Wednesday, July 31, 2013
I don't know if it was because he was not used to shopping for produce, or if he felt it was his life's purpose to find the one perfect, flawless, apple in this world... whatever the reason, I found myself behind the most serious apple inspector I've ever come across at the grocery store today. He would gingerly pick up an apple, carefully turn it over several times, checking for bruises and imperfections before putting it back and beginning the process yet again. Did I mention he seemed to be moving in slow motion? I admit I had a sudden unreasonable and unjustified fury come over me. Kind of like "Road Rage", but at the grocery store. I wanted to push him aside and yell, "It's not that big of a deal!!! Pick an apple already! Make a decision! Fuji or Granny Smith! Red, yellow or green!!! It's not your future spouse for goodness sake! You don't have to pray about it!!! JUST PICK THE FRIGGIN' APPLE ALREADY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" But I didn't. I behaved myself. I exercised self control. Well, OK, maybe I was afraid of being kicked out of the Piggly Wiggly. I am pretty sure that the security cameras above the honey and Agave nectar dispensers were running the day I tried to pour some into a container. After pouring a small amount into the little tubs they provide, I gently (or maybe NOT so gently) turned the handle the opposite direction and was surprised to hear a strange cracking noise. Imagine my surprise when Agave nectar CONTINUED to pour out. And imagine if you will, how desperate I must have seemed when I grabbed every available container and filled it up with Agave nectar as it CONTINUED to pour out. After all the containers were filled and the Agave nectar continued to pour and spill out over the counter and began to make a very large puddle, I tried calling out for an employee to help but no one answered me. I looked around and found NO ONE! Like some Twilight Zone episode, I found myself completely alone in a sticky, growing Agave nectar lake....I decided to leave the scene and search for help and finally found an employee over in the deli section who was engrossed in arranging the 8% total fat content ground beef into a brick and told her that "Someone" had broken the handle on the dispenser and would she please call someone over to help. She seemed very disinterested but finally made eye contact with me and indulged my request. About five minutes later I heard someone in that general direction screaming, "Oh no! Oh no! HELP!!" which was followed very shortly after over the loud speaker with, "ALL AVAILABLE EMPLOYEES PLEASE GO TO THE AGAVE NECTAR DISPENSARY FOR A CLEAN UP! ALL AVAILABLE EMPLOYEES IMMEDIATELY RESPOND!!!!" Might I also add that my eyes were bulging out of my head at this point, and I may have been uttering something along the lines of, "I am so sorry! SO, SO VERY SORRY!!!!" over and over again? I should also tell you that as I checked out and paid for my groceries I looked the cashier in the eyes and told her, "I really didn't mean to...." All this to say, I didn't strangle the apple groper. I was afraid that security was already comparing me to the video surveillance from the last episode and that my shopping days at that store were numbered already. Needless to say, I didn't want to cause a scene, so I left the man alone with his apples and his decision making. But between me and you may I suggest that you not make too big of a deal when you pick out your produce? Look for bruises and soft spots, put it in the bag and leave. This shouldn't take more than 30 seconds flat. If it does, you need to get a life. Or a job as a fruit inspector....
Till next time,
Please make a quick apple decision and be on your way,
Friday, July 26, 2013
I don't know why, but I just don't like maternity photo shoots. Forgive me please my fellow photographers and mommies who have done one or plan on doing one. It is what it is. They never seem natural. The woman isalways either looking at her gigantuan bump with a wistful look that always comes across as, "What IS THIS? HOW did this happen to me?" Or she is carefully holding her tummy, as if it may fall down if she were to let go. And in those pictures she is looking away into the distance, perhaps mapping out an escape route... I suppose it captures a magical time. A time of hope and promise, of cherubic sleeping babies, and sweet smelling tiny onesies...I feel I must insert here the disclaimer that I love each of my three children more that life itself, however pregnancy with its heartburn, weight gain, and discomfort (and shall I mention the hideous clothes?) was never pleasant for me. I loved the end result of course and am grateful for a healthy body that was able to carry life. Oh, maybe Demi ruined it for me...I mean who could ever top that picture? I think she started this whole maternity photo shoot thing anyway. We all hope to look as hot as her during pregnancy, but can I let you in on a little secret? She is a freak of nature. It's true. NO one can get that big and not have a single friggin' stretch mark. It just does not happen. So, if I may suggest, lets save the photo shoots for the sweet little newborn. THAT is magical and beautiful, not some basketball sized lump.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Miss Happy with my Chillow-Jodi
Monday, July 15, 2013
I am on the cusp of a mind-blowing-revolutionary and might I add, genius idea....Weed gardening. Yes, I know. You can stop the applause. Out here where I live, about three things grow really well. First is the line at the Dollar store when Velveeta 5lb cheese bricks are on sale, the second is marijuana grown by licensed medicinal dispensary owners, and the third is tumbleweeds. That's about it.
Tonight, as I was watering the dry patch of earth where my front lawn is supposed to be, it occurred to me that resistance is futile. I repeatedly water said parched earth and it receives the moisture, only to thank me with the occasional pathetic succulent of unknown origin or...a tumble weed. So I again begin the vicious cycle of removing the weeds, refreshing the soil with rich dark mulch, reseeding, and watering it, perhaps even saying a little word of prayer over the sleeping seeds with the hope that THIS TIME something other than weeds will sprout....and nothing else ever does.
I am not ready to give up ALL hope and as so many of my neighbors have done, resort to decorative rock. But I started to think of Mary Mary, you know the one? I think her last name is something like Contrary, and how her garden grows with silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row....which is kind of a strange little garden if you ask me. But I like the fact that she didn't have tidy little rows of Gerbera Daisy's and Dinner plate dahlias. No, not Mary Mary. She was an "Outta-the-box" kinda gal. A path maker if you will. A trail blazer. And I was inspired. I am now going to try my hand at "Indigenous to the area" weed gardening. Martha Stewart be damned. I am going to encourage those little succulent whatever they are's and the Tumble weeds (God bless them!) and like Mary Mary, have an ORIGINAL garden. Hey, I might just start something. And you my friends can say you were witness to the creation of it. I am going to harvest some seeds from those many many tumble weeds that roll around on a windy desert day, plant them in a tidy little row and maybe fill up a few pots and see what happens. I'll keep you posted.
Till next time,
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Sometimes, when I ask your opinion...I don't really want the truth. Sometimes I just want you to be polite. Now I know that this is confusing, especially to men. Women (most women) understand what I mean when I say this. As a matter of fact, the very reason I am writing this is because of a conversation I had tonight with a man who happened to tell me the truth when in fact, I just wanted him to be polite. I have been on a journey to increase my family's health since October 31. On this journey I have been trying alternative recipes with different ingredients. Almond flour instead of wheat flour for instance. Maybe an avocado instead of oil. Honey instead of refined sugar. You get the picture right? Well tonight I made some healthy brownies. They tasted pretty good. Not over the top, but I must say they were yummy. I asked each family member if they liked them and they all told me they did. All except my man-child. When I asked him, his answer was a brutal and dismissive, "Not really." And as if that wasn't hurtful enough, he continued to explain, "I like my brownies to be sweet, and cakey, and chewy. THAT tasted like a piece of bread that happened to have chocolate flavor in it." (All of a sudden he is a brownie connoisseur. Gordon Ramsey. Abraham Friggin Lincoln!!!!) How dare he be so rude as to tell me the truth? He may as well have been raised by wolves! Where did I go wrong? HOW will he succeed in life? (Marriage? I'm praying already!)Sheesh! OK I admit I may have told him that lying is wrong. I guess he learned THAT lesson pretty well, (why he didn't learn that you wash whites with whites is beyond me, all his whites are a gnarly shade of grey) but I obviously neglected to teach him to read more into a question than the question itself. (From a woman anyway. Man to man talk is different, so is Woman to woman talk, and Man to Woman talk and so forth.) That when a woman has lovingly prepared something for you and when asked if you liked it, instead of comparing it to a piece of bread, perhaps, if you are going to tell the truth, say something like, I like your old recipe better. And stop there...
Miss-I'm-praying-that-his-future-wife-never-asks-"Does this make me look fat?"
We are all grown up here right? Can we talk about a grown up topic? A female undergarment? If not, (and really in our society with Sex education, and Breast Cancer awareness, and Victorias Secret and those stupid "I heart Boobies" bracelets which in my opinion are just a way for immature preteen boys to openly say the word "Boobies" without being reprimanded. And for your information you either have a set yourself or were more than likely fed by a pair as an infant, so let's not be immature here OK?) please exit this blog immediately. Go no further. Read no more. Otherwise you may be offended and I already warned you so you have no right to complain. NONE!) But, if you can handle it, I'd like to ask a question. How can we be in July of the year 2013, with Smart phones, and polio vaccines, organ transplants, and facial recognition software and yet, we cannot come up with a better idea than a stretchy training bra that turns a set of breasts into a gigantic, swaying, sweaty, uniboob? Am I right? Is it really too much to ask to be able to exercise with a certain level of dignity and, oh, not exactly "Comfort", but not DISCOMFORT? We can create a drone, (A DRONE people!!!!) but we cannot come up with a way for a woman to exercise without hurting herself or some innocent bystander who happens to be in the wrong place during the swing of the pendulum? I am not asking for much. I just want to walk a good pace or do a little cardio, perhaps even some Zumba on occasion... I'm not asking for unreasonable things like for every pet owner in America to suddenly be responsible and spay and neuter their animals, or world peace, or zero-carb bread, but simply a way to decently exercise in public. It's not too much. Is it? IS IT?!??!!?
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Happy Independence day y'all! I hope you had a great one. I sure did. The 4th of July has always been one of my favorites. Family, friends, fireworks, the red white and blue, and the feeling of thanksgiving for living in the United States of America. May God continue to bless the USA!!! Of course what would a summer holiday be without a BBQ? We had all the traditional American food, hot dogs, chips, lemonade, potato salad, and corn on the cob. And as I was eating my corn, it occurred to me that you can't eat it around just anybody. Certainly not a stranger that's for sure, because you can't eat corn on the cob pretty. Just like BBQ ribs, or noodle soup. It's just not possible. I'd like to see you try if you think you can. Think about it, you take the first bite and whoever is sitting next to you is going to get wet. Then, after a bite or two it starts dripping down your face and if you happen to wear lipstick like I do, you now have a bright red Revlon Scarlet-Mist smudge across the lower part of your face along with the corn juice drippings. If this isn't enough, the corn kernels are now wedged up in between your teeth so far that only a licensed dental professional can get them out. So, short of a full cleaning including floss, and a complete removal of what is left of your makeup followed by a complete reapplication, you look like a person suffering from Rabies. NOT something you want unless it's your family and really, haven't they seen you at your worst? So if you are not already in the habit of taking my advice, you might want to start now. Only your Momma and your Auntie don't care what you look like when you eat, no one in the world but them should ever be witness. Don't eat corn on the cob around a date, or if there is even the slightest possibility of the Paparazzi or a teenager who happens to own an IPhone with a camera. It WILL come back to haunt you. It ain't pretty my friends.
Till next time,
I'll cut those kernels off with a knife