Happy New Year!

I found this creepy New Year's Baby -- selling lumber, no less -- in our
January 1916 archives. It takes someone much stronger than me to pass
this kind of thing by.

I had a roommate in college who liked to joke that partying hard on Saturday night meant she'd be praying to the porcelain gods* Sunday morning. I could never figure out why you would do something on purpose to yourself that would ultimately leave you hurling in the bathroom, but I've always been a bit too practical, which is why that element of college was lost on me.

All of this is to say that I was reminded of my roommate Saturday, when I found myself praying to the porcelain gods with frevor.

Without getting too graphic, let's just say that a flu bug of some sort is ripping its way through the house. Johanna came down with it on Tuesday, and I'd hoped that the rest of us would be spared, although that looked pretty unlikely when my stomach started churning Saturday morning. (I went from fine to NOT fine in like an hour. Wut?)

But okay, that still leaves Eric and Abby, right?

Except Eric is on the couch laying down watching football. This wouldn't be alarming except A) Eric NEVER lays down on the couch and 2) Eric actually never relaxes at all -- he's always up doing stuff, even if a game is on.

Um...

So it's been one hell of a new year is what I'm saying.

Also: Why did we all get flu shots again? I forget.

*In case it doesn't translate, "praying to the porcelain gods" is a euphemism for throwing up. I think we've all learned something today, don't you?

Good-bye, Walmart

Ah, it seems like just yesterday I was breaking up with Safeway,* and now here I am calling it quits with Walmart. It's kind of the same ordeal: I go in and I go in and I think about how great it would be to never go in again, but I always do. Until one day the proverbial camel's back is broken, and then?

It's over.

On Tuesday, Johanna and I were wandering around our local Walmart for well over an hour, trying to nail down a fairly modest list: Abby needed a few items, Eric wanted a certain brand of cereal, and I wanted to get Johanna's class obligations taken care of (i.e. canned food drive, class gift exchange present, mittens and socks for a warm clothing campaign of some sort, etc.). Having been going to this particular Walmart since it opened (1993? 1994?), you'd think I'd be able to find everything I need right were I'd expect it to be.

Wrong! Everything is always moving around in that joint anyway, but recently they've begun to really revamp the whole ordeal, putting in a grocery section (g.r.o.s.s.) and... I don't know. Adding self-service check-outs or whatever. But nothing is where it kind of should be, the rows are so close together that you can't have two carts pass each other in opposite directions, and it's so packed that you'd think there was no other show in town.

So as I'm walking down the same stretch of aisle AGAIN trying to find Abby's contact solution, it occurred to me that there is absolutely nothing in this world that I need so badly as to have to come to this store. When you want to punch everyone in the throat, and you are normally a very peaceful person, this is when you know it's time to say buh-bye.

As Johanna and I exited the building (she was getting a headache and I had just had it with finding everything on my list; Kenny Rogers was right -- you gotta know when to fold 'em), I announced that I was NEVER COMING BACK. I'm not going to list out all of the reasons I hate everything about Walmart (like I did with Safeway, which was rather entertaining, but I'm on a time crunch today), but I think it's safe to say that I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT WALMART.

I feel good about this breakup. I'm okay with spending three total extra dollars to get my items somewhere else, especially when it means A) I won't have to go into that hellhole and 2) I'll be able to get in and out much more quickly and C) maybe I'll be able to find what I'm looking for in the first place.

* Turns out I broke up with Safeway in 2011. How times flies! In my defense, I'm at that point in my life where 10 years ago and yesterday are pretty much the same in my mind.

What NOT to say

So once upon a time, like last Friday, someone told someone I love very much that they should not be in mourning for my grandfather because he was 92 and we should be glad that we had him so long.

And some other stuff along the lines of "just get over it."

So I had not planned on writing another "mourning" post, but you guys, I am deeply offended, and since I can't go tell this person off, I'm going to instead give you a Mourning 101 lesson.

Because I'm mad.
Get it?

What NOT to say

"He's in a better place," or "He's not in pain anymore." We'd still rather have him with us.

"He lived a long, good life." Yes, he did. That's why it's so hard to say good-bye.

"You shouldn't be sad because he was 92." Uh, that makes it harder, actually, because we had him so long and knew him so well. And he loved us fiercely, and now that's gone.

"When I lose my loved one, I won't be sad because he's 95." You haven't lost your loved one. You have no idea how you will react. And you are not us. So shut up.

"It's time to just get over it." We will grieve as we see fit for as long as we want.

"Time will heal." What does this even mean?

"I don't understand why you ... (insert any of these: are so sad, can't get this figured out, can't do this, whatever)." You don't have to understand. You are not us. Putting pressure on us to explain ourselves is mean, yo.

What TO say

"How are you ... today?" The "today" makes all the difference.

"There are no words." No, there aren't. Thank you.

"Let me know ...  (insert any of these: when the funeral is planned, how your grandma is doing, how I can help, when I can visit, whatever)." This is helpful because now we know we can talk to you freely about what is happening. And that is a gift.

***

You know, for the most part, people have been really great. And I should probably point out that I've said some things myself on the NOT list before I understood what I was saying. Basically, when in doubt, just offer a hug.

Thank you. Seriously.

Maybe the lesson here is that we just shouldn't go out to eat

Once upon a time, like on Sunday, my little family celebrated the gift of motherhood by giving me the day off. And you guys, I don't care what the jewelers try to tell you, THAT is what mothers really want.

Not having to deal with anyone? Priceless.

Me and my girls and some random lady.

Since we're still trying to use up the gift certificates I won in that May Basket drawing last year, Eric and the girls took me to a restaurant for dinner. It's one of the nicer ones in town, and as we were seated, Eric and I joked that at least we wouldn't be forgotten this time.

Ha ha ha! We're so funny!

So our waiter this time wasn't a hipster guy; in fact, he looked like he was in his later 20s to early 30s, which gave us great hope at his responsibleness. He was a little late taking our order... and he forgot the sugar for Abby's ice tea for like 20 minutes, but hey, he apologized, and to be fair, Abby didn't miss the sugar anyway.

Maybe because we had the kids there to distract us (we need to take them out more because wow, we're lacking some special social skills), but we failed to notice that an hour had slipped by without getting served.

And once we did notice, it was hard not to stare at the people who came in after us who got their food before we did. Um, those fish and chips they were munching on? Yeah, mine and Jo's.

Hey, tangent, once I read that being forgotten is the worst human fear out there. I think that's probably true. Once you think you've been forgotten, you just sit there and stew. Do I speak up? Do I sit here and just be patient?

Have I really been forgotten? Am I not good enough to be noticed? Is there something wrong with me? What is wrong with me?!

(Why, yes, I do have issues! Why do you ask?)

So finally, Eric and Abby get their meals, and the waiter assures Johanna and me that ours are coming right up. I gave them permission to dig in, but they refused; as the minutes dragged on, I finally told them to just hurry up and eat already because by the time we got served, their meals would be cold.

And hey, it was only 10 more minutes. I guess we should have taken waiter guy up on the extra bread basket after all.

The moral of this story is that it took us two hours to eat, but unlike our Elks lunch fiasco, this time no one seemed to mind that it took forever. Eric was like, at least we were all together! It was family time! (He's very relaxed when he's not trying to get back to work.) And the food was pretty good. And the girls were happy. And we were all dressed up and looking pretty hot. And we were all together.

(Johanna's observation: "They were late getting us our food, but they were quick getting us the check!")

Well, anyway, we're 0-2 now, in case anyone is keeping track. Eric and I are thinking that maybe these waiters can just tell we have gift certificates and aren't real people, or maybe we just look exceptionally kind and not prone to pitching fits over food. (Well, Eric does, anyway. Pitching fits over food -- or, more accurately, the lack thereof -- is actually something I would do. Have done. Will probably do again in the near future.)

But hey, all this is not to say that Mother's Day was a wash because of a late meal. It wasn't. It really was the perfect day. I got to sleep in,* do morning yoga on the lawn, read and read and read, not clean the house, take a nap, go out to eat, visit with my favorite in-laws, and get homemade cards from the girls.

See? That's pretty damn perfect.

Thank you, family.

Well, thanks Abby!
(P.S. She did this freehand...)

*Johanna brought me breakfast in bed: An omelette and a cup of coffee. Since she notices everything, she knew exactly how to brew a cup in my fancy coffee cone. Anyway, she came to snuggle, and told me that when I'm "too old to chew junk," she'll make me scrambled eggs instead.

Thank you, kid. That's love right there.

Lunch date fail

Once upon a time, like last Thursday (this was supposed to be my May 1 post but I never got around to writing it. Oops), Eric took me out to lunch at our local Elk's club restaurant. If you remember how we had this exact same date last year (um, it's okay if you don't 'cause I barely do. Well, I'm old), then you'll know that I dissed the place hard and then was utterly amazed by the artisan bun on my cheeseburger.

So this time, I kept my mouth shut and just went along with it. Besides, Eric had two $10 coupons, which meant lunch was free, so really, what was the downside?

Doesn't this look delicious? Yeah, not what we ate.

Like last time, we were the youngest in the joint by a good 40 years. Well, except for the bartender / waiter dude, who was a total hipster and who had two speeds: Slow and stop. We chose a table in the corner with the best view of the river, and then proceeded to chat. And place our order for two cheeseburgers. And then chat some more.

We'd been chatting for a full 35 minutes, still sans cheeseburgers, which was a little odd because all those old dudes at the bar who had come in after us were all eating their meals. Eric stands up to talk to Hipster Waiter Guy, and before Eric can even get a word out, he's all, I'll go check.

So at this point it's been 40 minutes and we've kind of run out of things to say to each other because we've been married 19.5 years and we'd just seen each other that morning and hadn't had enough time to come up with any new stories. Hipster Waiter Guy slowly makes his way to our table and is all like, the cook is just putting the toppings on your burger, won't be much longer, and then after he slinks away I'm all, uh, that's code for, 'oh shit, we forgot.' That made Eric laugh, so I felt pretty good about myself.

So at 12:55, we finally get our two cheeseburgers, which are just okay. No artisan bun, that's for sure, and frozen fries, not that there's anything wrong with frozen fries, just wasn't what we were expecting after last year's extravaganza. Eric is determined to get back to the office ASAP and is pounding his cheeseburger like he's going for the gold at a food eating contest, and I'm just trying to keep up, plus I was pretty sure all signs were pointing to food poisoning or, at the very least, one of my fun stomach attacks because I had my doubts about the naturalness of my meal.

Whatever, pound pound pound, now we're done, it's 1:05, and Eric is ready to go. Hipster Waiter Guy isn't even trying to make eye contact, and Eric is like, do we actually have to tip for this?, and I'm like, oh hell no, 55 minutes, yo!, and he agrees. He pulls out his two $10 coupons -- our burgers were $9.50 yeah -- and puts them on the table, takes my hand and we're out of there.

I'm like, uh, we can't just leave, because I knew Hipster Waiter Guy was going to stop us for apparent dining and dashing, but that dude gave zero craps and didn't even bother to turn around to watch us leave, let alone yell at us about being delinquents. 

That was probably the coolest thing I did all week.

You'd think our sad tale would be over, but alas, not yet. Eric is on a mission to get up the hill and back to work -- we'd walked to lunch -- and he's practically running and dragging me along behind him. Finally he looks at me and is all, are you okay?, and I'm like, dude, I just pounded a cheeseburger in like 8 minutes and this is all uphill. Been better, and he just laughs because he thinks I'm a riot.

I'm a riot, all right. I can't believe I didn't puke on his shoes.

Anyway, I am happy to report that I did not get food poisoning or have any sort of reaction to my meal, so yay, calling it a win! Also, doesn't this make a much better story than if we'd gone to eat and had a delicious meal served in a timely manner?

Well, whatever. I think it's going to take more than a couple of coupons to get us back to that place.

Dear Eddie Bauer: We're through

Dear Eddie Bauer,

It pains me to write this letter because you and I have always been tight. When we got together, I was used to trying to find pants with the biggest hem so my Mommy could take it out and thus make me longer pants. That's not as much fun as you'd think (but my mother is a trooper), and when I found your tall sizes--honest to God 36" inseams!--it was perhaps the best thing that had ever happened to me on the clothing front.

Figure 1: Sweater seam rip in arm area.

Figure 2: Sweater seam rip at collar.

(Although... remember when Northern Reflections was in the US? They had some pretty long pants, too.)

We've had a great run, Eddie Bauer. I've been faithful because I appreciated those pants so much. I branched out to long sleeve t-shirts (at one point I probably had 15, no joke), and I had a bunch of your sweaters and cardigans, and even some blouses. Ninety percent of my wardrobe at any given time was yours. The quality was super high; I was able to hold on to some items for years.

But I've noticed recently (well, the last year or so) that the quality of your clothing is now lacking. Of the three pairs of Eddie Bauer tall pants I own right now, all three have hem stitching that has come completely undone. I've used safety pins to try to keep them in service a little longer, but they are in desperate need of replacing. Especially since my black pair is also missing a bracket I need to button the waist. (That's just awkward.)

Figure 3: Black pants need just one more bracket.

Figure 4: Same black pants with crappy hem.

Figure 5: Grey pants with NO hem.

Figure 6: Beige pants (2 months old) also with NO hem.

A closer inspection of my other EB wear has brought similar conclusions: Busted hems, busted seams, holes everywhere, no matter if its a sweater or a tank top. My newer items seem to come apart within the first month or so of purchase. I've replaced items with holes just to get new holes.

I think this might be the definition of insanity: Doing the same things over and over and expecting a different result. I think it's time to face the hard truth, Eddie Bauer, which is that we need to break up.

Figure 7: Tank top hole. It didn't want to be left out.

And no, we can't be friends. I'm sorry about that, because you will always hold a special place in my heart for those wonderful long pants circa 1998, but we'd just be kidding ourselves. It's time for us to see other people. Actually, I've already begun to see other people. And it feels good.

So goodbye, Eddie Bauer. Thanks again for the memories. Good luck in the future.

Sincerely,
Trisha

WHY the attitude, words?

QUIT BEING JERKS, words, jeez!

Now that I've defended the words, the words are being jerks.

You guys, writer's block is the worst. It's not that you can't write--it's that everything sucks. I worked on what should have been an easy feature for most of the day yesterday, and I felt like I was bashing my head against the wall the entire time. I have the thing written, but it's all wrong, it's too much, and it comes nowhere near the story I wanted to tell. I've restarted and deleted so many times at this point I've lost count. I'm afraid my deadline will come and go and I'm going to just have a blank spot on the page where the words should be.

I don't think that will go over very well.

What if there's a word cap? What if I've exceeded my limit and now I'm done? I mean, I tried everything yesterday to get the words to flow: Coffee, listening to music, taking a walk to clear my head, moving on to other stories in the hopes that something, anything, would bubble up to the surface and give me some relief.

Nope.

So I'm depressed and frustrated is what I'm saying. I thought that I could clear the dam by writing a post about Valentine's Days past, but those words won't come either, the bastards, so FINE. Who even needs you, words?

We'll hope it shifts back to normal by Monday. Otherwise, I'm screwed.

Well, that's awkward

If I may be so bold as to quote myself from this January 23 post...

My favorite grey sweater (favorite even though I look kind of terrible in grey) got a hole in the back collar almost ASAP after purchasing the thing at Eddie Bauer in September. I causally mentioned that to the kid behind the counter as I was buying Johanna a plain black t-shirt (that is another post for another time) and she was all, that is not right, and then went and found my sweater in my size and traded me one for one right there. Um, I was not expecting that. Wicked cool, Eddie Bauer kid!

...because that sets the stage for the rest of this sad tale, internet friends.

Are you ready for an update that will wrench your heart in two? Um, or kind of just make you shake your head a bit?

Then let's get started.

I've been wrestling a little with this new/old piece in my Project 333 capsule wardrobe, which is slightly odd because the old one was my favorite. I wore it all the damn time. This one is fine, it's just cut bigger (even though it's the same size. I don't understand you, clothing industry), and I feel a bit tent-ish--or, at the very least, like I'm back in the 1980s (in case you didn't get to experience that golden age for yourself, we liked big hair AND oversized clothes. It sounds more awesome than it actually was). Abby says I'm silly and that it's still very nice. And sometimes I do like the oversized cut... like last week, when it was cold and grey and what I really wanted was to wear a blanket to work. Since that's not in the dress code, I chose this sweater.

And look what I found:

My source for this image is myself.

At least my last hole was on the back collar and was easily covered by my hair. THIS hole is in such an awkward place... in the back on an obvious arm seam.

I'm not sure where this leaves us, you guys. The knit of this sweater is so awesome... maybe I could upcycle it into a skirt? (Upcycle is too a word, spell check! Quit changing it to epicycle, you're driving me insane, jeez!) I'm not sure I'm going to want to mend this thing every other week (because my mending skills are apparently terrible).

It's very sad and disappointing is what I'm saying. Maybe I need to find a new store for my go-tos, because Eddie Bauer just isn't what it used to be. I'm more upset about that than the hole in my sweater, to be honest.

In defense of words

Source

Why is it that words are valued so much, and yet so little?

I've been thinking about this lately, probably because I need more hobbies and also because words are roughly 89.6 percent of my entire life. (The rest is coffee. Um, I suppose the family is in there somewhere, too.) I write for a newspaper. The majority of my free time goes to reading or writing this blog. Words, words, beautiful words!

I'm not the only one who loves words. The world is filled with writers and readers. Even those who don't consider themselves writers or readers have to read and write. Take my darling husband as an example: He's a county planner, and he isn't a reader or a writer, and yet, he spends the majority of his day writing staff reports and reading... um, planning related stuff, I assume. I really need to pay more attention. But anyway, you get my point.

Probably about a year ago now, when I was up at the front counter, I had a guy come in all pissed because one of our sister publications had the audacity to have a paywall up on their website. First of all, if you're going to complain, dude, complain to the right paper. (Obviously I haven't gotten over this encounter yet.) But then I was all, wait a minute, you are essentially telling me that you WANT the news, you just don't want to pay for it.

He wanted a service so much he was willing to come in to complain about the lack of service, but not enough to shell out the $1.99 or whatever it is for a week's worth of online news. I thought that was interesting. Why don't we want to pay writers?

We happily pay dentists and accountants and farmers. (Well, the farmers probably are in a similar boat, actually, so never mind that one.) We'd never schedule an oil change and expect not to pay for the work. Or to a stylist and then balk at the cost of the haircut. We pay $5 for one cup of coffee, internet friends, and we don't even give that a second thought. I actually consider it money well spent.

Seriously, though, any ideas why this is?* I was all up in arms about the discrepancies here myself until I realized I do the same damn thing. I like to read free news sites and blogs. I like to get my Kindle books for the cheapest possible price and bitch when they're "expensive." I WANT words--not to be overly dramatic, but I need words to live--so why don't I want to pay for them?

And more importantly, pay the people who came up with the words. You guys, the words are (usually) easy for me to come by--I just sit down and let them do the talking (and then get pissed and frustrated when they decide to take a break. Writer's block is such a drag)--but that doesn't mean I don't work hard when I'm writing. It takes me an average of two hours to write a blog post (although I've been working on this one on and off for about a week. Well, it's more complicated than my normal faire). It probably takes me between two and five hours to write the average news story, which doesn't include interview time. When they're more complicated, they can take an entire day. Or more.

Or less. Sometimes you just have to push a story out the door and be okay with that.

I have no idea what the time frame is for other writers, but who cares? Writing is a service, and doesn't it follow that my services should be compensated? Not that I particularly care about money, mind you, but I do care about feeding and clothing and sheltering my kids. My words help do that in our family.

So you know what? I've given up bitching about having to pay for the words I read. You want me to pay $9.99 for an ebook? I'm on it. A whole 99 cents for a newspaper article? Fine. Writers do not make very much--my words might help our family, but Eric's job is what really allows us to live in a house and buy food and clothes and, like, cat food for Skilly and coffee for me.** I have a feeling that very little of my 99 cents OR my $9.99 actually makes it to the writer, but hey, it's the first step to acknowledging that words are worth something.

Words are worth everything.

On a related note, my friend Mara is an indie author with two (and hopefully soon to be three) books out there in the world. She wrote a great blog post recently about the importance of reviews to writers. I've been trying to be better about that, too--it might not be monetary support, but it does show that words are valuable enough to me that I will take the time to let others know what I thought of a book, maybe inspiring more sales.

Um, the end, I guess.

*I have a theory, now that I think about it, especially when it comes to ebooks or internet apps: Because you're not getting something tangible to hold in your hands, like a real book or newspaper, you feel like you're paying for nothing. Unfortunately, writers have to take the time to craft that story or news article no matter what medium you read it on. You're paying for their time, not a physical object. I know, it's weird.

**I make about a poverty-level wage, which is fine when your husband is a government employee, but maybe not so great for those trying to actually make a go of it without that kind of financial backup. To put it in perspective, my college-aged nephew makes more per hour at his entry-level summer job than I make in my professional career. And while I really love my work... it would be nice to be able to support myself without help is all.

School supplies, or alternatively: I feel a rant coming on

So you guys, I really hate shopping for school supplies. I hate the whole ordeal. It's one big gimmick, and it's stupid and wasteful and dumb. We get a new list every single year and you're expected to buy it all new. Even if your kid comes home with a backpack AND grocery sack filled with leftover supplies at the end of the previous year, most of which is still perfectly usable.

It just drives me nuts.

Well, I was going to step off that train THIS year, thank you very much, so at the end of last school year, I had the girls put every single reusable thing into a box. The Box of Awesome. I figured it was just a matter of organization, really--if you have a stash, that should logically cut down on the shopping and waste, right? I even included the fourth grade list Johanna brought home (although I failed to actually read it because hello, summer vacation. I don't like to think about that kind of thing until the very last possible second. True story). Then I put the top on and let everything stew for roughly three months.

Since school starts next Tuesday (for Johanna, at least; I just learned Abby doesn't start until Thursday. High school is awesome), Johanna has been very anxious to get her supplies nailed down. She cares not one iota for new clothing, but wow, all she could talk about is the calculator she needs.

It was time to open the box is what I'm saying.

Why does Jo look like she's expecting something to jump out at her?

Hey, there's that aforementioned school list right on top! Um, what does it say again?

English and Spanish 'cause that's how our school rolls.

One glance through and it suddenly occurred to me that all the folders and markers and paper in my Box of Awesome are not even listed. 

Well, damn.

Johanna was more than happy to reuse her scissors from last year, and her pencil box was in surprisingly good shape. She had two used pink pearl erasers in various degrees of disrepair that she claimed, even though the list called for white polymer (we're rebelling). The earbuds threw me, but Johanna ran to her room to get an extra pair Abby had given her earlier this summer. 

So four things crossed off a list of 14. Let's compare piles:

Reusable.

Purchased. 

P.S. The top photo does not include her old lunch bag; the bottom does not include her new backpack. Oh, or the bottle of hand sanitizer she wanted because, and I quote, "What if there's a booger emergency?" It's hard to argue with that logic.

I'm trying to be grateful for the fact that Johanna is able to reuse things at all, but it's hard not to get too bogged down in the utter failure that was my brilliant Box of Awesome idea. I really thought I'd be able to write an amazing post about how great we did on the zero waste school supply front this year, but instead, the box is still full and is taunting me. I guess Abby might end up using some of it, but for now, she's thinking as long as she has a pencil, earbuds and a pack of gum, she's all set for the first day of her sophomore year. Sounds legit.

So I failed is what I'm saying. Ah, well.

Sometimes DNA is a real jerk

My baby.

Last day of school and Johanna is on the couch. She might miss the whole thing.

And it's all my fault.

Johanna has the family stomach--my stomach--and I have a lot of guilt about that. I mean, it's all genetics or whatever (science is boring), and I can't help what I pass on, but still.

We've been watching her diet so carefully. She's missed so much school this year already, because I am slow and it took me a while to link what she is eating with how she is feeling (irony, since that should have been my first thought). We've tried so many diets: Gluten-free, dairy-free. We eat a very natural, mostly organic, really nothing processed except cereal, I guess, and crackers, so it's not like there's a lot of obvious things to cut out. She's not a big meat eater and she mostly drinks water. She'd rather eat a cucumber than anything else in the world. (Weird kid.) But she still has these issues.

It's very frustrating.

So she's on a new diet. I've basically told her that when she's presented with any sort of food situation all she needs to ask herself is, "Can my mom eat this?" And if I cannot, then she can't, either. She's way too familiar with my diet, so it's a good method for keeping things under control.

"I like the Mom diet way better than the gluten-free diet," she announced at breakfast earlier this week.

Awesome. And yet, heartbreaking.

So what pushed her over the edge this time around? The only thing I can think of is that she had a big scoop of peanut butter last night (Skippy, if you must know, which is in the house for Abby. Jo has been eating my bulk, peanut-only nut-butter in her lunch, but she was in the mood for something else and I let her).

Blerg. One more thing to add to the list.

Anyway, though, it's becoming very clear that Johanna has my high-acidic stomach (fun!), except she hates all pills and potions, so it's kind of hard to get a handle on that. My best friend is omeprazole. I wouldn't be able to function without it. We need to find her something she can take, too.

She needs to function. This is a kid who never sits down. The fact that she's on the couch speaks volumes to me about how bad she feels.

It's also clear that she has an intolerance to artificial preservatives. I had a "salt thing" for most of my life--except for some reason when I turned 30, it kind of all went away, just like Ann had promised it would (fellow sufferer)--and I think, in hindsight, it had to be artificial preservatives, just based on when the reactions would happen (hives aren't as fun as you'd think, and dorm food did not help) and how I would feel (pretty damn crappy).

We came to this conclusion, by the way, on the day after she ate a corn dog and a hot dog (without our knowledge, I'd like to point out) and missed two days of school.

Good times.

So I guess best case scenario is that she starts feeling better in the next hour or so (mornings are the worst) and gets to go (finish cleaning out her desk, meet her teacher for next year, say goodbye to her friends), and worst case scenario is that I go do all those things for her before heading to work. (Hey, Grandmas, what you got going on today?)

I don't know, you guys. I'm so ready for summer, to see if we can get her sorted out, with the knowledge that if she has a bad morning, who cares, she's got no where to go anyway. She's too young to have to live on the couch. She's too young to have to be wary of peanut butter.

DNA sucks.

What's the most rebellious thing you can do at 41? Look 41, that's what

See anything alarming yet?

I've mentioned many times on the blog that I color my hair. When I was younger (which is the best time to make bold declarations, just FYI) I swore I would NEVER dye my hair. I heard stories of Great Grandma Maud (I think it was Maud) who was completely gray by age 40 and knew that was going to be my fate, too... and thought that was okay.

Fast forward twenty years or so, when, Christmas 2009, Mom snaps a picture of my 37-year-old self and, while my hair isn't actually completely grey yet in real life, it TOTALLY looks like it is when the film is developed.

And you guys, I got vain. I had my 20-year high school reunion coming up the next summer, and I was like, Homey don't play that.

So began a period of "dye auditions," and by the time that reunion came around, not a grey hair could be seen on my lovely brown head. (I noticed, by the way, that while all the guys were balding and/or in various states of grey, the girls--all except one brave soul--were completely grey-free. Go figure.)

Anyway, I guess the moral of this whole sad tale is that vanity is a powerful instigator, and that I'm not so immune advertising. Damn you, The Man!

But recently I've started to wonder why the hell I'm doing this to myself. My hair grows pretty quickly, so every six weeks or so (sometimes sooner), I'm back in the chair doing it all over again. I'm lucky because my husband is awesome and isn't afraid to get his hands dirty, i.e., he's the one who dyes it for me, but it's so super boring. For both of us. And the dye makes my scalp itch. And I can hardly breathe when it's going on my head because of the smell.

And honestly, who am I fooling anyway? I'm clearly a woman in my early 40s, everybody knows this, and if I happen to have more grey hair on my head than brown, who cares?

I guess that's the main question: Who cares? When I started announcing (because I thought that would help me NOT go back on this... I'm still very vain, you see*), the first thing people generally would ask was, "What does Eric think of that?" Um, Eric gives zero craps. He wants me to be happy and healthy. My hair color isn't really a deal breaker as far as our relationship goes.

Ahem. Feeling a rant coming on. Reeling it in. Drinking more coffee. That's better.

I've decided that the most rebellious thing I can do as a 41-year-old is to just look 41. My roots are definitely huge at this point, and I can see a lot of silver in my bangs especially. We're WAY past when I would normally grab the box of color. I was tempted at first to get some more stuff poured on my head that would strip the dye all at once so I didn't have to mess with growing it out, but my hairdresser says it's really toxic and doesn't recommend it, so I'm on the "just get my hair cut a lot and hope for the best" mode of coping.

I'm finding the roots don't bother me as much as I thought they would. I'm not really into hats or ponytails, but who knows, maybe when it gets really bad I'll suddenly decide I look darling in both? :)

And I guess the moral of all THAT is this: I'm embracing my age, people. Wish me luck.

* Pregnancy taught me that I'm vain, motherhood taught me that I'm selfish. Fun lessons, I tell you what.

Oh, that sound? Just my heart breaking

It's probably bad to start off with a tangent, but one of my pet peeves is when people put up status updates that say things like, "My heart was just ripped in two" or "I cannot go on," but they don't disclose any further information so you don't know if they need a transplant, or they ran out of gas and are stranded on the side of the road, or there's zombies afoot (wait, I guess that's brains), or they got hacked by their kids, or it's April 1. Do us all a favor, people, and EXPLAIN YOUR STATUS UPDATES THOROUGHLY. It's not a lot to ask.

So remember how a couple weeks ago I wrote about that classified ad contest at work, and then about how we were winning said classified ad contest?

Today we found out we lost.

And to top it all off I'll probably get sued for using this without permission

And OH EM GEE people, I am so completely deflated. That lovely pizza lunch I have dreamed about for three weeks? Still just a dream.

What happened is that some bastards at other branches (P.S. Mom, I thesaurus.com-ed my bad word but the alternate words were even worse) waited until THE VERY LAST SECOND (sorry, I'm yelling a lot in this post, I can't help it, I'm completely out of my mind with disappointment) to place their ads. And because their offices are smaller than ours, they pulled ahead of us in the percentages. We posted the most ads, but that wasn't the contest. It was average ads placed per employee. And our office is the largest.

So we ended up in third.

BOO!

Ah, such a blow. Stacey was ticked because she had placed 20 ads (also at the last minute, but that's totally fine because she's on our team) and those ads didn't show up in the final tally. She was calling ad managers and everything to protest, but in the end it didn't make one lick of difference. We still were losers. Stacey and I were inconsolable and talked about getting strong coffee to see us through the rest of the afternoon, but it was too great a blow and our sorrow prevented us from leaving the office. Plus it was raining out and we didn't want to get soaked.

Then Jody the Ad Manger was like, I think everyone who placed ads should just go out for pizza together anyway, so the moral of this sentence is that maybe at least some despondent bonding will occur soon.

So that's the end of THAT. Totes depressed, going to watch some Olympics now, probs just curling because that's the kind of day it's been. Blerg.

A brave attempt at minimalistic school shopping

Back to School shopping annoys the crap out of me. It's almost as bad as Christmas when it comes to buying a whole lot of unnecessary *things* because supposedly you have to in order to prove you love somebody. That's probably another post for another time. Forget I said that until December. That will be a fun rant.

Anyway. This year, Johanna's supply list contained 20 items (and I am not joking about that, ask my mother, she saw it). It was ridiculous. And very detailed, listing exactly what size and shape and brand you're supposed to be getting, making it hard to use things from one year to the next, even though you always end up with supplies sent home at the end of the year. What is the point of this?

I have a few character flaws, and one of them is that I don't like being told what to do. So before I tackled Johanna's list, we went through last year's supplies first. And we were able to cross off several items: A box of name brand crayons, colored pencils, and both thin and thick markers; scissors; two pink pearl erasers (she used exactly a quarter of one last year); her pencil box; glue sticks; a pencil sharpener. I explained why I wanted to reuse as many items as possible, stressing the environmental impact more than my minimalist tendencies, but I really didn't have to because she was already on board. One thing about Johanna: She just accepts what is going on around her and gets on with things.

I still had to buy two binders of certain sizes, notebook paper, notebooks, pencils and two folders, though. Plus two containers of disinfectant wipes, two boxes of tissues, dry erase markers and a box of quart sized Ziplock bags. I had to hit a few stores to find everything on that list, but we finally managed. And I only threw a couple of fits.

Abby's list was easier, mostly because she wanted to wait until she went to her classes to see what she really needed, but also because she was willing to reuse everything that was still in working order from previous years. Which I didn't find out about until later because she made her own list to work from before we hit the stores. I really am digging this 14-year-old stage, FYI.

I got the girls Bento-style boxes for their lunches last year (they refuse to eat school lunches, and I am more than okay with that), and Johanna got a new messenger bag halfway through the year due to technical difficulties with her backpack (i.e. she is not a careful child. And she wanted to look like Indiana Jones), so at least I didn't have that to worry about. I knew I wasn't going to be able to go 100% reused, but I was happy that I was at least able to do SOMETHING. If I let myself get bogged down in the mire, I'd be too depressed to even try at all.

Anyway. First day of school. My mother made the girls' favorite dinner--lasagna--and brought it to the house for a party. We're talking about other things when suddenly Johanna pipes up with, I need six inch blades. And I'm like, um, are you planning to cut somebody?, and she's like, no, scissors.

So apparently the teacher goes through the supplies you send with your child to make sure they're worthy. And the scissors that Johanna used all through second grade did not make the cut (see what I did there?). "I told her, 'My mom's a minimalist,'" said Johanna, very seriously, "and she said, 'You need six inch blades.'"

Do you know how hard it is to find six inch blades? I didn't until I started trying. Add to that a brand name and it's actually impossible. I put the old scissors back in her bag, explaining that I was doing my best, but it might take me a while to find a pair and to tell her teacher I was trying. Five stores and three days later, I finally found six inch scissors at the local stationary store. NOT name brand. I bought them anyway. Sometimes you can only rebel in small ways.

The only other fit I threw was when Abby came home and announced that even though she had a binder clearly written on her supply list for science, her teacher said no binders, just notebooks. And I was like, so why did he put a binder on the supply list again? and was gearing up for a big ol' rant when Abby says, relax, that was one of the items I was reusing anyway, and I was all, oh. Okay then.

So school shopping was kind of depressing, I guess is the moral here, but we did have a few small victories, which I hope counts for something.

The end.

Your crystal ball ain't so crystal clear

Netflix, Netflix, Netflix.  I am getting so tired of this.

It is clear that for many of our members two websites would make things more difficult, so we are going to keep Netflix as one place to go for streaming and DVDs.

This means no change: one website, one account, one password…in other words, no Qwikster.

While the July price change was necessary, we are now done with price changes.

We're constantly improving our streaming selection. We've recently added hundreds of movies from Paramount, Sony, Universal, Fox, Warner Bros., Lionsgate, MGM and Miramax. Plus, in the last couple of weeks alone, we've added over 3,500 TV episodes from ABC, NBC, FOX, CBS, USA, E!, Nickelodeon, Disney Channel, ABC Family, Discovery Channel, TLC, SyFy, A&E, History, and PBS.

We value you as a member, and we are committed to making Netflix the best place to get your movies & TV shows.

Respectfully,

The Netflix Team

Yay, another email message!  From The Netflix Team this time instead of Reed Hastings, CEO and co-founder of Netflix.  Reed Hastings, CEO and co-founder of Netflix is apparently taking a break from this one.  Not that I blame him.  His last email flew like a bag of bricks.  Ton of bricks?  I can't remember the exact phrase.  My point is, who cares?  I'm still mad at you, Reed Hastings, CEO and co-founder of Netflix.  And I can really hold a grudge.  Just ask my husband.

(Not because I would hold a grudge against that darling man.  Just because he has to listen to me rant.)

Well, anyway.

No Qwikster.  But no reversal of splitting up the two services or charging the same for crappy streaming as DVDs.  (They're done raising prices "for now."  Great.)  Oh, wait--they're constantly improving their streaming selection!  That is good news.  Just for kicks, let's see what my streaming options are this fine morning, shall we?

• Drake and Josh Go to Hollywood from Nickelodeon.  Maybe not.
• Case 39.  Never heard of it.
• Conan O'Brien Can't Stop.  Okay, that might be interesting.
• Love's Kitchen.  Um, what?
• Meet Joe Black!  Oh, wait.  We watched that in 1998.
• White Irish Drinkers.  Do you think that's a comedy or a horror flick?  Because I can't tell.
• And a whole bunch of TV shows!  Most of which I could already watch on Hulu!  For free!

Well, but The Netflix Team did sign their letter "Respectfully."  So that probably counts for something.

I guess.

Here's a tip: Think it through next time, okay?  Because at this point, you pretty much just look like a three year old out of breath from all the screaming.  And also, I so wish I could break up with you like I broke up with Safeway.  Someday, Netflix.  Someday...

There are SO MANY song options for this one that it sort of makes my brain hurt.  I'm thinking we'll have to go with The Beastie Boys, "Sabotage."  The official video, because it's hilarious.  (You can skip the ad after a couple of seconds.)  Why are our backs now against the wall? You're scheming on a thing, that's sabotage.  (Word.)

Little boy made a mistake

Oh, Netflix.  This just keeps getting better and better.

And by "better," I actually mean the exact opposite of that.

This morning, we got an email from Reed Hastings, Co-Founder and CEO of Netflix titled "An Explanation and Some Reflections."  He apparently sent this missive at 6:01 a.m.  I like to think he was up all night, fanatically writing, trying to get down all of his thoughts and feelings, and finally coming to the conclusion it was as good as it was going to get and hitting "send."  Probably it was just some intern and a scheduled mailing to millions, but I think my version is better.  More romantic, anyway.

The letter begins:

I messed up. I owe you an explanation.

It is clear from the feedback over the past two months that many members felt we lacked respect and humility in the way we announced the separation of DVD and streaming and the price changes. That was certainly not our intent, and I offer my sincere apology.

He messed up, all right.  He apparently has no idea that all that feedback was actually about how he took a great service, broke it apart, and turned it to crap.

The rest of the letter is designed to make me feel better, as a consumer, about the increased prices with less service.  (Fail!)  But what really stands out for me is this:

It’s hard to write this after over 10 years of mailing DVDs with pride, but we think it is necessary: In a few weeks, we will rename our DVD by mail service to “Qwikster”. 

It's equally hard to read.  I'll bet your fourth-grade teacher is going nuts right now.  That is so not how you spell "quickster."  Actually, "quickster" isn't even a word.  May I suggest "quicker," or "quickly," or "quickest."  Those?  Are real words.

That "Qwik" combo just makes me sad.  I mean, it's bad enough that you've completely ruined something that I enjoyed.  Do you need to ruin spelling, too?

Where's your humanity, Reed Hastings, Co-Founder and CEO of Netflix?

P.S. Okay, this is sort of awesome.  Maggy Patrick?  You are funny.

Alice in Chains, "Angry Chair."  There are so many great lines in that song that it's hard to pick out just a couple.  I will try: Corporate prison we stay.  Serenity is far away.  I'm also a fan of: Feed me your lies, open wide.  Oh, Alice in Chains.  I want to give you a hug.

Now I'm ready, yeah I'm ready, to start all over without you

Oh, Netflix.  What the hell?  Here's a breakdown of my gripe:

1. When we joined ten months ago, streaming and DVDs were part of the same plan for $7.99
2. A couple months later, it increased a buck
3. A couple months after that, it increased another buck
4. No biggie; I'm cool with that
5. BUT
6. Starting Sept. 1, Netflix is separating their streaming and DVD plans, each now costing $7.99
7. Which sucks
8. Because you actually need both plans to make Netflix worth it
9. The streaming selection is pretty crappy, unless you like kids' TV shows and don't mind the "retrieving" messages that show up way too often at the worst possible moments
10. The DVD selection is better, but there's waiting involved, so we average like four movies a month
11. See?  The streaming supplements the DVDs, and the DVDs supplement the streaming
12. But $16 a month?
13. I think not
14. So we've let our DVD plan go
15. Last night we decided to watch a movie
16. We watched AVALON HIGH, a made for Disney Channel extravaganza
17. Because that was our best option
18. And you know what?
19. FOUR "retrieving" messages
20. And a really crappy movie
21. Is this what we get to look forward to now?
22. I don't really want to let it go because we don't have cable and the kids like to watch the shows from Nick and Disney
23. And I suppose you could argue that we don't watch a lot of movies anyway
24. But if Avalon High is the best that streaming can do for us
25. Then we might need to rethink this whole ordeal

500 Miles to Memphis, "The Regret."  Because the good times we had are gone and they ain't coming back.

A different motive

Being allergic to artificial colors and flavors, I like to pay attention to labels.  You know what's awesome?  When you see a product with an "All Natural Flavors!" banner, and then you look more closely at the ingredient list.

Exhibit A: Dryers Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream.

INGREDIENTS: skim milk, cream, sugar, chocolaty chips (sugar, coconut oil, cocoa processed with alkali (dutched cocoa), fractionated palm kernel oil, cocoa, soy lecithin, salt, natural flavor), corn syrup, whey, molasses, natural flavor, acacia gum, guar gum, Yellow 5, Blue 1, carob bean gum, carrageenan, xanthan gum

Seriously, why bother with the natural flavor if you're going to have Yellow 5, Blue 1 and like seventeen* different variations of corn sweeteners?  What's a little artificial flavor at that point?

And also: Spell check hates most of those ingredients.

Well, anyway.  The bright green color was a tip-off, so it's not like my hopes were high, but this sort of thing is annoying.

That's all.

*I might be slightly exaggerating.  It's my blog, so I can do whatever I want.

Trapt, "Headstrong." This is not where you belong. If you have food allergies, anyway.

I Hate Everything About You, Safeway

Why I Hate Safeway, In No Particular Order:

1. Safeway sucks.
2. No local produce.
3. Why is my card "invalid" all of a sudden?
4. Why are only two lines ever open when there are clearly 10 stands that could be open?
5. It's not fun standing in line for ten minutes.
6. It's also not fun standing in the middle of an aisle while you wait in line, where ankles are vulnerable to smacking on passing carts.
7. Self service check out?  No thank you--you need to do something nice for me if I'm going to put up with this crappy store, so making me feel guilty about not checking myself out is stupid.
8. Too crowded.
9. And adding a Starbucks and a bank just make it more crowded, not more convenient.
10. Where's that meat from again?
11. Can't find what I'm looking for.
12. No pickling salt.  That is just wrong.
13. Reusable bags are structurally deficient.  (It's not reusable if it rips on the first go.)
14. Dumb piped music.
15. Seriously, turn on the lights.
16. You're not fooling anyone with your "savings card" scheme.  You're prices aren't that great.
17. No Organic Valley Soy Milk.
18. Weak on the organics.
19. And no, I don't trust your Safeway organic brand.
20. My favorite tote bag ripped on the exit door, which is clearly Safeway's fault.
21. UPDATE:* You can never find a parking spot
22. UPDATE: Limited selection of product on the shelves
23. UPDATE: When was the last time you were in Safeway and someone offered to take your bags to the car for you?  For us, roughly 1998.
24. UPDATE: Safeway Select?  That's called "irony."

That's not the end, but I'm getting tired of this.  I rarely go into Safeway anyway, but since my last trip, I remember why that is.  Safeway and I are breaking up for good.  

Have I mentioned that I hate Safeway?

*New reasons to hate Safeway, given to me by sources who will remain anonymous to protect their awesomeness, because I am selfish that way.  I will happily update as new reasons come in, should I hear any more, or am bored enough to come up with new ones myself.

Eric helped me pick out tonight's song: Three Days Grace, "I Hate Everything About You."  Sometimes I miss the obvious, so it's good I have Eric around.

Too many times

This sort of thing makes me angry:

WASHINGTON (AP) — Meat giant Cargill is recalling 36 million pounds of ground turkey linked to a nationwide salmonella outbreak that has killed one person in California and sickened at least 76 others.

Illnesses in the outbreak date back to March and have been reported in 26 states coast to coast.

Cargill said Wednesday that it is recalling fresh and frozen ground turkey products produced at the company's Springdale, Ark., plant from Feb. 20 through Aug. 2 due to possible contamination from the strain of salmonella linked to the illnesses.

Company officials said that all ground turkey production has been suspended at the plant until the company is able to determine the source of the outbreak.

"Given our concern for what has happened, and our desire to do what is right for our consumers and customers, we are voluntarily removing our ground turkey products from the marketplace," said Steve Willardsen, president of Cargill's turkey processing business.

Bolding is mine.  I just wanted to point out that this whole ordeal began in February, and today is August 3.  I'm no math genius, but that's almost six months.  (Seriously, how much of that ground turkey being recalled NOW do they think is still sitting around in people's refrigerators?  From June?  I don't even want to think about March/April/May.  Or February.)

Here's another beauty from the same AP article:

The CDC said this week that cultures of ground turkey from four retail locations between March 7 and June 27 showed contamination with the same strain of salmonella, though those samples had not been specifically linked to the illnesses. The CDC said preliminary information showed that three of those samples were linked to the same production establishment, but it did not name that plant.

Three months of "contamination with the same strain of salmonella."  From four locations.  Three of which were linked to the same production plant.  That part's my favorite.

Maybe I should add that this doesn't effect us at all--I don't have any of this particular product lying about (um, I don't buy from "meat giants," for one thing).  It just makes me wonder why we're supposed to be thankful that companies recall their products "voluntarily" for our "safety" when months have passed since contaminants have first been detected.

It's stupid.  I hate stupid.

The Cure, "From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea." Because.