When I was little, I would be fascinated by the toys that weren't mine.
Like the ones at the dentist, or Nana's.
In retrospect, they weren't the greatest toys. Nope, in fact, they were usually much older than I was or were some strange collection that adults had held on to in the hopes of keeping elementary school-aged kids occupied while the adults chatted or a sibling was taking their turn under the white hot lights of the dental hygenist.
But precisely because they weren't my usual toys, they held an alluring but elusive appeal.
By far my favorite was a stuffed rabbit I named Shy Rabbit, for reasons that are lost to the mists of time.
Now Shy Rabbit is another little girl's favorite toy. My own collection of toys I keep in the house consists of some stuffed animals that I can't part with and my huge sack of My Little Ponies. When I babysit these two sisters, I set up the ponies in the spare bedroom and let them go to town. But the littlest girl inevitably seeks out Shy Rabbit, wherever he may be.
Even if he's in the forbidden zone upstairs. Once, their parents came over to hang out and the girls were playing in the other room. They asked what was upstairs and I told them our bedroom but it was off limits.
Never tell a kid something is off limits. It will only guarantee they go there.
The adults had stepped outside for a minute and when I opened the door to go inside, I heard a veritable stampede and suddenly both girls were there with their best innocent faces on. But Shy Rabbit clutched in the youngest's hand gave them away.
"Did you girls go upstairs?"
She shakes her head and makes denials while her older sister tries to change the subject.
"Are you sure?"
Vigorous head-nodding is the response.
"How did you get Shy Rabbit? Did he hop downstairs on his own?"
I could see the gears turning in her head as she swiftly contemplated the chances of succeeding at a denial at this stage and was rewarded when she discarded it and in a tiny voice admitted she had gone upstairs.
"But it's so cool up there! Can we play up there?" and Bam! she was off on a tangent, but she couldn't fool me, precocious child! She knew what she was doing, every minute of it.
I can understand the appeal, however.
I wanted so badly, as a kid, the play room the dentist office had.
First of all, the place had a kick ass aquarium in the adult portion of the waiting room. But if you were under 4' feet tall, you could climb up a ladder into a special cubby-like room that was filled with crazy neat old toys. Weird fiber-plastic faded colored blocks that were maybe the forefathers to Legos/Duplos. Random stuffed animals & kids meal toys from fast food restaurants.
Better yet, inside this cubby room in the middle of the wall, was yet another ladder leading to another room above that one, even smaller. They were their own secret worlds that just screamed "No adults allowed!" Plus they had a treasure chest full of goodies and after your visit, if you were good, you got to choose a treasure from the chest.
That dentist really knew how to cater to kids. Even though I dreaded the icky flouride rinses or whatever the hell they were, going to the dentist was exciting because while my sister took her turn under the white hot lights of the hygenist, I got to play in the indoor play house.
And it's strange collection of haphazard but wonderfully strange toys.
Showing posts with label Musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Musings. Show all posts
Friday, March 9, 2012
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Why Do I Love This Line So Much?
More music musings....Mmmmmmmmmm
Maroon 5's song "Harder to Breathe" has a line in it that I really enjoy every time I hear it.
"Clutching your pillow and writhing in a naked sweat / hoping somebody someday will do you like I did"
Probably says something about the composition of my nature--vengeful and sexiful.
Okay, so sexiful isn't word, but maybe it should be.
Sexiful--To be full of sexy confidence, to think sexy thoughts and about sex often, the ability to find sexual innuendo in almost every phrase uttered, to believe oneself to be the epitomy of sexiness.
Hmmm....it appears I'm on a confidence roll currently.
Shortlived though this confidence in my charms and wiles may be, I'm going to make the most of it. Watch out Big B! There may be touching involved.
And let's hope this confidence translates in the classroom (ewww! Not that way you dirty birds!) because I have a final in an hour. Wish me luck!
Maroon 5's song "Harder to Breathe" has a line in it that I really enjoy every time I hear it.
"Clutching your pillow and writhing in a naked sweat / hoping somebody someday will do you like I did"
Probably says something about the composition of my nature--vengeful and sexiful.
Okay, so sexiful isn't word, but maybe it should be.
Sexiful--To be full of sexy confidence, to think sexy thoughts and about sex often, the ability to find sexual innuendo in almost every phrase uttered, to believe oneself to be the epitomy of sexiness.
Hmmm....it appears I'm on a confidence roll currently.
Shortlived though this confidence in my charms and wiles may be, I'm going to make the most of it. Watch out Big B! There may be touching involved.
And let's hope this confidence translates in the classroom (ewww! Not that way you dirty birds!) because I have a final in an hour. Wish me luck!
Friday, December 9, 2011
The Women in My Family Are Comfortable With Touching
This is something I've discovered when comparing my immediate family with others. Everyone has boundaries to some extent, with the only difference being in size and application.
For the most part, we have no issue touching other people in social settings. Just met you? No problem, we'll be back-patting, arm squeezing and shoulder-punching you like we were lifelong friends quicker than you can say "bad touch".
Like the time my mom chest-patted my high school boyfriend Parrot Boy (so named for his blue hair, prominent nose, and various pierced body parts. What? I fancied myself a rebel youth). He looked so startled we both laughed about it later on when my mom apologized to me for doing it. Hilarious, because despite Parrot Boy's best efforts to be angst-y and scary, very little deters the women in my family from being touchy-feely.
This sometimes creates problems, like when you marry someone who isn't touchy-feely. Or someone who avoids unnecessary tactile contact like the plague, as the Big B does. I try to be good about not touching him too much, but every once in awhile I can't hold it back any more and I go into "leech mode", whereupon I latch onto him like he's the last floating piece of debris in the ocean after a shipwreck and squeeze with all my might. If he struggles, I've been known to wrap a leg around his hip and be dragged around the house until I've had my fill of hugging.
Coupled with this, I was raised to be comfortable in my own skin and to have no problems discussing bodies and natural functions.
So it was no surprise when my mom, sister and I found ourselves in a compromising situation on a road trip to see Dave Matthews Band one summer.
As a present for my mom, we bought tickets to one of her favorite musical artists and decided to make a girl's trip out of it since the concert was in Wisconsin. We loaded up in the car, booked a hotel room at the Rainbow Inn (eh? eh!) and proceeded to drive across Wisconsin.
We pulled off at a trucker stop/gas station/middle-of-nowhere place to stretch our legs and walk around a bit midway through our drive. We parked in a non-busy part of the large lot and somehow, the conversation turned to our breasts and went something like this:
Me: Your girls look HUGE! (staring at my sister)
Sister: What? Yours are just as big!
Mom: (laughing)
Me: Yours are way bigger! Mom's don't look exactly small, either.
Sister: I think Mom's are bigger.
Mom: (Surprised) Really? I think Sarah's are the biggest.
Me: No way. (Feeling my breasts and looking at the others) Yours are definitely the largest.
Sister: C'mon! We're all pretty similar in size, I think. (Feeling herself up at this point)
Mom: (Feels her own and reaches out to feel ours) I think she's right, Sarah.
Me: (Reaching out to feel my mom's, then my sister's, then my own again) I think you both are crazy!
Mom & Sister: (Feels their own and then everyone else's)
Meanwhile, I happened to look around and realize we had an audience...
Me: *hissing* Omigod don't look now, but I think we just gave that trucker over there something to put in the spank bank...
Sister & Mom: Ewwwww! (All breast fondling stops and we start giggling)
*Disclaimer
And with that, we decided we'd stretched our legs enough and hopped back in the car and speedily made our exit from the scene of our unintentional lewdness.
In honor of that trip, I made us take this photo together on my wedding day.
We're crazy, and neither of them could refuse me on that day.
HA!
*This conversation is not accurate as far as who started touching who first, what exactly was said, or who even brought up the subject of breast size, although I have a strong suspicion it was me. But it is accurate as far as the tone and such. Plus there really was a trucker leaning on his vehicle watching us.
For the most part, we have no issue touching other people in social settings. Just met you? No problem, we'll be back-patting, arm squeezing and shoulder-punching you like we were lifelong friends quicker than you can say "bad touch".
Like the time my mom chest-patted my high school boyfriend Parrot Boy (so named for his blue hair, prominent nose, and various pierced body parts. What? I fancied myself a rebel youth). He looked so startled we both laughed about it later on when my mom apologized to me for doing it. Hilarious, because despite Parrot Boy's best efforts to be angst-y and scary, very little deters the women in my family from being touchy-feely.
This sometimes creates problems, like when you marry someone who isn't touchy-feely. Or someone who avoids unnecessary tactile contact like the plague, as the Big B does. I try to be good about not touching him too much, but every once in awhile I can't hold it back any more and I go into "leech mode", whereupon I latch onto him like he's the last floating piece of debris in the ocean after a shipwreck and squeeze with all my might. If he struggles, I've been known to wrap a leg around his hip and be dragged around the house until I've had my fill of hugging.
Coupled with this, I was raised to be comfortable in my own skin and to have no problems discussing bodies and natural functions.
So it was no surprise when my mom, sister and I found ourselves in a compromising situation on a road trip to see Dave Matthews Band one summer.
As a present for my mom, we bought tickets to one of her favorite musical artists and decided to make a girl's trip out of it since the concert was in Wisconsin. We loaded up in the car, booked a hotel room at the Rainbow Inn (eh? eh!) and proceeded to drive across Wisconsin.
We pulled off at a trucker stop/gas station/middle-of-nowhere place to stretch our legs and walk around a bit midway through our drive. We parked in a non-busy part of the large lot and somehow, the conversation turned to our breasts and went something like this:
Me: Your girls look HUGE! (staring at my sister)
Sister: What? Yours are just as big!
Mom: (laughing)
Me: Yours are way bigger! Mom's don't look exactly small, either.
Sister: I think Mom's are bigger.
Mom: (Surprised) Really? I think Sarah's are the biggest.
Me: No way. (Feeling my breasts and looking at the others) Yours are definitely the largest.
Sister: C'mon! We're all pretty similar in size, I think. (Feeling herself up at this point)
Mom: (Feels her own and reaches out to feel ours) I think she's right, Sarah.
Me: (Reaching out to feel my mom's, then my sister's, then my own again) I think you both are crazy!
Mom & Sister: (Feels their own and then everyone else's)
Meanwhile, I happened to look around and realize we had an audience...
Me: *hissing* Omigod don't look now, but I think we just gave that trucker over there something to put in the spank bank...
Sister & Mom: Ewwwww! (All breast fondling stops and we start giggling)
*Disclaimer
And with that, we decided we'd stretched our legs enough and hopped back in the car and speedily made our exit from the scene of our unintentional lewdness.
In honor of that trip, I made us take this photo together on my wedding day.
We're crazy, and neither of them could refuse me on that day.
HA!
*This conversation is not accurate as far as who started touching who first, what exactly was said, or who even brought up the subject of breast size, although I have a strong suspicion it was me. But it is accurate as far as the tone and such. Plus there really was a trucker leaning on his vehicle watching us.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
I Need a Quarterstaff
People watching downtown Minneapolis never ceases to amaze & inspire me.
Sometimes the inspiration is to run fast & far away, but thankfully this particular instance did not send me fast-walking away in horror.
Just as I was walking in the doors, I noticed someone walking briskly down the sidewalk going pat, pat, TICK, pat, pat, TICK, pat, pat, TICK...
No, she wasn't drumming as she walked or hitting herself on her flank as if she was riding a pretend cowhorse or even impersonating an analog clock.
That's my approximation of what her walk sounded like as she approached.
The TICK was coming from the tall walking staff she was using to move down the sidewalk. Not just any walking stick, either, but a real God's-honest staff, complete with a funky-cool knob on top and possibly some runic designs carved into its length.
For all appearances, this staff was not needed to help her walk in any way. True, it is winter in Minnesota, but we've yet to have any snow stick *knock on wood* so using a staff isn't required, just yet, to navigate the snow-piles that tend to accumulate on the sidewalks as winter wears on and the MN dept of transportation is running out of places to put the damn stuff.
Immediately I started thinking....
Does she carry this staff to make an artsy-fartsy statement of some kind?
Is she carrying this staff to go to a class on staff-carving?
Does she carry the staff to get attention?
Is she carrying the staff to fend off unwanted men hitting on her?
Eventually I decide that this must not be a neat-o walking staff, but instead is an actual quarterstaff!
This seems much more fun than thinking she's just a bit odd.
Quarterstaffs were my favorite go-to weapon when I first started playing D&D. You have two ends to hit with and as it's a simple weapon almost any character can use one, plus having to obtain a new one is easy if you lose or break your old one. Just find any likely tree, cut it down, scrape off the bark & extra branches and do some smoothing and...VOILA! Brand new goblin-thumping weapon at your service.
My favorite old-school D&D character, a ranger by the name of Tail-Kinker, even got hers modified with blades on the end to deal extra damage when in combat. (I had a very tolerant DM at the time, who not only allowed me to play a made-up race of my own that was basically a humanoid kitty-cat, but also indulged me in letting her turn into any type or size feline if she took a full round action to "meow" and transform. Of course whenever she changed, her gear didn't change with her, so my adventuring PC friends were forced to grab my stuff frequently, seeing as how in feline form I had no opposable thumbs...and there was the tricky aspect that I would be naked when I transformed back....but I digress).
For some reason the thought that this lady was walking around with a deadly weapon hidden in plain sight as she strolled around downtown in the middle of the day tickled my funnybone. Would she get flack for having it on the bus? Would the police that regularly patrol certain areas of downtown tell her she has to peace-holster her stick?
And most of all, does she know how to use that thing properly?
I'll fully admit that while Tail-Kinker knew which end of the stick was what, I personally have no knowledge other than that you whap them with the hard end.
But I'm guessing that if I decided to start carrying a quarterstaff to protect my innocence on the mysterious and sometimes dangerous bus through the bad part of town, it would come in handy, no matter how little I know about actually wielding it effectively.
After all, can you see a random thug/drug dealer/miscreant on the 22 bus through N.Mpls being able to react quickly to a twirling staff? The delay as they pause to figure out what the heck I'm doing as I jump around and swing my quarterstaff should give me enough of a head start to get the hell away.
And if that doesn't work, I'll thump them with the stiff end. Either that, or use it to pole-vault myself ahead to get a lead on them.
Sometimes the inspiration is to run fast & far away, but thankfully this particular instance did not send me fast-walking away in horror.
Just as I was walking in the doors, I noticed someone walking briskly down the sidewalk going pat, pat, TICK, pat, pat, TICK, pat, pat, TICK...
No, she wasn't drumming as she walked or hitting herself on her flank as if she was riding a pretend cowhorse or even impersonating an analog clock.
That's my approximation of what her walk sounded like as she approached.
The TICK was coming from the tall walking staff she was using to move down the sidewalk. Not just any walking stick, either, but a real God's-honest staff, complete with a funky-cool knob on top and possibly some runic designs carved into its length.
For all appearances, this staff was not needed to help her walk in any way. True, it is winter in Minnesota, but we've yet to have any snow stick *knock on wood* so using a staff isn't required, just yet, to navigate the snow-piles that tend to accumulate on the sidewalks as winter wears on and the MN dept of transportation is running out of places to put the damn stuff.
Immediately I started thinking....
Does she carry this staff to make an artsy-fartsy statement of some kind?
Is she carrying this staff to go to a class on staff-carving?
Does she carry the staff to get attention?
Is she carrying the staff to fend off unwanted men hitting on her?
Eventually I decide that this must not be a neat-o walking staff, but instead is an actual quarterstaff!
This seems much more fun than thinking she's just a bit odd.
Quarterstaffs were my favorite go-to weapon when I first started playing D&D. You have two ends to hit with and as it's a simple weapon almost any character can use one, plus having to obtain a new one is easy if you lose or break your old one. Just find any likely tree, cut it down, scrape off the bark & extra branches and do some smoothing and...VOILA! Brand new goblin-thumping weapon at your service.
My favorite old-school D&D character, a ranger by the name of Tail-Kinker, even got hers modified with blades on the end to deal extra damage when in combat. (I had a very tolerant DM at the time, who not only allowed me to play a made-up race of my own that was basically a humanoid kitty-cat, but also indulged me in letting her turn into any type or size feline if she took a full round action to "meow" and transform. Of course whenever she changed, her gear didn't change with her, so my adventuring PC friends were forced to grab my stuff frequently, seeing as how in feline form I had no opposable thumbs...and there was the tricky aspect that I would be naked when I transformed back....but I digress).
For some reason the thought that this lady was walking around with a deadly weapon hidden in plain sight as she strolled around downtown in the middle of the day tickled my funnybone. Would she get flack for having it on the bus? Would the police that regularly patrol certain areas of downtown tell her she has to peace-holster her stick?
And most of all, does she know how to use that thing properly?
I'll fully admit that while Tail-Kinker knew which end of the stick was what, I personally have no knowledge other than that you whap them with the hard end.
But I'm guessing that if I decided to start carrying a quarterstaff to protect my innocence on the mysterious and sometimes dangerous bus through the bad part of town, it would come in handy, no matter how little I know about actually wielding it effectively.
After all, can you see a random thug/drug dealer/miscreant on the 22 bus through N.Mpls being able to react quickly to a twirling staff? The delay as they pause to figure out what the heck I'm doing as I jump around and swing my quarterstaff should give me enough of a head start to get the hell away.
And if that doesn't work, I'll thump them with the stiff end. Either that, or use it to pole-vault myself ahead to get a lead on them.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Thankful for Good Deeds
It is here, the time of year when people are simultaneously at their most cheerful and most cranky.
The holidays can alternately inspire cheer, dread, anxiety, happiness, depression...and often all to the same person in the same day.
I love the gathering together of loved ones, the generousity the season inspires and all the good food.
I dread the crowds, the cranky people having to deal with those crowds & the worries of the season, and the inescapable financial concerns the holidays bring with them.
But I'm hopeful this year, because my first encounter with holiday crowds last night, albeit very brief, was a positive one.
If doing a good deed, even a minor one, makes you feel this good, why aren't we doing them all the time? Why do we do mean things at all, when doing the opposite has such great consequences? Why, oh why, is it easier to be naughty then nice in the spur of the moment? Why is it harder to reign in the negative things and harder to do positive stuff?
For me personally, I am a procrastinator, so I am queen at justifying why I won't be doing something good just yet. There's always the "I'll donate when I have more money" "I'll do that tomorrow when I'm not so busy with my life" etc etc ad nauseum.
But every once in awhile, I can trick my brain into doing something good before my evil half can rationalize my way out of it.
Last night I had to make a brief stop at the grocery store for pop (aka carbonated beverages for all you non-Minnesotans). God forbid the Big B should run out of Mountain Dew!
Okay, okay, or myself for that matter.
As I whip into a parking spot, I immediately notice the concern on the faces of the people surrounding the car parked opposite from me. It's apparent that something is wrong with their silver Grand Am. I see two ladies and some smaller heads in the backseat, indicating there are probably children in there somewhere.
Before my brain can get time to think about how much stuff I have to do at home and how I just want to run this errand & be done with it, my mouth opens as I open my car door and asks "Do you need a jump?"
They sure did. I open my hood and the trunk, take out the nice set of jumper cables my dad insisted I always keep in my car since I first began driving, and prepared to Do Good.
A young man, seeing a group of ladies around a pair of open engines, also offers to help, which I accept gratefully because I can never remember what order you're supposed to place the cables & whether the car should be running first or not.
In less than 5 minutes, their Pontiac is started and I'm on my way inside the store to complete my errand.
"Happy Thanksgiving!"
"Bless you, we didn't know how we were going to work this out if our friend's car couldn't get to us in the lot."
"Thank you!"
Their relief is palpable and the goodwill is almost visible. The surprise that a stranger, no, two strangers, would jump in & help without being asked has left their voices, and instead you can hear the warmth.
I can't keep the grin from my face the entire time I'm in the store, and when I run into the young man inside who helped out, I thank him for his help and we share a brief smile.
If all it takes is something this small, this simple, this easy, to feel so good, why aren't I doing this all the time?
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. May you find yourself Doing Good when the opportunity presents itself, whether by fortune or because you seek it out.
The holidays can alternately inspire cheer, dread, anxiety, happiness, depression...and often all to the same person in the same day.
I love the gathering together of loved ones, the generousity the season inspires and all the good food.
I dread the crowds, the cranky people having to deal with those crowds & the worries of the season, and the inescapable financial concerns the holidays bring with them.
But I'm hopeful this year, because my first encounter with holiday crowds last night, albeit very brief, was a positive one.
If doing a good deed, even a minor one, makes you feel this good, why aren't we doing them all the time? Why do we do mean things at all, when doing the opposite has such great consequences? Why, oh why, is it easier to be naughty then nice in the spur of the moment? Why is it harder to reign in the negative things and harder to do positive stuff?
For me personally, I am a procrastinator, so I am queen at justifying why I won't be doing something good just yet. There's always the "I'll donate when I have more money" "I'll do that tomorrow when I'm not so busy with my life" etc etc ad nauseum.
But every once in awhile, I can trick my brain into doing something good before my evil half can rationalize my way out of it.
Last night I had to make a brief stop at the grocery store for pop (aka carbonated beverages for all you non-Minnesotans). God forbid the Big B should run out of Mountain Dew!
Okay, okay, or myself for that matter.
As I whip into a parking spot, I immediately notice the concern on the faces of the people surrounding the car parked opposite from me. It's apparent that something is wrong with their silver Grand Am. I see two ladies and some smaller heads in the backseat, indicating there are probably children in there somewhere.
Before my brain can get time to think about how much stuff I have to do at home and how I just want to run this errand & be done with it, my mouth opens as I open my car door and asks "Do you need a jump?"
They sure did. I open my hood and the trunk, take out the nice set of jumper cables my dad insisted I always keep in my car since I first began driving, and prepared to Do Good.
A young man, seeing a group of ladies around a pair of open engines, also offers to help, which I accept gratefully because I can never remember what order you're supposed to place the cables & whether the car should be running first or not.
In less than 5 minutes, their Pontiac is started and I'm on my way inside the store to complete my errand.
"Happy Thanksgiving!"
"Bless you, we didn't know how we were going to work this out if our friend's car couldn't get to us in the lot."
"Thank you!"
Their relief is palpable and the goodwill is almost visible. The surprise that a stranger, no, two strangers, would jump in & help without being asked has left their voices, and instead you can hear the warmth.
I can't keep the grin from my face the entire time I'm in the store, and when I run into the young man inside who helped out, I thank him for his help and we share a brief smile.
If all it takes is something this small, this simple, this easy, to feel so good, why aren't I doing this all the time?
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. May you find yourself Doing Good when the opportunity presents itself, whether by fortune or because you seek it out.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Human Coupons
I'm sure you know a few.
You know, the people you are acquainted with who have "da hook up".
In high school, this was practically everyone I knew.
I don't think I paid for a single Hershey's pie from Burger King my entire junior year. Why should I? My best friend Scary Sarah and her boyfriend worked there and one of them was guaranteed to be on shift when the cravings for artificially flavored badness hit.
I was a sandwich artist, so when you had that craving for a turkey sub but pennies in your pocket, I was your girl. Or if you wanted to stroke my pet pickle (an actual sliced pickle, people, please!) that I usually kept on my shoulder to entertain the customers.
Don't ask...I was a weird kid, a weirder teenager, and I just am better at hiding my weirdness as an adult.
That, and I'm a big pickle fan, heh heh.
Waitressing at the local Denny's diner ensured that it was our spot to go when we were carousing. I could usually sweet talk one of the cooks into dumping some season fries in the fryer for us or cooking some pancakes and at the very least, we'd get free coffee or pop (pop=soda for you non Minnesotans out there).
After high school, I lucked out in many ways...my sister was a server also and we literally used her as a human coupon several times, as she had to be present in order for us to get the discount. Then she got a killer job at a wonderful national department store and I benefited from her employee discount, as well as getting all kinds of great makeup and perfume.
One of my other buddies was a meat buyer for a large grocery retailer and a couple times he had 30-40 inch thick ribeye steaks sold to him for a mere $10.
We ate a lot of BBQ and red meat that summer. I think it was probably the only time in my life that I wasn't anemic and low on iron!
Is this why we get jobs and have friends? To get the hook up?
What's YOUR human coupon story?
Have a great weekend everyone--I start a very nice long week of vacation with the end of the day today, and I couldn't be more pumped. Maybe I'll even get some projects done before school starts up again (but don't hold your breath, I won't be responsible for any collapses).
You know, the people you are acquainted with who have "da hook up".
In high school, this was practically everyone I knew.
I don't think I paid for a single Hershey's pie from Burger King my entire junior year. Why should I? My best friend Scary Sarah and her boyfriend worked there and one of them was guaranteed to be on shift when the cravings for artificially flavored badness hit.
I was a sandwich artist, so when you had that craving for a turkey sub but pennies in your pocket, I was your girl. Or if you wanted to stroke my pet pickle (an actual sliced pickle, people, please!) that I usually kept on my shoulder to entertain the customers.
Don't ask...I was a weird kid, a weirder teenager, and I just am better at hiding my weirdness as an adult.
That, and I'm a big pickle fan, heh heh.
Waitressing at the local Denny's diner ensured that it was our spot to go when we were carousing. I could usually sweet talk one of the cooks into dumping some season fries in the fryer for us or cooking some pancakes and at the very least, we'd get free coffee or pop (pop=soda for you non Minnesotans out there).
After high school, I lucked out in many ways...my sister was a server also and we literally used her as a human coupon several times, as she had to be present in order for us to get the discount. Then she got a killer job at a wonderful national department store and I benefited from her employee discount, as well as getting all kinds of great makeup and perfume.
One of my other buddies was a meat buyer for a large grocery retailer and a couple times he had 30-40 inch thick ribeye steaks sold to him for a mere $10.
We ate a lot of BBQ and red meat that summer. I think it was probably the only time in my life that I wasn't anemic and low on iron!
Is this why we get jobs and have friends? To get the hook up?
What's YOUR human coupon story?
Have a great weekend everyone--I start a very nice long week of vacation with the end of the day today, and I couldn't be more pumped. Maybe I'll even get some projects done before school starts up again (but don't hold your breath, I won't be responsible for any collapses).
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Why Can't I Make Up My Mind?
Before, I always thought of myself as a decisive person.
This was reinforced by the fact that the Big B is one of the most indecisive people I've ever met. (That's an exaggeration--it just feels that way because I'm around for so many of his decisions.).
I always forget this whenever he comes with grocery shopping, until I see him agonizing over which microwave lunch meal he wants. I usually stand impatiently behind him when he does this, not understanding why he must deliberate his choices for so long.
If it were me and I really couldn't choose, I'd either hold them both behind me and have him pick one randomly, or have him pick one purposefully. Inevitably, no matter which method is used, the lucky winning choice usually just makes me realize that all along I really wanted to do the other. (Murphy's Law ensures that no matter what is chosen, it's never what I've been leaning towards subconsciously all along).
When we were picking out a flatscreen TV together for our bedroom when last we moved, we spent over 2 hours in the Best Buy while going back and forth from one TV to another. When we finally whittled it down to two choices, we must have worn a new path on the floor from going back from one to the other obsessively before I finally got tired enough to put my foot down and say "This one!" and thus end the wishy-washy back and forth.
For the little things that are fairly straightforward, like planning our meals for the week or what route to take home while driving, I have no problem making a decision and sticking to it.
For things that are less black & white, like choosing which fabric for a costume or what color to paint my toenails, I will waver and go over my choices, but once I've chosen, I'm typically happy with my choice and content to let it be.
Apparently, this does not extend to big things that I'm not at all sure about, like what I want to do for a career for the rest of my life.
You'd think that attending college on and off for the past 9 years would indicate that I know exactly what I'm doing for a career.
Okay, maybe the 9 years is actually an indicator that I didn't know what I wanted to do. Honestly--I just was dragging my feet getting it done, letting other things like work or finances get in the way of completing school.
But enough is enough--I am chomping at the bit to be DONE. I don't want to have to worry about homework, or grades, or projects, or presentations anymore.
Faced with my little Excel spreadsheet neatly listing all the courses I need, the times they're available next year and the number of credits, I find myself on a see-saw of indecision.
You see, I'm at the very last point to change my major without it causing me to have to backtrack. This means that right now, I can change my major and it will still only cost me the same amount in tutition as sticking with my current choice would.
This is a problem because this is already the 3rd time I've declared a different major in almost as many years. Before that, I hadn't even chosen my major. They push you to declare in your sophomore year, but I found as I completed my general courses and the ones required for all business administration degrees that my interest would be piqued by a new topic of study and invariably I'd put it on my list of "things I'd possibly like to do for the rest of my life".
How can you choose between marketing, finance, accounting, supply chain, information systems, etc, if you haven't experienced any of them in depth? I mean, I'm good with numbers and I currently work in a bank, so accounting or finance would seem to be no brainers, right? Wrong--I HATED my accounting courses with a passion reserved only for raccoons, and as for my finance class--well let's just say that I squeaked by and I was just fine with that.
Compounding the problem was the large expanses of time between classes and the slower pace from being a part-time student. There were times when I didn't take a single class all semester long, and even one year that I skipped out entirely. My mindset was that I had plenty of time to get it all done...
Then BAM! I'm getting married and there's talk of geeklings, and the one thing I know is that my procrastinating butt will NEVER finish if a baby pops out. It would be the ultimate cop-out for me, and this close to the end, I can't let it happen.
Maybe that would actually work in my favor if I did birth a baby geek before walking down that graduation aisle, but I'm not willing to take the chance, and as it so happens, both of us would like to be more financially secure before we start putting buns in the oven.
Either way, I am seeing that I should reach that exaulted position of "Graduate" by this time next year.
This means I have to make a choice, and this time around, there won't be any going back unless I want to pay more and continue to take classes. While I might not mind attending school again in the future, once the geeklings are attending their own classes, what I had in mind for that timeframe was more of going back to school to get a masters degree, not finishing up my undergraduate degree.
That's the horns of my dilemma. This will be a FINAL choice, in every sense of the word.
How incredibly daunting it is to pick something to do for the rest of your life. Whatever it is, it needs to fill several requirements:
Then I started actually taking the courses required for my latest choice. I quickly discovered something that led me to my current position:
I liked my minor courses more than the ones for my major.
Not only did I like them more, but I was doing much better grade-wise as well. That's probably directly linked. No, not probably--almost certainly.
So do I stick with my last choice and keep things as they are? Or do I make a change once again (risking the wrath of my college advisor who I must meet with anytime I declare a major) and potentially face indecision once again in the future?
When I'm done beating my head against a wall over this and still haven't come up with an answer (the little red procrastinator-imp on my shoulder tells me I can wiffle-waffle until August since technically I won't take classes until after Labor Day), maybe I should go with my time honored tradition of asking someone else to pick for me, in the hopes that this will make my own preferences more clear.
Tell me, dear loyal few...
Do I stay or do I go?
This was reinforced by the fact that the Big B is one of the most indecisive people I've ever met. (That's an exaggeration--it just feels that way because I'm around for so many of his decisions.).
I always forget this whenever he comes with grocery shopping, until I see him agonizing over which microwave lunch meal he wants. I usually stand impatiently behind him when he does this, not understanding why he must deliberate his choices for so long.
If it were me and I really couldn't choose, I'd either hold them both behind me and have him pick one randomly, or have him pick one purposefully. Inevitably, no matter which method is used, the lucky winning choice usually just makes me realize that all along I really wanted to do the other. (Murphy's Law ensures that no matter what is chosen, it's never what I've been leaning towards subconsciously all along).
When we were picking out a flatscreen TV together for our bedroom when last we moved, we spent over 2 hours in the Best Buy while going back and forth from one TV to another. When we finally whittled it down to two choices, we must have worn a new path on the floor from going back from one to the other obsessively before I finally got tired enough to put my foot down and say "This one!" and thus end the wishy-washy back and forth.
For the little things that are fairly straightforward, like planning our meals for the week or what route to take home while driving, I have no problem making a decision and sticking to it.
For things that are less black & white, like choosing which fabric for a costume or what color to paint my toenails, I will waver and go over my choices, but once I've chosen, I'm typically happy with my choice and content to let it be.
Apparently, this does not extend to big things that I'm not at all sure about, like what I want to do for a career for the rest of my life.
You'd think that attending college on and off for the past 9 years would indicate that I know exactly what I'm doing for a career.
Okay, maybe the 9 years is actually an indicator that I didn't know what I wanted to do. Honestly--I just was dragging my feet getting it done, letting other things like work or finances get in the way of completing school.
But enough is enough--I am chomping at the bit to be DONE. I don't want to have to worry about homework, or grades, or projects, or presentations anymore.
Faced with my little Excel spreadsheet neatly listing all the courses I need, the times they're available next year and the number of credits, I find myself on a see-saw of indecision.
You see, I'm at the very last point to change my major without it causing me to have to backtrack. This means that right now, I can change my major and it will still only cost me the same amount in tutition as sticking with my current choice would.
This is a problem because this is already the 3rd time I've declared a different major in almost as many years. Before that, I hadn't even chosen my major. They push you to declare in your sophomore year, but I found as I completed my general courses and the ones required for all business administration degrees that my interest would be piqued by a new topic of study and invariably I'd put it on my list of "things I'd possibly like to do for the rest of my life".
How can you choose between marketing, finance, accounting, supply chain, information systems, etc, if you haven't experienced any of them in depth? I mean, I'm good with numbers and I currently work in a bank, so accounting or finance would seem to be no brainers, right? Wrong--I HATED my accounting courses with a passion reserved only for raccoons, and as for my finance class--well let's just say that I squeaked by and I was just fine with that.
Compounding the problem was the large expanses of time between classes and the slower pace from being a part-time student. There were times when I didn't take a single class all semester long, and even one year that I skipped out entirely. My mindset was that I had plenty of time to get it all done...
Then BAM! I'm getting married and there's talk of geeklings, and the one thing I know is that my procrastinating butt will NEVER finish if a baby pops out. It would be the ultimate cop-out for me, and this close to the end, I can't let it happen.
Maybe that would actually work in my favor if I did birth a baby geek before walking down that graduation aisle, but I'm not willing to take the chance, and as it so happens, both of us would like to be more financially secure before we start putting buns in the oven.
Either way, I am seeing that I should reach that exaulted position of "Graduate" by this time next year.
This means I have to make a choice, and this time around, there won't be any going back unless I want to pay more and continue to take classes. While I might not mind attending school again in the future, once the geeklings are attending their own classes, what I had in mind for that timeframe was more of going back to school to get a masters degree, not finishing up my undergraduate degree.
That's the horns of my dilemma. This will be a FINAL choice, in every sense of the word.
How incredibly daunting it is to pick something to do for the rest of your life. Whatever it is, it needs to fill several requirements:
- Be something I'm good at. I want to be successful (who doesn't?) and I'm pretty sure I need to be good at what I'm doing in order to reach that goal.
- I want to enjoy what I'm doing. I used to think I'd be happy no matter what I chose because really I just like working with people, and afterall, how many jobs don't require you to work with people in some way, shape or form? Now I realize that I do have preferences, especially sticking away from anything involving ledgers or serious math. Life is way too short to be spending the majority of it doing something you hate. Even if it's just okay, I feel that's not good enough in the long term.
- I want to make comfortable money. Let's face it, money is a necessary evil in this day and age, and as much as I wish it didn't matter, I don't want to struggle the rest of my life and live paycheck to paycheck. Plus, with the mountain of student loans piling up, I at least need to make back my investment.
Then I started actually taking the courses required for my latest choice. I quickly discovered something that led me to my current position:
I liked my minor courses more than the ones for my major.
Not only did I like them more, but I was doing much better grade-wise as well. That's probably directly linked. No, not probably--almost certainly.
So do I stick with my last choice and keep things as they are? Or do I make a change once again (risking the wrath of my college advisor who I must meet with anytime I declare a major) and potentially face indecision once again in the future?
When I'm done beating my head against a wall over this and still haven't come up with an answer (the little red procrastinator-imp on my shoulder tells me I can wiffle-waffle until August since technically I won't take classes until after Labor Day), maybe I should go with my time honored tradition of asking someone else to pick for me, in the hopes that this will make my own preferences more clear.
Tell me, dear loyal few...
Do I stay or do I go?
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Can You Say Gullible?
For me, gullible really is written on the ceiling.
Tell me some kind of preposterous statement, and as long as you haven't made me suspicious of you in the past, I'll most likely respond with "Really?"
Case in point:
Years ago, quasi-boyfriend Charlie and I are at his house, watching the movie Dazed and Confused when he tells me, "You know, I was an extra in this movie."
"Really?!? Cool! Are you in any of the movie scenes? Where are you?"
Charlie, laughing, says, "No, not really. I was just yanking your chain."
Not even 10 minutes later, he flicks one of those fancy (but ultimately worthless) lighters that have the blue/green colored flame like a miniature torch and holds it out in front of us.
"This lighter isn't even hot."
"Really?" I say, putting my finger perilously close to the undoubtedly hot flame.
He snatches it away, laughing and shaking his head, probably wondering if I could really be that dumb. "No! It's hot! I was just seeing if you'd fall for it."
Maybe I'd asked for it in this case since before the movie started we had talked about how gullible I was. Apparently this was irresistible to him, as demonstrated by his testing of my naivete. He could probably no more give up testing the limits of my gullibility than I can keep from saying "PEEP!" very loudly when someone tells me "Not another peep out of you!"
I like to think I've grown a bit less naive and less easily taken since I've entered the "adult" world and began working for an employer who did not serve combo meals or french fries. Especially since I joined that elite cadre of people who work downtown, with all the attendant street scams and hustlers.
I knew to be wary of bums, vagabonds and various other nefarious figures who would happily relieve me of my "spare" change and any cigarettes I might care to part with. I felt confident I could protect myself from these types. I have a great ability to say "No" when I want to.
I was unprepared for how creative they can get and how round-about they will go to get at what they want.
I've been told I have a brisk, bad-ass walk (I choose to believe this observation of it, anyways). That is good--hopefully this means I look scary enough to not bother. Unfortunately, it's not enough of a deterrent. These are professionals, and they've heard "No" so many times the word is unable to faze them anymore.
Once I was walking with my best downtown girl-walk in my strappy wedge sandals and pink floral skirt. I caught the crosswalk at the wrong time and was forced to stop. A man stops next to me, breathing a little heavily, hands on his knees, and wheezes out, "Whoa! You walk fast lady! I had a hard time catching up."
I give him a sideways look but say nothing--speaking only encourages them.
"Anyways, I was trying to catch up with you because you're just what we're looking for! How'd you like to meet Prince?"
Don't get me wrong, Prince is great. I'm all about the Minnesotan celebrities, and I hung out at his club often in my raver flaver days. But I highly doubt this man is on intimate acquaintance with Prince.
"See, I was told to find some pretty young girls like yourself who want to do a photo shoot with Prince! Whaddya say?"
I am still the most gullible person you'll ever meet (outside my immediate family--where do you think I got it?!?) but I like to think I've wised up over the years.
"No thanks," I say, and thankfully the light changes and I'm able to stride away confidently with legs and arms swinging.
If I'd taken him up on his offer, I maybe could have met the Purple Rain man. Or maybe just met someone who really, really liked my purse and what was in it and wanted to separate me from said handbag and contents. Or something more sinister.
Tell me some kind of preposterous statement, and as long as you haven't made me suspicious of you in the past, I'll most likely respond with "Really?"
Case in point:
Years ago, quasi-boyfriend Charlie and I are at his house, watching the movie Dazed and Confused when he tells me, "You know, I was an extra in this movie."
"Really?!? Cool! Are you in any of the movie scenes? Where are you?"
Charlie, laughing, says, "No, not really. I was just yanking your chain."
Not even 10 minutes later, he flicks one of those fancy (but ultimately worthless) lighters that have the blue/green colored flame like a miniature torch and holds it out in front of us.
"This lighter isn't even hot."
"Really?" I say, putting my finger perilously close to the undoubtedly hot flame.
He snatches it away, laughing and shaking his head, probably wondering if I could really be that dumb. "No! It's hot! I was just seeing if you'd fall for it."
Maybe I'd asked for it in this case since before the movie started we had talked about how gullible I was. Apparently this was irresistible to him, as demonstrated by his testing of my naivete. He could probably no more give up testing the limits of my gullibility than I can keep from saying "PEEP!" very loudly when someone tells me "Not another peep out of you!"
I like to think I've grown a bit less naive and less easily taken since I've entered the "adult" world and began working for an employer who did not serve combo meals or french fries. Especially since I joined that elite cadre of people who work downtown, with all the attendant street scams and hustlers.
Isn't my city beautiful?
I knew to be wary of bums, vagabonds and various other nefarious figures who would happily relieve me of my "spare" change and any cigarettes I might care to part with. I felt confident I could protect myself from these types. I have a great ability to say "No" when I want to.
I was unprepared for how creative they can get and how round-about they will go to get at what they want.
I've been told I have a brisk, bad-ass walk (I choose to believe this observation of it, anyways). That is good--hopefully this means I look scary enough to not bother. Unfortunately, it's not enough of a deterrent. These are professionals, and they've heard "No" so many times the word is unable to faze them anymore.
Once I was walking with my best downtown girl-walk in my strappy wedge sandals and pink floral skirt. I caught the crosswalk at the wrong time and was forced to stop. A man stops next to me, breathing a little heavily, hands on his knees, and wheezes out, "Whoa! You walk fast lady! I had a hard time catching up."
I give him a sideways look but say nothing--speaking only encourages them.
"Anyways, I was trying to catch up with you because you're just what we're looking for! How'd you like to meet Prince?"
Don't get me wrong, Prince is great. I'm all about the Minnesotan celebrities, and I hung out at his club often in my raver flaver days. But I highly doubt this man is on intimate acquaintance with Prince.
"See, I was told to find some pretty young girls like yourself who want to do a photo shoot with Prince! Whaddya say?"
I am still the most gullible person you'll ever meet (outside my immediate family--where do you think I got it?!?) but I like to think I've wised up over the years.
"No thanks," I say, and thankfully the light changes and I'm able to stride away confidently with legs and arms swinging.
If I'd taken him up on his offer, I maybe could have met the Purple Rain man. Or maybe just met someone who really, really liked my purse and what was in it and wanted to separate me from said handbag and contents. Or something more sinister.
Either way, I'm glad I wised up at least enough to realize that some gift horses should be looked in the mouth.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Variety is Good
Where I live is a study in contrasts this time of year.
The scene that greeted me yesterday morning on my way to the bus:
Stunningly beautiful, if a bit saddening since it's late April.
It's an ephemeral beauty, as evidenced by the same spot less than twelve hours later.
Spring is here, even if it is being stubborn about it's appearance.
The vibrantly green grass is proof!
I didn't get bent out of shape about it, despite my intense longing for spring. It was so lovely and I knew it wouldn't last.
The fun of being Minnesotan is getting to use your heat in the morning and the AC in the afternoon.
The scene that greeted me yesterday morning on my way to the bus:
Stunningly beautiful, if a bit saddening since it's late April.
It's an ephemeral beauty, as evidenced by the same spot less than twelve hours later.
Spring is here, even if it is being stubborn about it's appearance.
The vibrantly green grass is proof!
I didn't get bent out of shape about it, despite my intense longing for spring. It was so lovely and I knew it wouldn't last.
The fun of being Minnesotan is getting to use your heat in the morning and the AC in the afternoon.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Autopilot
Ever been thinking or daydreaming, and then realized some time later that whatever you were doing for the past X minutes, you were doing completely on autopilot?
I have.
It's most scary when I'm driving. You know, where you're driving for several miles and then realize that you haven't actually seen the road those past few minutes. Sure, your eyes may be staring straight ahead, your hands on 10:00 and 2:00 on the steering wheel (thanks Momma), and you look like the very model of a good driver, but in reality were a deer or small person to jump out in the middle of the road, your reactions would be slower than a lush having a really bad New Year's Eve.
Luckily it tends to happen most often when I'm forced to read something dry and technical. Like procedures at work or school textbooks (don't get me wrong, I find Supply Chain Management absolutely fascinating, but unfortunately Quality Management doesn't extend to considering that the customers of textbooks would love some humor once in awhile).
I'm always amazed when I realize that I've truly been multitasking with my mind for several minutes. I've heard of this strange phenomenon, that really smart people can be having a completely engaged conversation with you while solving complex physics problems in their heads.
But while I'm no slouch in the brains department (modesty is where I'm lacking, hee hee), I've never considered myself that intelligent. However, when I realize I've been simultaneously reading a book and thinking about all the laundry I need to do, and what I'm making for dinner tomorrow, etc etc, and I have still managed to retain the information I just read, I'm floored.
Go brain! Such a neat thing, really. I'm glad I have it.
Sorry, sorry, you can smack me with the droll ruler now.
More seriously however, how amazing is it that we can so effectively divide our brain power that way? Usually when I try to do it on purpose it's very difficult. But somehow I have no problem doing so if one of the tasks I'm doing is not very fun. I'm not talking just about the mundane multitasking, where you pretend to work when you're really goofing off or you're vacuuming while daydreaming about Hugh Jackman as Wolverine running around in a white tank, glorious hairy man-boobs protruding deliciously.
I'm speaking of the true multitasking, where you multitask inside your brain. I'd like to hear from you, fledgling followers. Does this happen to you?
I have.
It's most scary when I'm driving. You know, where you're driving for several miles and then realize that you haven't actually seen the road those past few minutes. Sure, your eyes may be staring straight ahead, your hands on 10:00 and 2:00 on the steering wheel (thanks Momma), and you look like the very model of a good driver, but in reality were a deer or small person to jump out in the middle of the road, your reactions would be slower than a lush having a really bad New Year's Eve.
Luckily it tends to happen most often when I'm forced to read something dry and technical. Like procedures at work or school textbooks (don't get me wrong, I find Supply Chain Management absolutely fascinating, but unfortunately Quality Management doesn't extend to considering that the customers of textbooks would love some humor once in awhile).
I'm always amazed when I realize that I've truly been multitasking with my mind for several minutes. I've heard of this strange phenomenon, that really smart people can be having a completely engaged conversation with you while solving complex physics problems in their heads.
But while I'm no slouch in the brains department (modesty is where I'm lacking, hee hee), I've never considered myself that intelligent. However, when I realize I've been simultaneously reading a book and thinking about all the laundry I need to do, and what I'm making for dinner tomorrow, etc etc, and I have still managed to retain the information I just read, I'm floored.
Go brain! Such a neat thing, really. I'm glad I have it.
Sorry, sorry, you can smack me with the droll ruler now.
More seriously however, how amazing is it that we can so effectively divide our brain power that way? Usually when I try to do it on purpose it's very difficult. But somehow I have no problem doing so if one of the tasks I'm doing is not very fun. I'm not talking just about the mundane multitasking, where you pretend to work when you're really goofing off or you're vacuuming while daydreaming about Hugh Jackman as Wolverine running around in a white tank, glorious hairy man-boobs protruding deliciously.
I'm speaking of the true multitasking, where you multitask inside your brain. I'd like to hear from you, fledgling followers. Does this happen to you?
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