Hello..........

Who doesn't love Hello Kitty? Well, I suppose some of you probably don't, but you have to admit she's quite a popular gal. Someone, or a group of someone's, have done a fabulous job of marketing Miss Kitty. You can't walk through a shopping mall anywhere without her beckoning to you from within some cutesy store. I have to admit I am a Hello Kitty fan myself. I even have a too-large-to-be-practical Hello Kitty dressed up as a Giants player keychain. Anyway, I digress, slightly. Back to my story. Actually I haven't even started it yet, so here goes...... One evening I was talking to Ann on my cell phone while driving home from a social outing with some friends. We, or I guess now, just me, or actually, I, would be more correct grammar, live about 4 miles from a little naked, dancing lady bar called the Kit Kat Club. I only know it's a naked, dancing lady bar because someone told me, not because I've been there. Whenever Ann and I drove by, we would always tease each other and pretend to start to turn into the parking lot. I probably did more of the teasing than she did. Anyway, that evening as I was driving home, chatting with Ann on my cell phone, and of course paying full attention to my driving, she asked me where I was. I told her I was driving past our favorite bar, the Kit Kat Club. It was at this moment that I, though Ann thought she, but later agreed to we, came up with the perfect name for a new, naked, dancing lady bar; Hello Titty. We couldn't believe no one had thought of it yet. Can you think of a more perfect name for a naked, bouncing bosom, lady bar? After a little more discussion, we decided if there were full nudity, as opposed to just topless 'entertainment', we would call it, Hello Titty, Hello Kitty. Of course our venture hasn't yet gotten off the ground because, so true to our form, we are bickering about who gets to be the talent scout and who has to be the manager.

Is this politically correct?

A good lesson learned in an unintended way.....

I can hear fine but my problem is that I don't always hear the right thing. Is that a contradiction? For example, one year my dad called me at work on my birthday, and I swear after we exchanged, "Hellos", he said, "Happy birthday!", after which I immediately said, "Thank you". Towards the end of the conversation I said something to the effect of, "Tonight for my birthday I'm going to go.........". My dad promptly said, "Oh! Today is your birthday? I totally forgot. I was only calling because I hadn't talked to you for awhile". One of my dads better qualities is his honesty. I would have been none the wiser had he not said he forgot my birthday since I did think I heard him wish me a happy one. So anyway, I was so expecting him to wish me a happy birthday that I heard the phantom words and even replied to them with a "thank you", which obviously my dad didn't hear right either because he would have been wondering why I was thanking him.
On to a more recent experience and the good lesson learned in an unintended way. A few months ago I was at a social event with a friend of mine where we only knew 2 of the 35 or so people there. Through the course of the evening, we kept being introduced to more people knowing full well we'd be lucky to match even 1 name to the appropriate face. This kind of became the evenings banter with everyone questioning how they were going to remember the names of everyone they were introduced to. I myself often forget a name immediately after the last sound of the name rolls off the persons tongue. Not good. So anyway, we had just been introduced to a few more people and I turned to my friend and once again asked her how in the world we could begin to remember anyone's name. She replied by saying, or so I thought she said, "You have to repeat it". That made perfect sense to me. If you repeat the person's name who was just introduced to you, there's a better chance you'll remember it. I then said to my friend, "That's right. You have to repeat it". She then looked at me kind of puzzled and said, "Did you hear what I just said?" I said, "Yes. You said you have to repeat the person's name (to help you remember it)". "No!", she said....... "I said, I have to pee again!"

I'm glad today is today, and not yesterday......

The day started as it often does, with Tobie Wallace meowing at the ungodly hour of 5 AM and then proceeding to dig in my chest. I'm not sure why he does this digging thing. It's almost as if he's trying to dig through my body to get to the other side; like he's too busy to walk around me or something. Anyway, woken up in my usual way by Tobie Wallace whom I am quite fond of nonetheless, then of course I'm running late because I like to dilly-dally in the morning. Spent too much time looking for gray hairs in the mirror of which I found none. Ok. Finally out the door and in the car only to feel something jabbing into my back as I'm driving. Great! I've once again put my belt on wrong managing to twist it around in the back so I have this huge belt knot poking me the entire drive to work. I know....for most people, putting on a belt is a rather simple task, but for some reason, I often do it wrong. Aside from feeling the bruise that's currently forming on my lower back, I'm still optimistic it's going to be a good day and with my morning double espresso starting to kick in, I'm starting to get that warm, happy feeling again. Until I try to change lanes. As I generally do in life anyway, I plan ahead, put my blinker on well in advance, and check my blind spot. Just as I decide there's room for me to get over, this woman in an SUV using her coffee cup to steer, roars ahead so I can't get over. I'm irritated, but I do manage to keep all my fingers in the down position and continue on my way. This morning, in addition to having to be to work early, I also need to stop by my grandmother's house to drop off a check for the cleaners that are coming today. This does add a little stress to my already running late schedule but it's doable. I drop off the check quickly and am back on the road. Shortly after leaving my grandmothers house, I get to a point in the road where I must merge because my lane is ending and my only other option is to drive up onto a concrete platform and mow down the stoplight. So I again put my blinker on and of course the first person who could let me in doesn't, and my much more immediate choice becomes to either mow down the stoplight or merge in front of the next car. I do so, with plenty of space I might add, only to have this person irritated and blaring his horn at me. I keep driving. I'm almost to work when I again need to change lanes. Once again I go through the same cautious routine only to have another car blare its horn at me. I'm starting to think this may not be a great day after all. When a day starts like this, I often wish I could Tivo my life. You know, pause, rewind, and start from the beginning again. I'm finally at work, only 5 minutes late. Not bad I think. After checking my email and bitching to my co-workers, I decide I need another cup of coffee to calm myself down. I won't repeat the story of what happened to me in the coffee line here. It's another blog entry all its own. The rest of my workday went fine though I was REALLY amped up and hyper from the second cup of coffee. Went home, went to the gym to expend some energy, and then planned on having a quiet evening at home. However, Tobie Wallace was in a VERY vocal mood, which he gets into occasionally, and would not stop meowing. Tobie has a very loud meow which, if I didn't know he was a cat, I would think he was a lamb because that's what he sounds like. Very unlike Pippie who's meow I often have to strain to hear. Despite my begging and trying to coax him to quiet down, he persisted meowing and I found myself forced to leave the house. I love Tobie dearly but the little guy was just driving me nuts. I left him alone with Pippie for a couple hours (poor Pippie!) and went to the bookstore so Tobie could get the meowing out of his system. It worked. When I made it back home he finally seemed to have exhausted himself and was already asleep on the bed. So friends, that was my day yesterday. Actually, as I look back, and because it's now in the past, it doesn't really seem that bad anymore. But, I am glad today is today.....

Uhhh....Thank you? I think.....

So I'm waiting in the quite long line for coffee at work and begin talking to an instructor about the weather in general before proceeding into a conversation about global warming. Immediately after a very slight pause in our conversation, she moves in closer to me with her face inches within mine and says, "I never noticed before, but you look JUST like my nephew.". I kind of pause and begin to think she must have meant to say "niece", when she moves in closer again and says, "Yep, you look just like HIM.". Hmmm....never really thought I looked like a boy, nor have I ever been told I do up until today, but then I'm learning lately that my perception of myself can be quite different from other's perception of me.

Lessons learned in 2005

I got hit in the head with the good karma genie's wand and will be going to Hawaii for Christmas with the ticket, can anyone guess who, bought for me. This will likely be my last post for 2005 as I don't anticipate myself having the time or desire while in Hawaii, to work on the computer. As I was driving around today, for hours, doing my last minute Christmas shopping, I became very reflective and started thinking about the lessons I've learned in the last year. The past 3 or so years have been quite full of change for me, but 2005 in particular was especially full of change. I love to learn and love to think. I believe we never fully 'grow up' and are constantly given lessons to learn. I'm not sure of the frequency of these lessons, but I believe the challenge in life is to find the lessons presented to us. I suspect lessons are thrown at us much more frequently than we realize and we end up not learning from something we should or could have. I think we have to be open in order to see what we're supposed to learn. Is anyone following this? A very wise co-worker once told me we're given the same lesson over and over again until we learn it. I sometimes think I need a tutor, but I did learn some things this year.

1. Change is inevitable. Learn to embrace or at least accept it.
2. Not everything is about me, or you, or anyone else for that matter. Sometimes you just need to realize, it is what it is, and not read more into it.
3. My mind is too full of other thoughts and my heart too full of other feelings to keep anger in there very long. There just isn't room.
4. People are infinitely capable of redemption.
5. Forgiveness is about ME feeling better. It just feels better to forgive than to not forgive.
6. "If I were you, I would....." doesn't work. It's human nature for us to expect others to think, feel, and behave as we do, or at least think we would, but we're all different and don't always act as we or others predict. Not everyone fits in the same box. That would be quite boring.
7. Everybody loves differently, in their own way.
8. My actions and reactions are my own and absolutely don't have to be dependent upon anyone else's. Put more simply, just because someone isn't kind or truthful to me, doesn't mean I can't be kind or truthful to them.
9. Before you even think about judging, put yourself in the other person's shoes. Even if it's just for a fleeting moment.
10. Always TRY to understand that which you do not. You may never, but at least you tried.
11. Give because you want to, not because you want something back. People give back in all different ways and forms, and they don't always match yours.
12. If you have something to say, say it.....especially if it's nice.

If you have something to say, say it......especially if it's nice

A co-worker came up behind me last week at work and gave me a hug. When I turned to see who it was, he immediately started to tell me he was having one of those days where everything seemed to go wrong. He said he felt more calm and relaxed after seeing me because I always seemed calm and relaxed. He told me something that for a large part, I did not know about myself. Sometimes at work I feel rushed and frazzled, and thought I was exhibiting that, but he perceived me as being calm and relaxed in the face of chaos. It was utterly amazing....Mike told me something about myself that I wasn't seeing, and immediately after, I DID feel totally calm and relaxed. I've been in this mellow, calm, relaxed mood ever since. I found myself aspiring to, and becoming what Mike's positive words implied about me. I learned that as much as we need to get most of our identity, and sense of self, from within ourselves, we find a lot of who we are in the eyes of others. We tend to become and aspire, to some extent at least, to other's perception of us, both positive, and unfortunately, sometimes negative. So in the spirit of the holiday season, I would like to be so bold as to suggest a gift for everyone to give. That is the gift of kind, honest words. Please tell someone, anyone, something positive and kind, they may or may not know about themselves. I know I will remember Mike's words and the effect they had on me long after I've eaten the last of my Christmas chocolates. And to think I asked for a rake for Christmas.

Two reminders to self......

Since the theme of my previous two posts has been lists, I will continue that theme with a new list. This is a short list. Kind of a reminder list for myself.

1. Do NOT go on the internet at work.
2. When typing web addresses, for those times I forget reminder #1, refrain from fat-finger typing where by I touch two keys at once, and the letter I don't want, finds its way into my web address.

Now I realize these two items require further explanation. I will explain. While at work today I decided to check out my blog to see if anyone still read it and had commented on my most recent posts, or if everyone has given up on me because of my long absence. In the unfortunate process of typing in the web address for my blog, I accidentally typed "glogspot" instead of "blogspot". I won't type out the complete URL because I don't want to accidentally create a link to it in my blog, but you guys are smart, you can figure it out. It's the web address for my blog, boycottvelcro, but I accidentally put a "g" instead of a "b" in blogspot. Let me just say, I was taken to a website that was not my own, and it once again, was not one I wished to have prominently displayed on my computer at my very open, and prominently displayed desk. First I encounter naked bouncing bosoms while trying to download a ringtone for my phone, and now I find if I'm just one letter off on my blog web address I get..............I'm not going to tell you. You'll have to do it yourself. Maybe not at work though.

Children's Books That Didn't Make It

Ok. As I've already been told, I'm probably going to hell for posting this, but it's just too funny not to and we all need a little holiday cheer and chuckle. Please know that I did not come up with these. I'm just plagiarising someone elses not-so-politically correct writing. If I knew who the real author was, I would be happy to give credit to them, but I don't.

CHILDREN’S BOOKS THAT DIDN’T MAKE IT

1. You Are Different and That’s Bad.
2. The Boy Who Died From Eating All His Vegetables.
3. Dad’s New Wife, Robert.
4. Fun Four-letter Words to Know and Share.
5. Hammers, Screwdrivers and Scissors: An I-Can-Do-It Book.
6. The Kid’s Guide to Hitchhiking.
7. Kathy Was So Bad Her Mom Stopped Loving Her.
8. Curious George and the High-Voltage Fence.
9. All Cats Go to Hell.
10. The Little Sissy Who Snitched.
11. Some Kittens Can Fly.
12. That’s It, I’m Putting You Up For Adoption.
13. Grandpa Gets a Casket.
14. The Magic World Inside the Abandoned Refrigerator.
15. Garfield Gets Leukemia.
16. The Pop-Up Book of Human Anatomy.
17. Strangers Have the Best Candy.
18. Whining, Kicking, and Crying to Get your Way.
19. You Were an Accident.
20. Things Rich Kids Have But You Never Will.
21. Pop Goes the Hamster and Other Great Microwave Games.
22. The Man in the Moon is Actually Satan.
23. Your Nightmares Are Real.
24. Where Would You Like to be Buried?
25. Eggs, Toilet Paper, and Your School.
26. Why Can’t Mr. Fork and Ms. Electrical Outlet Be Friends?
27. Places Mommy and Daddy Hide Neat Things.
28. Daddy Drinks Because You Cry.
29. Dealing With A.D.D., Hey Look A New Bike

Seven Seven's, or something like that....

After quite a long hiatus and period of writer's block, my fellow bloggers, Cori and Laura have inspired me to finally post something. I can't take credit for the topic, which was started by either Cori or Laura, (I think) only my answers.

Seven Things To Do Before I Die
1. Switch to decaf coffee
2. Snowboard
3. Have a turtle habitat in my backyard
4. Travel to Costa Rica and the Galapagos Islands
5. Transfer all my old Osmond record albums to cd
6. Find my soulmate
7. Figure out what I want to be when I grow up

Seven Things I Cannot Do
1. Give up caffeine
2. Cook and entertain at the same time
3. Jazzercise
4. Say "no" well
5. Initiate a hug. Not that I don't love hugs. I just don't know how to start one.
6. Lie...as in to not tell the truth.
7. Sleep

Seven Things That I Admire In Others
1. True and genuine kindness
2. Sense of humor
3. Honesty
4. Loyalty
5. Compassion/empathy
6. Ability to make a commitment to something/anything
7. Ability to find balance between not taking life too seriously and being serious enough when necessary

Seven Things I Say Most Often
1. Yes
2. Ok
3. Sure
4. Fine
5. Can I give your cat/dog a middle name?
6. Probably, as in I'm 'probably' sorry I missed your call.
7. I'm going to update my blog tonight.

Seven Books (or Series) I Love
1. Cider House Rules
2. The Fourth Hand
3. Seven Moves
4. Summer People
5. Lucky in the Corner
6. The DaVinci Code
7. Angels and Demons

Four Movies I Have Watched Over and Over Again
1. Best in Show
2. Waiting for Guffman
3. Flirting With Disaster
4. But I'm a Cheerleader-because it always seems to be on late at night when I can't sleep.
For the most part, I don't tend to watch a movie more than once. There are so many movies out there and so little time so if I do find myself in the movie watching position, I usually prefer to watch one I haven't seen yet.

Confessions of the garmently challenged, part 1

Hello, my name is Farkle (That's not my real name of course, it's my blog name. It was my understanding that one must choose a snappy name under which to blog with and I chose Farkle), and I'm garmently challenged. If you looked up the word, 'garmently', in the dictionary and couldn't find it and have no idea what I'm talking about, don't worry. You'll understand what garmently is probably by the time you finish reading the next sentence. I have been challenged by undergarments in particular for much of my adult life. I can't tell you how many times Ann has heard the words, "Hold on. I have to pull up my underwear." Many times I feel alone and think I'm the only one who's underwear falls down and rolls itself up so it's only an inch tall while walking, but I hope there are others out there that share in my pain. I'm not clear if the issue is that my butt is not bulbous enough to hold up my underwear, or I'm just buying the wrong size. Ann likes to remind me I have what she calls a 'toddler butt'. I guess it's 'toddler' in the sense that it never fully grew up and developed into the nice roundish shape one usually associates with butts. Can't do much about that now, but what about underwear size. How does one know what size underwear to buy? Am I being irrational in my thought that it's creepy to try on underwear at the store? Granted I know one is supposed to keep their own underwear on while trying on a new pair at the store, but does everyone follow that rule? I don't know, even with that personal underwear barrier, trying on underwear that has been tried on by some other shopper at Mervyns is a little more intimate than I usually like to get with a stranger. Do I guess at a size or buy many different sizes and styles to bring home and try out, and then use the ones that didn't work out as car wash rags? I wouldn't feel comfortable returning the unchosen underwear to the store. Bras are one thing, but underwear? I've bought 6 bras to try on at home and dance around in before picking the one I thought I could live with, and returned the rest. The difference with bras though is that there are is a smaller chance of the bras coming into contact with any personal 'moisture'. I think I need an underwear shopper/advisor. Since we were talking about bras though, I'll confess I have some issues and challenges there as well. First off, underwires. For some of us, can't live with them, can't live without them. In my experience, and please don't tell me I'm the only one, those darn things never stay where they're supposed to. Another phrase Ann has heard on many occasions, "Hold on. My underwire is stabbing me." In my experience, underwires like to either poke out the side and stab you just below your armpit, or they protrude too far outward in the middle where the gals come together. They don't often like to lay flat. I sometimes fear when I'm giving someone a hug that I'm going to pierce their chest with my protruding underwires. Heaven forbid I inadvertently pop someone's fake boobs with my 'gone astray' underwire. Another issue I'm having with my bras is the fact I've become allergic to them. All of them. And no, it's not the detergent I'm using, it's the bras. See, I have metal allergies and my body gets very upset when it is intimately touched by anything metal other than pure silver or gold. When a good friend of mine read my blog for the first time and saw I named it, "Boycott Velcro", she said, "I'm surprised. With all your metal allergies I thought you'd be very fond of velcro". That's another story though. Anyway, as a gal knows, most bras have metal where the straps are adjusted. Mine are no exception. Now I'm 36 years old, although I'll be 37 in 12 days, so I've been wearing bras for many years. This is the first time in my life I've had an allergic reaction to my bras. My thought is that my gals, free spirits that they are, are feeling I've oppressed them for too long and would like some release time. We all go through different phases in our lives and it appears the gals are feeling they want more freedom these days. Did they pick that up from their mom? Perhaps. But nonetheless, even though they would like to bounce and cavort unencumbered in public places, I think it's in everyone's best interest that Francesca and Genevieve, don't. For safety sake, mine, theirs, and the people around us, it's best they be seatbelted to my body, even if it means with an itch producing bra. If anyone has noticed me reaching under my shirt and scratching my back or shoulders, this is why. I will offer up a reward of, I don't know how much, I am kind of frugal, to anyone who knows of any place that sells bras with no metal and/or can offer up underwear sizing advice. Until then, I'll be buying another gallon of calamine and looking for some rainbow colored underwear suspenders.

End...part 1

Part 2 will talk about my outer garment challenges.

New entry coming soon

Contrary to appearances, I haven't forgotten that I have a blog. My social calendar as of late has precluded me from writing. I anticipate a new entry soon; likely tonight since I have no social outings or innings scheduled and writing will once again enable me to put off cleaning my house.

Can I go outside and play instead?

I don't always like to go to the gym but I go; when I have to. And when I go I try to make the best of it. The gym is one of the two places I do most of my reading. I've read many a book on the elliptical machine there. In case you're wondering, the second place I do my reading is the bathtub. The bathtub is strictly for magazine reading though. No book reading in there. Lucky for me, Ann subscribes to Newsweek and although she was in San Diego the last year and is now in Hawaii, they still come here to Sunnyvale. And lucky for Ann, when I'm done reading her Newsweeks in the tub, I mail them off to her and she has the joy of receiving a parcel of crunchy magazines. Another way I make the best of my gym visits is to people watch. Not in a gawking kind of, I'm looking to try and pick someone up kind of way, but in a curious way. I look at the man with the tube socks pulled up past his knees and wonder if there's a medical reason for his socks being pulled up so high. I look at the older woman who's wearing shorts and pantyhose and wonder, "Are those therapeutic hose?" I look at the man on the elliptical machine next to me and wonder if that smell I keep smelling are his sneakers asking to be retired, or if he's gassy. I'm leaning towards gassy because I did see him one day with different sneakers on and yet the same smell seemed to periodically surround him, and unfortunately, me as well. I felt bad for him, thinking it must be tough having so much gas. I imagine he's pretty self conscious about it. I ponder the woman working out with an obscene amount of freshly applied makeup and wonder how much of a workout the gal on the stationary bike is getting while she's talking on her cell phone non-stop. Then there's the person who's gender I've been unable to discern. I do know I will never be as fast as s/he on the stairmaster but what I really want to know is if s/he's a man or a woman. I know it's really none of my business and it's of course not politically correct. Nonetheless, I fluctuate back and forth in my attempt to guess her/his gender. When I noticed a 5 o'clock shadow, I thought, man, but when I looked at her/his thighs, I thought, woman. When s/he was laying on the stretching mat next me, sweating through her/his white t-shirt and I saw breasts, I thought, woman. But when s/he was at the front counter talking to the attendant, the voice told me, man. I also wonder why there's a sign by the stretching mats that says, "Stretching and ab work not recommended here due to flying balls", and yet that is exactly where the gym owner has placed the stretching mats. They are located no other place in the gym. I will say I have never been hit by a flying racquetball ball while on the mats by the warning sign, but I have been hit in the head while on the elliptical machine and there are no warning signs there. In addition to the sights at the gym, there are the sounds. In particular, the sounds of grunting. I, in general, don't like to hear grunting in public, and especially at the gym. I think grunts are private sounds and they should be kept at home either in the bedroom or in the bathroom.

When is old enough?

I was talking to a friend, whose identity will remain anonymous, this morning just after she stepped out of the shower. She expressed great concern to me over the fact she thought she was losing her hair and had the beginning a little bald spot on the back of her head. Although more uncommon in women than men, I guess female pattern baldness is not unheard of. Although I think she may have been exaggerating and having what I call a premature stessulation, we began discussing various options for her 'problem'. We first discussed combing over. That's always a good option but we decided that would be a 2 person job. She would meticulously arrange her surrounding hair to either subtlety fill in her thin spot, or I thought she could do it in a more decorative manner, while her partner whips out a fresh bottle of Final Net from her handy hairspray holster and proceeds to spray the comb over in place. We thought this first option would take too much time in the morning and take away from her precious REM sleep. On to option two. We both liked the thought of that hair in a can stuff that you spray on but neither of us could think of the name to order it. Option three, ratting. It seems every older woman eventually starts ratting their hair. My aunt does, my grandmother does, and my mom does. I imagine part of the reason older women do this is to make it appear that they have more hair than they actually do. Maybe it's also to make their faces look smaller? If you've got big, ratted hair, in comparison, your face will look smaller. Also, if the focus and attention is on the marvelous job you did ratting that morning, people won't notice your new wrinkles. Sounds to me like a win, win, win situation. Now my question though is, at what age does one start ratting? Ann is 44. Is that old enough? Should she get her hair cut short and a perm first? It seems it's much easier to rat when you have short hair and a perm. Am I old enough now? I'm 36 but I will be 37 in 17 days. By the time I'm supposedly 'old enough', will I miss out because ratting has gone out of style or will ratting remain forever the classic, distinguished, older woman hairstyle of choice?

Watch what you say, or maybe how you say it

I have a yard. Actually, I have 2 yards; a front one and a back one. If you want to count my side yard where the scary, 'alien pod' mushrooms grow, you could say I have 3 yards. Having 3 yards has re-emphasized 2 things about me I suspected were true. One is, I'm a weed magnet. Now there's animal magnetism, there are magnetic personalities, and chick magnets. I call cute little dogs chick magnets. None of those are bad things and one might be envious to have, or be, any of those. But being a weed magnet? What's to envy? The weeds apparently, based on their actions, love me and desire to be as close to me and in as large of numbers as possible. The only reason they don't live in the house with me is because they like soil and I only on the rare occasion have garden soil in the house. While in my esteemed status as 'weed magnet', I have come to realize I am also 'queen of procrastinating'. I hope no one embarrassed themselves by going too fast and misreading that. Which reminds me of something else. While working in the photo department at Longs I interacted with many different customers. One of our regulars was Mr Didlo. I hope you didn't mispronounce his name in your head. As I said, he was a regular customer and dropped off photos fairly frequently. For some reason, whenever he handed me his claim ticket to retrieve his photos, he would write his name on the claim ticket as opposed to saying it out loud as most customers did. I never got used to his name. EVERY TIME I read it either on his claim ticket or photo envelope, I pronounced it wrong in my head. I had to stop myself from saying, "Thank you Mr. Didlo" because I was absolutely petrified I would mispronounce his name. "Sir" became a more acceptable substitution. Why did I remember that story again? Must have been something I saw at the Pride Festival today that reminded me. Ok. I've digressed, but it's my blog so I can do that. Back to my yard story. As I told a friend of mine, my personal recipe for doing yardwork consists of 90% procrastinating and thinking about, talking about, and telling my friends I'm doing yardwork, and 10% actually doing it. And throw in a little beer to that mix for good measure. I consider this my slow, kind of crock-potty way, which takes longer, but in the end is worth it. It's not that I'm lazy. It's just that I'll find anything else to do before I start what I really need to be doing. For example, yesterday, I really needed to finish my landscape plan for the backyard and move some plants around in preparation for my sprinkler and sod installation. Since I really needed to work in the backyard, I ended up going to Summer Winds Nursery to purchase new plants for the planting beds next to my front walkway. In my mind, I justified this front yard work by telling myself I would transplant the walkway border plants I was replacing, to the backyard. This also ended up not happening because in my 'out with the old, in with the new' excitement, I wasn't as gentle as I could have been removing 'the old'. The nice man at the nursery who helped me recommended a pretty blue ground cover who's name he said he couldn't remember. His co-worker either couldn't remember either or didn't want to say because he just pointed and said, "They're over there". The nice nursery man led me to the pretty blue ground cover, pointing, and saying, "This is the one I was talking about". I immediately misread the tag, mispronouncing the name of the groundcover in my head and thought that maybe both nursery men were also unsure of how to pronounce it's name or were afraid they would mispronounce it as well. My new ground cover is Lobelia.

Hello, I'm an ovary

It's about 9ish Friday morning when I stroll into work and walk down the hall to say good morning to my co-workers. I like to use the "ish" in an attempt to somewhat mask the actual time I saunter in. Technically, 9ish could be 9:59 since there is still a "9" on the hour hand. I did however arrive much earlier than 9:59 though. So I walk down the hall to find one co-worker in a meeting, another on the phone, and the final two that live at the end of the hall in a deep, meaningful, obviously work-related discussion. I chose to not interrupt their intense dialogue and proceeded to turn around to walk back to my desk. As I'm about a third of the way there, I hear one of my colleagues who was in the deep discussion, say in a voice several decibels louder than her library voice, "Hello, I'm an ovary". Sometimes you stop and pause and maybe ask for clarification, sometimes you just keep walking. I kept walking.

Tomorrow, I'm going to be an acorn.

The origin of 'boycott velcro' part 1

"I'll have one of those and two of those and one more of those". "This one?" "No, that one". "Oh, okay, this one?" "No! The one next to it". This is an example of the daily back and forth dialogue I would have with customers at the local mall cookie shop I worked at many, many years ago when I thought I liked serving the public. The problem I encountered on a daily basis consisted of the rather oblivious customer erroneously believing they could stand 7 feet away from the cookie counter and I would be able to tell which cookie they were pointing to. From that distance, it just didn't work. From that distance, it looked like they were pointing to all the varieties of cookies, not just one. Granted, it would be glorious to have one of each of the nine varieties, but most people didn't want that. They wanted their favorite, and perhaps another lucky person's favorite. The luck of that other person would of course would be dependent upon whether or not their favorite cookie survived the trip without accidently falling into the mouth of the person who bought it for them. I've never done that. I just imagine it could possibly happen. Anyway, back to the finger pointing. The problem was, from that distance, I couldn't tell what 'favorite' cookie they were pointing to. I had to teach many a customer that, yes, they could stand closer to the counter and they could even, without harm or admonishment, touch the glass when pointing the finger at their desired cookie(s). "Would you like anything to drink with that?" "Give me a soda". Or sometimes, depending on where they were from, soda would be pronounced, "sodie", or "sodor", which sounded like odor with an 's' at the beginning of it. Neither of those were really words but that was far from the only issue. First of all, what's the deal with, "give me"? Am I the only one that thinks that just sounds rude? Please, please, please, to all who may read this, when someone is waiting on you and asking what you would like, don't say, "give me", or "gimmee". We should have dropped that phrase when we learned those essential things without which we're never fully dressed. I call them manners. "I'll take", or "Can I have?" sound sooo much better. So aside from the 'gimmee' irritation, there was even more irritation to be found in that phrase. Do you know how many types of soda, sodie, or sodor, however you wish to pronounce it, there are? Invariably, I'd have to ask, "What kind of sodie would you like? We have......" And I'm thinking, "You can see the types of sodor we have right behind me and you probably have a favorite. Why the #*%~ (I do try to refrain from using gutter talk, but you know those symbols imply a naughty word. I don't have to spell it.) don't you just ask for a root beer if you always eat sugar cookies with root beer or a Sprite if that's the only beverage you'll drink? Why make my day that much more agonizing by making me say for the 20th time, "What kind of sodie?""

To be continued......
I do have a point. I just haven't gotten to it yet.

Do not try this at work

Anyone that knows me fairly well, knows that my all time favorite song is, "You're a Grand Old Flag". I'm sure I'm not alone in my fondness for this song. Anyway, yesterday at work, one of my co-workers was asking my opinion of new ringtones for her cell phone. She was torn between the Pink Panther theme song and the Looney Tunes song. I asked if they had "....Grand Old Flag" available as a ring tone. Now I've been considering upgrading my cell phone for some time but if I knew my phone could play "You're a Grand Old Flag" the one or two times a week my phone rings, well that would be enough to tip the balance from me contemplating upgrading to actually doing it. With the encouragement of my co-worker Denise, who was talking to me at my desk, I decided to do a Google search for my favorite song ringtone. I typed into the Google searchbar, "You're a Grand Old Flag" and "ringtones" After clicking on two of the search results with no success, I clicked on the third result. Third times a charm, right? Well after scrolling down an entire page of what appeared to be kiddie songs I finally find what I'm looking for. A link for a "You're a Grand Old Flag" ringtone. Or so I think. I click on the link, with Denise still standing behind me, I start to get that happy, excited feeling in anticipation of hearing my favorite song when I see on my computer many images of naked, bouncing women. I think they were bouncing. It could have been the waves of panic washing over me that made them appear to be bouncing. Now understand my desk, and thus my computer, are out in the open and my boss quite frequently sneaks up behind me. Not intentionally of course, he just walks quietly. In my panic of having naked bouncing women images on my computer screen, I immediately forgot how to operate my computer. Denise watched as my fingers frantically travelled back and forth in the air just above my keyboard at a total loss as to what key or keys to press to close this naughty window. I finally remembered what keystrokes closed the window and my fingers slid over those now wet keys from the sweat that dripped from my forehead on to them. Phew..Window closed. I'm safe. But I am wondering what happened. How in the world did clicking a link for "You're a Grand Old Flag" take me to a naughty web site. I'll have to try the Google search again tonight when I get home. For educational purposes only. Not so I can bookmark the site.

Faux denim polyester leisure suit with red stitching around the pockets

More about this later