I just read an article about a school in Belfast, Ireland- St Matthews Primary- whose principal has asked parents not to wear pajamas ("pyjamas" over there) when dropping off their children. I saw this article in a few places and read through a hundred or so comments. Rather than dive into the cesspool of internet comment trolls, I thought I'd post my thoughts here.
I can sort of see his point. If parents are bringing the kids into the school, or checking them in, anything that involves getting out of the vehicle, then by all means appropriate attire should be worn. But if Mother-Of-Five is just pulling the car to the curb and offloading the little anklebiters, who the hell cares what she's wearing? And why would that be ANYBODY's business but hers?
Some common sense must be used. Obviously Mom would be embarrassed if she were in a fender-bender and had to leave the car or speak to police in her nightie, and same for Dad if he had to fix a flat tire in his boxers, but whose decision is that to make? Not the principal of the school. The kids attending have a dress code; their parents do not. (It can be argued that there should be one, considering the clothing some people choose to wear on inappropriate occasions, but that's a whole 'nother rant.)
Speaking of dress codes: this ball started rolling when Tesco in Cardiff banned shoppers from wearing sleepwear in their store. Over here in the United States, pajamas are de rigeur among the teen and college set. I was a bit put off by it myself, considering most of the so-called jammie bottoms were tight, folded down to expose more skin, and had words like TOO HOT and SEXY emblazoned across the butt. Wonderful clothes for the twelve-year-olds I usually saw wearing them. The older teens and college kids, not so bad, but I still wondered when it became socially acceptable to wear jammies anywhere outside the house. (Side note: I occasionally wore the funkiest jammies I could find to go grocery-shopping when I was younger, but back then it was a statement, not a trend!) Now some schools have a regular "PJ Day" that encourages this trend. Don't even get me started on the male butt-hanging-out thing. Why is this okay? No really, it's obscenity, not fashion. If I want to see asscrack I'll buy a magazine. I do NOT want to have a random stranger's intimate crevices forced upon my eyeballs.
Another, more recent trend is Public Snuggies. You know what a Snuggie is. Basically a fleece blanket with sleeves. People are now wearing them to bars, parties, etc. Sporting events I get, but bars? Really? The next cheesy pick-up line is "Hey baby, I really love that pink floral Snuggie, is there room in there for two?" (Yes they DO make double Snuggies, by the way.)
Back to the Pajama Mamas. And Daddies, so we don't stereotype. I realize there are many variables that influence someone wearing pajamas out in public. Some are ill and going to the doctor, some have just finished the night shift and changed clothes before dropping the kids off and then going home to bed, some have hectic mornings getting the children ready and plan to come back home to gussy up for the day, and a few people are- to be honest- just lazy/slobby/slutty, depending on the nature of the sleepwear. Any woman (or man!) who wears lingerie to drive the kids around is looking for attention of the sexual sort. Sweatpants and top? Meh, whatever. I've done that on rare occasions. Not my best look, but it's not a big deal. Nightgown with no shoes and no bra and nothing over it? Either she's having a really bad morning or she just doesn't give a damn. Regardless, if the kids are dressed and clean and at school on time, and the "offending" parent isn't waltzing around the building in a sheer teddy and garters, I say let 'em wear what they want.
This brings me (at last) to something I've mentioned to the husband on several occasions: Men With Hats. Back in the days of our grandparents and beyond, a man was never seen in public without a head covering, and ladies always wore hats to church and social functions. A man ALWAYS took his hat off indoors. It seems the only segment of the population still following this bygone trend is the military, who have strictly-enforced hat and uniform regulations. And maybe cowboys still do it.
I want to bring it back. There's something nostalgic and a bit romantic about a man tipping his cap to a woman, and a feeling of pride when everyone removes their hats for the display of our Flag (an event most commonly seen these days at NASCAR races.) I can take or leave the Carmen Miranda-bird's nest-Kentucky Derby extravagant ladies' hats of days past, but I do wish more women would wear great hats. I've semi-trained Hubby to take his hat off inside, although sometimes if there are a bunch of others wearing ball caps and we're at a gun raffle or something, I don't bother asking. But at my grandmother's house, in nicer restaurants, etc... hat off please.
And I'd like to see the days of the better-dressed gentlemen return, when belts and hats and shoes (not flip-flops) were considered the standard instead of exposed boxer shorts and undershirts worn as outershirts, or not at all. That's another thing I don't want to see, especially while I'm eating... armpit hair. Have the decency to cover that nasty mess when you're inside a restaurant. (Following the PJs in Cars logic, drive-through is fine.) Am I old-fashioned? Maybe a little bit. I'm also a bit hypocritical as well. If I'm going anywhere other than work, I will not leave the house without makeup and at least an attempt at getting my hair under control. My belly will not be hanging over my jeans and exposed from pubic bone to ribcage, nor will my asscrack be begging for someone to stick a quarter in it. At work, it's scrungy clothes and no makeup and hair under a hat. (If I had a job that wasn't so dirty ((as in DIRT, you pervs)) that would be different though.)
So, yeah. Society as a whole has slacked off, but I don't believe anyone has the right to tell anyone else what to wear in their cars, or the privacy of their homes for that matter. I'm not holding my breath waiting for Wal-Mart to adopt a no-pajamas policy either. They'd lose too much business. If the principal of that school in Belfast ever visited a Wal-Mart, he'd probably faint.
Union suits rock. That is all.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
A Case of Taco Belly
I wrote this a few weeks ago, right after the passing of Taco Bell founder Glen Bell. I meant to post it here, but had the forum where it was being discussed open and posted it there instead and just forgot to copy it over. Anyway...
I may be on the other side of the fence, but I love Taco Bell. I've been eating there regularly (i.e. once or twice a month at minimum) for... umm... almost 30 years. Do I get a medal for that? "The Cast-Iron Stomach Award" maybe?
At one point, when I was homeless and near-broke, their cheap food was all I ate for weeks on end.
Some memories from a diehard Taco Bell lover:
Taco Lights, that were discontinued because that awesome flaky shell shattered in a zillion pieces before the prepper finished making one.
3 generations of cinnamon crispas (AKA churros and cinnamon twists)
Chilito, now known as the chili-cheese burrito, which is unfortunately only at select locations, none of them within 100 miles of me.
My former local Taco Bell used to be open 24/7 and had a breakfast menu. I have fond memories of the steak breakfast burritos.
I almost choked to death on a Mexican Pizza once, when a piece of the shell lodged in my throat. I Heimliched myself on the table corner, but undeterred, I still went back. It was 10 years before I ate another pizza though.
I'm not obese; in fact, I was skinnier when I was eating there weekly (or more often) than I am now. (diuretic joke goes here)
Once I inadvertently caused the front-counter registers to lock up; the manager had no way to fix it, and the closest one who could was unavailable until the next morning. They had to run all orders through the drive-thru register until then. (Note to any Taco Bell employees: if someone says they want one of everything to go, they're obviously being a smarta$$. Don't try to out-smarta$$ them by ringing it up.)
After the closest TB to me burned down, I would drive 45 miles to another one to get my fix once a month. Note: Taco Bell food does not reheat well at all.
I don't care what they say... guacamole does not come from a squeeze tube. I love guac, but I'm certain that stuff they have has never been in any proximity to an avocado.
After extensive testing by rats in an independent franchise in Manhattan, it has been determined that Taco Bell does not cause cancer. It does, however, cause store closings, YouTube hits, and a whole bunch of hungry rats plotting to take over the Chick-Fil-A across the street.
Hybrid-corn taco shells are not the worst thing you could be eating.
D'ya think Mr. Bell's coffin had to have the blankets folded burrito-style so nothing would fall out? And were the good bits all squished on one end because the undertaker was new on the job?
I may be on the other side of the fence, but I love Taco Bell. I've been eating there regularly (i.e. once or twice a month at minimum) for... umm... almost 30 years. Do I get a medal for that? "The Cast-Iron Stomach Award" maybe?
At one point, when I was homeless and near-broke, their cheap food was all I ate for weeks on end.
Some memories from a diehard Taco Bell lover:
Taco Lights, that were discontinued because that awesome flaky shell shattered in a zillion pieces before the prepper finished making one.
3 generations of cinnamon crispas (AKA churros and cinnamon twists)
Chilito, now known as the chili-cheese burrito, which is unfortunately only at select locations, none of them within 100 miles of me.
My former local Taco Bell used to be open 24/7 and had a breakfast menu. I have fond memories of the steak breakfast burritos.
I almost choked to death on a Mexican Pizza once, when a piece of the shell lodged in my throat. I Heimliched myself on the table corner, but undeterred, I still went back. It was 10 years before I ate another pizza though.
I'm not obese; in fact, I was skinnier when I was eating there weekly (or more often) than I am now. (diuretic joke goes here)
Once I inadvertently caused the front-counter registers to lock up; the manager had no way to fix it, and the closest one who could was unavailable until the next morning. They had to run all orders through the drive-thru register until then. (Note to any Taco Bell employees: if someone says they want one of everything to go, they're obviously being a smarta$$. Don't try to out-smarta$$ them by ringing it up.)
After the closest TB to me burned down, I would drive 45 miles to another one to get my fix once a month. Note: Taco Bell food does not reheat well at all.
I don't care what they say... guacamole does not come from a squeeze tube. I love guac, but I'm certain that stuff they have has never been in any proximity to an avocado.
After extensive testing by rats in an independent franchise in Manhattan, it has been determined that Taco Bell does not cause cancer. It does, however, cause store closings, YouTube hits, and a whole bunch of hungry rats plotting to take over the Chick-Fil-A across the street.
Hybrid-corn taco shells are not the worst thing you could be eating.
D'ya think Mr. Bell's coffin had to have the blankets folded burrito-style so nothing would fall out? And were the good bits all squished on one end because the undertaker was new on the job?
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Good Gravy!
I love gravy. I'm certain it will be one of the staples on the buffet in Heaven because, hey, it's GRAVY. And gravy = ambrosia. Did you see that episode of King of the Hill, where the sushi restaurant in Arlen served sushi rolls with gravy liberally poured on top? I have no doubt that someone has done that in real life. Rice and gravy goes together like... well, rice and gravy. And that's a hard habit to break for some of us.
Against the demands of the Southern half of my blood, I have tried not to make gravy too often. It's grease, flour, and salt, basically, none of which are healthy- which is why it's sooo gooood. However, I do indulge from time to time. It's harder than you'd think to turn out a perfect pan of the stuff. It took quite a while for me to get the knack and I still don't have 100% success. My mom makes the best ever, but when asked for her secret, she just says "Stirring" and kind of smiles to herself. I think she adds a pinch of crack cocaine. It's that addictive.
After many nights watching her do her magic, I finally figured out the secret to making the absolute best gravy in the world, and even though she's probably going to disown me for this, I'm going to share the recipe right here on the blog. Yes, you are about to learn how to have the most delicious food topping imaginable... put it on biscuits, pour it over rice, mix it up with your taters... I guarantee you won't find better anywhere.
To begin:
Open all your cabinets, cupboards, pantry. Find all of those little envelopes of gravy mix, the kind you make with water. Also pull out any jars of pre-made gravy you have, doesn't matter what flavor- it's all going to get mixed together anyway. If you have any in cans, even better... add 'em to the pile.
Now get a huge mixing bowl, the biggest you have, or a stockpot, or any container large enough to hold all that stuff. A five-gallon bucket works well. Put your container next to the counter and sweep the entire mess of that garbage labeled "gravy" into it and carry it outside to the trash bin or dumpster. Dispose of it without another thought. Then go to my mom's house and wait for her to feed you. (She will... southern women are born and bred that way.) If you're extremely lucky, you'll get shrimp gravy; otherwise expect chicken gravy, unless it's between paydays, in which case hamburger n' onion gravy will be served. And that's okay, because it doesn't matter what kind it is, Mom's will be better than any other you've had.
That's my own family recipe right there. I'm hopeful that in another ten or twenty years, I'll have it down myself, but until then... Mom rocks. That is all.
Against the demands of the Southern half of my blood, I have tried not to make gravy too often. It's grease, flour, and salt, basically, none of which are healthy- which is why it's sooo gooood. However, I do indulge from time to time. It's harder than you'd think to turn out a perfect pan of the stuff. It took quite a while for me to get the knack and I still don't have 100% success. My mom makes the best ever, but when asked for her secret, she just says "Stirring" and kind of smiles to herself. I think she adds a pinch of crack cocaine. It's that addictive.
After many nights watching her do her magic, I finally figured out the secret to making the absolute best gravy in the world, and even though she's probably going to disown me for this, I'm going to share the recipe right here on the blog. Yes, you are about to learn how to have the most delicious food topping imaginable... put it on biscuits, pour it over rice, mix it up with your taters... I guarantee you won't find better anywhere.
To begin:
Open all your cabinets, cupboards, pantry. Find all of those little envelopes of gravy mix, the kind you make with water. Also pull out any jars of pre-made gravy you have, doesn't matter what flavor- it's all going to get mixed together anyway. If you have any in cans, even better... add 'em to the pile.
Now get a huge mixing bowl, the biggest you have, or a stockpot, or any container large enough to hold all that stuff. A five-gallon bucket works well. Put your container next to the counter and sweep the entire mess of that garbage labeled "gravy" into it and carry it outside to the trash bin or dumpster. Dispose of it without another thought. Then go to my mom's house and wait for her to feed you. (She will... southern women are born and bred that way.) If you're extremely lucky, you'll get shrimp gravy; otherwise expect chicken gravy, unless it's between paydays, in which case hamburger n' onion gravy will be served. And that's okay, because it doesn't matter what kind it is, Mom's will be better than any other you've had.
That's my own family recipe right there. I'm hopeful that in another ten or twenty years, I'll have it down myself, but until then... Mom rocks. That is all.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
If It Ain't Broke, It Will Be
The moment I walked into this apartment, I wanted it. We'd been searching for a while, but the ones we found were either too run-down, too ghetto (what passes for that here) or too short. Yes, too short... low ceilings and doorframes are common in older buildings and houses in some areas around here, and my 6'4" husband refused to live anywhere that required ducking constantly. In the last place we looked at before this one, the ceiling fan blades were at his neck level, right next to the bed. So when we found this one, with high ceilings and doorways, crown molding and century-old charm (not to mention a large bay window) I signed the lease before I even saw the rest of the place.
Ten years later, it's time to get out. Aside from previously-mentioned issues with the landlord, or rather, the landlord doing stupid things... he is a decent guy, just not sure of his reasoning... the minor annoyances have become major ones. Reminding myself "it's an old house, that's to be expected" no longer works.
For example, our water rusts everything faster than you can say corrosion. I mentioned to the landlord a few months back that the sink stopper and attached hardware were eaten through (for the second time) and we'd had to take out what was left. He said it needed a new one (obviously) but we haven't seen one yet. The toilet is getting harder and harder to flush. From day one, we've had to feather the water taps in the bathtub because they slip inside; sometimes a quarter-turn will freeze us out, others it takes a full turn to get any cold water at all. When we first moved in, the overflow drain wasn't even hooked up. It just poured water directly on the top of the downstairs neighbor's bedroom ceiling. And of course, the hot water doesn't ever last as long as anyone would like.
This brings me to yesterday's event. I was home early from work, with a sick stomach and horrible backache, and a hot bath was on my to-do list. Now, I love me some bathtime. Epsom salts or bubbles or bath oils or just hot water, doesn't matter to me. A couple times a month I forgo a shower to soak instead. I have an inflatable bath pillow and a stack of reading material ready whenever I am.
And I was ready. I got the hot water going, dumped in a happy amount of therapeutic bubblebath and settled in, planning on soaking till my toes pruned. I knew by then I'd have enough hot water built back up to rinse off. Two minutes later, my happiness turned to confusion. My precious hot water was going down the drain! Sticking my toe over the drain cover, I could feel suction. I sat up and worked the plug lever a few times, and then it stopped moving... while halfway open. I hollered for the hubby and thought fast. I did not want to be covered with soapy bubbles with no hot water to rinse off, and a cold rinse after being chilled all day sounded like the other side of hell at the time. I quickly used my thumbnail to unscrew the single screw holding the screen in the drainhole, yanked it out and jammed my heel in the hole to save what was left of the water. I'd already apprised hubby of the situation, and after he determined that he couldn't move the lever either, he ran to get a screwdriver to take it apart.
Picture, if you will, a woman with an already unstable tummy, lately prone to barfing at any given moment without warning, naked and covered with suds in a tub, wedged at one end with one foot braced against the wall and the opposite foot jammed in the drain. Add to this a man leaning in with his elbows in her lap, wielding a screwdriver, frantically taking apart the stopper mechanism, jerking the entire rusty mess out and doing... something to it, I don't know what, I was preoccupied with not barfing, but he got it moving again... and cramming it all back together without injury to either party.
We saved three inches of semi-hot water, but I still had to rinse cold. NOT happy.
Ten years later, it's time to get out. Aside from previously-mentioned issues with the landlord, or rather, the landlord doing stupid things... he is a decent guy, just not sure of his reasoning... the minor annoyances have become major ones. Reminding myself "it's an old house, that's to be expected" no longer works.
For example, our water rusts everything faster than you can say corrosion. I mentioned to the landlord a few months back that the sink stopper and attached hardware were eaten through (for the second time) and we'd had to take out what was left. He said it needed a new one (obviously) but we haven't seen one yet. The toilet is getting harder and harder to flush. From day one, we've had to feather the water taps in the bathtub because they slip inside; sometimes a quarter-turn will freeze us out, others it takes a full turn to get any cold water at all. When we first moved in, the overflow drain wasn't even hooked up. It just poured water directly on the top of the downstairs neighbor's bedroom ceiling. And of course, the hot water doesn't ever last as long as anyone would like.
This brings me to yesterday's event. I was home early from work, with a sick stomach and horrible backache, and a hot bath was on my to-do list. Now, I love me some bathtime. Epsom salts or bubbles or bath oils or just hot water, doesn't matter to me. A couple times a month I forgo a shower to soak instead. I have an inflatable bath pillow and a stack of reading material ready whenever I am.
And I was ready. I got the hot water going, dumped in a happy amount of therapeutic bubblebath and settled in, planning on soaking till my toes pruned. I knew by then I'd have enough hot water built back up to rinse off. Two minutes later, my happiness turned to confusion. My precious hot water was going down the drain! Sticking my toe over the drain cover, I could feel suction. I sat up and worked the plug lever a few times, and then it stopped moving... while halfway open. I hollered for the hubby and thought fast. I did not want to be covered with soapy bubbles with no hot water to rinse off, and a cold rinse after being chilled all day sounded like the other side of hell at the time. I quickly used my thumbnail to unscrew the single screw holding the screen in the drainhole, yanked it out and jammed my heel in the hole to save what was left of the water. I'd already apprised hubby of the situation, and after he determined that he couldn't move the lever either, he ran to get a screwdriver to take it apart.
Picture, if you will, a woman with an already unstable tummy, lately prone to barfing at any given moment without warning, naked and covered with suds in a tub, wedged at one end with one foot braced against the wall and the opposite foot jammed in the drain. Add to this a man leaning in with his elbows in her lap, wielding a screwdriver, frantically taking apart the stopper mechanism, jerking the entire rusty mess out and doing... something to it, I don't know what, I was preoccupied with not barfing, but he got it moving again... and cramming it all back together without injury to either party.
We saved three inches of semi-hot water, but I still had to rinse cold. NOT happy.
Friday, February 05, 2010
Let The Stupid begin!
I really shouldn't be surprised at the stupidemic going around, but when it afflicts certain people it becomes cannon fodder. Today's example is courtesy of a business that has been around for over 30 years, and the stupidity has followed it through several owners. I think it's in the water.
Yesterday was my first day back at work since mid-December. I should not have expected anything to be different, but one can always hope... even though over the ten years I've worked there, the lack of common sense among certain elders of the tribe has become legendary among the lesser villagers.
We have three plants, each with their own loading docks. Yesterday a truck delivered 14 pallets, which were supposed to go to Plant A, Dock X. The pallets were stacked about 10 feet high with flowerpots. Instead of sending the truck to Plant A, Dock X, someone in management had the driver go to Plant B, Dock Y for offloading. This required an in-house forklift driver to move each pallet from Plant B to Plant A. Just a minor inconvenience in a normal workplace, but we aren't normal. Nope.
The forklift driver has to go through three garage doors to get from B to A. At each one, she has to stop, unhook safety belt, climb down, open the door, get back on forklift, rehook safety belt, drive forward 6 feet, then repeat the process to close the door behind her. 3 times, in each direction, for 14 separate trips. (We have to keep the doors closed due to it being 37 degrees outside and heat on inside.)
This in itself would be enough to make a half-hour offloading job take half a day instead, but it doesn't stop there. The first and second doors are all high enough for her to drive through with a 10-foot-high pallet, but the third door is only 8 feet high. Now she has to drop every one of the 14 pallets before the third door, get a ladder, unwrap the shipping plastic, take off the top 2 feet of flowerpots and re-stack them on additional pallets before she can once again get on the forklift and do the door thing to move each one to the planned destination.... which is right NEXT to the dock where they should have been offloaded in the first place. She was still working on it this morning, along with two other employees brought over to help.
Why didn't they offload at the first dock instead of creating so much extra work? "Having that dock door open for 30 minutes would create a breeze and somebody might be bothered by it." Never mind that the driver had to repeatedly open and close the other doors where there are actual flower seedlings and oil heat running... someone might get a bit of a draft in the conveyor area, where NO ONE WAS WORKING for most of the day.
I told the forklift driver that this kind of stupidity is job security for us. Didn't make her any happier about it though. And that kind of thing happens all the time. Gotta love it.
Yesterday was my first day back at work since mid-December. I should not have expected anything to be different, but one can always hope... even though over the ten years I've worked there, the lack of common sense among certain elders of the tribe has become legendary among the lesser villagers.
We have three plants, each with their own loading docks. Yesterday a truck delivered 14 pallets, which were supposed to go to Plant A, Dock X. The pallets were stacked about 10 feet high with flowerpots. Instead of sending the truck to Plant A, Dock X, someone in management had the driver go to Plant B, Dock Y for offloading. This required an in-house forklift driver to move each pallet from Plant B to Plant A. Just a minor inconvenience in a normal workplace, but we aren't normal. Nope.
The forklift driver has to go through three garage doors to get from B to A. At each one, she has to stop, unhook safety belt, climb down, open the door, get back on forklift, rehook safety belt, drive forward 6 feet, then repeat the process to close the door behind her. 3 times, in each direction, for 14 separate trips. (We have to keep the doors closed due to it being 37 degrees outside and heat on inside.)
This in itself would be enough to make a half-hour offloading job take half a day instead, but it doesn't stop there. The first and second doors are all high enough for her to drive through with a 10-foot-high pallet, but the third door is only 8 feet high. Now she has to drop every one of the 14 pallets before the third door, get a ladder, unwrap the shipping plastic, take off the top 2 feet of flowerpots and re-stack them on additional pallets before she can once again get on the forklift and do the door thing to move each one to the planned destination.... which is right NEXT to the dock where they should have been offloaded in the first place. She was still working on it this morning, along with two other employees brought over to help.
Why didn't they offload at the first dock instead of creating so much extra work? "Having that dock door open for 30 minutes would create a breeze and somebody might be bothered by it." Never mind that the driver had to repeatedly open and close the other doors where there are actual flower seedlings and oil heat running... someone might get a bit of a draft in the conveyor area, where NO ONE WAS WORKING for most of the day.
I told the forklift driver that this kind of stupidity is job security for us. Didn't make her any happier about it though. And that kind of thing happens all the time. Gotta love it.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Time to focus on... oooh shiny!
Today is my last day of freedom. Tomorrow I go back to work after a month and a half off, and although I'm dreading it more than ever, I have to think positive. In order to think positive I have to get the negative out of the way so it won't keep resurfacing. Blog therapy FTW.
Cons:
Meanwhile, hubby just came home and miracle of miracles, is making cheesesteaks. Hubby's cheesesteak > everyone else's. They still rock. That is all.
Cons:
- My internal body clock reverts to Night Owl when I'm off. No more staying up till 3 AM and sleeping till 11. Mornings are going to suck. I haven't seen a sunrise since mid-December.
- Despite all the extra time I had to sit on my butt in front of the computer, I didn't get a lot of writing done like I'd planned (and plan every time I'm off.)
- When I know I have a long stretch with no deadlines, I procrastinate, thinking "I have a whole 'nother month to get to that." It's down to a matter of hours now and I still haven't done half of what I planned.
- I'll have to be on my feet for nine hours a day, but I haven't had the money for new work shoes. Okay, I did have the money, briefly, but I opted to spend it on a friend's kids instead. My priorities take a hard left when it comes to long-term needs vs. making someone else happy for an evening. Gotta work on that. Or not. :-)
- I'll have to plan out my crops on Farmville so they won't wilt. *eyeroll* There's another con... waaaaay too much time spent on that internet crackbag called Facebook.
- Back to heat -n- eat for supper most of the week. I'm pretty good at throwing a meal together on short notice, but I've been spoiled by having entire days to plan and cook. I'll have to make the days off really count now.
- I have to clean out my lunchbag, which has been sitting, forgotten, in a corner since my last day at work. I'm hoping I didn't leave a sandwich in there. Ew.
- I'll have to interact with other humans again. Which would be fine, except these particular humans, for the most part, are ones I'd prefer to avoid. Stress levels will be through the roof. I already know that a coworker has turned in her schedule for the entire year, and every day she has requested off will be a holiday or one I need off myself, but she's effectively blocked anyone else from those days by being "first" to request them. I also know that I am not scheduled off for almost any of the car shows my husband and I attend.
- Steady paychecks again.
- More exercise, more fresh air, more sun
- I strongly suspect my muse will come back to me, and I'll find myself writing songs and sketching in the margins of my job lists. Not having the time to do something greatly increases the odds that one will be inspired to do it. Why is that, anyway?
- I'll be singing again. I have to sing at work; it keeps me from going completely over the edge. I dance too and I don't give a damn who sees me. You have your coffee or Xanax, I'll take music and an impromptu waltz to keep myself awake and semi-sane, thankyouverymuch.
- I do happen to be scheduled off for Valentine's Day (meh), Easter (meaning I'll be expected to attend a family function, meh), my anniversary (which coincides with 4th of July weekend, w00t!) and ONE car show out of six (Ford Nationals, my second-favorite, so that's not too bad.)
- I've learned just how much I love cooking. I didn't do a lot of baking, a previous love, but focused instead on getting better at cooking meat. This was formerly the Man's Job, as I've never been a big meat-eater at home. Now it will take an act of Congress to get him to cook for me since I've proven I'm better at it. :-P
- Of the things I planned to do, I'm pleased with the ones I accomplished. Still more projects left on the table, but knowing they're not insurmountable helps. "I'll never get this done!" has become "I can do a little of this every day, and eventually it will be finished."
Meanwhile, hubby just came home and miracle of miracles, is making cheesesteaks. Hubby's cheesesteak > everyone else's. They still rock. That is all.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
2010: A Make-Space Odyssey
By this time of year, just about everyone has either made New Year's resolutions or broken them already. I've done neither because I procrastinate like that. This year I'll try to stop putting things off. OK, that one goes on the "will be broken almost immediately" list, because one thing I don't procrastinate about is procrastinating.
Yeah, so. Resolutions. Let's start with the realistic ones...
1. Buy a house (this has been a goal for a few years now.)
2. Stop helping people so much. No really... I always wind up overextending myself, my bank account, and my peace of mind (such as it is) worrying about other people. I'll continue to help, but without involving myself quite so much.
3. Be mouthier. How is this possible, you wonder? I'm pretty balls-out straightforward most of the time. But I'm talking about something different... poor service, low quality products, things I've paid good money for that fall drastically short of the ads. I'm one of those that will get something, find it's stale or spoiled or doesn't work, and think "Oh well, it's too much trouble to take it back and I really don't want to offend anyone." Or customer service will be so horrible that I'm still upset about it a week later. TaHellWitDat. Next time some insolent, condescending twit deliberately insults me while they're working, their manager is going to hear about it. I don't care if they get in trouble; people like that need to either learn some manners/people skills or get a quick-and-dirty reality check. And STOP THROWING MY APPLES AROUND. I didn't spend my own time hand-selecting non-bruised (and overpriced) apples just so some nitwit can go grocery-bowling down the conveyor to the bagging area. Then Nitwit II slam-dunks them on top of the canned goods. While I'm on the subject... if I make a salad on your salad bar, and I very carefully put it down right-side-up at the register, do NOT turn it sideways to fit it in the damn bag. Get another bag. Idiot.
4. Stop going off on tangents so much. See #3.
5. Eat more avocados and fish.
6. Learn some new recipes, and actually use some of the cookbooks I have. Learn to make good biscuits. And make more from scratch instead of conveniently prepackaged ingredients. Ooh that's gonna be a hard one!
7. Take more photos.
8. Bail out my closets and office area.
9. Start seeing a chiropractor.
10. Start going on Sunday drives with the hubby again. We slacked off on those due to gas prices, but every time we do decide to "take the long way home" we see something new or interesting and have a good time. It's OUR time, something we love to do together, and the few extra bucks a month in gas is worth it.
Made to be broken:
1. Avoid TastyClair pies.
2. Stop wasting quarters in bubblegum machines with toys in them.
3. Learn to like raw tomatoes.
4. Cut back on the amount of pasta we eat.
5. Stop being so annoying.
6. Act and dress my age.
7. Quit my job. (Meaning, actually go look for another job.) Or better yet, become financially independent enough to quit working and go back to school.
8. Go out shopping, visiting, or whatever just once without lipstick. Yeah right! Every purse, bag, coat pocket, car console and lunchbox I own has at least one lipstick or gloss in it.
9. Get a short, cute hairstyle.
10. Don't spend so much time on the internet. (Stop laughing. No really, I mean it. OK... ok, yeah, that is funny, go ahead and laugh. We'll see who's laughing when you ask me to find something online for you and BAM I have it in 30 seconds even though you spent three hours looking because you're frickin' clueless. So there.)
In other news, Punxsutawney Phil's life was spared for another year when he predicted six more weeks of winter this morning, punctuated by the snow that started falling a short while ago. Yay! I hate spring even more than I hate that damn groundhog.
My hibernation ends Thursday, when I am dragged back into the working world. Bleh.
TastyClair pies still rock. That is all. nomnomnom
Yeah, so. Resolutions. Let's start with the realistic ones...
1. Buy a house (this has been a goal for a few years now.)
2. Stop helping people so much. No really... I always wind up overextending myself, my bank account, and my peace of mind (such as it is) worrying about other people. I'll continue to help, but without involving myself quite so much.
3. Be mouthier. How is this possible, you wonder? I'm pretty balls-out straightforward most of the time. But I'm talking about something different... poor service, low quality products, things I've paid good money for that fall drastically short of the ads. I'm one of those that will get something, find it's stale or spoiled or doesn't work, and think "Oh well, it's too much trouble to take it back and I really don't want to offend anyone." Or customer service will be so horrible that I'm still upset about it a week later. TaHellWitDat. Next time some insolent, condescending twit deliberately insults me while they're working, their manager is going to hear about it. I don't care if they get in trouble; people like that need to either learn some manners/people skills or get a quick-and-dirty reality check. And STOP THROWING MY APPLES AROUND. I didn't spend my own time hand-selecting non-bruised (and overpriced) apples just so some nitwit can go grocery-bowling down the conveyor to the bagging area. Then Nitwit II slam-dunks them on top of the canned goods. While I'm on the subject... if I make a salad on your salad bar, and I very carefully put it down right-side-up at the register, do NOT turn it sideways to fit it in the damn bag. Get another bag. Idiot.
4. Stop going off on tangents so much. See #3.
5. Eat more avocados and fish.
6. Learn some new recipes, and actually use some of the cookbooks I have. Learn to make good biscuits. And make more from scratch instead of conveniently prepackaged ingredients. Ooh that's gonna be a hard one!
7. Take more photos.
8. Bail out my closets and office area.
9. Start seeing a chiropractor.
10. Start going on Sunday drives with the hubby again. We slacked off on those due to gas prices, but every time we do decide to "take the long way home" we see something new or interesting and have a good time. It's OUR time, something we love to do together, and the few extra bucks a month in gas is worth it.
Made to be broken:
1. Avoid TastyClair pies.
2. Stop wasting quarters in bubblegum machines with toys in them.
3. Learn to like raw tomatoes.
4. Cut back on the amount of pasta we eat.
5. Stop being so annoying.
6. Act and dress my age.
7. Quit my job. (Meaning, actually go look for another job.) Or better yet, become financially independent enough to quit working and go back to school.
8. Go out shopping, visiting, or whatever just once without lipstick. Yeah right! Every purse, bag, coat pocket, car console and lunchbox I own has at least one lipstick or gloss in it.
9. Get a short, cute hairstyle.
10. Don't spend so much time on the internet. (Stop laughing. No really, I mean it. OK... ok, yeah, that is funny, go ahead and laugh. We'll see who's laughing when you ask me to find something online for you and BAM I have it in 30 seconds even though you spent three hours looking because you're frickin' clueless. So there.)
In other news, Punxsutawney Phil's life was spared for another year when he predicted six more weeks of winter this morning, punctuated by the snow that started falling a short while ago. Yay! I hate spring even more than I hate that damn groundhog.
My hibernation ends Thursday, when I am dragged back into the working world. Bleh.
TastyClair pies still rock. That is all. nomnomnom
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