"What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?"*

I had to work today until 5pm, but when I finished I went to the grocery store to obtain the necessary ingredients for my New Year's Eve feast:

1. Champagne: I'm no wine aficionado, but I thought this year I deserved better than my regular $5 bottle of whatever. I bought a $15 bottle (because I'm worth it) with a picture of a toad on the label. I think there might be two toads on the label, perhaps Frog and Toad have made the leap from children's books to adult beverages.

2. Frozen pizza

3. Ben & Jerry's ice cream, Dublin Mudslide flavor: I've never had this flavor before, but the words "Irish Cream Liqueur" on the label sold me.

As I dug in the supermarket freezer for the hardest pint of ice cream, I thought, "Geez, this stuff is going to look pathetic to the cashier. Maybe she'll think this is for a party.....Yes, she's going to think I'm taking this stuff to a party...that's right, a party."

When it was my turn in line, the cashier began scanning and said, "Is this your dinner?"
"Yep, it sure is."



*Song lyrics found here among other places.

All by Myself: Part 1

Yesterday I made my usual Sunday stop at one of the larger Goodwill stores in my area and found a great armchair in wonderful condition for $34.99. Did I need it? No, in fact I wasn't sure exactly how I was going to stuff it into my space, but I really "needed" it. When I drove a station wagon, I didn't think twice about buying big stuff--whatever I ever needed to fit, fit in that car. Sadly, that car is gone, replaced by a more mechanically reliable but space-challenged compact car. Somehow, Loading Dock Guy at the Goodwill, with the help of my cache of bungee cords, got my chair in my trunk. It only stuck out about a mile, leaving both my license plate and my taillights utterly invisible, but a good deal is worth it, right?

When Loading Dock Guy finished stretching the last bungee cord with a very doubtful look on his face, I pushed on the chair a bit and said, "Oh, I'm sure it will be just fine....I'll take back roads....and drive real slow." I laughed to show I was kidding, but he chuckled somewhat somberly and wished me a blessed Christmas or something like that, probably assuming I'd either be hitting heaven (courtesy of a careless tailgater) or jail (courtesy of my improper loading techniques) soon and would need the extra good wishes for either.

"Back roads" from that Goodwill to my house consist of several four lane or six lane roads and innumerable maniacs who think it's smart to get right up on a car with no visible taillights and a driver whose arm isn't quite long enough to reach out the window to make noticeable manual signals. (I'm not even sure most younger drivers would know what I was attempting to do anyway.) Despite that, I made it home without incident. (Thanks, Loading Dock Guy!)

Once home, I jumped out of my car, undid the bungee cords, unloaded the chair from its perch in my trunk and started to carry it back to my house. It was unwieldy, but not really heavy. I'd get a grip, go about ten feet, set it down, try another grip and continue on. When I reached my landlords' backyard, the landlord himself, doing yardwork at the time, said, "Do you want a hand?" "Sure." We started to carry it the last half of the way to my door. The landlady, coming around the side of the house said, "Were you trying to carry that all by yourself?" I wanted to say, "I wasn't trying to do it, I was!"

I appreciated my landlord's help very much, but I would have carried it the rest of the way myself if he hadn't been there. I wasn't expecting him to be there, and I wouldn't have waited for him to do it for me. I hate the implication that I can't do something like move a chair because I'm a woman. If I hadn't been able to pick it up, I would have dragged it or found something with wheels and pulled it. Mechanical advantage is my friend.

Relating the story to my mother on the phone tonight, she said, "Yeah, when you [meaning the general "you," not just me] have to do something, you just find a way to do it." (This is an 11th way I'm like my mother: I often attempt lifting things that are far too heavy for me.)

So, anyway, the chair is pictured below. The throws are not to disguise wear or to be stylish, they are meant to ward off cat clawing. The red piece of furniture visible in one of the pictures is my couch which I got for free but had to load in my station wagon and then drag upstairs to my third floor apartment all by myself.

10 Things that Remind Me of My Mother

I was going to write a really depressing/depressed post about how I wish Christmas (notice I wrote Christmas not xmas, because xmas wouldn't treat me the way Christmas does) would finish itself up already.* But, that seemed far too dark, so instead I'm writing a depressing post about all the signs that indicate I'm turning into my mother:**

1. My signature: "I" once signed papers to buy a car in Florida while I was living in Maryland. When I finally saw the papers, even I had to think twice about whether I'd signed the papers or my mother had done it for me. I'll never be able to write the first letter of my mother's name like she does, but almost every time I sign my name, I note how much I write just like she does.

2. I jump up and down when I'm really startled: My mother hops from foot to foot waving her hands about and saying, "Oh, oh, oh, you scared me!" when she's startled. So help me, I do the same thing.

3. Varicose veins: :-(

4. I cringe when I hear teenagers swearing: If I knew their names, I'd exclaim, "So-and-so! Young [ladies and/or gentlemen] don't talk like that!" (Of course, this doesn't prevent me from swearing.)

5. Strangers start talking to me in stores: This doesn't happen to me as often as it does to my mother, but it does happen. My mother is ALWAYS the one who gets asked in dressing rooms whether this skirt or that blouse makes the questioner look fat. Or, she's the one who ends up hearing someone's life story while she's waiting in line at the grocery store.

6. I could probably live solely on a diet of sweets and soda.

7. I don't really like to cook, but baking seems like a noble pursuit (see #6).

8. I read in the bathtub (or I would if I had a bathtub instead of a shower stall :-().

9. My hair: It isn't as dark as hers nor is it going gray like hers did, but for years my hair was significantly lighter than everyone else's in my nuclear family. When I notice that my hair has darkened, I think of my mother.

10. Many of the stories that I tell start off with purpose and have interesting details but somehow kind of end up without definite conclusions.



*"News" reports about people being depressed over the holidays really anger me: I saw one the other day that basically said Seasonal Affective Disorder is the reason people get depressed over the holidays. Hello?! I live in south Florida as do all the other viewers of that program--I really doubt it's S.A.D. I thought I was being paid for my labor partly in sunshine. If I have S.A.D., then I'm being shortchanged in that regard, too! Why can't people just be sad because they're sad not because of some external reason?

**The inspiration for this post came from some blog with the word anarchy or anarchist in the title. I ran across it while searching for the proper words to "Melikalikimaka," but didn't note the URL.

Sister's Holiday Gift Guide

I started thinking yesterday, "If I were asked to give suggestions for holiday gifts, what would I want to give or get for xmas?"* This list is the result.**

1.

These leaf ornaments from REI (various prices). I actually did give these as a gift, and they were a big hit. I'm told they are even more beautiful in person.

2.

This pack of Sharpie pens from Office Depot ($24.99). For the adult who really wishes you'd give them crayons, but feels too adult to have them anymore. Ooo, and they're indelible--that adds a touch of danger to their use: "What if I mark on my shirt or my pants? This stuff won't wash out!"

3.

A window punch to keep in your car in case of emergencies from Knives Plus ($6.97). Here's a horrific little story about why one might need one, in case you don't already have this particular obsession like I do:

"There you are, trapped in your 1985 Ford 4X4 F-150 short wide pickup which just flipped 4 times off the side of the highway and landed upside down in the ditch ... just because you swerved too hard to avoid that stupid Armadillo crossing the road! You've got an extra 50 gallon gas tank in the truck bed that is leaking like a sieve and on the verge of a fire ball explosion....(continue reading, if you dare)"

4.

A Leatherman Juice from the makers of the Leatherman Multi-Tool. I became overwhelmed by the potential combinations of features so you'll have to pick that out yourself. And, who the hell knows how much it costs! I couldn't find that out, but it still seems like a lovely gift. Brother bought me a Swiss Army Knife for my birthday one year, and it was the best gift I'd gotten in years. I've used it many times to open bottles, to cut all sorts of stuff up, and to retrieve errant floppy disk parts from disk drives. I think this would be just as useful.

5.

A coloful fringed scarf (like this one from Ten Thousand Villages, $34.00). You should look lovely and be warm while you're trapped in your car searching for your Window Punch and Leatherman Juice Tool.

6.

Some junk that's been made into art; I love junk that's been reborn (no price because you have to find your own junk, rethink it, and create it yourself--the helpful folks at Make magazine might spark your creativity).

7.

Windchimes made from silverware. I have two windchimes made from silverware, but I bought mine because it never occurred to me until the moment I saw them to make my own (no price because you're making it yourself, but here are some instructions on how-to).

8.

The Snuggle Bear, but I don't think the stuffed version (found here) is the one to get. Hold out for the real one--the one who runs around your house, jumping in your laundry basket. I'd love to have such a cute little fella cavorting through the house doing simple household chores, wouldn't you? (no price, because I think you have to be magical to make this happen)



*I am not receiving any kickbacks from the companies selling the items on my list, nor am I responsible if you don't like any of these. Use your heads before you buy stuff.
**This is not intended to be a nudge for anyone who knows me to get me these things...seriously, it isn't.

10 Things I Hate to Do

I'll max out this "10 Things" concept eventually. Until then, I give you 10 things that I hate to do:

1. Put stuff—-almost anything, really-—away: If my coworkers have ever wondered, this is why my workspace looks like it does. I’ll do almost anything before I’ll file anything away. I will do the dishes, but I hate putting them in the cupboard. I don’t mind loading the washer and dryer, but I don’t like putting the folded clothes away.

2. Wash my car: Isn’t the dirt a protective layer?

3. Deliver bad news

4. Clean the litter box: ‘nuff said? And, wouldn’t you be concerned if I said I loved it?

5. Miss out: Someone once told me, “You always know what’s going on, Sister.” I don’t know if that’s true, but I never like being the last to know.

6. See pictures of myself: arghh.

7. Hear my recorded voice: blechh.

8. Speak my own name: I don’t dislike my name and I don’t mind hearing it pronounced, but I don’t want to have to say it. First days of school when everyone had to go around and introduce himself or herself were torture for a variety of reasons. For me, one of those reasons was having to speak my name aloud. I realize this is odd, but it is what it is.

9. Show library patrons how to photocopy: Regular readers probably saw this one coming. I don’t mean pointing out where the photocopier is. I mean demonstrating in excruciating detail to seemingly able-bodied adult persons with average or above average intelligence how to photocopy using a typical photocopier. I want to ask, "Why don't you know how to do this?" (I hate, hate, hate, hate you non-photocopying folks! If you can't photocopy on your own, then the terrorists have won.)

10. Eat out by myself: I don’t mind doing most things by myself, but I really don’t like dining out alone. I think most food consumption has a social component, but eating out, to me, is almost purely a social activity. I just can’t eat out by myself—I hate doing it.

Didn't anybody pay attention during those "Schoolhouse Rock" cartoons?

Okay, let's review: the word "women" is a noun, as is its singular form, "woman"
The word "female" is an adjective, used to modify the meaning of nouns.

While waiting in line at the bank today, I saw a news item about someone who was the first "woman prime minister" of some country (might have been Australia).
Would you say "man prime minister"? Of course not, because it's "male prime minister" -- unless it's a woman, in which case "female prime minister" is the correct phrase.

I started seeing this usage several years ago, and it's getting more and more common, despite sounding like something a four-year-old child would say. (I almost said "three-year-old child", but one of my friends has a three-year-old, and I can't understand more than ten percent of what she says, so I don't know HOW she'd say it.)

Anyway, stop it. And enough with the all-white Christmas lights already!

Keep the x in xmas

This is a picture of Brother (the one on the left) and me one xmas long, long ago:

I think I'm three almost four here, so Brother would have just turned six. I posted this picture for a couple of reasons:

1. My friend Seattle noted Brother and I sound like the same person, except for Brother's tendency to focus on guns and cars and mine to focus on photocopying. In case you also wondered, see, we are actually two people. (Although in this picture, it looks possible that we're Siamese twins.)

2. This is one of my favorite pictures from childhood, period. (And, I think it's one of the last good pictures that's ever been taken of me.)

3. The ornament above my head at the top of the photo was my most favorite ornament ever. I miss it. At one time there were probably a whole box of them, but they were old in the seventies and the mates had likely been broken by this time. I remember wanting so badly each year to be the one who got to hang it on the tree.

4. It's difficult to see in this scan of a scanned photo, but in the original our eyes are just shining. We look so expectant. I've always thought this photo captured the peak of xmas and childhood excitement.

I'm afraid it's all downhill from there, kids.