Drive With Care

My next car.  You can't fix what's already broken.
My next car.

DH and I have different views on how you should care for a car.  For me, it’s 4 wheels with a roof that gets me from point A to point B.  I don’t mind if it dents, scratches or buckles.  I will wedge myself into a parking spot with barely room to exit (I proved so here) if it means taking less steps to get to my destination.

My husband believes in caring for your car as if it were a new baby.  Gently parking it in what I refer to as “the nosebleed section” of the parking lot.  If I wanted to walk that far, I would have left the car at home.  I know he’s doing the correct thing.  For resale value, treating your car with kid gloves is the way to go.  But I intend to drive my car into the ground.  So I’m cool with it.

Did I mention that I am married to the Car Whisperer?  His dent radar goes off every time I have a mishap.  And I have a mishap often.  I have hit those stupid cement pillars in underground parking lots (who puts those things there anyway?), I have run over mailboxes, deer heads and nails.  I’ve backed up into bushes and down embankments (that only happened once and my driveway was icy so don’t judge me).

Once I completely didn’t see a large carcass of I-don’t-know-what in the middle of the road.  It literally scraped against the undercarriage of my car.  That stench stayed with us until we traded her in.  Anyone who has had the pleasure of coming into my driveway knows that there is a huge rock to the left of it.  I have even hit that and blown out a tire.  I think my husband has given up.  My next car will most likely be a leftover from the demolition derby, I’m afraid.

But don’t be frightened to drive with me.  I have less accidents and traffic tickets than most.  In fact, I really am an excellent driver.  Just ask the deer I hit.

Frugal and Proud

Yes, I do this too.
Yes, I do this too.

I am frugal.  No, let me rephrase.  I am cheap.  I am the type of person who cringes when DH takes more than 1 paper towel to dry his hands.  I sit there and watch him while he grabs at the roll and just keeps pulling on it while 3, 4 and 5 sheets go by.  He could be talking to me, but I don’t hear him because I am dying inside.  Staring at the diminishing roll.  Biting my nails.  Wondering when he’s going to stop.  I could say it’s because I’m worried about the environment.  But that would be a lie.  It’s because with every sheet, I see money being thrown out the window.

When I reach the end of a shampoo or lotion bottle, I will set it upside down and use every loving drop of it. I will stick my finger in there and swipe at whatever is left.  Bang the bottle on the countertop to get every last drip to come out.  And I mean EVERY.LAST.DRIP.  My favorite game is to guess how many more uses I can get out of a container before I have to open a new one.

We know a woman who has been a friend of the family for forever.  She is an older version of me in more ways than one.  She cuts her shampoo bottles in half so that she can use every bit.  Everyone thinks it’s funny.  Me?  I think it’s the best idea since, like…ever.  I got four more shampoos out of my last bottle because of her.  I’ll have to thank her next time I see her.

I refuse to buy anything that isn’t on sale.  Even though the sign says “4 for a dollar”, I will buy one because that’s all I need at the moment.  I would prefer to buy store brand, but DH seems to know the difference so I can’t.  It kills me.

Yet, somehow I manage to spend every penny I have in my wallet.  I could start the week with $100 and in two days, it’s gone.  Don’t ask me.  I guess I am what you would call an oxymoron.  Oh well.  So, who wants to go out for lunch?  You buying?

I Love You, I Love You Not.

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Remember when we were kids and we had to do a “research” paper on George Washington?  You ran to the living room shelf in hopes that your mom bought enough groceries that week to score the W-Z of the Funk & Wagnall Encyclopedia set so you could read up on the old goat.  It took her a year to acquire the entire set.  Only for it to be obsolete by the end of 7th grade.  We had to eat a lot of spaghetti and sloppy joe’s to stay updated.

Basically everyone in your class turned in the same paper.  Plagiarism wasn’t allowed back then either, so we took the most important facts from the 5 paragraphs we had available to us, flipped the words around and wrote something down.  If we were lucky, either mom drove us or we rode our bikes over to the library for a little more in-depth research.  Those lucky kids received an automatic “A.”

Technology today definitely has its pros and cons.  One pro is that our kids have the world at their fingertips when it comes to research.  We get to save on gas by not having to drive them across town to the library.  If I didn’t have our weekly jaunt to the library when the kid was little, I’m not sure she would even know how the place works.  Remember the Dewey Decimal System?  I believe that is as defunct as the free grocery store encyclopedia.

Unknown-3Another pro about technology is when we are able to settle a bet.   I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had a disagreement with DH about who that special guest star is on a rerun of “Charlie’s Angels.”  And putting an end to the argument in a matter of seconds with the flick of some fingers.  It’s awesome.

What I absolutely do not like about today’s technology is our lack of privacy.  News about one person can travel faster than Road Runner on speed.  It’s also not so good if you are trying to self-diagnose yourself.  Once I was sure I had Barrett’s Esophagus when really I just had too many jalapenos in my tacos.  Just stick to a real doctor.  Chances are you are going to live.

That’s basically how I feel about it all in a nutshell.  Okay, I gotta go.  I have to go Tweet about what I’m doing right now.  Oh, and Facebook some photos of myself.

The Death of a Habit?

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I was on Facebook today and I saw that a friend posted this article about the dangers of drinking. Here is the headline:

Even Moderate Drinking Linked to Increased Cancer Risk

Oh dear God.  If this is true, then I am a dead woman.  Basically, the article talks some shit about how even having a glass of wine a day can increase your risk of getting cancer by, well, a lot.

I am one of those people who has a glass of wine every night.  Ok, maybe not EVERY night.  Let’s say the average month consists of 30 days.  I drink wine about 28 days a month.  And about 22 of those days I have more than just one glass.  The odds are not in my favor.

So here I was using the excuse to drink red wine because it was really good for your heart and since I have high cholesterol I thought it was great because I would just have a glass of wine with my steak (total run-on sentence — sorry).  Except now the cancer risk outweighs the heart healthy part.

It’s funny because my mom has been telling me for years about this cancer/alcohol link.  I pretty much just roll my eyes and open a bottle of my favorite Cabernet.  You have to understand something about my mom.  She reads everything and watches CNN like it’s the only show on TV. So, every “new” development that comes up, which is pretty much every day, I’m sure to know about it.  The most ridiculous thing like breathing can cause lung cancer.  Ok, I’m kidding.  But shit, everything gives us cancer these days.

If I listened to everything my mom told me, here are the things I would have to give up:

  • Cooked meat  – Have you ever had an uncooked hamburger?  Yum.  Watch out for those tape worms though.
  • Sun  – An oldie but a goodie.  Slather on that lotion.  Or be pale and cold.  Your choice.
  • Mouthwash – In lieu of the recent study, this one should be a no brainer.
  • Vitamins  – Yup.  This is a new one.  Those antioxidants are serious bad boys.
  • Body lotion – Yes, even body lotion.  It can cause breast cancer believe it or not.  So, do we slather on lotion to avoid skin cancer, or go out in the sun without it to avoid breast cancer?
  • Alcoholic beverages – I have nothing to say except it just sucks.

So anyway, now that I’ve actually seen it in words, I’m suddenly freaked out.  Like, really freaked out.  I even went out to lunch with the family today and didn’t order a glass of wine.  That’s unheard of.  For some reason, I think any time I sit in a restaurant there is this rule that I have to drink wine.  So, I ordered water and I didn’t actually die.

Ok, so I can give up body lotion and mouthwash.  But wine?  There are no words.  I think I’m in mourning.  I’ll start my mourning on Monday, with my New Year’s Resolutions.

Scrub a Dub Dub

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Yes, I use a washcloth.  In fact, I’m a washcloth scrubber.  (Be careful where you scrub though, apparently you can scrub natural bacteria right off your vajayjay and cause an infection.  I read that somewhere.  I know it’s tempting but refrain.)  Anyway, doesn’t everyone scrub with a washcloth?   Apparently…not.

I recently had a conversation with some friends about washing with a washcloth (yes, I know…very compelling) and I was completely shocked to find that, according to them, it’s rare to wash with one.  Well, in my circle anyway.  Dirty, dirty circle.

Just a bar of soap and their hands work fine for them.  Huh.  What about all those crevices?  Those certain unmentionables that I don’t think I want my hands touching on a good day?

Well, “that’s what the soap is for,” they tell me.  Ok, so I gave it a try.  The only problem is, I got the overwhelming need to wash my soap…with a washcloth.  Don’t get me wrong, I think I’m a pretty clean person.  I mean, it’s not like I go out and sling mud or anything.  It’s just that, well, we have….crevices.  I mean, they call them wash cloths for a reason, right?  It’s a cloth to WASH with, correct?  Maybe I’m missing something.

I have to admit that I like my washcloth.  I have a bit of a love affair with my washcloth (get your head out of the gutter).  My washcloth as seen more…oh.  Never mind.  How about those Mets?

McDeaf

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“Welcome to McDonalds.  Can I take your order?”  Said the guy behind the speaker.

“Yes, I’ll take a #2 meal with a sprite.  A 5-piece chicken strip meal with a water and a crispy chicken honey mustard wrap with a coke.  That’s it.  Thank you.”  Said me.

“Would you like fries with the crispy chicken wrap?”

“No thanks.”

“So, you would like a #3 meal…”

“Um, no.  Not a #3.  A #2.”

“Oh.  So you want a chicken wrap meal…”

“No, not a meal.  Just the wrap and a coke, no fries.”

“Oh, sorry.  So you want a 5-piece chicken strip meal with a water and a crispy chicken meal with a coke.  Will that be all?”

“No, I also would like the #2 meal.  With a sprite.”

(Am I being Punk’d?  I looked around for Ashton Kutcher.)

“Oh ok.  Your order comes to $15.74.  Please drive up to window #1.”

Seriously, considering the ordering process didn’t go so well, we were only missing a coke.  Like my New Year’s eve experience with bad ice, I should have known and just drove out of the parking lot.  Why do I do this to myself?  The signs were once again as strong as Popeye on 50 pounds of spinach.

I’m supposed to be on a diet anyway, right?  It looks like that just got bumped back to March.  Darn.

The Lost Art of Communication

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I’m not sure if you’re aware of it or not, but we, as a country are completely screwed.  When you say to your child, “I need to speak to you,” and she says, “just text me,” you know we have a problem.

I grew up with the rotary phone.  You know the kind.  It had a curly cord attached to it and a circular “key pad.”  We had one phone on the kitchen wall.  For privacy, it was literally a stretch across the hall and into the bathroom.

Sure, in retrospect, it was a pain in the ass.  But at least we SPOKE to one another.  We opened our mouths and actual words came out.  We put the effort into dialing a phone that took 2.5 minutes so that we could talk to our best friend or boyfriend.  We also learned about time management because otherwise we would never get the opportunity to make that phone call before mom or dad needed to use it.

If the kid needs to ask someone a question that needs immediate attention, she texts instead of calls.  When I suggest she actually pick up the phone and call them, you should see the look on her face.  It’s as if I just suggested we go skinny dipping in the Atlantic in February. Like it was the stupidest idea since the Snuggie.

Every job description I come across during my job search says that good verbal communication skills are necessary.  I’m afraid this is what a job description of the future will look like:

“Must be proficient in texting at least 95 words per minute without error.  No need to speak to anyone.  No need to pay attention to anyone.  Ability to use Facebook, Instagram and Twitter an added bonus.”  To top it off, they will probably be required to have a Master’s Degree.  So, we all get to pay out our asses in education for our children so they can get a job that doesn’t require them to speak.

This should be interesting.  I’m not sure I want to be around for that.  If I am, please call and let me know.  Although the phone may be obsolete by then.  Um, text me?

No Grocery Left Behind

donkey
My alter ego

Damn! My chicken and ground beef never made it into my cart. The nice boy at the store who bagged my groceries didn’t put it in.  I didn’t notice until I got home.  Ugh.  Now I have to go back.  Unfortunately, the store I shopped at is down the street from the kid’s dance studio which is over 20 minutes away from my home.  I guess it doesn’t have to be a major problem.  The next time she has dance, I figured I would stop by and pick it up, which was Tuesday — the night before I wanted to make the meal with the beef.  Perfect.

On the way to dance Tuesday night, I drove right by that ever-lovin’ store, not once but twice.  It never occurred to me to stop in to collect my meats.   What a shocker.

Wednesday morning, as I was getting prepared to get my crockpot meal together, I opened the freezer to extract my pound of ground beef.  I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t laying right on top.  It should be since I only went grocery shopping 3 days ago.  So, I proceed to search deeper.  It took me about 30 seconds before I remembered where it was. Crap!  Poop!  SHIT!!!!  I really didn’t have time for this.  It was going to be a crazy afternoon.

I stood up from the freezer with a dazed look on my face.  I felt like I was hit with a stun gun.  Wait.  What happened?  I thought I was going to be passing that store on Tuesday.  Then I remembered that I DID pass that store on Tuesday because Tuesday was yesterday.  Awesome.  I’m an ass.

I know I already have one foot in the looney bin.  But can’t I blame this whole thing on the store bagger guy?  Yes, I think I will.  I don’t think I’ll add this to the list of reasons why I should be committed.  Oh and I hope my family doesn’t mind Chinese again.

If You Ask a Mouse for a Paper Towel, She’ll Get a Sex Scene

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Paper towels, paper towels, paper towels.  I say it over and over again in my head so I don’t forget why I’m going into the pantry.  By the time I reach the pantry, I’ve stopped saying it because I suddenly remember that I really enjoyed last week’s Grey’s Anatomy episode.  Boy, that Cristina and Owen are so sexy together.  I’m really digging their “non-married” relationship.  It’s HOT.  Mmmm.

Wait.  What was I doing???  Oh yeah, I was getting….oh damn.  Now I have to backtrack, go to the exact spot I was standing in, and pray that it comes back to me.  Let’s see….I was washing the dishes that my dishwashing allergic family left in the sink.  I was going to dry them.  Oh, right….

Paper towels, paper towels, paper towels.  Gee, I’m really looking forward to getting my hair cut tomorrow.  I can’t do a damn thing with it.  What time is my appointment again?

Face-twitt-agram

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The kid wanted a Facebook account.  Now, DH and I are pretty strict.  We did not give in to her easily.  We had to think about it, mull it over, digest it, dissect it.  Finally we relented.  I had my own page so I could keep an eye on things.

She was happier than a dog eating poop.  Everything’s great.  Happy kid, happy mom.  Until about 6 months later.

The Kid:  Mom, what are you doing?

Me: I’m checking my notifications.

The Kid:  Oh, mom get with the program.  Facebook is so yesterday.

Me:  Oh.

The Kid:  Can I get an Instagram?

First of all, it took me a year to figure out the term “notifications” and she is ready to move on?  Second of all, what the hell is an Instagram and why do you need it?  Apparently, it’s a place where you post pictures.  In my opinion, no one wants to see how you dress your cat.

Now she’s working on us for a Twitter account.  Isn’t that so “yesterday?”  Chirp chirp.  Or is it Tweet?