, even if he wasn't able to have them redone since his car broke down in March.

Unlike the other guy, I was 100% sure he was talking to me because his eyes were both on me as he walked over. Maybe I could get past the long yellow fingernails, maybe he was too busy working on his car to mess with them...and maybe it wasn't such a big deal that you could pot a plant in the dirt under them...I like flowers. And the way he let his cigarette slide between his teeth where his incisor should be seemed like a practical use of space. At least he covered the few teeth he had in gold...that way if those didn't make it he could at least make a nice locket. Despite all of these qualities, a spark was missing...not just from his ignition but also in my heart.

As he walked toward my van I slipped the gold band that my mom gave me on to my ring finger, preparing for my way out. He didn't bother with small talk, he just went right to the point.

"Hey...Hey...you gonna give me your number or what girl?"

I held up my ring..."I'm married...sorry" I said with a smile.

His head dropped, his shiny smile fading. He just shook his head and said, "Aww man...some guys have all the luck."

As I drove away I couldn't help thinking about what he said. I realized that Family Dollar was so much more than just a spruced up flea market that really isn't any cheaper than the other stores. It was more than a safe haven for shitty Chinese imports that somehow escaped all safety and FDA regulations. It was a place where I was a star. It was a place where glasses and fat butts were appreciated. It was a place so sure of itself that they print the store name and price right on the box so that you can't even lie about where you got it.

Correction sir...I have all the luck. I have all the luck AND a body wash that doesn't really smell like what it claims to but was $2.00 flat so I went for it...

P.S. I saw your car sitting there stripped down to damn near the frame until like October so I'm sorry you couldn't get her started...but you always have your teeth to fall back on.

Dear Lady in the Parking Lot

Dear Lady in the Parking Lot,

I counted.  There were 37 open spots in the lot this morning.  In fact, I was the only car in it, until you arrived.  So I’m curious, with a lot full of spaces, why did you pull up RIGHT NEXT to me? I park there, by myself, for several reasons…and you messed up my whole routine.  

First of all, I park that far away just so no one will pull up next to me.  I don’t want anyone next to me because this is the time I like to spend in my rearview mirror.  This is the perfect time for me to make sure there are no “bats in the cave.”  It is also the place with the perfect morning sunlight (that no bathroom vanity light can replicate) to catch the tweezer oversight.  That insane two inch long blonde hair poking out from the chin or upper lip that somehow made it past my close inspection.  You know the one, the one that sprouts out of nowhere in record time.  The one that leaves you horrified, wondering how many people saw it before you caught it.  Well my morning parking lot routine is where I find it, and I couldn’t with you there, so I probably have a goatee by now, thanks a lot.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that you pulled up right next to me, you sat in your car forever.  It was like you were taunting me.  I waited, and waited, and waited..and you just sat there.  I know you weren’t waiting to pick or tweeze or you would have parked at the other end and gone to town.  

You’re probably the same lady that had a cell phone conversation in the bathroom while I was in the stall waiting for you to leave.  Yeah you know who you are, the one that was talking to your “boo” for eternity.  The total weirdo that that ended your call, apologized to me by saying “Sorry girl, you know how it is when your man calls, you got to get the phone…”, and left!  No I don’t know how it is and why didn’t you leave first?  You had no business left in the bathroom at all…Who does that??? It felt gross and I couldn’t pee. Didn’t your “boo” hear  the flushing?  Aren’t you afraid of sick little public restroom germs clinging to your phone?  How can you use the word “boo” in a public bathroom anyway?…yuck.  That’s like getting it on at your grandma’s house or something..you just don’t do it.  I had three appointments after that and all I could think about was how weird and gross that restroom interaction was.  I lost almost a day of productivity just thinking about it.  That bathroom stunk and you were talking a lot, which means you were inhaling the funk word after word.  I always hold my breath in that bathroom, its just good practice.  Then I started to wonder if I am ever talking to my "boo" on the phone and he is in some sick ass public restroom talking all sweet and nice as if he is sitting on a rainbow holding a kitten.  Because that's what you did and I bet your boyfriend has no idea.    Kinda misleading don't you think? I wanted to find you and confront you but I’m really a big wuss, so it never happened. 

Look it’s not rocket science, its simple bathroom and parking lot etiquette.  Does there need to be a book, really?  Come on lady, get your life together. In the meantime I’ll be parking down the street and peeing in a cup under my desk.

Fred Bird is a pervert and quite possibly a communist

Puppets, big and small, but mostly big, creep me out.  Anyone that knows me is aware of this.  I make no secret about the fact that I want nothing to do with Bugs Bunny at Six Flags or the BHS Beaver at the local high school game.  I don't like big puppets looking at me or doing weird hand gestures and body shakes in my direction.  The only reason I don't like good seats to the Cardinals games is because of the increased likelihood that Fred Bird will come near me.  This isn't some unfounded phobia, I have logical, concrete reasons for my feelings toward big puppets...and here they are.

First of all, you have to ask yourself, what kind of a person thinks it is a good idea to dress up in a big hot costume and walk around bothering people for a living?  Why would anyone make this a career choice? One time when I was working in student services at UMSL I had to pick up the mascot costume.  It smelled like salty B.O. and greenbean water.  It was disgusting.  I knew I wouldn't want anything to do with somebody that would put that on their head and dance at basketball games.  Think about it.

Second of all, they never talk.  That's just weird. The cartoon characters talk.  So now you're like a huge  puffy mute version of the real thing and that makes no sense.

Third of all...where are they looking?  Their eyes are plush and don't even have pupils.  They have this mesh air hole that I can't see in, but they can see out of. I don't trust anything that can look at me and I don't know it. You old creepy ass.

Finally, they can't take a hint.  If a kid is screaming at the top of their lungs because they are smart and know that you're not right, why would you keep trying to high five them?  If I turn the other direction and pretend not to see you, why do you single me out for an extra weird shake dance thing, or whatever it is you're doing. Why are you so damn pushy?  You get the same 7 bucks an hour regardless, so this is personal.  Back off.

Ask yourself this people.  If someone came up to you at Schnucks wearing sunglasses and started shaking their butt  and trying to high five your kid,  never saying a word....would this be ok?  Yet somehow if they dress up like a chicken it's all good? I say no.

Do you know anyone personally that is a big puppet for a living?  No?  Me either.  Who are these people and how come we don't know them? Where do they hang out when they are not terrifying the public at a theme park?  There is probably some big creepy puppet hangout where they all get a good laugh at the psychological damage they did that day.  They probably have big creepy puppet parties where they do the duck dance and the locomotion.

Be afraid people, be very afraid.

Dueling Grannies

 

Women, even the best of friends, have a way of subtly being in competition with each other, whether they  admit it or not.  Your best friend loses 20 lbs, and suddenly your goal becomes 25.  She gets a breast lift after you both swore that you were strong women that loved your bodies just as they are...and now you're shopping for silicone.  She brags that her husband or boyfriend did the most romantic thing in the world, you get home and tear into your partner for never doing anything for you. It's not that you can't be happy for your friend, its just that  it is a LOT easier when you look and feel better than her.  Yeah I said it.

I always thought that with age and wisdom things would change.  I assumed that the time spent coveting your friends was replaced with canning or trinket collecting. I was wrong.

My mom has had a group of girlfriends for as long as I can remember.  They have been getting together since I was a kid.  They all have kids around my age, so it was no surprise that we starting having kids at the same time. We all had boys, which I think was God's way of getting back at them for years of bitching about men.

The first time mom called me with some baby product advice, I didn't think anything of it.  It seemed innocent. 

Mom:  Do you have one of those things called a Gumbo or Bumbo or something like that?

Me:  No

Mom:  Oh, well Sid said Gavin has one and just loves it.  You should get one of those.

Me:  What is it?

Mom:  I don't know but I'll get you one.

The next week when she came to visit, there it was.  I had a Bumbo. Maybe she just really wants her grandson to be happy and thought this rubber seat would do the trick. That's probably it.

A few weeks later I was talking to mom about Kellen having some trouble with his formula. She had a solution right away:

Mom:  Have you tried those Avent bottles?

Me:  No, aren't those really expensive?

Mom:  Well they might be but Gavin uses them and he doesn't get gas like that. Why don't you return those bottles we got and get those Avent bottles.

Me:  Ok, maybe I will try that, talk to you later Mom.

A few minutes later....my phone rang.

Mom:  Ok, Sid said they are the 16 oz with the yellow nipple.  Are you picking them up now?

Me: I'm on my way...

$60.00  and six months later Kellen was still crying.  In the meantime I was well aware of what Gavin ate, what he wore, words he was saying, that he was potty-trained at a ridiculously young age.  It wasn't until Kellen was almost two that I realized that I wasn't the only one.  During a get-together with Gavin's mom I was telling her about how much Kellen was talking when she stopped me. "Oh I know, Sid told me."  We soon realized what was going on.  The grannies were dueling.

I confronted Mom and let her know that we were on to them.  She laughed and said, "Oh now that's ridiculous, we are not."

Right now Mom and Sid and Kellen and Gavin are at the pool.  Mom thought Kellen needed to start swimming lessons.  It probably had nothing to do with the fact that Gavin  started swimming.   Mom probably was just making conversation when she pointed out that Kellen could hold his breath and go under water longer than Gavin.  That probably wasn't a half-smile I saw as she told me. Time to step your game up Granny Sid, you need a rebound.

BUTTERPROOF

I am not sure why I spend so much time trying to prove my point with my 3 year old son.  You would think it would be easy for me to just let it go, chock it up to him being 3, and move on.  But I can't.  I have to fight to the finish, especially when it is something really important, like with one of our most recent disputes.  On the way to daycare we were doing what we always do, singing and dancing in the Golden Previa (if you haven't seen one, I suggest a google search...they are pretty sweet), music all the way up (mostly to drown out the road noise..it's a 94') and getting ready for our day.  In the middle of one of our favorites (actually our favorites have to be one of the six they play on the radio because that's all we have) I stopped singing to ask Kellen if he had any underwear on.  I remembered that I was really proud of how fast he had dressed himself that morning, and just now realized that he could very well be missing some essentials.  At any rate, that's when I noticed it.  Singing the new La Roux song I heard Kellen say, "This time baby, I'll be e e  butter - proof."  I cracked up laughing and  asked him to repeat the lyric.  Yep.  He said "butterproof".  Casually I said, "Honey it's not butterproof, it's bulletproof."  He paused, "No its butterproof.  See listen.  Here it comes.  This time baby I'll be e e butter-proof."   Still in light spirits I laughed again.  "No its bulletproof"  "Mom, its butterproof."  "What does butter-proof even mean Kellen?  There's no such thing as butter-proof." "Yes there is, like in the song." Now I was getting defensive. "Oh, butter-proof like in the song where you just MADE UP that it says butter-proof?  Like in that song?" "Yep."  I was defeated.  Luckily we were finally at daycare.  I kissed him goodbye and just as I jumped in my van yelled, "It's BULLETPROOF", and slammed the door closed before he could respond.  As I drove away I could read his lips in slow motion in my rearview.  "It's Bbbuuuttttttteeerrr  ppprrrooofff."  Yeah, try telling that to Miss Charlotte.  Haha.  She's not falling for that crap either. 

It wasn't as bad as last time when he butchered the Jordin Sparks song and said "Better go and get your labra" instead of "Better go and get your armor."  That time the argument lasted all afternoon with me challenging him to go and get me a labra.  He couldn't produce and I was victorious.  I think I will be this time too because I thought all day about what my comeback would be when he inevitably challenged me again."Spell Butterproof"  Ha ha ha ha ha.  You're 3 and can't spell.  BOO-YAH!