Sunday, March 23, 2008

I will not eat that crap, Sam I Am

I think I heard somewhere that childhood obesity is sort of a problem in the US. Have you heard that, too? Gee, I wonder why that is.

When I first saw this, I was appalled. I'm still pretty disgusted. Who would feed this to their children? How can you expect kids to grow up with healty attitudes toward food when you teach them that dinner (or breakfast or lunch) is a four-foot tall pile of pancakes oozing with artificially-colored (I assume, since those cartoon colors aren't found anywhere in nature) high-fructose corn syrup based (bet on it) frosting, sprinkled with candy-coated chocolate chips, and impaled upon the stick of a sucker. A SUCKER?! Seriously? For the love of everything, they even coated the chocolate chips in a candy shell, the better to sneak in some more sugar, my dear.

Would any of you feed this to your little darlings? If you would, you should be ashamed or yourself, just as I am ashamed of myselft, because if I'm completely honest, I have to admit that if this terrifying concoction had been available when my Kelly was four, we'd have been all over it. It would have been a special treat, for sure, and it likely would have involved her friend Tony, and a trip to the bowling alley beforehand. Kelly and Tony would have order their disgusting gooey pancakes, taken three bites, and saved the sucker for later. Later would never come, because I'd have disposed of the suckers before they remembered that they existed.

That's how it would have gone down. When it comes to parenting, I did okay with little kids, with the exception of two areas: Money and food. We'll talk about money another time.

With food, I did everything wrong. I bribed them with dessert. I didn't make them try new things. If I served something they didn't like, I hopped up from the dinner table and whomped up a grilled cheese sandwich. I rewarded them for good behavior with special food treats, like a trip to Dairy Queen.

Both my kids should be little porkers with rotten black craters where their teeth used to be, but for some reason, they are not. Kelly, especially, is very consciencious about what she puts into her body. She reads labels, and has done that since she learned to read. Her favorite afterschool snack is a little pile of mushrooms sauteed in a teeny bit of olive oil, with some chopped onion and plenty of black pepper. She loves a pizza with a paper thin crust, topped with fresh tomatoes and onion. She is careful to eat plenty of calcium.

I guess what I'm saying is, don't feed this stuff to your kids. It's bad for them. But if you do, they'll probably live through it. Aww, heck. Get 'em the matching beverage: Beezlenut Splash. It's Sprite with red and blue Jello cubes floating in it. What could be more delightful? And by delightful, I mean "causing one to emit colorful vomit."

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Givin' Old Navy the bizness

Are you aware that if you try something on in a fitting room at Old Navy, they personalize your fitting room for you by writing your name in dry erase marker on the door? They do! And if you tell them your name is Gine, then that's what they write on your door. It means, "Hey, Gine's in here, trying on some cheap, ill-fitting clothing that was manufactured in a third world country, probably by old people and children."

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Declaration

I hereby authorize the nation's citizens to poke around in my passport file whenever they like.

Friday, March 21, 2008

Hot Diggity!

I am so close to being finished with my big ol' work project that I can taste it!

It's been fun, but I'm looking forward to sleeping regularly again, and spending time with my family, and making dinner sometimes. I even missed a basketball game last night, if you can imagine such a thing!

Did you hear the news story about the woman in Florida who was killed by a stingray? This was no mundane, run-of-the-mill Irwinesque barbing. Oh, no; this was much more dramatic and amusing. The lady was riding in a boat, and the stingray jumped out of the water and whalloped her. Last I heard, they were thinking it didn't even bother poking its barb into her. It just rendered her senseless with one swipe of its tail…er, fin/wing appendages. And then she died.

Ahh, death. Sometimes you can be so hilarious.

Next week while we're in Miami (Fort Lauderdale, actually), we're going to a dinner theater where they do little skits based on current events. I wonder if there will be a stingray slap joke or two.

And with that, I am going to bed.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Traveling is goofy

Are there more big weather problems in the East? I'm still buried in my project and have no time for things like checking the weather, but I would wager that there is some sort of airport frenzy-causing issue somewhere.

Rose called me this afternoon from Detroit. She's on her way to New Orleans. Her flight out of Detroit was overbooked, so Rose volunteered to give up her seat and go to New Orleans tomorrow instead of today. A night in Detroit would be an adventure, she though.

So, they said they'd put her on a flight to New Orleans tomorrow, and this flight would go through Minneapolis. Hey! sez she. I just came from Minneapolis, because that is my home! How about if you fly me home tonight, and to New Orleans from Minneapolis tomorrow?

Nah, the agent said. Never mind. Go get on that airplane to New Orleans right now. There is a seat for you in first class.

Go figure.

In other vital news, Kelly went to Noodles to pick up some dinner, because there is no feeding of my family when I am this deep into a project. I didn't want that—again—and decided to order from somewhere else. Buca. Where I chose spaghetti. Which counts as a noodle.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

I've grown accustomed to eBay's face

Remember how I was in charge of selling all my aunt's jewelry on eBay, and remember how I whined about how much work it was? Well, it was a lot of work, and took a lot of time, but I somehow got used to playing with it everyday, and now that it's all finished, I miss it!

I liked answering all the questions that people would ask about the stuff. How long is the necklace? Is it real ivory? Are there any markings on the back? What size is the ring? Do you ship to Kazakhstan? Usually, the answers were right there in the description. In the end, it turns out that half the stoopid dumb questions were from people I know, and they were just giving me the bizness!

I liked emailing with people. One lady collects broken watches. She fixes them, if she can, and displays the pretty-but-unfixable ones in shadow boxes. She's having both her knees replaced next month—for the fourth time! I suggested that she might try another surgeon.

I enjoyed the lady who bought some olden days clip earrings for her mom, then found some stuff she liked for herself, too. I like to think that my aunt would approve of sharing her jewelry with people who appreciate her style and good taste. On the other hand, now that I think of it, sharing wasn't one of her strong suits, so I'm not sure she'd be pleased, after all!

Feedback cracks me up. A++++!!!!! Asset to eBay!!!!! Beautiful item!!! Flawless transaction!!!!! People love the exclamation point, don't they? I leave feedback for people when they pay, because the way I see it, paying is really the only obligation the seller has, right? I don't participate in "trading" feedback, and there's always the opportunity to respond to it if necessary. Tonight somebody left a positive feedback with the comment, "Thanks for the fast shipping. I was hoping for higher quality." That made me chuckle. Better quality. I'll take it up with my distributor. Oh, wait! That would be my dead aunt. Like I stated in the auction of the item listed as "gold-tone earrings" with a picture that was so clear and untouched that you can see a tiny fuzz on it. I responded with "You're welcome, and sorry you were disappointed in the quality that $3.50 buys."

I learned a little something about shipping charges. I learned why it's so expensive. Most of the costume jewelry I sold was shipped regular ol' first class, good ol' US Mail. I charged $3.50 for the first item, and a buck for each additional item I could cram in the padded envelope. The minimum per package (under 1 ounce) was $1.13. Padded envelopes are $.60. Each item was in its own zip-lock bag before it went into the package. Then there are labels, printing the labels and the little note that went inside, and the tape. OH, the tape! We're already up to almost $3.50, and I haven't even thought about the cost of gas and time to go to the post office yet. I sent a couple of packages UPS, because the items turned out to be more expensive than I expected, and I wanted to be able to track them. In the long run, I spent more on shipping and supplies than I made from shipping charges.

And did you know? It is not free to sell stuff on eBay! No, it is not. I'm not going to break it all down here, because it's boring and complicated and you can find the details at eBay, but on $650 in sales, I paid $140 in fees. Part of that was because I had some high-priced items that did not sell, but still! That's a lot, I thought.

I'm thinking I may gather up a bunch of stuff around the house and sell it on eBay when I have a little more time, maybe when I finish up with all my fun vacationing in March and April. Maybe I can dig up some higher quality gold-tone earrings around here somewhere.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Stuffed.

In the interest of not being one of those weird Malaysian blogs, I did not photograph the delicious meal I just consumed. I thought about it, though.

Kelly is off at Jimmy's, and The Referee is at the State High School Girls' Basketball Tournament. I am busting my nonexistent balls to finish a project for work, so I thought it would be a perfect night to get some take-out from the Indian restaurant in Eagan and snarf it down while working at my computer. Which is what I did, minus the working part. I needed a break.

I had chicken shahi korma, whatever that is. There were pieces of chicken and tofu (I think), and some raisins and cashews, all soaking in a sauce so rich and creamy and good that it tasted like it was whomped up by the Paula Dean of India. I suppose instead of butter and mayonnaise, like American Paula would use, Indian Paula probably used ghee and coconut milk. So unbelievably yummy. I'm sure it's giving me that extra-special BO aroma, too.

On another note for which I have no segue, there will be a meeting of bloggers in Miami in a couple of weeks. You see, while I was placing my dinner order by phone, I missed a call from one Kimmy in Houston. Her message asked me to call her back to recommend someplace to stay in Miami, as she and her friend are going there the week after next.

Hold the phone!, sez I to myself. I'm going to Miami the week after next! So I called her back, and sure enough, we will be in Miami at exactly the same time! How fun is that?! We are definitely going to meet up for some Florida kind of fun!

But now I have to work. Break's over!

Friday, March 14, 2008

I think today is Ingrid's birthday

I can't seem to remember to put the trash out, or to pay The Referee's Amex bill, but I most certainly remember the birthday of a little girl I used to babysit. Thirty years ago. That's important. She really was such a little dollycake, though, and I loved her so much. Her sister Stephanie was just as fabulous, only in a smarter, less innocent way. She used to get Ingrid to do stuff for her with a little game of Simon Says. She'd start all, "Simon says do five jumping jacks," but she'd end up with "Simon Says unload the dishwasher." I think those two are the reason I got married so young. They made me want children of my own. Ingrid and Stephanie. How cute can two sister names get, even? Well, unless you go to Rose and Kelly.

So yesterday, I went with one of my own actual children, the youngest one, to the nail salon to have our nails filed and polished, and our eyebrows waxed. Kelly had a very simple French manicure, which is my favorite kind of nail maintenence procedure, mostly because it includes the hand massage.

OH. MY. DEAR. HEAVEN. How I love the hand massage. If given the choice as to what part of me I would like massaged, I would choose the hand, hands down (yuk yuk yuk) any time.

I, however, am sporting the Fake Gel Nails, which I swore would NEVER happen after the last tiime. When you take those babies off, your natural nails are jacked-up for months. In January, though, I changed my mind when my regular old nails were so dry and brittle that they were breaking—the long way! Never has that happened to me before! So I had the fakies slapped on again.

So my question is, why, oh, why do they not massage your hands when you have a "fill" ( A fill, Dad and Old Guy, is when they "fill in" the area where your fingernail has grown, with acrylic, or gel)? I mean, I'm sure I could ask for it, and pay extra, but it seems a little Elliot Spitzer to be all, "Hey, I'll pay you handsomely if you'll rub my hands for a few minutes."

Thursday, March 13, 2008

A random memory

Somebody once "pulled a knife" on my cousin Joe at a Jackson 5 concert.

What made me think of this? Who knows? It's after 1 a.m., so I guess my take-a-bath-and-go-to-bed-early plan hasn't quite taken hold yet. I was just sitting her working, and had that little flashback.

I suppose it was sometime in the seventies. For some reason, I'm thinking that Joe was 11, but I can't remember how many years older Joe is than I. Make no mistake about it. Joe is older. When you are 44, it's comforting to point out people who are "your age" but actually a little older.

Joe and Mary Kay (also older, by the way, but only by months), were visiting from Perry, Iowa, which is the best place in the world, unless you count warm places. My dad was a hotshot PR guy at a hotshot Twin Cities PR agency, and one of his clients was this new family band, the Jackson 5. All brothers.

So, it happened that the Jackson 5 had a concert here. I think it was at the St. Paul Civic Center. Dad had tickets for us, really good tickets, right on the floor, and almost right in front. I don't remember anything about it, other than how crowded it was. It was almost impossible to move around, even to get to our seats. Oh! And also? The cigarette smoke smelled so good! Not like my mom's Terryton's. And it was very loud, and very colorful. I think I was pretty antsy during the performance, and wanted to be done sitting there in the loudness.

And then, it must have been when we were leaving, Joe told the rest of us that some kid had "pulled a knife" on him. Immediate panic ensued, and by panic, I mean that my mom immediately assumed her Times Square posture, which means that she moved the strap of her purse to her right shoulder, leaving her purse on her left hip. You know, criss-cross. Then she put on her don't-mess-with-me-or-my-family face, and we made our way out of there.

So now it's thirty-some years later, and I'm wondering, what happened? What does it mean to "pull a knife" on someone? And why have I not thought to ask this question until now?

So Joe, if you read this, do you remember any of that? What the heck happened there, dude?

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Quick! Before the snow melts!

Last weekend, my nephew JohnHenry-Who-Likes-to-be-Called-John-Now used his Nostradamus-like weather predicting skilz to portend the thaw that would commence today. He was spot-on accurate, as always, so on Sunday, he and his sister and his dad and his wrinkly old aunt (moi) went to Buck Hill. Buck Hill is the local ski hill. It's close to where I live; I'm looking at it right now. It's far from where my brother lives, but them's the breaks.

So we proceeded to slap on our skis and snowboards and…oh, wait. No we didn't, because the only one of us who would have a chance of surviving either of those activities would be Sophia, Master of Everything, and it would just piss her off when she had to leave in the ambulance with the three of us.

Instead, we proceeded to the tubing hill. Do you have a tubing hill in your neighborhood? If not, I suggest you get one, and I suggest you make sure and have some snow for part of the year. Because oh, the fun you can have, and you can have it while sitting on your ass, or lying on your tummy. NOT standing up, trying to balance on slippery plastic things, which are themselves balancing on slippery snow. You'd be very surprised at just how fast you can fly while sitting comfortably on that innertube. Here. Fortunately for you, I brought my tiny video camera, and managed to hold onto it for dear life:

And for an even better an cuter, less wrinkly-and-in-need-of-makeup version, here's Monkeypox:

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Mmmmm. Laig o' lamb. Or not mmmm so much as ewww.

Last night, The Referee and I went out for a nice, quiet dinner without the kids. Which is usually how we go out to dinner these days.

It was not long ago that we came to a sudden, glorious realization that our oldest child was old enough to babysit our youngest child. The moment we realized that, we bolted to the car and peeled out of the driveway, tires smoking, and raced to Friday's. It was heaven to have a conversation that didn't involve guessing what somebody drew on the paper tablecloth with a crayon!

When we got home 90 minutes after we'd left, both children were just as we'd left them, having all their limbs and major organs, our house was still standing, and any fires that had started in our absence had been extinguished.

I think we went out by ourselves every night for two weeks after that, because the freedom was intoxicating. Of course, the girls liked it, too, because they could watch MTV and Boy Meets World without being mercilessly ridiculed, and they could play that thing where they mix foods together and dare each other to eat it.

Fast-forward 10 years to 2008, where one of them is in college and the other one is constantly off with her boyfriend, and while dinner with The Referee is lovely, it's now even more of a treat when we have a kid or two with us. Last weekend Rose came home from school, and the four of us went to see Semi-Pro (which, no surprise, I LOVED), and it was the most fun I've had in a long time. And you know I have a lot of fun, so that is saying a lot.

Last night, we two almost-empty-nesters went to Doolittle's in Eagan. I love that place. They built themselves a giant woodfire rotisserie, where they cook the most delightful chickens by threading them onto a skewer and spinning them around. Yesterday's special of the day, though, was leg of lamb.

Hmmmm, thought I. Laig of Lamb-b (Because Laig rhymes with aig and the b in lamb should not only be pronounced, but emphasized). I have eaten lamb only a bite at a time from other peoples' plates, with at least two or three years between bites. That sounds tasty. I think I like laig of lamb. So I ordered the laig of lamb.

It turns out that I was mistaken. I do not like laig of lamb. Not even a little bit. The first bite wasn't that bad, and I thought maybe I'd just eaten the only inch of lamb flesh that tasted like skunk odor. The second bite was harder to choke down. Even skunkier. And that's when I wished my daughters had been there, so I could dare them to eat it, and then we could make a list of Things I'd Sooner Eat than Laig of Lamb. The Referee was absolutely worthless, because he would not participate in my dare, nor in my list-making game. I was still pleasant to him, though, because he did possess a delectable buffalo chicken salad that was almost large enough for two people.

As we were leaving, I turned back to take a quick inventory of the top of the table, one last time, making sure were weren't forgetting a pacifier. It's a habit I've had for 21 years, even though pacifiers haven't been part of our routine for at least 14, and I don't think I'll ever break it. It's kind of nice, though, because after every dinner out, I briefly remember all those meals in restaurants when our whole family was together, and when I didn't eat something that tasted like yak sweat.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

eBay, shmeeBay

Did I really stay away from blogging all week? Well yes, it seems that I did. I have been much busier than I care to be, thankyouverymuch.

One of the things that kept me away was eBay. Remember when my aunt Mary Kathryn died last fall? She left behind a whole bunch of jewelry, mostly costume jewelry but some really beautiful gen-u-whine pearls and sparkly diamondy things, too, and I volunteered to list it all on eBay. There was no hurry, because her house was for sale, and that needed to be sold before the estate could be settled anyway, so I just sat on it. And then guess what? The house was sold, so I've had to hurry up.

Do you know how time consuming it is to photograph all that stuff, then resize it, then write the descriptions, then to upload everything one at a time?

Last night I thought to myself, self, there must be a better and faster way to list these fabulous items, and I went looking for one. I found TurboLister, which is a great help, but they don't make it for Mac. So. I had to put aaallll the photos on a CD, and load TurboLister onto The Referee's computer, which I had to do while he was at the hockey game, on account of that DO NOT LOAD ANYTHING ONTO MY COMPUTER rule.

I finished up this morning (ack, except for the Hummels! I still have to list the Hummels! Dammit!), so now all Aunt Mary Kathryn's pretty things are for sale on eBay, which is causing her to roll in her grave, I am certain. This woman never disposed of anything, ever, no matter what. She saved empty lipstick tubes and burned-out lightbulbs, for pete's sake. She was definitely eccentric, but also extremely stylish and elegant. One of her eccentricities was that she rarely used or wore a gift that anybody gave her, so her jewelry box had all sorts of vintage jewelry that is in great condition, because she put it away and never touched it. It's all just lovely, but I am so sick of looking at it, and at eBay's interface, that I could scream!

So that's what I have been up to, besides working. I haven't even really read many blogs this week. So what's up with you guys?

Monday, March 2, 2008

In like a lion French toast and a lamb pancake

I'm very busy. I have no time for this folly of blogging, but I'm going to give you a brief update of the happenings in the life of Suzi over the past few days, because I know it's what you live for.

Firstively, I received the following email from my brother, concerning the welcoming of the month of March in his household, and describing something so cute that I melted into a puddle of goo when I read it, and somebody had to slurp me up with a vacuum and reanimate me, so continue at your own risk:

Photo: Lion-shaped French toast for dinner, because March allegedly roars in like a lion. Sophia’s idea. JohnHenry’s idea for breakfast was lamb-shaped pancakes because March didn't’t exactly roar in like a lion.

Problem: No one was allowed to eat lion/lamb pancakes/French toast because Sophia grew too attached and regarded them as her pets.

Back to finish reading now that you've been reanimated from melting into goo from the cuteness? Welcome back.

Secondively, I had a Business Time meeting this morning with my two bosses. I think we'll call them Boss the Father and Boss the Son, which is accurate, because they are, indeed, father and son. Also, the company is a Christian publishing and gift company, so it's sort of a yuk yuk yuk play on words, as well. So , both of them are very funny. Boss the Son was shuffling around the coffee shop this morning because he sprained his ankle. In walked a pastor he knows, and the pastor asked how he managed to sprain his ankle. Boss the Son's answer: Worshipping. Also, Boss the Father prays before he eats. Boss the Son does not. Know why? Because in the interest of time, he prayed once and asked God to bless all the food he's ever going to eat.

Thirdively, last night I saw My Fair Lady again, and this time I purchased the CD, because it is not available on iTunes. I loved it so much, but I missed a basketball game. The Referee brought his friend Shane along, and was kind enough to update me on the score via text message so I could check it at intermission, and also to tell me the score at the end (loss, in overtime). When I got home, he was already here, with the game cued up on TiVo, ready to "show you something." He played his little snippet a few times before I noticed that he and Shane were sitting at courtside, between the scorer's table and the owner! There may have been an exclamation of swearing, and it may have started with F, and it may have been repeated. Envy is a mortal sin, and my shot at a decent afterlife just took a turn for the unlikely.

Fourthively, this is also a mortal sin:

Keep yer dirty goddam smokey pepper outta the hummus! Hummus is not a place where chipotle flavor is welcome. Ever. In fact, can we just be done with chipotle, in general? Chipotle is starting to become the new Thai Peanut. It was good. It was fine. I liked it and treated it well, but now it's time for it to be purged from the earth. I'll tell you what does belong in hummus: vomit olives, otherwise known as Kalamata olives. I happen to love them, but Rose pointed out that they taste like vomit, and she is correct, but they taste like the delicious kind of vomit.

Fifthively (dear lord, have I ever made it all the way up to fifthively before?), Rose called me this morning while I was in my Very Important Grownup Business Time Meeting, and she was in a panic because she has lost her keys. She had missed her first class (uh, she lives just blocks from campus), had to go to another because a test was being given today, and had to work after that. I drove down to St. Peter with her extra set, fully aware that bailing her out like this is probably detrimental in the long run. Well, too bad. She is graduating from college in three months and will probably move far away from me. Then I will have to take an airplane to bring her keys to her.

Sixthively, and I think lastively, I am SO DONE with Lifetime Fitness. It's a beautiful, high-tech, service-oriented, state-of-the-art health club. They have done everything right, except for one thing. They have sold far, far too many memberships. Tonight, I had to wait to get on a treadmill, then I had to wait to get on the shoulder machine. After that, I waited to get on the butt machine, but the anorexic buttless freak did about 5000 reps, then stood on it and talked to her friend for awhile. I was so irritated that I stepped over to that woodchopper machine, set the weight ten pounds too high, and went to town. She was still talking to her stoopid dumb friend ten minutes later, so I went over and asked if she'd mind if I used the butt machine if she was done. She looked at me like I was a raving bitch (which I am, but I wasn't being then), and we had a little conversation about how people can be waiting even when they aren't perched over you like Snoopy on his doghouse, and HELLO MCFLY! DO YOU SEE HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE IN THIS PLACE? I refrained from knocking on her hollow head, but I sure wanted to see what it would sound like. Then I waited for more machines, almost bonked somebody with weights while I was doing chest presses, then gave up waiting for the abs machine and went home, so if you see me with gut flab, you can't blame it on me. I am ready to switch to LA Fitness immediately, but The Referee is much slower to warm to new ideas, and much more dedicated to going there every day, so I have to wait until he thinks it's his idea to switch. We're paying $160 every month for stuff we don't use there—tennis, racketball, locker rooms (too busy; we shower at home), childcare (which we had to pay extra for, when we had little kids), 24-hour access. Oh, and Rose doesn't get to come anymore, because she got too old. At LA, we'd pay $99 for a family membership, and Rose and Kelly could stay on it as long as we keep paying $99 every month, even when they're adults and don't live with us anymore!