Plural: the form of a word that is used to denote more than one.
I believe I learned in kindergarten, that in order to make a noun plural, one must add an 's'. However, what many people seem to have forgotten from the exact same class is that there are exceptions to that rule.
The first example I recall learning as an exception was the plural form of 'deer'. There has never been, nor will there ever be an 's' at the end of that word. I don't care if you see 20 of the beautiful creatures in your back yard...or claim to have killed 20 during hunting season. A deer is a deer. If there are 20? It's still 'deer'.
My husband, a brilliant man with a Master's degree, was caught ignoring another exception to the plural rule when we were out to dinner with a group of people I was meeting for the first time. When he started explaining our scenic backyard, the word 'foxes' slipped out. Not one to let things slide - I called him on it. It was bad enough that he momentarily forgot the exception to the plural rule. But, now he had the other guys at the table questioning...what? It isn't foxes? Are you sure? Is it fox? Really? Yes, really...nobody says 'foxes'...unless they are inebriated.
As is the way of human nature: when you make a mistake, deflect the attention to someone else's bigger mistake.
Enter the Colorado Buffaloes into the conversation.
Apparently, the prerequisite to get into the University of Colorado is to never have learned the rule of plurals. A buffalo is a buffalo. More than one is a herd. A herd of BUFFALO. Just because it ends in 'o' does not mean you add an 'es'.
Since 1877, CU has prided itself on 'building strong programs in the sciences, engineering, business, law, arts, humanities, education, music, and many other disciplines'. Apparently the English language is not one of the other disciplines. I bet their students say 'WalMarts' (there is no 's' on the end of that people...unless you're talking about a group of WalMarts).
Everybody can slip up inadvertently now and then. Cacti becomes cactuses. Fish becomes fishes. Mice becomes mouses. But let's make those slip-ups as irregular as their plural forms.
If you're applying to college or sending your kids off, you might want to check the syllabuses (correct form? syllabi) first. And here's a helpful hint: If you want to study English, don't attend a school where the mascot is a grammatical error!
Monica Stoneking
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
One Shoe, Two Shoe, Red Shoe, Wrong Shoe
There are many times in life when I experience a minor lapse in brain function. Some call it a brain fart (that's just funny), some call it a senior moment (I'm too young for that), others call it a momentary malfunction of educational operation (not really).
But the other day I did what many do, but few show their face to admit. I left the house with two different shoes on. Not just two slip-ons that I only threw on to take my dogs out for a quick pee.
I went into my closet, got my tennis shoes and proceeded to lace them up to brave the wintry conditions. I methodically placed my right foot in the shoe, laced it up. I acknowledged my two panting girls, assuring them that we were going for a w-a-l-k. I then placed my left foot in the left shoes and laced it up as well.
I stood, put on my coat, my hat, my scarf and then hooked KoKo up to her leash. This wasn't the 50 ft. leash that she's accustomed to when Mom is too lazy to walk her. This was her 'we're going for a long walk, you'd better get excited' leash. We made our way out the door, up the street, around the block, through the snow, by the pond and back to our door.
I stomped my feet, banging the piles of snow off of my shoes. Unhooked KoKo. Got food for the girls. Took my coat, my hat, my scarf off and placed them on the coat rack. I went upstairs, started a load of laundry. Went back downstairs to start cutting vegetables for dinner.
I then sat down on the couch with the heating pad on my shoulder and began flipping through channels. In an attempt to get more comfortable, I decided to finally take my shoes off...that's when I noticed...I had two different shoes on.
On my left foot was a Reebok running shoe. On my right was a laced up, double-knotted, Adidas walking shoe. Two, completely different shoes. Different colors. Different styles.
I kept those shoes on. Because it is rare that my husband witnesses my mistakes (let me believe that), I decided to wait until he got home to relieve my feet from their confused state.
I waited to see if my husband noticed. I even asked him if he noticed anything odd. He didn't. (Of course, how many husbands REALLY notice anything about their spouse's wardrobe?) I pointed to my feet and he said, "what?"
So while I can spend more than an hour in my mismatched shoes that I took time to sit and tie...I thank you honey for not noticing (okay, laughing at) my momentary malfunction of educational function.
But the other day I did what many do, but few show their face to admit. I left the house with two different shoes on. Not just two slip-ons that I only threw on to take my dogs out for a quick pee.
I went into my closet, got my tennis shoes and proceeded to lace them up to brave the wintry conditions. I methodically placed my right foot in the shoe, laced it up. I acknowledged my two panting girls, assuring them that we were going for a w-a-l-k. I then placed my left foot in the left shoes and laced it up as well.
I stood, put on my coat, my hat, my scarf and then hooked KoKo up to her leash. This wasn't the 50 ft. leash that she's accustomed to when Mom is too lazy to walk her. This was her 'we're going for a long walk, you'd better get excited' leash. We made our way out the door, up the street, around the block, through the snow, by the pond and back to our door.
I stomped my feet, banging the piles of snow off of my shoes. Unhooked KoKo. Got food for the girls. Took my coat, my hat, my scarf off and placed them on the coat rack. I went upstairs, started a load of laundry. Went back downstairs to start cutting vegetables for dinner.
I then sat down on the couch with the heating pad on my shoulder and began flipping through channels. In an attempt to get more comfortable, I decided to finally take my shoes off...that's when I noticed...I had two different shoes on.
On my left foot was a Reebok running shoe. On my right was a laced up, double-knotted, Adidas walking shoe. Two, completely different shoes. Different colors. Different styles.
I kept those shoes on. Because it is rare that my husband witnesses my mistakes (let me believe that), I decided to wait until he got home to relieve my feet from their confused state.
I waited to see if my husband noticed. I even asked him if he noticed anything odd. He didn't. (Of course, how many husbands REALLY notice anything about their spouse's wardrobe?) I pointed to my feet and he said, "what?"
So while I can spend more than an hour in my mismatched shoes that I took time to sit and tie...I thank you honey for not noticing (okay, laughing at) my momentary malfunction of educational function.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
When Two Dimes and a Nickel Don't Equal a Quarter
I'm frugal. Let me clarify - I am not a cheapskate. I do not believe in spending money on nonessentials. I do not believe in purchasing $85 dollar jeans, when I can get the same style for $30. My closet is not full of Gucci or Prada. I drive a fuel-efficient car (I love Glacy Blue). I get my hair cut at Cost Cutters.
I shop at Aldi.
Laugh if you want, but I cherish my local Aldi. Stereotypes be damned. There are just as many crazies at the local superstore as there are at my beloved discount store. At least with Aldi they don't even pretend to be glamorous. You know what to expect when you walk in the door.
For those of you that have not experienced the frugal shopping experience that is Aldi - let me enlighten you. If you want a cart, bring a quarter. You have to insert a quarter into the cart in order for it to be released into your hands. Never fear, you will get it back when it is returned. Brilliance! Saves your cars from being dinged.
If you opt not to get a cart, you'd better grab a box. There are too many deals to pass up. Fresh vegetables are 50 percent less than the bigger-named stores. Meat products, pre-made meals, kitchenware and pet food. (Some even have alcoholic beverages).
Last night, as I headed home from work, I passed our local Aldi. Knowing that our refrigerator was bare and the dogs had about 5 kernels of food left, I decided to turn in to the parking lot. I opened my purse searching for the must-have quarter, and there was none in sight.
I knew I needed a cart in order to get the dog food...and all the other items I tend to throw in as I peruse the aisles. I searched my car some more. No quarter. But, thankfully I saw a woman returning her cart, so I decided to grab her (not literally) before she placed her cart back to retrieve her quarter.
Armed with two dimes and a nickel, I asked the woman if I could 'buy' the cart from her. She mumbled 'yes' and I proceeded in handing her my change. All of a sudden her eyes popped open wide, she yanked the cart away and said - in a louder than normal voice - 'no. no. sorry. no'. And she returned her cart.
Standing amidst the light, falling snow like a complete idiot, with 25 cents in hand, I watched the woman make her way to her car. I felt defeated. There was no way for me to get a cart. So, head held low, I walked into Aldi prepared to pick up only a few items.
As I reached the checkout, I looked to my right and saw the bags of dog food. I had to get it. I couldn't let my girls starve. So, with one arm visibly bandaged up, I asked the gentleman behind me - sporting a Michigan stocking cap in Michigan State territory - if he could help me lift the food onto the conveyor belt.
Not only did this wonderful Wolverine help me at checkout, he brought the 20lb bag of dog food to my car. I thanked him profusely - he restored my faith in humanity.
So while there are a lot of crazies in the world, there are also a lot of kind-hearted individuals (shopping at Aldi). But the biggest lesson I learned from my latest shopping excursion is that while two dimes and a nickel equals 25 cents, they do NOT spend the same as a quarter at Aldi.
I shop at Aldi.
Laugh if you want, but I cherish my local Aldi. Stereotypes be damned. There are just as many crazies at the local superstore as there are at my beloved discount store. At least with Aldi they don't even pretend to be glamorous. You know what to expect when you walk in the door.
For those of you that have not experienced the frugal shopping experience that is Aldi - let me enlighten you. If you want a cart, bring a quarter. You have to insert a quarter into the cart in order for it to be released into your hands. Never fear, you will get it back when it is returned. Brilliance! Saves your cars from being dinged.
If you opt not to get a cart, you'd better grab a box. There are too many deals to pass up. Fresh vegetables are 50 percent less than the bigger-named stores. Meat products, pre-made meals, kitchenware and pet food. (Some even have alcoholic beverages).
Last night, as I headed home from work, I passed our local Aldi. Knowing that our refrigerator was bare and the dogs had about 5 kernels of food left, I decided to turn in to the parking lot. I opened my purse searching for the must-have quarter, and there was none in sight.
I knew I needed a cart in order to get the dog food...and all the other items I tend to throw in as I peruse the aisles. I searched my car some more. No quarter. But, thankfully I saw a woman returning her cart, so I decided to grab her (not literally) before she placed her cart back to retrieve her quarter.
Armed with two dimes and a nickel, I asked the woman if I could 'buy' the cart from her. She mumbled 'yes' and I proceeded in handing her my change. All of a sudden her eyes popped open wide, she yanked the cart away and said - in a louder than normal voice - 'no. no. sorry. no'. And she returned her cart.
Standing amidst the light, falling snow like a complete idiot, with 25 cents in hand, I watched the woman make her way to her car. I felt defeated. There was no way for me to get a cart. So, head held low, I walked into Aldi prepared to pick up only a few items.
As I reached the checkout, I looked to my right and saw the bags of dog food. I had to get it. I couldn't let my girls starve. So, with one arm visibly bandaged up, I asked the gentleman behind me - sporting a Michigan stocking cap in Michigan State territory - if he could help me lift the food onto the conveyor belt.
Not only did this wonderful Wolverine help me at checkout, he brought the 20lb bag of dog food to my car. I thanked him profusely - he restored my faith in humanity.
So while there are a lot of crazies in the world, there are also a lot of kind-hearted individuals (shopping at Aldi). But the biggest lesson I learned from my latest shopping excursion is that while two dimes and a nickel equals 25 cents, they do NOT spend the same as a quarter at Aldi.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Out for Blood -- It's a Good Thing
In this world of cut-throat competition and everyone fending for their own, the words "we're out for blood" ring negativity throughout our ears. But there are circumstances in which references to blood ARE a good thing.
Did you know that every two seconds, someone in the United States needs blood? Your neighbor, family members, friends...YOU...may need blood at some point in life. It's through generous blood donors that those who survived car accidents, received life-saving cancer treatments, or underwent severe surgeries are alive today.
When a person donates blood, up to three lives can be saved. Many people don't realize this and many people don't care. But, when you see a child who is battling leukemia or a woman with breast cancer who wouldn't be alive without blood products...it can't help but inspire even the toughest cynics to donate blood.
One out of every 10 people admitted to a hospital eventually need blood. In fact, nearly five million people need blood transfusions every year. Hearing those statistics, it amazes me how few actually roll up their sleeves to donate blood.
My father is a two-time cancer survivor. While he was going through his radiation and chemotherapy treatments, I didn't know he was receiving platelets. Platelets are a component of the blood that help with clotting. But knowing now how the process works, I thank those platelet donors who helped saved my father's life.
Blood donation affects everyone, whether they realize it or not. You never know when a loved one is going to need blood. You never know when they may need platelets. But what you should know is that thanks to volunteer blood donors and organizations like The American Red Cross, blood products are available to hospitals, helping their patients in need.
To all of you blood donors - thank you! Without your kind gesture, my father may not be here today. To all of you who have not donated blood - make an appointment...visit redcrossblood.org.
What better gift is there than the gift of life? In just one hour, you can be a hero, helping to save lives with your donation!
Did you know that every two seconds, someone in the United States needs blood? Your neighbor, family members, friends...YOU...may need blood at some point in life. It's through generous blood donors that those who survived car accidents, received life-saving cancer treatments, or underwent severe surgeries are alive today.
When a person donates blood, up to three lives can be saved. Many people don't realize this and many people don't care. But, when you see a child who is battling leukemia or a woman with breast cancer who wouldn't be alive without blood products...it can't help but inspire even the toughest cynics to donate blood.
One out of every 10 people admitted to a hospital eventually need blood. In fact, nearly five million people need blood transfusions every year. Hearing those statistics, it amazes me how few actually roll up their sleeves to donate blood.
My father is a two-time cancer survivor. While he was going through his radiation and chemotherapy treatments, I didn't know he was receiving platelets. Platelets are a component of the blood that help with clotting. But knowing now how the process works, I thank those platelet donors who helped saved my father's life.
Blood donation affects everyone, whether they realize it or not. You never know when a loved one is going to need blood. You never know when they may need platelets. But what you should know is that thanks to volunteer blood donors and organizations like The American Red Cross, blood products are available to hospitals, helping their patients in need.
To all of you blood donors - thank you! Without your kind gesture, my father may not be here today. To all of you who have not donated blood - make an appointment...visit redcrossblood.org.
What better gift is there than the gift of life? In just one hour, you can be a hero, helping to save lives with your donation!
Monday, January 25, 2010
Reach for the Stars...and Throw Out Your Back?
I'm not a parent. I would never pretend to be one or the best one. However, when I look around and see glimpses of how others parent their children, a little of piece of me dies inside.
I'm a firm believer in everything happens for a reason. I believe anyone can be anything they want to be...do anything they want to do. Their goals may be harder if there are roadblocks. But, as Hooked on Phonics taught me...where there's a will there's an A.
Children should be taught that they can dream. If they want to be the tooth fairy when they're little, they shouldn't be told that it's not possible - even if there is no such thing. Let them think they can be President. Let them believe that they can be a supermodel - even if their entire lineage consists of morbidly obese individuals that have yet to produce anyone over 5'2". Let them think they can be an astronaut, a dancer, a fireman or a Nobel Peace Prize winner.
Help them reach for the moon...they're bound to pick up a few stars.
Yesterday I witnessed a mother completely humiliate her daughter. She was telling anyone who would listen that her daughter would probably need to go to Special Ed because her spelling is awful and her reading abilities aren't that much better. The poor girl looked like she was going to cry. This beautiful, well-spoken 10 year old was belittled and she looked defeated.
But, she wants to be a dancer...or a professional ice skater...or a singer. I told her she could be anything she wanted to be. She's a great dancer. When she sings, she sings with pride. How could anyone tell her that she couldn't be these things...because her spelling is 'awful'?
Everyone has the potential to be a superstar in their own right. It's how you treat people. How people respond to you. It's making a positive difference in the world.
To this little girl and to all the others who are not encouraged by their parents to strive for greatness, I say this: Reach for the stars. There will be naysayers. There will be bullies. There will be obstacles that will be hard to get through.
You shouldn't have to throw your back out reaching for the stars. But if you do, go see a doctor. There are plenty who were once in your shoes - but, they reached for the stars and achieved greatness!
I'm a firm believer in everything happens for a reason. I believe anyone can be anything they want to be...do anything they want to do. Their goals may be harder if there are roadblocks. But, as Hooked on Phonics taught me...where there's a will there's an A.
Children should be taught that they can dream. If they want to be the tooth fairy when they're little, they shouldn't be told that it's not possible - even if there is no such thing. Let them think they can be President. Let them believe that they can be a supermodel - even if their entire lineage consists of morbidly obese individuals that have yet to produce anyone over 5'2". Let them think they can be an astronaut, a dancer, a fireman or a Nobel Peace Prize winner.
Help them reach for the moon...they're bound to pick up a few stars.
Yesterday I witnessed a mother completely humiliate her daughter. She was telling anyone who would listen that her daughter would probably need to go to Special Ed because her spelling is awful and her reading abilities aren't that much better. The poor girl looked like she was going to cry. This beautiful, well-spoken 10 year old was belittled and she looked defeated.
But, she wants to be a dancer...or a professional ice skater...or a singer. I told her she could be anything she wanted to be. She's a great dancer. When she sings, she sings with pride. How could anyone tell her that she couldn't be these things...because her spelling is 'awful'?
Everyone has the potential to be a superstar in their own right. It's how you treat people. How people respond to you. It's making a positive difference in the world.
To this little girl and to all the others who are not encouraged by their parents to strive for greatness, I say this: Reach for the stars. There will be naysayers. There will be bullies. There will be obstacles that will be hard to get through.
You shouldn't have to throw your back out reaching for the stars. But if you do, go see a doctor. There are plenty who were once in your shoes - but, they reached for the stars and achieved greatness!
Friday, January 22, 2010
Is There an Additional Charge for Customer Service?
I like to think of myself as a nice person. I can be crabby - just ask my husband. But, overall, I believe I'm cordial to everyone at any given time. I wish the philosophy to treat others the way you would like to be treated was adopted by everyone else - especially when it comes to customer service.
I've already written about certain retailers who were too consumed with their story about a rat-bastard boyfriend to help me in the check-out lane. But poor customer service doesn't stop at white-trash supercenters. You see it at the auto shop. You see it at the coffee shop. You see it when you choose a place that provides $10 haircuts. You see it at the dentist office. Even the doctor's office.
I had to go to the doctor yesterday and felt like I entered a police interrogation, my husband an accomplice. We've gone there before and had a poor experience. Apparently it would have killed the nurse assistant to crack a smile, let alone make eye contact. This time our experience was just as bad.
There was miscommunication about why I was there. They checked my chart. Checked it again. Called another doctor. Congregated in the hallway - probably talking about what they were going to have for dinner. The doctor came back in, defensive and told us WE misunderstood the reason for paying our $50 copay. We left dazed, confused and glad that we weren't handcuffed and thrown in a squad car.
One time I went to McDonald's with a friend and the person taking our order acted like she'd rather be getting her nails plucked out one by one than sport the stylish visor and monogrammed McDonald's shirt. When I looked up at the menu overhead, I saw that 'smile' was actually listed as something to order. So I ordered one. Told her it was my friend's birthday - could she have a smile for free. She didn't find it amusing.
Has our culture come down to this? Is customer service something we should have to order? We have so many additional expenses listed when we receive bills. I've seen hospitals charge patients a dollar for a Kleenex. I wouldn't be surprised to see a charge of $50 or more for 'friendly service'.
McDonald's may have had the right idea...put a smile on the menu. Though sometimes they have run out, or they are out of stock, the idea that a smile can be ordered for free is a good one. It's a shame it has to be on a menu, on a list of services that a business can provide if asked.
I'll take an expensive x-ray, a prescription for months of therapy, more tests...and can you throw a side of smile in there for me? Thanks doc!
I've already written about certain retailers who were too consumed with their story about a rat-bastard boyfriend to help me in the check-out lane. But poor customer service doesn't stop at white-trash supercenters. You see it at the auto shop. You see it at the coffee shop. You see it when you choose a place that provides $10 haircuts. You see it at the dentist office. Even the doctor's office.
I had to go to the doctor yesterday and felt like I entered a police interrogation, my husband an accomplice. We've gone there before and had a poor experience. Apparently it would have killed the nurse assistant to crack a smile, let alone make eye contact. This time our experience was just as bad.
There was miscommunication about why I was there. They checked my chart. Checked it again. Called another doctor. Congregated in the hallway - probably talking about what they were going to have for dinner. The doctor came back in, defensive and told us WE misunderstood the reason for paying our $50 copay. We left dazed, confused and glad that we weren't handcuffed and thrown in a squad car.
One time I went to McDonald's with a friend and the person taking our order acted like she'd rather be getting her nails plucked out one by one than sport the stylish visor and monogrammed McDonald's shirt. When I looked up at the menu overhead, I saw that 'smile' was actually listed as something to order. So I ordered one. Told her it was my friend's birthday - could she have a smile for free. She didn't find it amusing.
Has our culture come down to this? Is customer service something we should have to order? We have so many additional expenses listed when we receive bills. I've seen hospitals charge patients a dollar for a Kleenex. I wouldn't be surprised to see a charge of $50 or more for 'friendly service'.
McDonald's may have had the right idea...put a smile on the menu. Though sometimes they have run out, or they are out of stock, the idea that a smile can be ordered for free is a good one. It's a shame it has to be on a menu, on a list of services that a business can provide if asked.
I'll take an expensive x-ray, a prescription for months of therapy, more tests...and can you throw a side of smile in there for me? Thanks doc!
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
A Lot of Rumbling...and It's Not My Stomach
Gossip. Rumors. Hearsay. Chatter. Buzz. Tales.
No matter what you call the unfounded stories that inundate our lives, they can add up. Eventually all of the little rumblings combine to form one colossal boom and everyone is busy running for cover.
Take the workplace, for example. Any workplace. The watercooler breeds gossip and by the time an innocent comment has made it's way through the rumormill, innocent, little Joy - the part-time receptionist who works in the basement - is a known assassin who makes her real money as an exotic dancer at Shady Palace.
When you spend 8 hours a day (at least) with a group of people, stories will be shared. History will be drudged up. Cautions will be given. But, how do you know who to trust? After all, your BFF co-worker could just be waiting for you to slip up so that she can notify everyone that she heard through the grapevine that you slept with your last boss and 'resigned' after his wife found out.
My advice is: Do Not Trust Anyone! Unless you go into business with a bona fide friend (which I would not recommend)...your co-workers are just that...your co-workers. And if you end up taking a trip to Cancun with some of them and get completely wasted, accumulating beads left and right...well, don't be surprised to find a pink slip waiting for you.
The worst thing you can say to someone - friend, acquaintance, co-worker or even a family member is: "This stays between you and me..." Ninety-nine percent of the time, your whole group of friends, your entire family or office building will know your little 'secret' within 24 hours. Nothing is sacred.
You may think I have trust issues, but I assure you I do not. I trust my husband with my life. I trust him with office 'secrets'. I used to have a boss (who I hated very much and would have LOVED to spread some rumors about - but he didn't need any help making himself look bad) who would want me to promise (pinky swearing comes to mind) that there would be no 'pillow talk' between me and my husband regarding top secret, classified information going on at work. I think it was because 99% of the stuff he said was full of crap.
So, what would I do? I would go home and tell my husband. Take that former bossman. You may have trusted me...but I can now admit...EVERYTHING you told me was passed on to my husband.
I trust my good friends. The ones who I have chosen to be my family. I trust them to confide in me and I trust that I can confide in them.
I trust some members of my family. I did not choose to have them related to me. But I can choose which ones I trust. Same with co-workers. I did not choose my co-workers. In fact, if it were up to me, a lot of them wouldn't be employed. But, I have been blessed, to a certain extent, at work.
In my last job I found a handful of friends. I built relationships that I believe will last a long time. I trusted few at that place and I knew that many just liked to stir up crap - don't worry former bossman...your name will remain confidential (or will it?).
Currently, I work for an organization that has millions of employees across the country. More than 300 in our region. And sadly, there is ONE person who I trust completely. She's frank. She's honest. And there are no high-school games to be played. If you piss her off, she'll tell you. If you did a good job, she'll tell you. If she thinks going to Cancun, getting wasted and bringing back a busload of beads is a bad idea...she'll tell you that too.
That's called respect people. In order to get it, you have to give it. So, while you gossipmongers are hanging out by the watercooler sharing your next embellished factoid...I'll be watching...for doctors from the mental institution from which I hear you escaped.
No matter what you call the unfounded stories that inundate our lives, they can add up. Eventually all of the little rumblings combine to form one colossal boom and everyone is busy running for cover.
Take the workplace, for example. Any workplace. The watercooler breeds gossip and by the time an innocent comment has made it's way through the rumormill, innocent, little Joy - the part-time receptionist who works in the basement - is a known assassin who makes her real money as an exotic dancer at Shady Palace.
When you spend 8 hours a day (at least) with a group of people, stories will be shared. History will be drudged up. Cautions will be given. But, how do you know who to trust? After all, your BFF co-worker could just be waiting for you to slip up so that she can notify everyone that she heard through the grapevine that you slept with your last boss and 'resigned' after his wife found out.
My advice is: Do Not Trust Anyone! Unless you go into business with a bona fide friend (which I would not recommend)...your co-workers are just that...your co-workers. And if you end up taking a trip to Cancun with some of them and get completely wasted, accumulating beads left and right...well, don't be surprised to find a pink slip waiting for you.
The worst thing you can say to someone - friend, acquaintance, co-worker or even a family member is: "This stays between you and me..." Ninety-nine percent of the time, your whole group of friends, your entire family or office building will know your little 'secret' within 24 hours. Nothing is sacred.
You may think I have trust issues, but I assure you I do not. I trust my husband with my life. I trust him with office 'secrets'. I used to have a boss (who I hated very much and would have LOVED to spread some rumors about - but he didn't need any help making himself look bad) who would want me to promise (pinky swearing comes to mind) that there would be no 'pillow talk' between me and my husband regarding top secret, classified information going on at work. I think it was because 99% of the stuff he said was full of crap.
So, what would I do? I would go home and tell my husband. Take that former bossman. You may have trusted me...but I can now admit...EVERYTHING you told me was passed on to my husband.
I trust my good friends. The ones who I have chosen to be my family. I trust them to confide in me and I trust that I can confide in them.
I trust some members of my family. I did not choose to have them related to me. But I can choose which ones I trust. Same with co-workers. I did not choose my co-workers. In fact, if it were up to me, a lot of them wouldn't be employed. But, I have been blessed, to a certain extent, at work.
In my last job I found a handful of friends. I built relationships that I believe will last a long time. I trusted few at that place and I knew that many just liked to stir up crap - don't worry former bossman...your name will remain confidential (or will it?).
Currently, I work for an organization that has millions of employees across the country. More than 300 in our region. And sadly, there is ONE person who I trust completely. She's frank. She's honest. And there are no high-school games to be played. If you piss her off, she'll tell you. If you did a good job, she'll tell you. If she thinks going to Cancun, getting wasted and bringing back a busload of beads is a bad idea...she'll tell you that too.
That's called respect people. In order to get it, you have to give it. So, while you gossipmongers are hanging out by the watercooler sharing your next embellished factoid...I'll be watching...for doctors from the mental institution from which I hear you escaped.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
When Sports Get Shotgun in the Ride of Life
I'm a football widow. Actually, I'm a widow when it comes to all things sports. Baseball season? Widow. Football season? Widow. Basketball season? Widow. Golf? With Tiger out, who knows? With hockey, it depends on the teams playing. Upcoming Winter Olympics? Not even a question. In fact, it's just a matter of time before bowling and beach volleyball on ESPN get to ride shotgun in my house while I enjoy the view from the backseat - preferably with the window down.
Don't get me wrong, my husband is the best. But, he's a guy. You put anything involving sports or scantily clad women on the television and you can literally see a man with an IQ at genius level turn into a bumbling, drooling adolescent with the attention span of a 5 year old with ADHD.
I love sports. I love the excitement. I love watching a baseball game at an open stadium, cheering for my football team in the stands and feeling the energy rise as the thump of the ball on the court turns into the sound of a three-point 'swoosh'. But I can take or leave those three sports on television. The exception is the Super Bowl. I love the game (when one of my teams actually makes it that far) as well as the commercials. But what I loved the most was when my husband and I would throw our annual Super Bowl parties. Football, food, friends and fun - not to mention the alcohol.
That's the way to watch a game. Other than that, I just get bored. As far as golf is concerned, I get bored just thinking of golf. Golf is a slow-paced sport. You sit around and watch one guy try to hit one ball into one hole. Let's make it interesting, people. Where's the defense? The sandtraps and bodies of water? What if when Nicholson was getting ready to putt, he all of a sudden has to dodge a man twice his side in order to get the ball in the hole. No amount of silence is going to help you there.
Sports to me should involve physical contact. Chess is not a sport. Bowling is not a sport. Poker is not a sport - unless they made it so Daniel Negreanu had to arm wrestle Phil Ivey before claiming the pot. And gymnastics will never, ever be a sport. That's a competition. Checkers is a game. Cheerleading is glorified dance, which is a show. And cooking - even though they've tried to make it a sport with the likes of Iron Chef - is a necessity, something one does to eat and survive.
In order to keep my attention enough to watch a game, I have to feel involved. What benefit is it to me that some 250-pound guy, who gets paid millions to be hit for a living, catches a ball thrown to him because absolutely NOBODY was near him? I want to see the guy work for his paycheck. Tackle him. Smash his shoulder to the ground. Make him bleed. I want to see some fierce, helmet to helmet contact.
Perhaps I have ADHD. I hate sitting still. I hate being bored.
So while my husband and all other manly men of the world enjoy their sports in High Definition, I will be keeping busy doing something important. I will get things accomplished. I will not be bored and I will keep my brain stimulated.
I will feed into my web addiction and write my blog...making my husband an Internet widower.
Don't get me wrong, my husband is the best. But, he's a guy. You put anything involving sports or scantily clad women on the television and you can literally see a man with an IQ at genius level turn into a bumbling, drooling adolescent with the attention span of a 5 year old with ADHD.
I love sports. I love the excitement. I love watching a baseball game at an open stadium, cheering for my football team in the stands and feeling the energy rise as the thump of the ball on the court turns into the sound of a three-point 'swoosh'. But I can take or leave those three sports on television. The exception is the Super Bowl. I love the game (when one of my teams actually makes it that far) as well as the commercials. But what I loved the most was when my husband and I would throw our annual Super Bowl parties. Football, food, friends and fun - not to mention the alcohol.
That's the way to watch a game. Other than that, I just get bored. As far as golf is concerned, I get bored just thinking of golf. Golf is a slow-paced sport. You sit around and watch one guy try to hit one ball into one hole. Let's make it interesting, people. Where's the defense? The sandtraps and bodies of water? What if when Nicholson was getting ready to putt, he all of a sudden has to dodge a man twice his side in order to get the ball in the hole. No amount of silence is going to help you there.
Sports to me should involve physical contact. Chess is not a sport. Bowling is not a sport. Poker is not a sport - unless they made it so Daniel Negreanu had to arm wrestle Phil Ivey before claiming the pot. And gymnastics will never, ever be a sport. That's a competition. Checkers is a game. Cheerleading is glorified dance, which is a show. And cooking - even though they've tried to make it a sport with the likes of Iron Chef - is a necessity, something one does to eat and survive.
In order to keep my attention enough to watch a game, I have to feel involved. What benefit is it to me that some 250-pound guy, who gets paid millions to be hit for a living, catches a ball thrown to him because absolutely NOBODY was near him? I want to see the guy work for his paycheck. Tackle him. Smash his shoulder to the ground. Make him bleed. I want to see some fierce, helmet to helmet contact.
Perhaps I have ADHD. I hate sitting still. I hate being bored.
So while my husband and all other manly men of the world enjoy their sports in High Definition, I will be keeping busy doing something important. I will get things accomplished. I will not be bored and I will keep my brain stimulated.
I will feed into my web addiction and write my blog...making my husband an Internet widower.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Disgruntled Employees
You don't have to look very far to find someone that is unhappy with his or her job. In fact, there are many times I come home and vent about my day at the office to my husband. There are days that he does the same. But, the bottom line is that having our jobs affects our bottom line. We put up with the high-school gossip, we work through micro-management and we do the best we can when we can. At the end of the day, we're thankful to be employed.
Not everyone subscribes to that way of thinking.
This morning on my way to work I stopped by our local, white-trash, superstore to pick up a few items for lunch. I cringe everytime I step foot in the place and to walk in there at the butt-crack of dawn really wasn't the smartest way to start my day. Sure, it wasn't overly crowded with yelling parents or Sunday shoppers who block the aisles to peruse each and every item - but it still was a less than pleasurable experience.
Apparently it was stocking time and every disgruntled employee was out in force to make sure their shelves looked the best in the store. None of them moved out of the way when I came through with my basket. In fact, one was so firmly planted in front of a display of crackers that if he hadn't blinked, I would swear he was a statue.
Navigating my way through the aisles that have no rhyme or reason - really? you really think toilet paper and shampoo should be on completely opposite sides of the store? - I literally ran into someone. It was not an employee, but another disgruntled customer. I apologized profusely, hoping he would take pity on me since I clearly am working with one arm and a basket. No such luck. I take solace in the fact that I'm not related to him.
Then I go to check out. There are THREE customers in the whole place and there was still an issue at checkout. The employee.
I wasn't in the express lane. I wasn't in the regular lane. I was in the SELF checkout. How hard can that be? We are doing YOUR work for you.
As I scan my items, I notice the employee (who must have just rolled out of bed) gabbing away with another employee in lane 11. The lane 11 employee was a good 25 feet away from the self checkout employee, allowing all of us to hear about her rat-bastard boyfriend and his cheating ways. I guess the fact that my apples wouldn't scan in didn't phase her.
I patiently waited for a pause in her story, but apparently she had a lot to vent about. After about 5 minutes, I decided to politely interrupt her.
"Excuse me, my apples won't scan," I said with a weary smile and downward shifting eyes.
If looks could kill, I would be on my deathbed.
She shifted her oversized gut and waddled over to the scanner. No smile. No words.
She successfully got the apples to ring up and shoved them in the bag. As she walked away - with no smile and no words - I couldn't help but think about how sad and pathetic her life must be. Sorry I interrupted your story. Sorry you are so miserable in your life that the highlight of your day is bitching about your boyfriend at 7:30 in the morning. Sorry you work in a superstore - no emphasis on super. But if you hate your job so much - quit! OR be thankful that you have one.
You may be having a bad day, and hopefully you and your boyfriend can vent about it tonight and then you will be able to face tomorrow with a new attitude. Tonight my husband and I will vent about how I had to have bruised apples for lunch because someone was a crabby pants this morning.
Not everyone subscribes to that way of thinking.
This morning on my way to work I stopped by our local, white-trash, superstore to pick up a few items for lunch. I cringe everytime I step foot in the place and to walk in there at the butt-crack of dawn really wasn't the smartest way to start my day. Sure, it wasn't overly crowded with yelling parents or Sunday shoppers who block the aisles to peruse each and every item - but it still was a less than pleasurable experience.
Apparently it was stocking time and every disgruntled employee was out in force to make sure their shelves looked the best in the store. None of them moved out of the way when I came through with my basket. In fact, one was so firmly planted in front of a display of crackers that if he hadn't blinked, I would swear he was a statue.
Navigating my way through the aisles that have no rhyme or reason - really? you really think toilet paper and shampoo should be on completely opposite sides of the store? - I literally ran into someone. It was not an employee, but another disgruntled customer. I apologized profusely, hoping he would take pity on me since I clearly am working with one arm and a basket. No such luck. I take solace in the fact that I'm not related to him.
Then I go to check out. There are THREE customers in the whole place and there was still an issue at checkout. The employee.
I wasn't in the express lane. I wasn't in the regular lane. I was in the SELF checkout. How hard can that be? We are doing YOUR work for you.
As I scan my items, I notice the employee (who must have just rolled out of bed) gabbing away with another employee in lane 11. The lane 11 employee was a good 25 feet away from the self checkout employee, allowing all of us to hear about her rat-bastard boyfriend and his cheating ways. I guess the fact that my apples wouldn't scan in didn't phase her.
I patiently waited for a pause in her story, but apparently she had a lot to vent about. After about 5 minutes, I decided to politely interrupt her.
"Excuse me, my apples won't scan," I said with a weary smile and downward shifting eyes.
If looks could kill, I would be on my deathbed.
She shifted her oversized gut and waddled over to the scanner. No smile. No words.
She successfully got the apples to ring up and shoved them in the bag. As she walked away - with no smile and no words - I couldn't help but think about how sad and pathetic her life must be. Sorry I interrupted your story. Sorry you are so miserable in your life that the highlight of your day is bitching about your boyfriend at 7:30 in the morning. Sorry you work in a superstore - no emphasis on super. But if you hate your job so much - quit! OR be thankful that you have one.
You may be having a bad day, and hopefully you and your boyfriend can vent about it tonight and then you will be able to face tomorrow with a new attitude. Tonight my husband and I will vent about how I had to have bruised apples for lunch because someone was a crabby pants this morning.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
TV Drama Needs No Viewers
My husband and I are addicts...television addicts. We record shows on our Dish Network. We subscribe to Netflix. We visit hulu.com. We go to abc.com. We pretty much search any and all avenues until we find a show that we feel comfortable enough to watch for at least 30 minutes while our dogs fight us for couch space.
Some may think it's sad. That this nightly tradition prevents us from communicating like husbands and wives should. To those people I would like to say: Hog Wash! We actually communicate MORE because of our addiction.
We agree almost all the time on what show to watch each evening. In fact, there are so many shows that we follow, we don't have the time to add another to our DVR list. My brother got us hooked on LOST - damn him - 3 years after everyone else. But in the span of a month, we got caught up and it's included on our list of shows to watch.
I stumbled upon Psyche in the middle of the first season and now my husband and I claim it to be the best comedy on television. Currently on TV. Arrested Development? Sports Night? You would have been in the running...but some people just don't understand intellectual humor...so you were cancelled - sorry!
We've seen every episode of Friends about 10 times and own most of the season box sets. Law & Order, the only problem I have here is deciding which franchise is the best. Criminal Intent? Nobody could play Det. Goren's character better than Vincent D'Onofrio. And the latest addition, Jeff Goldblum? I'm glad he finally found a great match on television.
Or is my favorite Special Victims Unit? I love me some Christopher Meloni. They tried to kill you both off Dets. Stabler and Benson, but the viewers responded and kept you on!
How about the original Law & Order? No other show has reinvented itself so many times with new cast members than this 20-year-old drama. (Even the widely-acclaimed ER only made it to 15 years).
My husband and I bond over this. We take bets when a rerun of any of the Law & Orders come on. Have we seen this one before? Dumb question. Have we seen this one 10 times before?
Now with all of the new shows on USA, TNT, TBS and don't forget the reality shows of VH1, my husband and I are bonding even more - thank you boob tube!
From White Collar to Modern Family to Community to the reinstated Chuck - we are utterly grateful to the over-paid television executives who have discovered these brilliant gems...
Alas, we have had to say goodbye to some shows due to lacking plot lines. Some were gone from our DVR list before the first episode even ended - sorry Guys of a Certain Age. Maybe we'll see you in something new Scott Bakula!
Heroes - Still on the bottom of Rick's list.
Rags to Riches - Could make it back on Monica's list.
Fringe - There's hope for you yet.
Desperate Housewives - Never.
Grey's Anatomy - You may have Dr. McSteamy Dream...but we never gave you a try.
Scrubs - Ever since you left NBC, you left our DVR.
My Name is Earl - You were funny once, and you could be again. Move out of the trailer park.
My Boys - Can't wait to see you again in the Summer!
Jersey Shore - Really? Jersey Shore? I need a shower just typing that.
Housewives of...wherever - It's like The View...in different cities. Too many hens, not enough plot.
And Jay Leno...thank you! Thank you for completely disrupting the NBC line-up and failing miserably. The drama you have caused is getting better ratings than any other drama on network television right now. Conan, while you haven't made the Stoneking DVR list, I do want you to stay with NBC. Perhaps as part of your negotiations you can ask for a recurring role on any of the Law & Orders. THAT would give my husband and I something to talk about!
Some may think it's sad. That this nightly tradition prevents us from communicating like husbands and wives should. To those people I would like to say: Hog Wash! We actually communicate MORE because of our addiction.
We agree almost all the time on what show to watch each evening. In fact, there are so many shows that we follow, we don't have the time to add another to our DVR list. My brother got us hooked on LOST - damn him - 3 years after everyone else. But in the span of a month, we got caught up and it's included on our list of shows to watch.
I stumbled upon Psyche in the middle of the first season and now my husband and I claim it to be the best comedy on television. Currently on TV. Arrested Development? Sports Night? You would have been in the running...but some people just don't understand intellectual humor...so you were cancelled - sorry!
We've seen every episode of Friends about 10 times and own most of the season box sets. Law & Order, the only problem I have here is deciding which franchise is the best. Criminal Intent? Nobody could play Det. Goren's character better than Vincent D'Onofrio. And the latest addition, Jeff Goldblum? I'm glad he finally found a great match on television.
Or is my favorite Special Victims Unit? I love me some Christopher Meloni. They tried to kill you both off Dets. Stabler and Benson, but the viewers responded and kept you on!
How about the original Law & Order? No other show has reinvented itself so many times with new cast members than this 20-year-old drama. (Even the widely-acclaimed ER only made it to 15 years).
My husband and I bond over this. We take bets when a rerun of any of the Law & Orders come on. Have we seen this one before? Dumb question. Have we seen this one 10 times before?
Now with all of the new shows on USA, TNT, TBS and don't forget the reality shows of VH1, my husband and I are bonding even more - thank you boob tube!
From White Collar to Modern Family to Community to the reinstated Chuck - we are utterly grateful to the over-paid television executives who have discovered these brilliant gems...
Alas, we have had to say goodbye to some shows due to lacking plot lines. Some were gone from our DVR list before the first episode even ended - sorry Guys of a Certain Age. Maybe we'll see you in something new Scott Bakula!
Heroes - Still on the bottom of Rick's list.
Rags to Riches - Could make it back on Monica's list.
Fringe - There's hope for you yet.
Desperate Housewives - Never.
Grey's Anatomy - You may have Dr. McSteamy Dream...but we never gave you a try.
Scrubs - Ever since you left NBC, you left our DVR.
My Name is Earl - You were funny once, and you could be again. Move out of the trailer park.
My Boys - Can't wait to see you again in the Summer!
Jersey Shore - Really? Jersey Shore? I need a shower just typing that.
Housewives of...wherever - It's like The View...in different cities. Too many hens, not enough plot.
And Jay Leno...thank you! Thank you for completely disrupting the NBC line-up and failing miserably. The drama you have caused is getting better ratings than any other drama on network television right now. Conan, while you haven't made the Stoneking DVR list, I do want you to stay with NBC. Perhaps as part of your negotiations you can ask for a recurring role on any of the Law & Orders. THAT would give my husband and I something to talk about!
Saturday, January 9, 2010
The Not-so-Clean Clean Freak
So, have I mentioned I'm not an expert? At anything? I'm good at some things. Writing. Cooking. Work. Dancing (if the white-man's overbite and the lawnmower count). But, I'm really not an expert at anything. Some days I'm glad - nobody has extremely high expectations of me on any one thing in particular. Some days I'm just pissed off.
Take today for example. After sending my husband off with a kiss to go take his GMAT, I decided to go to the store. I'm a pretty good navigator at the overly-frequented hoosier superstore. However, this morning I was not on my game. I tried to steer the cart with one arm, because I forgot to wear my sling and my broken bones haven't quite healed. I think I took out the ankles of two customers...but Herb? I was never in aisle 7! I usually write a list of things needed before embarking on a trip to the den of evil. Today, I didn't think I needed one. Go figure, when I got home, the main reason I went to the store is still sitting pretty on the supermarket shelf. But, I'm good at making do with what I have.
Then I decided to surprise my husband with a) a great meal to celebrate his completion of the GMAT, b) clean the house (which hasn't been clean for weeks) and c) walk the dogs. Have I mentioned that I only have one working arm?
I've always loved to cook. I'm no Julia Child or Rachael Ray. But, I can hold my own. I try to make dinner every night (unless I don't feel well or am too exhausted to pick up a knife). My husband is my guinea pig. And in his words I 'get it right' about 90% of the time. Not good enough to be an expert on the Food Network, but good enough for my husband. I hope he enjoys his beef kabobs tonight and the home-made ham and bean soup for weeks to come (I seemed to have made a recipe for 12).
When I finished cooking, the kitchen was a mess. That's when I decided my cleaning would be more than spot vacuuming and dusting. But first, I thought it would be smart to take the girls for a walk. I put KoKo on her 20-ft. leash and let Kaeli run. And run she did...right into me. I fell to the ground, still holding on to KoKo's leash. I got up, screamed at them to get into the house and felt it was best to take my anger out on the clutter in the kitchen.
I went full gusto - you could almost eat off the counters, but I wouldn't recommend it. After the kitchen, which wouldn't pass the test with Merry Maids, I decided to tackle the vacuuming. I got the carpet freshener out, sprinkled it on the floor and dragged the vacuum out of hiding.
The only thing I hate more than vacuuming...is vacuuming with one working arm. Trying to manuever the monster of a machine around corners to suck up the pounds of dog hair embedded into the carpet was a feat that could have won me thousands of dollars if someone were to videotape it and send it in. But as Carol Brady use to say, "It's all fun and games 'til someone gets hurt." I believe shortly after that Marsha got hit in the nose with a football.
I got the entire first floor done and began to work on the stairs. Big mistake. As I descended the stairs I glanced up to see the heavy Hoover heading my way. Instead of using my working arm to grab it or to just let it tumble down the stairs, I decided to try and reach for it with my still-broken arm. Ouch.
So, as I write, I'm staring at the toppled-over vacuum and sneezing up a storm because I may have overdone it on the carpet freshener. I'm so glad I decided to surprise my husband today. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he see's the half-cleaned house, the kicked-in vacuum cleaner and the home-made soup currently burning on the stove.
No, I'm not an expert. But if anyone has a problem with my mediocre abilities, feel free to hire Mary Poppins to clean my house, Rachael Ray to be my chef and Cesar Millan (the dog whisperer) to walk my dogs. I have absolutely no problem with becoming an expert in mediocrity!
Take today for example. After sending my husband off with a kiss to go take his GMAT, I decided to go to the store. I'm a pretty good navigator at the overly-frequented hoosier superstore. However, this morning I was not on my game. I tried to steer the cart with one arm, because I forgot to wear my sling and my broken bones haven't quite healed. I think I took out the ankles of two customers...but Herb? I was never in aisle 7! I usually write a list of things needed before embarking on a trip to the den of evil. Today, I didn't think I needed one. Go figure, when I got home, the main reason I went to the store is still sitting pretty on the supermarket shelf. But, I'm good at making do with what I have.
Then I decided to surprise my husband with a) a great meal to celebrate his completion of the GMAT, b) clean the house (which hasn't been clean for weeks) and c) walk the dogs. Have I mentioned that I only have one working arm?
I've always loved to cook. I'm no Julia Child or Rachael Ray. But, I can hold my own. I try to make dinner every night (unless I don't feel well or am too exhausted to pick up a knife). My husband is my guinea pig. And in his words I 'get it right' about 90% of the time. Not good enough to be an expert on the Food Network, but good enough for my husband. I hope he enjoys his beef kabobs tonight and the home-made ham and bean soup for weeks to come (I seemed to have made a recipe for 12).
When I finished cooking, the kitchen was a mess. That's when I decided my cleaning would be more than spot vacuuming and dusting. But first, I thought it would be smart to take the girls for a walk. I put KoKo on her 20-ft. leash and let Kaeli run. And run she did...right into me. I fell to the ground, still holding on to KoKo's leash. I got up, screamed at them to get into the house and felt it was best to take my anger out on the clutter in the kitchen.
I went full gusto - you could almost eat off the counters, but I wouldn't recommend it. After the kitchen, which wouldn't pass the test with Merry Maids, I decided to tackle the vacuuming. I got the carpet freshener out, sprinkled it on the floor and dragged the vacuum out of hiding.
The only thing I hate more than vacuuming...is vacuuming with one working arm. Trying to manuever the monster of a machine around corners to suck up the pounds of dog hair embedded into the carpet was a feat that could have won me thousands of dollars if someone were to videotape it and send it in. But as Carol Brady use to say, "It's all fun and games 'til someone gets hurt." I believe shortly after that Marsha got hit in the nose with a football.
I got the entire first floor done and began to work on the stairs. Big mistake. As I descended the stairs I glanced up to see the heavy Hoover heading my way. Instead of using my working arm to grab it or to just let it tumble down the stairs, I decided to try and reach for it with my still-broken arm. Ouch.
So, as I write, I'm staring at the toppled-over vacuum and sneezing up a storm because I may have overdone it on the carpet freshener. I'm so glad I decided to surprise my husband today. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he see's the half-cleaned house, the kicked-in vacuum cleaner and the home-made soup currently burning on the stove.
No, I'm not an expert. But if anyone has a problem with my mediocre abilities, feel free to hire Mary Poppins to clean my house, Rachael Ray to be my chef and Cesar Millan (the dog whisperer) to walk my dogs. I have absolutely no problem with becoming an expert in mediocrity!
Friday, January 8, 2010
Let it Snow...Let it Snow...Let it Go...Away!
I love snow. I love shoveling snow (because I'm insane). I love the beautiful white landscape after freshly fallen flakes. I love watching the dogs jump into massive snow drifts. I even love making snow angels.
I do NOT love being snowed in to my house because the street I live on has not quite made it on the list of priorities for the city.
I live in a bubble. A fairly new subdivision where only 5 houses are occupied. Not even a blip on the city's radar. Punch our address into a GPS and you are directed to a house in Utah. No wonder our pizza never arrives within 30 minutes.
Last year, our first in our brand new house, we couldn't get phone, cable or wireless service. Nobody wanted to break ground on an area that wouldn't be further developed due to poor economic times. Now we have two cell phones, Dish Network and Internet service - only because a couple finally moved into the house next door.
I think we saw a snow plow on our street once. One would think in a state where snowfall is a way of life, plows would be trolling the streets on a daily basis. Not here.
Looking out my window today, I wonder if I'll ever make it out of the house. My husband finally managed to dig his car out, but mine is being held captive in the garage. Glacy Blue better make herself comfortable because until I can get her the new tires she needs, she will not be braving the conditions sure to put her in a ditch.
I hate being cooped up. I hate not being able to run errands. But, I hate the thought of being on the unplowed roads even more.
Poor weather conditions bring me a lot of stress and anxiety. My daily stresses are amplified. And I shouldn't be the one who's stressed. My husband takes the GMAT tomorrow - a good score is needed in order to be considered for the PhD program. HE should be stressed. But, he just got up this morning, shoveled the driveway and managed to maneuver his little Honda Civic up the snowy terrain that is our side street.
Tomorrow he will be taking a major test. He has the right to be stressed. I'm not worried at all about how he'll do on his exam. I AM worried about how he'll get to his exam.
So please Mother Nature: while the thick blankets of snow that cover our yards, driveways and roadways are a thing of beauty...STOP! My sanity depends on it!
I do NOT love being snowed in to my house because the street I live on has not quite made it on the list of priorities for the city.
I live in a bubble. A fairly new subdivision where only 5 houses are occupied. Not even a blip on the city's radar. Punch our address into a GPS and you are directed to a house in Utah. No wonder our pizza never arrives within 30 minutes.
Last year, our first in our brand new house, we couldn't get phone, cable or wireless service. Nobody wanted to break ground on an area that wouldn't be further developed due to poor economic times. Now we have two cell phones, Dish Network and Internet service - only because a couple finally moved into the house next door.
I think we saw a snow plow on our street once. One would think in a state where snowfall is a way of life, plows would be trolling the streets on a daily basis. Not here.
Looking out my window today, I wonder if I'll ever make it out of the house. My husband finally managed to dig his car out, but mine is being held captive in the garage. Glacy Blue better make herself comfortable because until I can get her the new tires she needs, she will not be braving the conditions sure to put her in a ditch.
I hate being cooped up. I hate not being able to run errands. But, I hate the thought of being on the unplowed roads even more.
Poor weather conditions bring me a lot of stress and anxiety. My daily stresses are amplified. And I shouldn't be the one who's stressed. My husband takes the GMAT tomorrow - a good score is needed in order to be considered for the PhD program. HE should be stressed. But, he just got up this morning, shoveled the driveway and managed to maneuver his little Honda Civic up the snowy terrain that is our side street.
Tomorrow he will be taking a major test. He has the right to be stressed. I'm not worried at all about how he'll do on his exam. I AM worried about how he'll get to his exam.
So please Mother Nature: while the thick blankets of snow that cover our yards, driveways and roadways are a thing of beauty...STOP! My sanity depends on it!
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
I'm Ron Bur..gun..dy?
My husband and I have a problem. There is no pill that can be prescribed. No therapist that would spend an hour helping us through it. No support group. And really, no desire to 'be cured'. We are movie addicts. Damn those cheap movie bins at WalMart! Every year our collection grows. Every year we have to minimize our movie clutter - argue over which ones to keep and which ones to donate to the local movie-lovers club. But there is one movie that continues to make the cut. One that brings laughter, not heated discussion on why we should or should not dispose of it. Anchorman.
My brother is currently in the process of moving to San Diego and when he left, I believe I told him to 'Stay Classy'.
I'm not sure if I'm to call him a San Diegan, San Diegoan, San Dieg-ite. Perhaps I'll just refer to him as 'my brother who lives in San Diego'. Living in the state of Michigan, I can understand the confusion as to how to be addressed. I am not a Michiganian. I am a Michigander. If anyone from San Diego gets it wrong, you get a pass, because just like Ron Burgundy, I do not know what to call you.
It's random quotes from Anchorman that keeps the slapstick comedy in our movie repertoire. While some may be highly offended by the sexist comments, racial stereotyping and degrading humor...my husband and I think it's a classic.
What other actor could get away with saying, "I'm gonna punch you in the ovary," than Will Ferrell? Who else could pull of the Black Panther stink than Paul Rudd.
The sign of a good movie in my book is when you hold contests with your friends, co-workers, acquaintances, or just random people on the street to see who can quote the most lines from it. For example: "What? You pooped in the refrigerator? And you ate the whole... wheel of cheese? How'd you do that? Heck, I'm not even mad; that's amazing."
And there's always the reference to the pirate hooker and the trident.
"Yeah, there were horses, and a man on fire, and I killed a guy with a trident."
"Brick, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. You should find yourself a safehouse or a relative close by. Lay low for a while, because you're probably wanted for murder. "
I mean, who DOESN'T laugh at that. Perhaps I have a twisted sense of humor. Maybe I have NO sense. Maybe it's all NONsense.
Will Ferrell is a comedic genius. To those of you who say, "I hate you Ron Burgundy...I hate you," I say, "You are not a man, you are a big, fat joke."
Yes, perhaps I have a problem. Perhaps I've seen the movie one too many times. Perhaps it's the scotchy, scotch, scotch or the fumes from Black Panther, but I am a Ron Burgundy fan. He is one funny San Diegan..Diegoan...guy from San Diego.
My brother is currently in the process of moving to San Diego and when he left, I believe I told him to 'Stay Classy'.
I'm not sure if I'm to call him a San Diegan, San Diegoan, San Dieg-ite. Perhaps I'll just refer to him as 'my brother who lives in San Diego'. Living in the state of Michigan, I can understand the confusion as to how to be addressed. I am not a Michiganian. I am a Michigander. If anyone from San Diego gets it wrong, you get a pass, because just like Ron Burgundy, I do not know what to call you.
It's random quotes from Anchorman that keeps the slapstick comedy in our movie repertoire. While some may be highly offended by the sexist comments, racial stereotyping and degrading humor...my husband and I think it's a classic.
What other actor could get away with saying, "I'm gonna punch you in the ovary," than Will Ferrell? Who else could pull of the Black Panther stink than Paul Rudd.
The sign of a good movie in my book is when you hold contests with your friends, co-workers, acquaintances, or just random people on the street to see who can quote the most lines from it. For example: "What? You pooped in the refrigerator? And you ate the whole... wheel of cheese? How'd you do that? Heck, I'm not even mad; that's amazing."
And there's always the reference to the pirate hooker and the trident.
"Yeah, there were horses, and a man on fire, and I killed a guy with a trident."
"Brick, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. You should find yourself a safehouse or a relative close by. Lay low for a while, because you're probably wanted for murder. "
I mean, who DOESN'T laugh at that. Perhaps I have a twisted sense of humor. Maybe I have NO sense. Maybe it's all NONsense.
Will Ferrell is a comedic genius. To those of you who say, "I hate you Ron Burgundy...I hate you," I say, "You are not a man, you are a big, fat joke."
Yes, perhaps I have a problem. Perhaps I've seen the movie one too many times. Perhaps it's the scotchy, scotch, scotch or the fumes from Black Panther, but I am a Ron Burgundy fan. He is one funny San Diegan..Diegoan...guy from San Diego.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Best-sellers and Blunders
I admit I'm not perfect. I'll stand at the top of a bell tower and - wait, wrong reference. I will stand at the top of the world and proclaim my mistakes are many and perfections are few. But, when it comes to writing, I like to think of myself as knowledgeable. And while none of my writings have ever appeared on the New York Times Best Seller's List - the day will come...posthumorous evidently - one of my biggest pet peeve's is when grammatical errors abound a published work.
Last month, I read a book - for the author's sake I will keep the name of the novel and her name out of it - that was a 'New York Times Best Selling Novel'. The book gave me hope. It wasn't inspiring. It wasn't even a good plot. But it did give me hope - that one day I, too, can make the best-seller's list.
Sentence structure and spelling apparently were not a top priority when getting this 'work of art' to the publisher. The author switched from old-school vernacular to the modern slang as of 2007. Some words were used out of context and more than once the author confused YOUR with YOU'RE.
There's a difference between THEIR and THERE. Throw in THEY'RE and you've got one confused author...and reader. There were three points in the book where the same word was typed twice. Too many times a period existed where a question mark should have been placed.
Yes, I am that crazy, neurotic reader who loves to find typos in local newspapers. If I find one in USA Today I'm in heaven. I can only imagine how many typographical errors the New York Times has in its top-rated paper. I don't subscribe, so I wouldn't know.
However, if their listing of best novels is any indication, the New York Times could very well be inundated with grammar fit for a kindergarten student. Even 5 year-olds learn the difference between YOUR books and YOU'RE a kindergartener who writes better than some authors on the New York Times Best Sellers list.
Spellcheck doesn't always help people. Refer to the two examples above. In addition, there's 'hare' vs. 'hair', 'write' vs. 'right', 'leek' vs. 'leak' and 'mane' vs.'main'. It can be confusing and everyone makes a mistake now and then. But for the love of John Grisham, check your writing before you submit it to your agent. Then fire your agent - not only for overlooking all your errors, but for taking it to the lowest of the low publishing company who also don't care about proper grammar.
You are a writer. A PUBLISHED author. Show some respect for yourself and for the people that shelled out $13.95 for your poorly-written piece of literature. Perhaps you should take some lessons from the poor guy who wrote the summary of your book for the inside flap. That was good writing - he got me to buy the damn thing.
I digress.
Everyone has their own writing style. Some authors are witty. Some write in poetic prose. Some write in the same manner as they speak. Some are creative. Others are factual. But this author...she dragged the integrity of the profession through the mud. There is no excuse for 86 blatant spelling errors and even more grammatical ones in a book that was approximately 180 pages.
"All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten" was a New York Times Best-Selling novel by Robert Fulghum. Perhaps the no-named author of the no-named book I read last month should pick it up. I bet THERE'S a lesson to be learned.
Last month, I read a book - for the author's sake I will keep the name of the novel and her name out of it - that was a 'New York Times Best Selling Novel'. The book gave me hope. It wasn't inspiring. It wasn't even a good plot. But it did give me hope - that one day I, too, can make the best-seller's list.
Sentence structure and spelling apparently were not a top priority when getting this 'work of art' to the publisher. The author switched from old-school vernacular to the modern slang as of 2007. Some words were used out of context and more than once the author confused YOUR with YOU'RE.
There's a difference between THEIR and THERE. Throw in THEY'RE and you've got one confused author...and reader. There were three points in the book where the same word was typed twice. Too many times a period existed where a question mark should have been placed.
Yes, I am that crazy, neurotic reader who loves to find typos in local newspapers. If I find one in USA Today I'm in heaven. I can only imagine how many typographical errors the New York Times has in its top-rated paper. I don't subscribe, so I wouldn't know.
However, if their listing of best novels is any indication, the New York Times could very well be inundated with grammar fit for a kindergarten student. Even 5 year-olds learn the difference between YOUR books and YOU'RE a kindergartener who writes better than some authors on the New York Times Best Sellers list.
Spellcheck doesn't always help people. Refer to the two examples above. In addition, there's 'hare' vs. 'hair', 'write' vs. 'right', 'leek' vs. 'leak' and 'mane' vs.'main'. It can be confusing and everyone makes a mistake now and then. But for the love of John Grisham, check your writing before you submit it to your agent. Then fire your agent - not only for overlooking all your errors, but for taking it to the lowest of the low publishing company who also don't care about proper grammar.
You are a writer. A PUBLISHED author. Show some respect for yourself and for the people that shelled out $13.95 for your poorly-written piece of literature. Perhaps you should take some lessons from the poor guy who wrote the summary of your book for the inside flap. That was good writing - he got me to buy the damn thing.
I digress.
Everyone has their own writing style. Some authors are witty. Some write in poetic prose. Some write in the same manner as they speak. Some are creative. Others are factual. But this author...she dragged the integrity of the profession through the mud. There is no excuse for 86 blatant spelling errors and even more grammatical ones in a book that was approximately 180 pages.
"All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten" was a New York Times Best-Selling novel by Robert Fulghum. Perhaps the no-named author of the no-named book I read last month should pick it up. I bet THERE'S a lesson to be learned.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Thin Ties and Mullets...'80s Comeback?
We all know that fashions come and go. Who can forget the corsets of the 1800s? The poodle skirts of the '50s? The bell-bottoms of the '70s? The mall hair and flourescent colors of the '80s? The 'Rachel' do and backwards pants (that never caught on) of the 90s? The capris and baggy pants off the ass of the first decade of the millenium?
Now fashions seem so blended that people are just going to the very back of their closets to dress up for a night on the town. However, some people didn't get the memo that some fads will never make a comback and they should not try to be the innovator - especially if they live in the middle of the country and frequent an Applebee's.
Rick and I spent New Year's Eve at an Applebee's - don't judge, it was the only place to go during our 12-hour trek to Missouri. We sat at the bar in the packed establishment, enjoying our cocktails when what should walk through the door? Pure 1982 genius. At first we thought the afro-wannabe mullet was a joke. The graying, Tom Seleck-wannabe mustache a fake. Picture Alex P. Keaton-style thin tie, gray button-down shirt (he surely would have opted for the band collar, but it was a special occasion, so I assume he needed a shirt with a collar to hold up the stylin' cloth tie) and pleated, black pants that were held up by his glowing over-sized belt buckle.
Rick couldn't stop gawking. I couldn't stop staring. The man looked like someone we knew and I was going to stare him down until I figured it out.
I had flashbacks to all my Teen Beat magazines and knew, while he was rocking the '80s threads, the Appelbee's regular would never have made it into the pages of teen heartthrob memorabilia. How did I know he was a regular? Our bartender went up to give him a hug. Other patrons at the bar went over to high-five him - grandpa style. So, just like the picture of the person I knew in my head, this guy was a celebrity...at Applebee's.
While I was racking my brain trying to list any 1980's movie or sitcom that had the actor this guy looked like...my husband had a revelation. "Chandler Bing's boss..."
He got out his Blackberry and searched under any and all combinations of Friends, Chandler's boss, characters, butt-slapping boss on Friends, that came to mind. After a good 30 minutes - yes, we were on a mission to figure this brain buster out - he found the actor, his picture, and a long list of acting gigs to his credit. The actor had about 30 years of experience and what did we finally remember him as...Chandler Bing's boss on Friends. Sam McMurray - I apologize that your fantastic career has been overlooked by ass-smacking slapstick.
We held up the Blackberry...compared the picture we finally discovered to the mulletman scarfing down food like an animal released into the wild, while his date sat, dressed to the nines, drinking water.
As the Applebee's mystery man got up to leave, he held his head high, pulled his pants up with two thumbs through his belt loops and helped his date with her jacket. He nodded to his bar friends and headed out the door to his DeLorean and his 1980s life.
As he turned to say goodbye to the Applebee's crew, I could have sworn I saw him smack the hostess' ass.
Now fashions seem so blended that people are just going to the very back of their closets to dress up for a night on the town. However, some people didn't get the memo that some fads will never make a comback and they should not try to be the innovator - especially if they live in the middle of the country and frequent an Applebee's.
Rick and I spent New Year's Eve at an Applebee's - don't judge, it was the only place to go during our 12-hour trek to Missouri. We sat at the bar in the packed establishment, enjoying our cocktails when what should walk through the door? Pure 1982 genius. At first we thought the afro-wannabe mullet was a joke. The graying, Tom Seleck-wannabe mustache a fake. Picture Alex P. Keaton-style thin tie, gray button-down shirt (he surely would have opted for the band collar, but it was a special occasion, so I assume he needed a shirt with a collar to hold up the stylin' cloth tie) and pleated, black pants that were held up by his glowing over-sized belt buckle.
Rick couldn't stop gawking. I couldn't stop staring. The man looked like someone we knew and I was going to stare him down until I figured it out.
I had flashbacks to all my Teen Beat magazines and knew, while he was rocking the '80s threads, the Appelbee's regular would never have made it into the pages of teen heartthrob memorabilia. How did I know he was a regular? Our bartender went up to give him a hug. Other patrons at the bar went over to high-five him - grandpa style. So, just like the picture of the person I knew in my head, this guy was a celebrity...at Applebee's.
While I was racking my brain trying to list any 1980's movie or sitcom that had the actor this guy looked like...my husband had a revelation. "Chandler Bing's boss..."
He got out his Blackberry and searched under any and all combinations of Friends, Chandler's boss, characters, butt-slapping boss on Friends, that came to mind. After a good 30 minutes - yes, we were on a mission to figure this brain buster out - he found the actor, his picture, and a long list of acting gigs to his credit. The actor had about 30 years of experience and what did we finally remember him as...Chandler Bing's boss on Friends. Sam McMurray - I apologize that your fantastic career has been overlooked by ass-smacking slapstick.
We held up the Blackberry...compared the picture we finally discovered to the mulletman scarfing down food like an animal released into the wild, while his date sat, dressed to the nines, drinking water.
As the Applebee's mystery man got up to leave, he held his head high, pulled his pants up with two thumbs through his belt loops and helped his date with her jacket. He nodded to his bar friends and headed out the door to his DeLorean and his 1980s life.
As he turned to say goodbye to the Applebee's crew, I could have sworn I saw him smack the hostess' ass.
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