Monday, August 30, 2010

It's My Party. And I'll Cry if I Want To.

So, Aarti's Party.

Note: Yes, I am thinking again, which always get me to wondering. And I am wondering about Aarti's Party.

Additional Note: For the Food Network-Deprived, and I pity you, Aarti is the big winner of The Next Food Network Star.


Note: Not!

So, Aarti's Party. The premise is that Aarti (who is Indian, hence the unusual name, I guess) is having a Party.

Note: I hope this concept is not too confusing.

Personally, I think Aarti Farty is much more fun. And although I have the sense of humor of a pre-pubescent boy, farting is hilarious, unless it is happening right next to me. Additionally, I find the Arm Fart to be particularly hilarious. I actually saw someone arm-fart the National Anthem.

Note: Pre-pubescent boy, yes.

So, Aarti is cooking. At the beginning of the show, she describes the upcoming 'Party' and then prepares the food. For the Party.

Today, she is hosting her Accountability Group, whatever that is. Aarti is saying we have a lot of heavy things to discuss, so we need comfort food and I'm thinking where's the streamers? where's the balloons? where's those crazy noisemakers?

Note: This does not sound like a party to me. Heck, my Accountant Group would make a snappier party and that's not saying much.

The food looks delicious. But seriously, Aarti. Grab a Diet Coke and a little umbrella and go a little bit wild.

And maybe no one will even have to cry at your party next time!

Heck, yes!

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Mr. Forgetful. Indeed.

Actual Conversation:

Hub: My coworker was telling me about an App for the iPad. You'll love it.

Me: Oh yeah? What's it called?

Hub, with slightly furrowed eyebrows: I don't remember exactly. Like Wiki, or something.

Me: Wikipedia? Why would I need an App for that?

Hub, more convincingly: No, it wasn't Wikipedia. But it was definitely Wiki-Something.

Me: Oh. Well, what does it do?

Hub, eyebrows definitely furrowing, puzzling a bit: I don't really remember.

Me: You don't remember what the App does?

Hub: Not exactly. But I know you'd like it.

Me: So, basically there's an App for my iPad that I 'd definitely like but you don't know what it's called or what it does?

Hub: Yeah.

Sweet Holy Moses.

I am wondering. Do I need to be concerned? Do I need to start feeding the Hub gingko biloba and start hanging him upside down on one of these inversion tables so the blood rushes to his brain and start playing mind-sharpening games like Scrabble or Sudoku or Spin the Bottle, even?

Note: When I was a kid and we played 'Spin the Bottle,' I was petrified that the bottle would spin at me and I'd end up kissing a boy and getting pregnant.

Additional Note: Obviously, I was not well-versed regarding human reproduction.

So, what were we talking about?

Note: Hmmn. Shall I make that gingko biloba and mind-sharpening games for two? Break out the bottle and give it a whirl!

Heck, yes!

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Oh, Katy.

So, I'm cruising in the Aging SUV. I'm cruising in the Aging SUV and punching radio buttons like crazy. There is nothing good on the radio. I mean, Phil Collins? Really? And how overplayed is 'Clocks' by Coldplay? Even in the Hall of Fame of Overplayed Music, it's overplayed. And then 'Always and Forever?' Seriously? It's probably been redone by some Hippity Hop artist, but it was crappy even in 1978 with Peaches. And Herb. (The 'H' is not silent, in this case).

Note: C'mon, admit it. The Hippity Hop reference is quite amusing.

So, I'm stuck with Katy Perry, who has graduated from kissing a girl (I'll never wear cherry chapstick again, no) to California Gurls (I'll never enjoy a popsicle again, no) to her latest hormone-driven mess, Teenage Dream.

Note: I'm sorry about this little rant. I just don't get kid's music nowadays.

Additional Note: I have SO always wanted to say that!

Proof, of the Hormone-Driven Mess:

Let's go all the way tonight
No regrets, just love
We can dance, until we die
You and I, will be young forever
I'mma get your heart racing
In my skin tights jeans
Be your teenage dream tonight
Let you put your hands on me
In my skin tight jeans
Be your teenage dream tonight

Note: Ugh.

That is all.

Carry on.

Monday, August 23, 2010

A VERY Happy Garden. VERY.

So, do you think this cherry tomato, fresh-plucked from my garden, has partially-absorbed his parasitic identical twin or do you think that maybe he's just happy to see me?

Really, really happy.

Heck, yes!

Friday, August 20, 2010

Disaster. Epic.


Does anyone else see the potential for disaster when in a mad rush, The Trophy Wife grabs for her Aussie Mega Hairspray in its purple canister and instead, through no real fault of her own aside from the whole mad rush thing, grabs the Kaboom Foamtastic cleaner in its purple canister instead?

Enough said, yes.

Carry on.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

A Binge. Of Grand Proportions, Yes.

So, I am on a binge. A big one, by the looks of it, yes.

Note: Simmer down, everyone. No, not that kind of binge and no, not that kind of binge, either.

Life is Stressing. Me. Out. I am so stressed that I am actually chewing on my acrylic nails. And yes, I am stressing about the broken tooth, but whatever. I am so stressed that I am actually exercising twice a day. And my triceps are killing me.

So, I went on a binge. At Wal-Mart, yes.

Note: Yeah, I know.

The contents of my cart? Glad you asked:

Lysol Disinfectant Spray, Crisp Linen Scent
3-pack Lysol disinfecting Wipes, Citrus Scent
Dawn Dishwashing Soap plus Bleach Alternative, Mountain Spring Scent
Febreze Dust and Shine Furniture Spray, Citrus & Light Scent
Febreze Noticeables, Sweet Citrus & Zest Scent
Dial Antibacterial Foaming Handwash, Cranberry Scent
Weiman Granite Wipes
Weiman Granite Cleaner & Polish
Weiman Stainless Steel Wipes
Febreze Fabric Carpet and Air Cleaner, Sweet Citrus & Zest Scent
Value Size Suave Body Wash, Mango Mandarin Scent
And for good measure, a four-pack of D-Con rat and mice poison for my little friend Templeton, who has grown accustomed to the stuff, Disgusting Rat Flavor.

Now my house smells citrusy and zesty and springy and mountainy and crispy, yes.

When the going gets tough, the tough get cleaning.

Heck, yes.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Willies. Wills. Williams. Willards.

When I was a kid, I got the Willies. My parents were more likely to get the Heebie-Jeebies. Today I get the Jitters.

Yup. I'm talking about the Creeps. And getting them. And why.

Probably I get the Willies on account of the movie Willard, which came out in 1971, when I was (very) young and (very) impressionable. Ben, the oversized rat in the film, enlists his buddy-rats to kill Willard's boss, but then the nasty creatures turn on Willard when he tries to drown them. On account of their mischievousness.

Note: Chewing the living daylights out of his boss is, indeed, an act of mischievism, yes.

So, anyway, I frequently get the Willies. I thought it might be interesting to share what gives me the Willies and/or the Jitters and/or the Whatnots.

A Woefully-Short Willies List, Which Could Go On and On ...

1. Trying on swimwear in the Department Store, with or without the 'hygienic liner'. Yeah, I know. The Willies!

2. Squatting a little, looking for feet, to see if a bathroom stall is empty and then seeing 'parts' of the person sitting on the toilet through the space where the door doesn't quite meet the stall and realizing that, yeah, people can see me when I'm sitting there, too. The Willies!

Note: Why can't stalldoor designers do something about this atrocity?

3. Chinese restaurants, in general. The Willies!

4. The end of the toilet paper roll folded into little triangles in the bathrooms of hotel rooms. Do I really want someone who has just cleaned the freaking floors touching my toilet paper?The Willies!

5. Seeing a spider on the ceiling of my bedroom at night and trying to smash it to smithereens but it survives and scurries off and I can't find it and all night long I feel (hopefully) imaginary spiders scuttling across my cheek and I freak out and screech and swat, yes. The Willies!

So, I must ask both of my readers: What gives you the Willies? Leave a note!

Heck, yes!

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Tremors. And Spewing. But No Onesies.

I wonder about things sometimes. No, I am not still wondering about the Onesie, although my mind does return to the concept now and again.

Today, I wonder about Soda.

Note: I'm not wondering about 'Pop' or even 'Soda Pop'. I really hate when people refer to carbonated beverages as 'Pop' because that's the name of my Dad, for crying out loud.

So I am wondering about Soda. Specifically, I am wondering how Soda flavors get such unusual names.

Do a bunch of Soda Gurus sit around a table and sip and nod and burp and spew liquid out their noses as they suggest ridiculous ideas like Shasta (I mean, really, I've been in that lake recently and you surely do not wish to drink it) or Dr. Pepper or even Mr. Pibb?

Note: I am wondering if Mr. Pibb was my 8th grade science teacher.

So, I think the Gurus had a little too much coke in their cola, if you know what I mean, when they decided that this was a good name for a Soda:

Are you kidding me?

Is this really a good idea? Nurse, I'm parched. Give me a sip of Dr. Tremor before I begin surgery, or I cannot understand why my paint by number 'dogs playing pool' turned out so poorly or Hey, quit looking at my eyebrows like that!

Yes, I can almost feel the Soda spraying out the gurus' noses from here after one of the yahoos suggests Dr. Tremor.


Heck, yes!

Saturday, August 14, 2010

When Life Gives You Lemons.

So, is it just me or does this sentiment remind you of an old boyfriend? Or two?

"I'll love you FOREVER, baby. Or at least for awhile, anyway. Say, Honey, could you fix me a sandwich while you're up?"

I'm thinking ... Not so much.

But I could really go for a strawberry lemonade about now.

Heck, yes!


Location:Nimitz Fwy,San Jose,United States

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Onesie. Twosie. Threesie. Four.

I am wondering about the onesie.

After utilizing the unique-to-infants garment with the Grand Boy this weekend, I am definitely pondering about it.

Why has the onesie lost favor as the child grows? Why has such an ingenious invention as the onesie not been utilized by general society as a viable fashion alternative?

Imagine a world where an older, larger-bellied gentleman can just snap his shirt into place, yes, with no more constant tucking and retucking over the protrusion. In front.

Note: Simmer down, everyone. I am referring to the protrusion of the belly, for crying out loud.

Now imagine a world where a youth in saggy gang-banging pants is sporting a neatly-snapped polo on his bum instead of his Joe Boxers. And the professional basketball player in a onesie could more easily abide by the NBA-imposed 'tuck rule,' providing a more streamlined look, which is a little trick that male figure skaters have long enjoyed.

So, please join me in my plea for common sense for the emergence of the onesie as not just a fashion statement, but for the consideration of the teensie, the groomsie with a quick-release mechanism, the sportsie or if one is playing a sport requiring a ball, the ballsie, and of course the oldsie, for obvious reasons, unfortunately.

And plumber's crack? A thing of the past.

Heck, yes!


Location:Red Bluff,United States

Thursday, August 5, 2010

A Bit of a Conundrum, Yes.

Disclaimer and Warning and Whatnot: This post contains references to stuff that men don't like to buy in Supermarkets for their wives. And other things. In pharmacies. Just so you know.

I walk into Safeway. But not my Safeway. Another Safeway. Which is located in the general location of my errand-running. Because I am in dire need of, well, feminine products and so here I am in Safeway. But not my Safeway.

I stand there. Because I do not know where the lady products reside in this particular Safeway. I just stand there with my cart, surveying the aisle markers for familiar words.

Note: I do not know why I selected a cart. Maybe I am purchasing LOTS of feminine products.

Additional Note: Actually, there is a rule about the purchasing of feminine products. One must never purchase only the product. Oh no. Then it's obvious that the product is needed. RIGHT NOW.

So, I buy zucchini and diet soda and a magazine featuring The Bachelorette's heart-wrenching decision. But I cannot find the darn lady-product aisle.

Note: Because it is not my Safeway, no.

A perky, ruddy-faced young fellow pops in front me with a broom and a smile, setting off my startle reflex, which is another post. Entirely.

May I help you find something? His eyebrows are up, in a hopeful manner.

I debate saying Hey Kid, where do you hide the t@m9o6s, but the thought is too traumatizing. For both us.

You see, I worked in a pharmacy when I was sixteen. Sixteen and foxy, yes. A dude comes in, attractive. Maybe late twenties. He stands quietly in line, reverently almost, before stepping forward and softly asking if he could buy a pack of conundrums.

I do not understand the request. What? I ask.

He repeats himself. Repeatedly.

The Pharmacist bolts from behind the place where the Pharmacists hide, holding a brown paper bag. I'll handle this customer, he says.

I shrug.

Later, I realize that I am an idiot.

Note: It's not my fault. I am sixteen. I do not know that r&66$rs have an official name. Sheesh.

So, yeah.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Don't. Turn. Around.

I have a confession. And I hope it doesn't affect my intellectual image too much.

But I must admit: I've been grooving on the 80's music. And I'm not talking about Night Ranger or Joan Jett or even Michael Jackson.

I'm talking nasty British Wailing music.

Note: Not 'Whaling' music. There is a distinct difference between the two genres, trust me.

So, there's this local radio station that plays a 'Retro Lunchbox' .

Note: The 80's were apparently long enough ago to now be considered Retro. Scary.

Additional Note: Even Scarier: Boy George and The Devo fellows cannot possibly have aged well.

Photographic Evidence Now Follows:


So I'm grooving. And jiving. And digging. And wailing, yes.

Maybe the reason I am feeling the groove of 80's music lately is because I am in need of more depth in my life, i.e. deeper thinking, and the meaningful lyrics of the era are giving me pause. To think. And grow. As a member of society.

Note: Nah. Probably not.

So here's an example: Der Kommissar by After the Fire, a one-hit wonder circa 1983. The words are deep, yes. After a thorough analysis I believe that I understand what the songwriters were actually trying to say.

Don't turn around, oh oh
Der Kommissar's in town, oh oh
And if he talks to you Then you'll know why
The more you live The faster you will die
Don't turn around, oh oh
Der Kommissar's in town, oh oh

Der Kommissar, roughly translates in German to 'The Kommissar', yes. Further study of the lyrics indicate that the Kommissar is in town and it might not be a such a good idea to turn around.

Wow. The 80's were deep.

Heck, yes!